CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT:
Interview with John Ganshaw

Rappahannock Review Interview Editor: “When Death Calls” focuses on your relationship with your elderly brother and the dynamics of your family. Was it difficult to face these realities of your family?

John Ganshaw: The realities of my family and its dynamics have always existed, for as long as I can remember. Except for my eldest brother, the other three siblings are extremely selfish and self-centered. For over fifty years, I wore blinders. Rather than deal with how I felt, it was easier to lock away my feelings and avoid how the actions of others affected me. The condescending attitudes, the acceptance of all the blame. I believed that if I addressed it, I would lose them, so I did what was necessary to make them happy.

In reality, the family bond was never there. Which brings me to why I wrote the piece: it was time to address the elephant in the room. I finally had enough of the lying to myself while at the same time protecting their actions. To write honestly, particularly when writing memoirs or CNF, the writer needs to be able to put it all out there. It may be uncomfortable, but at least for me, it helps me heal and understand that sibling relationships aren’t always meant to be. I always faced the reality of my family, but now I’ve decided to accept it.

RR: [The phrase] “When death calls” only appears in the title. What made you choose this for the title?

JG: Death can come calling in many ways, at least in my frame of thinking. Death doesn’t always mean the end of life. It can also mean the end of certain relationships, aspects of life; to some, it means hopes and dreams die. I chose the title for this reason: various aspects of the story come to an end at once; hence, death is calling. Whether death in life, death in a relationship, death of dreams or hopes, we can’t stop it; choosing not to accept the inevitable doesn’t change the outcome.

RR: The story also touches on how you feel categorized or expected to do certain things, due to being a single, gay man. You also use the imagery of an actor performing to illustrate the feeling of playing a role within your family. How do you feel about that role of caregiver being assumed of you?

JG: I’ve had similar conversations with single gay friends who have had similar experiences. The siblings assumed that because the gay sibling didn’t have a family, they would be the caregiver, “because it would be easier for them.” In actuality, it would be easier for the other siblings. I have been called every name in the book, told I’m “a selfish person,” and some of the meanest things anyone could imagine. Pretending that you are playing a role in a production protects you from the hurt and pain that a loved one can unleash. Though I feel this particular caregiving role was forced on me, I believe I have been allowed to see life under a different light. It is trying, it is difficult, it is rewarding, and it’s a royal pain in the ass. I don’t understand how other family members can just move on with their own lives and be unwilling to offer assistance or visit more often, especially when they are close.

RR: In your bio, you mention being under arrest for thirteen months and how that provided you an opportunity to speak out for people who can’t. Could you elaborate more on that experience and how it urged you to begin to write about your experiences?

JG: I spent seven months behind bars within the Siem Reap prison, and another six months under house arrest before being allowed to leave [Cambodia]. When I discovered the man I was seeing and his brother were being sexually abused, manipulated, and used by an expat, I spoke out. I didn’t realize at the time that other businesses, hotels, the police, and the judicial system were also involved.

I learned after I was arrested that the plan would be for me to be destroyed along with all I had accomplished. By destroyed, [I mean] the expat, and most likely the man I was involved with, were hoping I would be killed in prison. Instead, the thirty-plus other prisoners in my cell became my biggest support group and friends. To learn their stories and their hardships tore me apart. Most of the prisoners were in for drugs, especially ICE; most were arrested on trumped-up charges, and their families couldn’t afford the extortion fees. [In my] own story, the police were paid $1,000 to have me arrested, and the judicial system enriched itself by over $50,000. Each day, I am reminded of all those who came to my rescue, who stood beside me, and didn’t give up on securing my freedom.

In addition, all my belongings were sold, and the house and land I owned were taken by the man who was supposedly my boyfriend. This is just a snapshot. I saw so much in prison and wrote daily in my journal; even now, four years later, fresh memories return. The Khmer and Khmer Americans took care of me when I became ill, when I passed out, and especially when my head was split open. In many ways, they became my family, protecting and helping each other. I still stay in touch with some of them. All they’ve lost, the troubles they faced, the drug use, the petty crime, the demeaning treatment they endured, but they never lost their sense of caring or giving. Losing all hope, the young men still smiled and laughed each day.

Most of them never got past the sixth grade, not to fault their own fault, but the fault of a corrupt government. Even now, it pains me to think of the sacrifices they were forced to make. I will always speak out and be the voice they need to draw attention to their plight. I saw a world that people can’t even imagine exists, and I will be forever grateful to have had the misfortune to see it, to live it, and now to fight it and fight for those who have lost hope.

RR: Do you run into any struggles when attempting to write these very raw stories?

JG: Wow, where to start. Even while completing this interview, I needed to take a break after answering the third question. I never dreamed that I would encounter so much in my life. I try to be aware of triggers, but most of the time, the triggers that unleash the struggles come without warning. Nightmares can be super intense, particularly after memories surface or I have written something raw. So yes, there are significant struggles at times. Therapy sessions every two weeks help manage the pain and hurt. It becomes difficult when Band-Aids rip off the scabs and you start bleeding all over again. I’m learning that all that happened will never go away, and I will never have answers that will provide total closure.

I share my story in hopes that others will see that there are options besides remaining silent. I realize the importance of the rawness of my story and not sugarcoating my experiences. If my stories can help just one person, then it will be worth it. I used to worry about what other people would think of me when I told my story, but I can no longer blame myself for what others did. It took me years to realize that I didn’t invite abuse onto myself; boys can be victims, boys can be raped, manipulated, and controlled. What happened to me doesn’t make me less of a man, nor does the fact that I am gay. I will always struggle sharing extremely raw stories, but for my own mental health and to help others, they need to be told.