By Faith
To have great strength but no privilege and still choose to act? Heroic.
To have privilege but not the strength to act? Regrettable.
But to have privilege and strength and not act? Inexcusable.
As I readied myself for my second appointment with the Special Victims Unit, I thought about the many heroes I have who embody these ideals. My first visit with SVU left me flat on my ass. I hadn’t realized that the good cop/bad cop act was actually a thing. The officers weren’t going to take it easy on me, even though the mere act of reporting a crime felt like it took nearly everything I had.
When I walked out of that first appointment, I wasn’t sure I would go back. I knew it was the right thing to do. I knew it was what I wanted to do. But it was so hard. I spent a week contemplating next steps, talking with friends and loved ones, and making over a dozen calls to organizations created to support sexual assault survivors. It was eventually a beautiful and powerful letter from my father that convinced me to push, and keep pushing, until I had done all that was possible.
I called on those same friends and family members to send me love and encouragement as I braced myself for that second meeting. Though I was a ball of nerves just the night before, when I woke up on the day of the appointment, I decided there was no longer room for self-doubt and apprehension. I kicked off a gigantic, girls-we-run-the-world love fest as I cranked up Robyn on my iPad and refused to look back. In an attempt to fuel the fire, a friend sent me in the direction of Sojourner Truth’s “Ain’t I a Woman.” Her words spurred me on as I considered her bold actions as an advocate for women’s rights at a time when women had few, and women of color had even fewer.
“That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain't I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man - when I could get it - and bear the lash as well! And ain't I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain't I a woman?”
I will never know her struggle, but I gather so much from her strength.
At 1:45, I ducked out of work and into my Uber to head over to my 2 pm appointment. I realized I still had not made the decision that this meeting had been built around. Faced with the reality that I didn’t have a rape kit done, and therefore minimal evidence to support my claim, SVU officers told me that the case would struggle to gain traction unless I did a “reverse control” phone call, where I would call my attacker with the line tapped and attempt to get him to confirm as much of the crime as possible. It was, as they explained it, my only option if I wanted to move forward.
There were perhaps 72,846 things I would have rather done than make that phone call.
The officers made my options feel extremely limited and the situation particularly desolate, but they were the only ones to take that tone. The advocates I had been connected to through sexual assault organizations had said that there were other options and not to feel pressured to do something I didn’t want or wasn’t ready to do. My lawyer friends read through my account of events and assured me that my testimony, partnered with other witnesses who we could call upon, was enough to submit to the district attorney’s office, who would then conduct their own investigation. I was comforted by their words, and yet I still felt some sick desire to prove myself to these police officers. If I was going to get them on my side, and let them know that I had what it takes to move this case forward, I felt that there truly was one route, even if the thought of it made me nauseous.
“Then they talk about this thing in the head; what's this they call it? [member of audience whispers, ‘intellect’] That's it, honey. What's that got to do with women's rights or negroes' rights? If my cup won't hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?”
I was turning these feelings over and over in my mind as I sat in the SVU’s dingy, second-floor foyer when I heard the ding of the elevator. I had already spent plenty of time in that waiting room, but since my mind was always so distracted by the reason that brought me there, I had not noticed the elevator until then.
I kept my head down as she stepped out. New Yorkers do this in most social circumstances where one comes face to face with a stranger that they don’t need to interact with for any specific reason. In this particular setting, it especially seemed liked the right thing to do. Whether I was trying to protect her privacy or my own, I’m not sure, but I attempted to act as if she didn’t exist as she took a seat across from me.
My stolen glances revealed that she had had a different day and series of events that lead her to our waiting room. Identity bracelet wrapped around her wrist and slipper socks on her otherwise bare feet, she held in her hands the plastic bag of her personal items that the hospital had given her when she was discharged. Her beautiful dark skin contrasted sharply against the chipped ivory paint of the walls. She couldn’t have been any older than the students I had left behind just minutes before.
“Then that little man in black there, he says women can't have as much rights as men, 'cause Christ wasn't a woman! Where did your Christ come from? Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.”
It was then that the decision I was toiling over and the experience that lead me to that waiting room no longer seemed like the worst thing I could imagine. No matter when sexual assault happens, it will undoubtedly have a far-reaching impact that will puncture every layer of your being. But. In that moment, I realized there is privilege that can make this situation easier just as there is privilege that can make every situation easier.
I am a benefactor of much of that privilege. I was assaulted at 25. I had already made it through my adolescence and received a college education. I had already been in love and experienced sex as something that two people consented to and experienced together in a trusting and respectful relationship. When the assault occurred, I had friends who found way after way to show me their love and devotion as they walked me home, wrote me notes, and gave me their tears when I was too empty to have any myself. When I reported my charges, I reported them as a white woman who had never dealt with the justice system personally and who had never seen the inside of a police precinct or cop car until that day. Other than the victim blaming that unfortunately comes with the territory, I was, in all other counts, a credible witness.
Suddenly I realized my eyes were cast downward for another reason.
The most I have to go off about that girl is guesswork. I never spoke up. I wondered about her circumstances, her support system, and her next steps. I hoped that she knew her rights and was connected to professionals who could help explain them and explore her options as she made the best decisions for herself. I hoped that she had a support system who listened, hugged, and cried with her. I hoped that the person who did this to her was someone who couldn’t find her and touch her and hurt her again. Approximately 80% of assaults are committed by someone known to the victim, and this number likely increases the younger the victim is. As I shut my eyes and squeezed out the tears that finally, finally began to fall, I wished as fiercely as I could that this wasn’t her story.
Since the night of my rape, there have been countless moments where I’ve felt completely powerless. This moment was nearly one of them. But I remembered Sojourner Truth’s words. And I remembered that I am strong. I have privilege. I cannot ignore my privilege, and I should not hide my strength. I should use my strength and my privilege to act. You can’t get rid of your privilege or give it away, but you can use it for good.
“Ms. Reaves, are you ready to proceed?”
“... Yes.”
“If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back, and get it right side up again! And now they is asking to do it, the men better let them.”