#WhyIDidntReport

The BBQ Pit
181

I would like to say to those of you who are uncomfortable posting because you think what happened to you wasn’t as bad compared to some.

I say this to you: All of us know that feeling in the pit of our stomach when these things happen. ANY of these things. Groping, catcalls, harassment, comments on our appearance and yes physical attacks. We all know that feeling of helplessness, of knowing you don’t have recourse, knowing you will just have to get past yet another incident where some asshole felt entitled to your attention, your body and there wasn’t much you could do about it.

We all share that. We all know that feeling. It binds us. Your story is never less than. It is part of the whole story, the story of what we all go through.

Thank you, all of you, for sharing.

182

Modesty Blaise, I am sending Jedi hugs through the airwaves to you. And to all of you here.

:frowning:

183

QFT

184

I don’t have a story of my own to tell, so this is a bit of a hijack, but I feel that I need to add this:

In 2000, when I was in law school, people from the Rape Crisis Center came to the school asking for volunteers. I did a personal inventory of all the women I knew close enough to call friends, and I realized that half of them had been harassed, assaulted, or raped. Half. That I knew about. And no doubt, there were more who hadn’t told me their stories.

So I volunteered. I answered the phone, mostly. A couple of times, I sent volunteers to the ER to meet with victims. I got those ER calls only a couple of times myself, since male volunteers can’t witness female exams. I’ll never forget one call, from a girl who thought she’d been drugged and raped the previous night, and her biggest fear was what her boyfriend would think. She went to the ER, and I sent volunteers to her, and I hope it all went okay from there, but with confidentiality I never found out and never will. We would also sometimes go and sit in the gallery during trials to show support for victims.

One of the things they tell you to do as a volunteer when you respond to the ER is to write down what you observe, words and demeanor and appearance and every detail you can. Another one I’ll never forget is the first sentence of one volunteer’s report: “I heard her before I saw her.”

The oldest victim I know of that the Center worked with was 88. The youngest was three weeks.

I don’t know if any of you are in a place where you can do it, but if you are, volunteer. If you’re the kind of person who can do this, do it. You’re needed, and it’s appreciated. Be the helper.

Another unrelated thing: the woman who is now Mrs. Torque was an employee at the Center when I started volunteering. Our 14th anniversary was last week. Just thought I’d throw that in.

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This is a goal of mine. Ironically, I used to work for a program where I helped rape victims, but that was before the box where I’d stored my experience blew up. I have a long way to go before I get there. Last winter, I had jury duty and made the first cut. Then they gave us a questionnaire saying the case involved voyeurism and asking if we’d ever been stalked. I started shaking so hard, I could barely turn in my copy. I was dismissed.

I really, really want to get past all that enough that I can be of use. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this thread, it’s that we have to help each other. We’re all we can rely on.

186

I tend to think that the worst that’s happened to me–some pedophile fucker who thrice groped a prepubescent me in the arcade in the mid-eighties, some shitheel middle-aged fucker who followed teenaged me down an empty alley making kissing noises and asking, “How much, how much?”, some asshole who followed thirty-year-old me into a tiny park restroom and started jerking off at the trough urinal next to me–is barely enough to give me the tiniest taste of what women deal with. But yeah, it does happen, and I think I got a little more than the usual male share in part because I had long hair and looked feminine for the latter two (and a few other) occasions.

187

Because I was 10, he was mums violent boyfriend, said he’d kill her if I told her what he was doing to me. Police were called out many many times over the years (by neighbors), the police knew from his past record he was a dangerous & violent man.

Said they couldn’t do anything as it was domestic & my mum always refused to press charges as she was so utterly terrified of him.
He stole my childhood, my innocent, my faith in the world.

188

I should probably put this in one of the other threads, but here goes.

Some people, here and elsewhere, have been grousing, “Back in the day, women didn’t fall apart over these things! They didn’t press charges, they didn’t need counseling, they went on with their lives!” Yes, they sure did go on with their lives.

They went on with their lives avoiding large gatherings, or avoiding socializing at all.

They went on with their lives being afraid to go out after dark.

They went on with their lives never trusting men (maybe not trusting anyone).

They went on with their lives being uncomfortable in their own bodies.

They went on with their lives after burning what they’d had on that night.

They went on with their lives using alcohol, drugs, or some other form of self-medication.

They went on with their lives passing up academic/business opportunities that would require traveling alone/after dark, being around men, anything that would make them feel unsafe.

They went on with their lives blaming and doubting themselves, never trusting their own judgment, having nightmares and flashbacks.

They went on with their lives knowing that certain family members did not have their back.

They went on with their lives after dropping out of school.

They went on with their lives knowing that the same thing might (or would) happen again.

They went on with lives that were derailed during crucial stages of development.

They went on with lives that had been altered by other people’s actions: unnecessary, brutal actions. Yes, they went on. They didn’t necessarily go on well.

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And even women who did go on “well” by many criteria, leading what they and most others would consider happy and fulfilling lives overall, were and still are angry at the assholes who abused them and at the indifference and complacency of the society that put up with it. Like the women in their seventies whose accounts of abuse in the early 1960s, and persistent negative feelings about those experiences up to the present day, I cited on an earlier page of this thread.

The “it’s not all that serious” rape-culture-apologist crowd have set up a Catch-22:
(a) if women who’ve been sexually abused aren’t obviously and drastically traumatized by the abuse then it supposedly proves that the abuse is no big deal, and
(b) if women are obviously and drastically traumatized by abuse then it supposedly proves that they’ve just been brainwashed into victimhood culture, because abuse is ipso facto no big deal (see (a)).

But we don’t have to buy this bullshit false dichotomy. Sexual abuse deserves to be called out, condemned and punished because it’s intrinsically bad and wrong, irrespective of how much or how little trauma it causes its victims.

And our society recognizes that principle perfectly well in dealing with other types of crime. If, say, a pickpocket steals your wallet, nobody cares how bad the theft does or doesn’t make you feel or how much you may have needed the money or how traumatized you may be by the experience. The pickpocket is reviled and punished because they broke the law and wronged you, full stop.

But victims of abuse are constantly being told that their abuse will not be taken seriously or discouraged or punished unless it makes them suffer prolonged terrible pain. And if they do admit to suffering prolonged terrible pain, then they’re told that they’re just fragile shrinking violets who’ve been conned into relinquishing their ability to cope with the ordinary vicissitudes of life. Catch-22.

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This sounds more like a case of inadequate science and sex education that jerkhood, unless he behaved inappropriately in other ways.

I’ve personally been horrified at what some highly educated people don’t know.

191

There was a state legislator in Idaho who wondered why women couldn’t swallow a small camera for a gynecological exam. I kid you not.

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I was pretty lucky, probably mostly because I never did a lot of socializing or dating. Got flashed by some guy taking Herman to the circus on the walk to school when I was fourteen, and at some point as a teenager, I got groped walking from bright daylight into a dark movie theater by some boy who was walking out. I bring it up only to note that I couldn’t tell you what year the theater groping episode happened in, or what movie I saw, or who I was with, or what theater it was. And I know the lack of memory for the details certainly doesn’t mean it never happened. I do remember feeling very violated and helpless because there was no point in even telling anyone. I can only imagine how awful it would be to have endured anything worse, as so many in this thread have. I wish I felt more optimistic for change, but I don’t.

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In some cases, they also had to deal with a pregnancy and/or STD.

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There seems to be a basic human drive to elevate oneself by demeaning others. I have no doubt that your recollection, or that of many others, is true as you have experienced it, even if many perpetrators and apologists would dismiss it as inconsequential. There is ultimately a large disconnect in regard to what constitutes assault even though it is clear that many behaviors that were codified as acceptable in the past are unambiguously predatory and non-consensual.

For what it is worth, the latest episode of Vice is a documentary by Isobel Yeung about sexual consent. I think there is a lot to say about the ambiguity of what compromises consent, particularly in a society that encourages behavior that is often the opposite of clear communication and explicit consent.

Stranger

195

Dammit! I meant to include that.

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And some went on smiling and chatty because that’s what’s expected of women. (And hearing a stranger say “Smile!” might trigger a murderous rage.) And that’s a huge reason you never knew.

197

And ALL of them have to continue getting into cabs and elevators, etc, with men unknown to them!

LIKE IT AINT NO BIG THING AT ALL !

They grit their teeth, try not to let their fear show and force themselves to pretend everything is okay!

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And some, of course, chose not to go on with their lives at all.

199

This. This. THIS.

200

This I witnessed almost every day when I was in the U.S.A.F. back in the late 70’s. No matter what your job description was, no matter what job you trained for, if some mid to high ranking officer thought you were cute your job description suddenly became “secretary”, with little to no chance for advancement. Harassment reporting was a waste of time in most cases, and extremely dangerous to your career if the harasser was of a much higher rank.