I
thought long and hard about posting this because it's something I
wrote a few days ago, after reading “Emily Doe's” statement for
the third time and needing to do something – anything – to get my
feelings in order again. But then I read it again tonight and I
just...I don't know. I just felt like I needed to put it out there.
It's addressed to “Emily Doe” but, really, it's for anyone whose
past may have come back to haunt them because of the Brock Turner case and the
publicity it's received...
Dear
“Emily”,
You
don't know me at all and, clearly, I don't know you; not even your
real name, the one your parents gave you twenty-three years ago when
you came into this world and were placed into their arms for the
first time, no doubt blinking and squalling like the rest of us.
However, thanks to the actions of one individual on one night last
year, it must feel like half the world currently “knows” you and
this particular part of your story.
Like
many people I first heard about what had happened to you when the
internet exploded in fury about the pathetically-lenient sentence
handed down by the trial judge, and then again when the friends and
family of the man responsible for the events of 17th
January 2015 made statements proclaiming how his life had been
“ruined” without acknowledging, even for a second, the trauma you
and your family were going through as a result of his actions. I
read, in stunned disbelief, as more and more victim-blaming and
shaming poured from their words, without so much as a thought for
you. And I have read, over and over again, the words you read out in
Court during his sentencing and I have cried every time: I have
never, ever read anything so eloquent, so powerful and so, so
heartbreaking.
And
that's why I wanted to write to you, “Emily”, whoever and
wherever you are, because in most of the media coverage of what
happened on that night it's been about him: HIS losses, HIS pain, HIS
ruined life. And that's not right.
It's
a simple enough statement but it's true:
That's.
Not. Right.
I
don't want to say anything which makes you relive your trauma any
more than you must be doing already, but it felt important to me to
acknowledge you; to acknowledge YOUR loss, YOUR pain. In your
statement you said you had no power, no voice...”Emily”, with
those words you read out in Court you took BACK some of your power
because you made people, from all over the world and from all walks
of life, feel something for someone they didn't even know. People
who've been through similar situations to you. People, like me, who
haven't. It doesn't matter. Your words, your voice, come out clear
and strong in every single line of that statement and that is
something no one can EVER take away from you.
Like
I say, I don't know anything about you other than from the words you
read out in your statement. I know you have a sister, a mother, a
father; that you have a boyfriend; that you have friends and
co-workers; a job somewhere, doing something which you enjoy or at
least tolerate because it pays the bills and buys you shoes or
chocolate or yellow flowers on grey days. I know, too, that you live
somewhere in the region of Stanford University; perhaps you've lived
there all your life, perhaps you moved there more recently. I'm
guessing, as I can only do, that growing up you fought with your
sister but would always be the first to defend her; that you fought,
too, with your parents but knew that, no matter what, they would
always be there for you even in the throes of your teenage
“rebellion”. Maybe your Dad was the one who taught you to ride a
bike, or maybe it was your Mum, or maybe one day you just scared them
half to death by saying 'look, look at me; I can do it!' before
crashing to the tarmac and scraping your knees. There is a whole
life behind you which we can never know about; there is a whole life,
too, in front of you; one which I hope you will be able to face day
by day, step by step...
What
happened to you cannot be undone, nor can any one presume to
“understand” what it is you're going through, or how long it may
take you to be able to finally sleep without the lights on. But I
hope one day you will be able to look back on this and say: 'I am a
survivor, not a victim'. Because you are, “Emily”; you ARE a
survivor and it is THAT which I hope will one day replace 'victim' as
part of your self-identity. You are an incredibly courageous young
woman who has touched thousands of people all over the world with
your bravery and your dignity. He didn't take that from you. You're
a survivor.
I
don't expect for one minute that you'll ever read this but I wanted
to put it out there into the ether, just in case. I wanted to tell
you something which, actually, I could never put any better than you
did in your own words: you
are important, unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are
beautiful, you are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute
of every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away from
you.
There are many, many
little boats on this ocean of the world looking to your lighthouse
and taking in those little pieces of light, but never forget that
boats can reflect back light as well. We are with you, anonymously,
quietly; reflecting back the beacon you cast from our wooden or shiny
surfaces and telling you the same words you gave us in that
courtroom:
“I am with you”.
Wherever you are,
“Emily”, in the face of the storm which has raged online these
past few weeks, know that we are with you too. We are not afraid.
We will stand with you. You are not alone. And, one day, I hope
that you will be able to find some sort of peace...
“A Friendly Boat”
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