A female colleague told me this recently while we were discussing the Brett Kavanaugh nomination process. I was incredulous. “You’re certain it’s 100%?”, I asked. “Absolutely”, she replied.
It doesn’t stop there.
I went to a candlelight vigil for Dr. Ford a couple weeks ago (an aside: I was there because I wanted her claim investigated fully, not because I had judged her claim in advance). A friend I was with said she knew that 50% of her friends had been assaulted. We both surmised the percentage was higher because some of her friends presumably hadn’t revealed their truths.
I had dinner recently with another woman who related her own story of assault. And she knew many, many female friends with similar experiences.
There is very real damage to being a victim. The emotional trauma often begets physical damage in turn. Any other condition that caused such damage, at such a widespread rate, would be considered an epidemic. What is the appropriate response here?
The most pernicious aspect of sexual assault is that it happens in so many cases without witnesses. And surely women choose to not disclose their victimization, and especially decline to pursue justice, because their claims are not believed or taken seriously.
Perhaps the way forward relates to the Harvey Weinstein phenomenon. In the court of public opinion, certainty about his behavior increased with the number of accusers. It’s the pattern of behavior, not the provability of any one incident (or even victim), that gave credence to the accusations.
What I hope is that women are emboldened to tell their stories. And that all of us take those claims seriously in terms of acknowledging the epidemic and our obligation to act.
If you think I am exhibiting bias toward the victims, you would be right. The shame and stigma of being a victim today means that anybody who makes a public claim does so with expected negative consequences. They know they will have their reputations challenged. For example, Dr. Ford, who lives in my neighborhood, fled her home after receiving death threats. One day, a news helicopter hovered over her house. A victim’s courage is unto itself a reason to take their claims seriously.
I say all of this despite the fact that I was falsely accused of being an assaulter.
Recently, I rode in an Uber Pool along with two other passengers. In the back seat, alongside me, was a young woman. Three days after the ride, I was contacted by an Uber employee investigating a claim that I inappropriately touched this young woman, was asked by her to stop, and continued to do so.
I told the investigator that this was a serious claim indeed and that Uber was right to take it seriously. I strenuously denied the allegation. I asked if they had interviewed the driver yet, and suggested that he would verify that no conversation at all occurred between any of the passengers. I was banking on the contradiction between the accuser’s story and the driver’s as a basis of discrediting the claim itself. It also happens to be the case that I’ve used Uber since its beginning years ago and had an extremely high passenger rating without incident.
Ultimately, Uber dismissed the claim and reinstated my suspended account.
All of this got me wondering about the complex nature of the situation for Uber, for me and for the accuser. What was Uber’s policy to adjudicate this issue? Were they to apply a legal standard of (my) presumed innocence? If not, then what criteria to judge the merits of the claim? Would the accuser have any other recourse, such as the legal system? Under what circumstances would my identity be revealed? A subpoena? Etc.
Despite this incident, I believe that the bias of victims’ illegitimacy remains. To deal with this epidemic, we need victims to come forward. And we need others to say that it’s needed, it’s ok, and that we take their claims seriously.