“I have no doubt that, if the attack on Dr. Ford was as bad as she says, charges would have been immediately filed with local law enforcement authorities, either by her or her loving parents.”
President Trump, weighing in on Judge Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation hearing, took a dim view of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s accusations of sexual assault by Kavanaugh. She was not to be believed, he insinuated, because she didn’t report the attempted crime.
In response, the hashtag #WhyIDidntReport gained momentum, as survivors of sexual abuse spoke out.
Against this backdrop, one woman contacted me to tell her story, though she didn’t want her real name used.
Nayeli said she is dismayed and angry at the climate of derision toward victims, but bravely puts forth her own story to illustrate why people hesitate to report sex crimes. “I’ve only talked to one person about it, not my sisters or close friends, but I need to make it public because of the recent political issues.”
Nayeli, orphaned at a young age, spent her childhood bouncing from house to house as relatives took turns caring for her. She didn’t want to make waves, not knowing where she would sleep on any given day.
When she was 12 years old, she lived with her aunt and uncle. Although it seemed odd that her uncle would walk the hallway at night, nude, checking all the bedroom doors, she assumed it was a safety measure. When he tried to touch her, she threatened to tell her aunt. That was enough to keep him at bay. When Nayeli was older, she and her cousins compared notes, and realized many of them had been victimized by the same man. She was asked, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
She didn’t know she was supposed to.
Nayeli reflects wistfully, “Why didn’t I tell? Who would I tell? If I had a stomachache, I was told to go to sleep and it would be better in the morning. If I couldn’t get help with a stomachache, how could I get help with this? If buying me school supplies was a problem, how much more so would this be?”
At age 15, she lived briefly with her father, in a rented room. He returned to Mexico, leaving Nayeli alone. She stayed in the house, where a relative of the family from whom she rented molested her repeatedly. Young and naïve, she didn’t classify it as abuse because it wasn’t violent. Even so, she wouldn’t have told anyone. She needed a place to live.
By the time she reached adulthood, Nayeli had experienced several abusive incidents. Perhaps the most frightening occurred when she was 17. Living essentially alone, she was easy prey for an older man who groomed her for what she now believes was a plan to traffic her. As she crossed the border with him, she considered telling one of the immigration officers, “I’m a minor; he’s taking me against my will.” She clammed up, though, assuming that she would be unheard. Who would help a minor with no adult to back her up? Instead she quietly crossed the border, waiting for a chance to escape. When she returned home, no one asked her who the man was, nor where she’d been for days.
She never doubted that her sisters, more or less in charge of her at that time, loved her, but steeped in ignorance and a culture of suppression, they didn’t know to ask.
Nayeli didn’t address the effects of abuse until she was in her forties. “I decided to talk finally, because I finally could.”
If she had talked about it before, she believes, it would have destroyed her. It was a shock to recognize the magnitude of the trauma, but she’s grateful that she’s made such a good life for herself. “I could have been a statistic – an addict, a prostitute.” Instead, she’s a professional, a mother, a grandmother, a steadfast member of her church community. She compares herself to a flower that finds a way to grow through a crack in the sidewalk.
Recent news has forced her to come to terms with the issue in another way. As public and private citizens opine on a survivor’s obligation to report, Nayeli refuses to feel guilt over not reporting the abuse she endured. The unprotected, vulnerable girl has grown into a woman who is adamant about her right, and the right of any survivor, to control the dialogue, to decide when, and how, and to whom to speak. “I was the victim. Nobody is going to make me feel guilty because I should have told, known dates and place, shown proof. What proof could I show? How do you show a shattered life, a heart in pieces?”
As a child, fear and shame silenced her, but today it is clear that although victimized, Nayeli is not a victim.
