Violinist Lara St. John's film examines sexual abuse in the classical music world

NEW YORK — In 2019, Lara St. John came forward with an accusation against the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia that shook the music world. The famous solo violinist told how she was sexually abused and raped by her teacher, famous violinist Jascha Brodsky, in the mid-1980s, at the age of 14.

She repeatedly reported what happened to the school’s leadership, both at the time and years later, and was ignored.

Today, five years after the accusation was made public an investigation by an investigator and receiving a belated apology from CurtisSt. John’s life has changed tremendously. She says she realized who her real friends were and weren’t, and that she only became interested in certain types of concert performances.

Perhaps most startling is that her relationship with the music to which she devoted half a century of her life (she started playing at the age of 2) has been severed.

“I don’t listen to classical music at all anymore. I think with all the knowledge (about abuse), it’s just kind of gone sour,” she said recently in an interview at her home in Manhattan.

There’s one thing that making her story public hasn’t changed, she says — not to the extent she’d hoped: how the power imbalance in classical music continues to foster a culture of sexual abuse. After The Inquirer published her story and in the years since, St. John has received hundreds of stories from women, plus a few from men, sharing their experiences.

“I definitely didn’t know it was so widespread,” says the Canadian-born St. John, 53, who played her first concert at age 4. “I have heard from people all over the world, especially about sexual abuse and harassment in schools and orchestras, but also psychological and physical harm to people such as children, students and even employees of classical music institutions.”

And then it occurred to her: ‘I have to make these people’s stories heard. … And I thought, ‘Well look, I have cameras. I can take a train, I can take a plane. I can do this. ”

The fruit of that labor is a film that she and producer Patrick Hamm are currently completing and hitting the film festival circuit. Dear Lauraa feature-length documentary, explores not only St. John’s experiences at Curtis, but also those of others in schools and in international orchestras.

So far, the film has only been shown in rough cut to viewers in focus groups, sometimes surprising this dark corner of the classical music world. “I’ve heard people say, ‘Oh my God, I just thought it was beautiful music.'”

A long-delayed apology

St. John’s fight for a solution did not end with the story’s publication in July 2019. About an hour after it appeared online, Curtis told students and others in the Curtis family to “refrain from discussing this matter publicly, online or on social media” – a directive that drew immediate criticism for promoting the same culture of silence around sexual violence that caused the abuse in the first place.

Curtis quickly apologized for that move. Four months later, the conservatory assigned law firm Cozen O’Connor to investigate St. John’s complaint. Next to found her accusation credibleAccording to the law firm’s report, Curtis’ response reflects “a lack of compassion and a lack of understanding of the dynamics of sexual abuse of a minor in the institutional setting.

“In some cases, validation and apology, coupled with a comprehensive commitment to learning from the lessons of the past, may be the only remedy available to such an individual.

“Even in 2019,” the 2020 report said, “Curtis failed to appreciate that such an approach may have been the only meaningful recourse it could have offered to St. John.”

After the report, Curtis finally issued an apology, both a public and a personal one to St. John.

“You were 14 years old and living far from home when you were entrusted to our care during the 1985-1986 school year. You and your family had the right to expect us to protect you from harm. Yet we have failed to do so, and we refused to honor your claims when you came to help us,” Curtis leaders wrote to St. John. “None of this should have happened to you, Lara, and we are deeply sorry that it did.”

The letter was signed by Chairman Deborah M. Fretz and President/CEO Roberto Díaz, both of whom continue to lead Curtis.

Curtis changed some of his policies, such as ending the practice of students attending classes in teachers’ homes.

It has also established a trauma fund to provide free counseling to any member of the Curtis community who has experienced sexual abuse; established reporting hotlines and deepened relationships with the Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network (RAIN) and women organized against rape (CARRY); created a Young Alumni Fund to assist those who may be experiencing career barriers; has hired a Title IX coordinator to lead the school’s workforce initiatives and promote “a safe and welcoming environment” for the entire Curtis community; “addressed and improved” school culture on issues such as student-teacher power dynamics, mental health, equity and inclusivity; provided training and resources for the community to create a welcoming environment for all; and created a “stronger and more effective” policy aimed at preventing harassment, assault and retaliation.

The school publishes a annual “results report” with a certain amount of information about sexual misconduct reported in the previous year, as well as the actions taken in response.

These and other changes “have made Curtis an incredibly safe and nurturing place,” the school said in a recent statement to The Inquirer.

Curtis tried to make a rapprochement with St. John. She is not interested and has asked her alma mater to remove her from the alumni association.

“I think the only thing they feel sorry for is that they found out and it finally became public,” she said.

St. John said he didn’t know what to expect before going public, “and I think in a way I was pleasantly surprised that about 95% of the responses everywhere were not negative – like, ‘thank you for doing this do.’ ”

But what worries her is that even though the classical music industry largely believed her, some of Brodsky’s former students have continued to include his name in their artist biographies.

“So that tells me that having this supposedly very holy teacher in this supposedly very holy institution on their stupid biography is more important to them than supporting a child rape survivor. And that really makes me angry.”

Brodsky, who came to Curtis as a student in 1930 and taught there for decades, died in 1997.

A new phase in life

St. John stepped into the role of documentary filmmaker with a deep communal understanding, which allowed her to gain the trust of her interviewees – some of whom initially gave interviews insisting on anonymity, but who later agreed to be identified.

“It’s a damn hard thing to do, as I well know,” she said of putting your name on an accusation, “but I think it kind of came from people seeing me do it and just kind of (thinking) ):’Well, she’s not dead.’ In the end, everyone used their own voice, and for me that will be a big blow.”

One of the big risks of going public was the career question: whether it would hurt bookings for St. John, who has recorded and toured extensively as a soloist, and whose playing has been cited by the New York Times for its “brilliant ferocity ‘. . The effect is difficult to measure. Eight months after the first story was published, COVID struck and performances were halted worldwide.

Moreover, the violinist now feels the pull of an additional consideration that shapes decisions about which solo gigs to accept.

“It’s quite difficult because I can’t go to this orchestra because I know the conductor or the main trumpet. I know too much about this profession and so much I can’t say because of the libel laws. I don’t really know if I want to be there anymore.”

Now St. John is in a different phase of life, with a new philosophy.

“The new rule is that you should only give concerts if it is really exciting, new, interesting repertoire or if it is in a really cool, exciting place. For example, in November I have some Tchaikovsky concert performances – not exciting, but they are in Mexico City with Sinfonia Rotterdam. So that’s cool. Sometime next year there will be (Vivaldi/Piazzolla) Eight seasonswhich I’ve done a million times, but it’s in Peru. So that’s great.”

St. John says two factors made it possible for her to come forward: the #MeToo movement and her husband’s support. In 2018, she married her longtime partner, Stephen H. Judson, who owns a real estate investment and management firm in Manhattan, as well as other businesses.

His support allowed her to sell her Manhattan apartment, which provided the film’s primary financing. The documentary also has some foundation and individual support.

St. John knows that independent films like hers generally don’t make money.

“What I care about if it ultimately comes out is that people see it and it raises awareness about this situation… and I don’t care about the money.”

She would ideally like to present the film at schools, with discussions afterwards, but she is prepared not to be embraced in certain circles.

“I’m not stupid – this obviously won’t be shown at Curtis or the University of Michigan (where there have been several cases of sexual assault and misconduct in recent years) or any of those places.”

Despite a wave of accusations in recent years, St. John does not feel a huge advance in the classical world.

“Stories keep coming in. That’s why I don’t think much has changed,” she said.

And yet she continues on a path shaped by fate and her own persistence.

“Anyway, all I can do is just stand on the rooftops and shout that I’m gone. Because it just can’t be any other way, right?”