In the Aftermath of the Kavanaugh/Dr. Ford Hearing

The last two to three weeks have been unexpectedly painful for me. At age 62, you don’t expect to be reliving events from 1975 when it’s 2018. I live in Australia, so why would I be impacted so much by a court case in the United States?  Why did the Kavanaugh vs. Dr. Ford case trigger me?

My self-preservation alert button was in place enough for me to not watch through hours of recorded hearing and testimony. I knew if I viewed the proceedings that it would be detrimental. But I got triggered any way, and what surprised me was how. 

You see, I’m a sexual assault survivor too.

In 1975, in the space of just one month I was raped twice in two separate incidents. I was first raped by an individual and then pack-raped by a touring football team. The first incident I never forgot. The second was blocked from my memory until I was 40 years old and going through a divorce and custody battle. I began to have flashbacks that were confirmed to be real by a psychologist and kinesiology practitioner. The door to the memory of the second attack being held in my body’s cellular memory and in my mind was being opened by the stress of the divorce.

As I write this, I can feel the anxiety in me. My body is on hyper alert, my heart is racing, adrenalin is pumping, and I am experiencing cramping pain in my uterus, ovaries, and lower back. Yet I am sitting safely at a desktop computer writing words into this post.

I don’t want to share the explicit details of these events with you, but I do want to share what people have said to me so you have an understanding of how our society considers rape victims a by-product of normal male behaviour.

The night of the attack

The first time I was raped, it happened in my room in a building that was part of the YWCA and rented out to female university students in a major city.

The rapist: So are you enjoying this? Don’t you think I’m a good f**k?”

Me: Silence. (In my head, “No, you’re not! You’re an animal!)

The rapist: “Come on. Talk to me or do you want another fist in your face?”

Me: Silence. (In very slow motion in my head, “So, Girl, you’ve got a choice. Do you want to live or do you want to preserve your honour and become a vegetable or worse?” And in a flash of higher wisdom, “You’ve come to do bigger and better things than this. Give him what he wants and live.”)

“Sure. Yes, you are good!”

  When the rapist left, I dressed and went to my boyfriend’s house. We had only been dating a few weeks, so this was quite something to spring on him. However, my female friends were away for the weekend, and my family lived three hours away by car. My boyfriend calmly insisted I needed to advise the police because the rapist might come back for more. I agreed to speak to the Police.

1st police officer: “Why did you wait so long to tell us about this? You’ve made it almost impossible to catch him now.”

Me: “I didn’t think it would be a good idea from the hostel.”

1st police officer: “For future reference, you always report from the closest phone booth. Well, at least you didn’t take a shower before you got here. We’ll have to have you examined to see if you’ve been raped.”

Doctor: “Yes, you’ve had a couple of punches to the face, and you’ve had intercourse. I suppose you could have been raped.”

2nd police officer: “Repeat that part again. He forced you to have sex. How? What did he do?”

Me: “With one hand, he pushed his penis inside my vagina while he held my body still with his body weight, his arm against my neck.”

2nd police officer: Stops typing and says, “Unfortunately, I’ve typed many witness statements for rape, and in all the time I’ve done so, no one has ever given me anatomical words to describe parts of the body.”

Me: “I didn’t know him. I didn’t want him to do this to me. Why would I use terms of affection, familiarity, or passion?”

Desk sergeant: After I had signed the statements and was leaving the police station, “Well next time you get raped, make sure you let us know immediately!”

Me: “No, next time I’ll send you gilt-edged invitations before the event so you can be certain I was raped!”

Detective: He was in charge of the forensic investigation at the hostel. “So how many women are on this floor?”

Me: “Only me and another girl. I’m glad it happened to me and not to her.”

Detective: “What?”

Me: “Well, think about it. She has only just arrived in the country to go to university. She is very nervous. She speaks very little English, and she’s new to everything. How do you think she would cope if she’d been raped in a foreign country? She’d never get over it, and it would stop her trying anything new ever again. At least I know the place, speak the language, and have had sex before. Those things surely work in my favour, don’t they?”

Detective: Shaking his head at me in wonder, “I’ve never heard a victim say that to me before, and I doubt I’ll ever hear it again.”

Security warden: Female employed at the hostel, upon finding three clothed men in my bedroom, “Come on you! No men in your room after curfew. You know the rules!” (Curfew is 10:30 pm, and it’s now 3 am.)

Detective: “Shame you weren’t here doing the rounds at 10:30. Maybe this girl wouldn’t have been raped then!”

Security warden “I did my job. But these girls leave the back door open all the time. I can’t police them, you know?” To me she continued, ”So did you have your bedroom door locked?”

Me: “No! I was in my room, and I thought I was safe.”

Security warden: “Well you were told about the security measures. It’s your problem if you didn’t have your door locked. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Detective: “Well, security can’t be that tight. He was trespassing on the grounds and inside the building. We’ll be in touch with the manager tomorrow.”

***

Day after the attack

  I was working in another building of the complex, doing some housekeeping, when I heard the building’s handyman, Mark, speaking to another worker.

Mark: “Hey did you hear the news this morning? A woman was raped in the building… lucky devil!”

Me: “Good morning, Mark. Your voice carries.”

Mark: “What’s the gossip? Did you hear anything about it?”

Me: “Well I suppose as the victim I know the most!”

Mark: “Oh God! Oh God! I’m sorry.”

***

Complex manager: A female. “We’re sorry that this has happened to you, but we are in no way to blame for this happening. We can recommend a counsellor if you need one. Of course all expenses would be your concern.”

Day detective: “Now we’re going to go through all of your statement again. And we’ll keep doing so until we’re certain you’re not lying. Have you told your parents?”

Me: “No!”

Day detective: “Well you have to. If you don’t, we’ll tell them for you. You’re under age.” (I was 19 and was considered a minor until I was 21.) “You have to tell them.”

Me: “Oh, by the way, who gave the newspaper and radio the details of the attack?”

Day detective: “We did. It was part of a daily crime report we give to the media.”

Me: “Shouldn’t I have had to give my consent about that?”

Day detective: “No, we handle that.”

***

Second day after the attack

I have just told my parents about it. These were their first comments.

Mother: “Does anyone else know? How could you bring this shame upon us? You must never tell anyone from here. You have to stop the investigation. Tell them you don’t want to go ahead with it.”

Father: “So have you had sex before this?”

Me: “Yes, with my previous boyfriend.”

Father: “Well then. When you behave like a slut, this is what happens to you.”

He turned and walked out of the room, and we never spoke of it again.

*** 

Third day after the attack

Day detective: “Did you tell your parents?”

Me: “Yes. They want me to withdraw my testimony and stop the investigation.”

Day detective: “Sorry, that’s not going to happen. You’re not in a position to decide whether this will go ahead. If we find and charge the man, you’ll be subpoenaed to attend court and will have to give testimony. This is now a case of the Commonwealth against the accused. You don’t have any say.”

*** 

A week after the attack

I went out and started to walk down the street. Every man I passed on the street, I examined. Was he the rapist? “He’s too tall, too short, too old, too heavy, too thin, too young, too much hair, too little hair, etc.” This continued for months.

My boyfriend calls.

Boyfriend: “How are you? Are things ok?”

Me: “I’m ok. They haven’t found him yet. When are we catching up again?”

Boyfriend: “About that, I can’t see you again.”

Me: “Why not?”

Boyfriend: “I’m sorry, I just can’t. Not after what’s happened to you. It’s not right. You’re too emotional. I’m not ready to handle all that drama. It was only casual anyway. It’s better we finish now than I keep you dangling. Good luck with everything.”

Me: In tears.

***

Complex manager: “In terms of your part-time work with us, we’re giving you a fortnight’s notice. The staff is finding it difficult to work with you. I’m sure you understand. It’s difficult for them.  And we’d like you to vacate your room at the same time. There will be a whole new intake of young women to the building to start the new university year. It would be better if they didn’t hear rumours. We want them to feel safe and happy here. Let me know as soon as you’re ready to go. Thank you.”

***

Two weeks after the attack

Daytime detective: “I’m sorry to say we haven’t been able to find this man. We think he’s probably a student, but we don’t have the resources to put more men on the case to try and find him. If new leads become available, we’ll be back in touch. Please let us know if you change your address.”

Me: “What happens now?”

Daytime detective: “It becomes an unsolved case, and you get on with your life.”

Me: “I see. Thank you for your efforts. Please thank all the officers that worked on the case for me.”

***

18 days after the attack

I attended a local pub for a drink and dance with a girlfriend. We ended up with different men. I decided if it felt right, I would sleep with this man as a way of making sure I wasn’t afraid of having sex with someone if I wanted to. I decided it would be ok with this man. He was a member of a football team that was visiting my city. We go back to his hotel room and have sex.

I was having a shower in preparation for leaving when the bathroom door opened, and I’m dragged from the bathroom and forced into the bedroom. There were over ten men there in boxer shorts. The man whom I’d just been with started pimping me to the other men.

1st man: “Look at her guys, isn’t she a good looking f**k? Wouldn’t you just love to give her one now? Who’s gonna be first? I’ll hold her for you. Come on get your fill.”

There is no way of explaining to you how terrible this was. Way before the end of the ordeal, I had my eyes closed and my hands on my ears so I couldn’t hear what was being said, or the grunting and groaning of ten plus men in lust. As I play back the memory, the strongest senses are the smell of sweat and sex, the sounds of men raping me, and the taste of bile in the back of my throat as my body was repeatedly grabbed, yanked, and pulled.

Finally a reprieve. A man came in and told them he was disgusted with them and sent them to their rooms. The room was silent except for these whimpering animal sounds. It took me awhile to realise those sounds were coming from me.

Team Manager: “It’s ok now. You’re safe. Go to the bathroom and shower. Take as long as you like. No one will bother you. Let me put your clothes here so you can get dressed afterwards.”

  I got dressed, and the Team Manager walked me to the door of the hotel.

  Team Manager: “Where do you live? Just up the road from here? Then I’ll walk you home so you’re safe getting there. I’m sorry that happened to you. They are a bit frisky tonight. They have an important game tomorrow. Boys will be boys, right? Just get yourself to bed and you’ll be feeling much better tomorrow with some sleep and you can forget all about it. Good bye.”

Me: I simply stared at him. I had no voice.

***

19 days after the attack

I went to the doctor to get a prescription for the emergency contraceptive pill. I didn’t explain the circumstances, but he seemed to sense there was something wrong. He gave me the prescription without comment.

#1 Pharmacist: In a loud, demeaning voice in front of a shop full of men and women, “I’m not giving you any contraceptive just because you’ve got loose morals. You should learn to keep your legs closed!”

Me: In a clear, controlled voice, “I’ll have my prescription, thank you. While I don’t have to explain my situation to you or anyone, I’m going to say this. I didn’t want to be subjected to gang rape last night, but I was. Would you prefer me to have a child under those circumstances just so you can say you have better morals than me? What about the lack of morals of the men who did this to me? If you want someone to feel morally superior over, why not try them!”

He turned his back and walked away.

On the third attempt, I found a pharmacist who would fulfil the prescription without any comment.

***

Twenty days after the attack

I left the hostel and found lodgings. I forgot all about this pack rape until I was 40 years old.

***

Some months later

I was temping at an office.

Female

Co-worker : “I don’t understand what all the fuss is about with rape. If a man tried to rape me I’d kick him in his b***s and fight my way out of it!”

Me: “I am very thankful you haven’t been raped. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, never mind you. But I can tell you this as someone who has survived rape, you have no idea how you will react until you are in those circumstances, and I hope you never have to experience rape in order to find out.”

***

  All of these words thrown at me and others that are not at the front of my recall are burned into my flesh like raw tattoo markings on the inside of my skin. They have come up because I was triggered by how people respond to rape. What I've realised is that, while I am no longer hurt by the actual man or men who raped me, afterwards I am still hurt by how everyone responds to a rape victim.

  I'm hurt grievously by the response of other men, men in power, men who should know better, women who don't understand what it's like to be violated or in fear of your life being extinguished, how men and women in authority who are there to protect you, feel it's ok to ridicule, demean, and destroy you further, how cruel the system is to women, how the whole situation is treated like a blood sport and handicapped towards the rapist rather than supporting the raped.

  How women are seen as a tool for men's bonding rituals and to be used and abused at whim. How men can have any vague and ridiculous excuse for their behavior, but women have to fight to the death to be considered virtuous enough for their testimony to be believed true.

And as I've swirled in the mire of these so very uncomfortable responses, my own personal experiences of men, family, and society have emerged from my consciousness – as real now and as clear in my head as though they had only just this moment happened instead of 43 years ago.

I can feel again the raw shock, fear, and disconnection that happened to me then. I can feel my digestive system disturbed, my sleep also, my emotions close to the surface, frequent tears of grief. And I can feel the injustice of having it happen to me and not being treated fairly by society. And I weep – not just for me, but for every woman who has been subject to her version of this experience, whether she be 10 or 90, no matter where she comes from on this planet, no matter her experiences, her wealth or no, her religion, or her race. And I am overwhelmed with the brutalising, punch drunk pain of it. All. Over. Again.

And I wonder how many times we as women must face this pain? Must face this annihilation of our worth? Must be submitted to this tyranny before justice can be our birthright too? 

The media circus has moved away from the pain and humiliation that Dr. Ford has continued to suffer and is focusing on the vanquisher, the FBI, the Senate vote. And she is left with the destruction and debris. She has to try to make a life for herself again while Kavanaugh walks almost scot free.

  I am sickened to my very core by this.                               

  And like that woman I was when I was raped at 19, all I want to do is go to the deepest part of the forest and lick my wounds until I am healed again. This is where I am now.

  I know time heals. Time releases and lets the pain seep back into the wash of a soul's story.

This doesn’t define me anymore, but I certainly can see how it has defined me. How I've chosen not to shine fully, not to be in my feminine power to the fullest extent. I can see how I've hidden my beauty away so I wouldn’t be a target. How I've accepted less from men because I didn't think I deserved to be loved more, better, fully, well. How I've put up and shut up because of my fear of men's anger rather than fight for something. How I've swallowed my own skills because it was difficult to beat the “boy's club” privileged entitlement system.

And now my strongest response to this is to say, "What a waste of my energy, talents, skills, love and power.”

And that feeling of wasting who I've been all this time? That guts me completely.

  We can’t let this happen to any more women. We can’t. We must fight with everything in us. We must show our scars and wounds, and we must use the pain of all we have experienced as the energy to make change happen.

There is a very long road to recovery for each survivor of sexual assault. Some of us get stuck at different parts of the journey. We as women must help each other become whole and well. We must support each other, and we must bring those men who understand and support us into the fight. We must ask them to do what they know is right, to protect us. We must ensure that no girl or boy goes through this again, and we must expose all those men who have hidden their own pain behind gross misconduct and abuse.

And then, when we have done that, we must mend the rifts between men and women so that new ways of living harmoniously, lovingly, and peacefully prevail. Not because it is the right thing to do but because our very humanity depends on it.

Lady Gaga explains the impact of trauma on a person  here.