Why Us?

WARNING: THIS PIECE CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT.

Why us?

Every woman on Earth has likely wondered this at one point or another. Each time another story surfaces about one of us being murdered for rejecting a man, or being raped, or any other one of the myriad of things that happen to women on a daily basis, I personally wonder what society’s problem is. Why were women the ones that got the short end of the stick?

These questions have been floating around quite a bit in recent weeks following the testimony of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford against United States Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh and Kavanaugh’s subsequent confirmation to the Supreme Court. Women all over the world have expressed anger, hurt, and a feeling of helplessness. We’ve wondered aloud why our word counts for less than the word of men nearly every time.

What happens when the lines of consent and assault are blurred? These things are not always so clear-cut. I talked to Katie*, a 20 year old who identifies as female. Katie has experienced a violation of consent and trust twice, from two different men- but does she consider herself a victim of sexual assault?

In short, her answer changes often.

“I would never pursue legal action or tell any of my friends or family what happened,” she explained to me. “These were both people I cared about immensely, and neither event was the result of malicious intent from anyone. They were misunderstandings. But by the legal definition of rape, that is what happened to me.”

Katie was 18 at the time of the first assault. She was penetrated by a friend with benefits, without her consent. She picks at her fingernails as she recounts the twinge of fear she felt. “It wasn’t panic,” she clarifies. “I wasn’t afraid of him. But I said ‘no’ three times. I know now that he just didn’t hear me. But after the third ‘no,’ there was fear and confusion. There was a thought of ‘why isn’t he stopping?’ Part of me knew he wasn’t hurting me on purpose, but another part of me froze up, wondering what to do.”

The second time, and by her account, the worst, she was 19.

“I was in a relationship with a wonderful, caring, cautious person, which is why this one came as such a shock,” she recalls. “It wasn’t like him.” Katie and her boyfriend were engaged in intercourse when suddenly, without warning, he finished inside her without a word. “He had never done that before, and we had never discussed it. I was on birth control, but that wasn’t my concern.” Her voice wobbles as she recounts the intensity of the violation and betrayal she felt. “I just remember turning away from him and him asking me if I was okay,” she says. “I told him, ‘I didn’t want you to do that,’ and started to cry. I didn’t stop for a long time. I drove home and nearly had to pull off the interstate because I was sobbing and could barely see the road.”

Katie’s boyfriend apologized to her over and over and she forgave him quickly. But that didn’t take away the trauma and pain that resulted. “I never wanted him to do it again,” she says. “I still haven’t let anyone do it since. Thinking about it makes me tear up. I can’t see myself ever wanting that again.”

Katie’s trauma, she came to realize, was valid and okay. It was okay to feel pain and violation even if it wasn’t an intentional act. But was she allowed to claim those experiences as assault? “I struggled for a long time with the answer to that question,” she admits. “I figured that yes, legally, both of those incidents were considered assault. But when the #MeToo movement began, I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to participate.  There were so many people with these awful stories, way worse than what had happened to me. What right did I have to complain?”

Katie’s story is the story of many women across the world. Her questions echo those of many others. Was it my fault? Was it really assault? Should I report? Will anyone believe me? Will anyone listen? Will anyone even care?

I can’t say for certain whether these were the questions on Christine Blasey Ford’s mind after her assault, or when she came out with her allegations against Kavanaugh, or right before her courageous testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee. But what I can say with certainty is that every woman has a story. Dr. Ford has a story, Katie has a story, I have a story. Every woman I have ever met has more than one story. My best friend was followed down the streets of Chicago, finally scaring the man off with firm, shouted words. I shudder to think what would have happened if she hadn’t been the toughest person I know and tried to scare him away. If he had caught up to her. If she hadn’t seen him.

According to the man who is supposed to be our leader, protecting the interests of the citizens of America, it is a “very scary time for men in America.” This statement has brought forth the anger of millions of women. Where was this concern when Reagan Tokes was snatched off the street at random in Columbus Ohio, raped, murdered, and left naked in a field all alone? Where was the alarm when a convicted rapist was sentenced to only six months in prison for raping              an unconscious woman behind a dumpster, of which he only served three? Why wasn’t anyone concerned about us? Where was the acknowledgement that it has always been a scary time for us? Not just in America, but everywhere?

Sometimes it’s hard not to feel like nobody cares. Our government doesn’t seem to care. The world shrugs its shoulders at our pain, averts its eyes when we go missing, dismisses our word. Part of our souls wants to give in.

But we can’t.

We have to press on. Whether we’re like Katie, keeping our stories quiet and close to our hearts, or like Dr. Ford, standing up and telling our stories for all to hear, we must stick together and try to keep up the fight, no matter how tiring it is. Our sisters in the 1900s fought for the right to vote in America. The fifties were wrought with civil rights conflicts and our sisters refused to give up their seats on the bus. We must fight in the same way, for the sake of our daughters. We cannot give in.