Donald J. Trump

6:14 AM – 21 Sep 2018

Women across the nation are sharing their own horrifying experiences and the reasons they never reported them to the authorities. I read the stories with a mixture of sadness, anger, and pride. No matter how many years pass, the reliving is still painful and raw, but these women warriors are going to battle for one of our own – Dr. Christine Blasey Ford.

We believe her, not only because she is a highly credible witness, risking her career and personal safety to come forward when this nation most needs the truth, but because her story is ours.

The first time, I was seven years old. I was physically terrorized and sexually assaulted by a babysitter. I didn’t report it because she threatened to hurt me and kill my family. I didn’t report it because I was ashamed. I didn’t report it because I feared that, if the grown-ups got involved, I would get in trouble, too.

I was a shy girl, quiet and vulnerable. There were others after that – acquaintances of my parents, neighbors, and teachers. My parents never knew. I never told.

Until I was nineteen. Waiting for a bus after an A.A. meeting, I was dragged through a hedge at knifepoint. I hadn’t yet started Karate, but I screamed and fought to the best of my ability. Every attempt to escape led to increased violence. He raped me in a muddy creek in a cold dark ravine. I ended up in the hospital, brutally beaten, hair yanked out in chunks, knees grated on concrete, hands, face, and throat sliced open. The police were called.

So this time I did report. I had been minding my own business, waiting for a bus. I was wearing blue jeans and a thigh-length army parka, not remotely seductive. I hadn’t been drinking.

I’ll leave the question of whether it was better to report to the authorities up to you.

They sent an officer to interview me in my home. I was alone when he arrived, a large silver-haired man with a gun. He sat facing me at the table, took out a clipboard, and began questioning me about what I had been wearing when I was raped. Still heavily bandaged, one eye covered with gauze and tape, I found myself trying to justify my choice to avoid panty lines by not wearing underwear that night.

There were a couple of line-ups, another traumatic experience with a hypnotherapist, but they never arrested the man. They never found him.

That was 37 years ago. When it comes to reporting today, many departments have victims’ advocates available. It’s unlikely that female victims will be confronted by a male police officer when they are alone. But, even now, “The Vast Majority of Perpetrators Will Not Go to Jail or Prison.”

I’m not implying that victims shouldn’t report to the authorities. But the decision to keep quiet is not only common, it’s understandable.

Copyright © 2018 Carmel Mawle. All rights reserved.