Lessons from “Surviving Ohio State”

Chris Johnson
Director of Prevention & Education Services

Anytime I sit down to watch a film like the new HBO documentary by Eve Orner, Surviving Ohio State (SOS), I can’t help but wear my metaphorical “Prevention Specialist” hat — an accessory that, unlike a beret or a fedora, doesn’t get you compliments at parties. Over the years in my role, I’ve consumed a wide range of media that portrays sexual violence and abuse — some powerful, some problematic. But this film stands out for several reasons.

First, SOS centers the experiences of male survivors — specifically, college-aged male athletes. That’s not a narrative we often see. When we think about college male athletes and sexual assault, it’s typically as perpetrators or, at best, bystanders, standing awkwardly nearby, holding a red Solo cup and pretending not to notice.  Rarely are they depicted as victims. I’ve never seen a film that places male college athletes at the center of a sexual assault survivor narrative. That alone opens up new avenues for engaging college-aged men and athletes in conversations about sexual violence.

A moment of the film that really stayed with me was when the Ohio State athletes saw themselves in the victims of the Larry Nassar trial. The age difference was stark; men in their 40s, 50s and 60s identified with girls in their late teens and early 20s. It made me wonder: Why were these men’s experiences dismissed and minimized?  Why was Strauss’s abuse ignored? Why were their settlements a fraction of what Michigan State paid to the survivors of Nassar’s abuse? The answer, I think, lies in how we talk — or don’t talk — to boys and men about vulnerability. About abuse. About the fact that being hurt doesn’t make you weak.

The jarring generational gap also made me ask: How might these men’s lives have been different If the abuse had been stopped early? If their reports had been taken seriously? If they had they received the support they needed? What opportunities were lost, what pain could have been avoided?

Here are some of the things we should be talking about with our young people — and the adults responsible for their safety:

Power depends on context

Sexual assault is often described as a crime of power and control. While that power can sometimes be expressed through physical strength — such as someone using their size to overpower another person — it more often shows up in subtle, insidious ways: through manipulation, coercion, and deception. SOS shows that being powerful in one environment — like on the wrestling mat — doesn’t necessarily translate to power in another, such as a medical exam room. This distinction is critical in understanding how abuse can occur even to individuals who are perceived as strong or dominant.

This topic of contextual power is one that my own team covers when they go to schools and engage with students. Using well-known figures like Ariana Grande and LeBron James, students examine how power can look different depending on the situation. Through this discussion, students identify ways in which both celebrities hold power. They also learn that power is not fixed; it shifts depending on the context. LeBron owns the court. Ariana owns the stage. Power shifts depending on where you’re standing and what you’re holding: a basketball, a microphone, or, in the case of SOS, a medical degree and a white coat.

Sexual abuse is never the victim’s fault

Over the years, I’ve worked with many survivors, and listening to these young men reminded me of something I’ve seen time and again: trauma doesn’t discriminate. It disrupts lives in strikingly similar ways, regardless of gender. Self-blame is a constant companion — victims blame themselves for accepting the ride, the drink, the invitation. “I put myself in that position” is a phrase I’ve heard more times than I can count, and these athletes were no exception. Many carried the weight of not fighting back, not running, not saying no. The long-term impacts of unaddressed trauma were painfully familiar: fractured self-worth, depression, substance use, academic derailment, lost opportunities, self-harm and strained relationships.

Grooming follows a pattern

When I talk about grooming, I often say, “It’s like offenders have all read the same book” because the ways they go about sexually abusing others is often very similar.  Well, Strauss was no exception. He followed the grooming playbook like it was laminated and tucked into his lab coat. Pick a target. Gain their trust. Desensitize them. Abuse them. Then manipulate them into keeping the abuse secret.

Strauss zeroed in on students whose futures depended on their athletic scholarships — young men who were talented, and hopeful. He targeted those who were sexually inexperienced and naïve, and he handed out anabolic steroids like party favors for additional leverage. His role as a physician granted him closed-door access. No gloves, no boundaries, just a steady stream of “medical necessity” and a lot of hernia checks and STI treatments that felt to the victims like something else.

And when the abuse happened, he leaned on his authority, the athletes’ desperation to compete and remain in school, and society’s general discomfort with male vulnerability. It was a perfect storm of silence, shame, and institutional indifference. And like many other instances of grooming, it worked.

Sexual health education reduces risk

As someone who has taught comprehensive sexual health education It was really tough to hear the athletes’ own awareness about their lack of sexual health knowledge. About grooming. About consent. About arousal non-concordance, an automatic physiological response having nothing to do with interest in sexual activity. These weren’t dumb guys. They just hadn’t been taught. And that’s on us. On all of us. Because if we’re not giving young people the language to name what’s happening to them, we’re leaving them defenseless. People like Strauss are counting on it.

Typical abuser’s response

The film also gives us a near-perfect example of the acronym DARVO — short for Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender. It’s a classic tactic used by people who abuse people.  It’s the kind of psychological judo move where the person accused of abuse suddenly becomes the one clutching their pearls. One minute, they’re being confronted with credible allegations; the next, they’re crying about their ruined reputation and filing complaints of their own. It’s manipulative, theatrical, and, unfortunately, very effective.

We see DARVO used when Strauss, confronted by the head of student services and a student victim, slams his hand on the table and accuses the kid of trying to ruin his reputation. Then Strauss files a complaint, against the head of student services.

It’s like watching a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat, except the rabbit is gaslighting and the hat is institutional apathy.

Adults are responsible for protecting young people 

The abject failure of bystanders is one of the hardest truths of SOS. While the athletes may not have had the tools to fully support one another, it’s the failure of the adults in the room — the coaches, the administrators — that’s hardest to ignore. They weren’t just passive bystanders; they were gatekeepers who chose silence over protection. The OSU report itself identified 50 staff members who knew about Strauss’s behavior, yet he was never investigated and continued to have contact with students.

But this isn’t just a phenomenon of the 20th century. Coverups of sexual misconduct in schools are still happening. Recently, a paraeducator from the Tahoma School District was found guilty of sexually abusing multiple boys. News reporting revealed that at least eight staff members had raised concerns about his behavior, but little to no action was taken. The paraeducator continued working with and abusing students.

Preventionists often teach students how to step in and speak up — but maybe it’s time we start handing that same syllabus to the adults. Especially the ones we entrust with our kids.

It didn’t escape my notice that the only coach at Ohio State who took the students’ allegations seriously was the fencing coach. And not just any fencing coach — a female fencing coach. While others were busy looking the other way or perfecting their “I had no idea” faces, she listened. She believed these victims. She acknowledged that what Strauss was doing wasn’t just “weird” or “unorthodox,” but actually wrong. Harmful. Predatory.

She did what you’d hope any adult in charge of young people would do: she tried to advocate for them. Could it be she understood abuse in a way the male coaches didn’t — or wouldn’t? She knew that someone like Strauss doesn’t just stop because you ask nicely or because HR sends a strongly worded letter.  She knew that without meaningful intervention, he’d keep abusing students. And he did.

Making change for male victims helps end sexual violence for all

In the end, what makes SOS so powerful for me is knowing that these stories are just the tip of the iceberg. Most men and boys never disclose their abuse.  Their stories stay buried under shame, silence, and the belief that no one will believe them — or worse, that they should’ve been able to stop it.

I want that to change. I want men to be able to speak up about their abuse before they’re 50. I want men to be allowed to show up for each other without it being mistaken for weakness. I want their pain to be met with the same compassion we extend to other survivors — not with awkward silence, a pat on the back, or questions about their sexuality with orders to “man up.” I want us to stop treating male survivorship like an exception and start treating it like the reality that it is.

I highly recommend watching Surviving Ohio State, and commend the filmmakers and the athletes for telling their story. It’s a hard film to watch but it’s a testament to the healing that can happen when silence is broken, and stories are finally told.

I sure hope folks are listening.