trigger warning
Embarrassed, horrified and afraid, she feels around in the dark for her clothes. Dressing herself and gathering her things, she is aware of her nakedness in this strange room and her confusion is met by horrifying reality. “What just happened?” “Why did I come here?” “I gotta get out.” “I need to go home.” “Somebody help me!” “What just happened?”
Stunned, she can’t believe it happened to her. Every other night she was soo careful. “Dumb, dumb, dumb … how could I be so dumb?” “He seemed so cool.” “I can’t believe this happened to me.” The place she went to for fun, suddenly became a horror-house she found herself running from. She wants to go home.
At home, she wants to shower but she knows that she can’t. Alone she cries on her pillow. And she falls asleep in exhaustion.
Morning light strikes and for a moment, it’s just a regular morning … and then … she sees her clothes on the floor, and the whole horrifying night comes flashing back. She’s got some phone calls to make. Today is going to be a very long day.
She stumbles out to the living room where her father walks-in with his coffee and paper, “What time did you get in last night? And what did I tell you about….”
“Dad, sit down.”
She can’t find the words. She knows this is going to destroy him. Still she knows what he taught her. She knows what she has to do. But her mouth can’t form the sentence and her mind can’t believe that this is happening.
So he starts guessing … It only took him two guesses. He’s the father of two girls and he’s known the statistics for too long. “Were you assaulted?”
All she can do is nod her head and cry.
The girl who was “grown”, the girl who “had it all together”, the girl who had “done so well”, held her father and sobbed.
And when she stopped, he said, “You know what we have to do, right? You know we have to report this.” “I know”, she said. She was already exhausted and yet the day hadn’t even begun.
After a phone call and a knock at the door, two uniformed officers step inside. And in her living room, in front of her father she is questioned and divulges the horrifying details of the night before. They ask for her clothes-and not just her under-garments … her favorite pair of jeans, heels and the top she used her hard-earned money to buy- all to be destroyed in the process of collecting evidence. It looks like her body wasn’t the only thing he stole from her last night. Her favorite outfit, her father’s heart, her trust in men, her soul, were all on the list of casualties.
With the evidence in a bag and the officers beside her, she left her home in a police cruiser, wondering if the neighbors were watching.
The cruiser pulled up in front of the police station and the officers invite her inside a building she never thought she’d be in, “For further questioning and to provide a written statement”. In an empty room, she’s given a pad of paper and asked to record not just the details of her assault but every detail of the night … what she did, what she said, who was there … what she was drinking and how much … Did she flirt with him in any way?… Did she do anything at all that could be interpreted as an invitation? At a cold table, in a strange room, alone, she recalls and puts into words, every last detail of her assault, again.
“I’m done”, she said, as she lays down her pen, hoping she covered it all – hoping she didn’t leave anything out – hoping she didn’t mess it up -hoping she didn’t screw-up her own case.
And then the officers start explaining that if any part of the report is found to be un-true, she could be charged with “false reporting” or “obstruction of justice” punishable by up to a year in prison. Confused, she thought they were on her side. Afraid, she thinks again about the words she wrote,”Did I get it all right?” Stunned, she asks herself, “Is this really happening?” She signs on the line, testifying to her truth, wishing it were all a lie.
One of the officers explains that they will be taking her to the rape center so that they can collect the evidence they need for the case. She nods and follows him out to another police car.
During the ride, alone in the back seat, the cop begins to comment on what she didn’t do right. – “You really shouldn’t go to someone’s house that you only just met.” ” You’re too young to be dating that guy.” “Why were you the only girl at the party?” “What were you thinking?” Silently she rides, staring out the window, fighting the tears that are begging to escape from her eyes, wanting to disappear.
He stops at a strange hospital, walks her inside, talks to the staff and leaves. Again she is alone.
A nurse with a kind voice and an easy demeanor is the most welcome sight of the day. With miraculous efficiency, she records the girl’s version of the story without question and simultaneously gathers evidence. Again, the girl finds herself naked, but this time she knows someone is helping her, not hurting her. But still she feels like her body is hardly her own – pictures are taken, DNA collected, a full body exam is performed- swabs, combs and a speculum. A stranger records every last detail of her most private parts and she lies there wishing she had never gone there last night.
When she leaves, they hand her a teddy bear and a packet, with a prescription for antibiotics and the morning after pill, just in case. And she waits on the curb for her ride to come.
The diarrhea and the bleeding will soon come, a side-effect of her medications and she can’t wait to finally take a shower.
That is nearly the end of her first day as a rape victim. She only has the rest of her life to go.
Next will come the phone calls from friends. The questions from her boss as to why she wasn’t at work. The explanation to more family members. She still has to tell her Mom. Then the meetings with lawyers and the role-playing she’ll be asked to do to prepare for the attack the defense team is going to launch against her character.
More appointments. More days off work. More questions. More explanations.
Some people who were there that night will refuse to get involved and “friends” will avoid her now in the name of male loyalty and supposed “he said, she said”.
People will talk. People will wonder. People will judge.
The “pretty” and “fun” girl is now stained. And just like she felt, sitting at the police station table, riding in the police cruiser, standing in the rape center, lying on the exam table, she will feel alone. Her body will feel like a filthy contaminate and she will want to separate it from herself. Pulling on her hips, she’ll wish she could throw-away that part of her that he took. She’ll wish that this nightmare would end. She’ll hope for justice but expect nothing-because that’s what her lawyers advised her to expect. “It’s his first offense”, “Because of how much you had to drink”, “Because the guy you were dating…”
If you’re wondering where this story came from, I’m not going to tell you, it doesn’t matter. I assure you I didn’t make it up and that it is fairly representative of a typical sexual assault report. If you’re questioning if every rape story looks like this, you’re missing the point. If you’re pining for more details, you’re sick.
According to statistics, fewer than 10% of sexual assaults in the U.S are reported. Of those reported, between 14% and 18% of all sexual assaults and 37% of rape cases are actually prosecuted. Of the rape cases prosecuted, only 18% result in a conviction. That means an estimated 3.4% of all rape cases lead to a conviction.
Despite the recent movement to address and stop the apparent cultural norm of violence against women, it seems that some, still have a hard time accepting the truth. There are websites and even female spokespeople who make it a point to attempt to “de-bunk” studies on sexual assault, claiming that they aren’t valid because the participants in the study were anonymous and therefore the cases were not confirmed. You can’t confirm what’s reported with anonymity. And I challenge you to find me one sexual assault victim, much less a thousand, who want their name attached to a study. The stigma that is attached to a sexual assault victim is a heavy one – “She has baggage”, “She’s a whore”, “She just wants attention.”
I believe the best way to tackle any stigma is through education and a shared perspective. So, if you can’t understand why someone wouldn’t report, if you have difficulty believing a victim’s story or wonder why they dropped the charges … before you write them off as “making it up”, consider for a minute what they had to go through just to file a report. For many victims, the act of reporting, alone, is a huge act of bravery and risk – as many are threatened with their safety, job and reputation. And the repercussions effect not only them but their family and friends as well. Consider the very real possibility that she’s telling the truth and that with her assault and the process of reporting comes a whole slew of repeated trauma.
Don’t contribute to her trauma. Help her. Believe her.
This is only one of the “me too”s that popped up on your Facebook feed. There are thousands more. As a female, a college instructor and a nurse in the field of obstetrics, I assure you, the 1:4 statistics are accurate. And no, it’s not all women getting pulled into back-alleys. It’s girls at parties who drunkenly mumble “No, stop!” while he pulls off her pants anyway. It’s a strange hand up her skirt in a crowded club. It’s a date that she didn’t want to “put-out” on and he thinks she gave him mixed signals. It’s rationalizing that because she was dancing provocatively or kissing multiple people or wearing a certain outfit that “she wanted it”, despite her saying “No.” It’s one guy thinking she’s too drunk to remember in the morning and his friends turning their back and pretending not to notice.
We, along with many other cultures in the world have bred a society in which violence against women is tolerated and shaming those women is common-day practice. It must stop. Fear, stigma, judgment, social ostracization and the heartache and trauma that goes along with sexual assault and prosecuting against it is poisoning our culture.
We are better than that.
Teach your boys respect and self-control. Teach your girls to have a voice.
Change begins with you.
The girl in this story was a statistical minority in that she reported quickly and followed through. Thanks to her bravery, she gained a conviction and removed one more offender from society.
For more info on reporting sexual assault and the reference for the stats I sited here, go to:Â https://opsvaw.as.uky.edu/sites/default/files/07_Rape_Prosecution.pdf
