Sexual Assault and Rape Culture-Part I

Denial

I, like many others, am the survivor of sexual assault and to anyone who has been sexually assaulted I just want you to know I see you and I feel your pain.

My own personal history of being touched inappropriately started was when I was about eight or nine. It started with a man who, with his wife, were chanperones for a youth group exchange. My family was hosting two teenagers and the chaperones. He found opportunities to fondle me. Those cold blue eyes still give me nightmares.

Then, there was my older brother who pinned me down on our parents’ bed and put his hands on me and his fingers in me. He did this for quite a while and in different places but I don’t recall how long or how many times. I kept it all to myself until I was about fourteen or so.

My mother and father did not believe me, and still don’t. In fact, my father had told me that if it had happened it was probable curiosity and that I should let bygones be bygones. This was not something that would happen in their home, under their noses. Surely a chaperone wouldn’t touch a little girl and their golden boy would never harm their spoiled daughter. With those conclusions they did nothing.

I was eighteen when a man raped me in a park under a tree; then there was the male roommate; the boyfriend who broke up with me and dropped me off at my parents; and finally, I was raped by someone who I dated years ago (and it may be the reason I dumped his ass back then but Idon’t remember) and thought I would just catch up with when I was in town.

For a long time I argued against the term “rape culture” with the claim that we don’t celebrate or promote rape, that it isn’t widely accepted behaviour and that we don’t romanticize it. I argued we had laws against it in this country and the perpetrators would spend a decent time in jail if found guilty. Read that again, if found guilty.

Out of the many men who assaulted me I reported two. My first rape was reported to the police but they discouraged me from pressing charges. They asked my if I was a stripper because of a single tattoo on my shoulder blade, as if having a tattoo meant I deserved to be assaulted. They listed a bunch of reasons why I should abandon the idea of pressing charges. They did not take me to the hospital, they did not sympathize or empathize. They were very clinincal and, I dare say, accusatory.

The second assault I reported was just a couple of years ago which occurred during a visit with that old “friend” of mine. The police took my statement, they sympathized, showed me a great deal of compassion but nothing happened. It boiled down to she said/he said which is a no-win situation for the victim of assault. If I had gone to the hospital the night the assault happended they would have found tears consistent with non-consensual sex, but I did not. I didn’t tell my boyfriend or even report it until months later. I couldn’t believe someone who was my friend would do that to me. Did I lead him on? I told him I had a boyfriend. The cops here were much better at the delivery and didn’t sound like they didn’t believe me but they did explain that a prosecutor isn’t going to want to take a case they don’t know they can win.

My point here is that denial is everywhere. Families don’t want to believe it can happen in their household; the perpetrator can simply deny his guilt and be believed more than the victim. An environment of such denial can only foster boldness in sexual predators. But we don’t live in a rape culture.

PS I did not post a photo with this entry because I don’t really have anything fitting.