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While it is certainly the case that social media can be a tool for amplifying noise in our culture, it can also be used as a force for change that raises visibility and awareness to issues that would otherwise be ignored by media. A timely example of this came this week with the release of two provocative letters (for very different reasons) written in regards to yet another case of sexual assault on a college campus.
In this case, the perpetrator of a rape behind a dumpster is a Stanford University student and reported star swimmer, Brock Turner, who after being found guilty of three sexual assault convictions that could lead to up to 14 years in prison, was given a lenient sentence by a judge of six months' jail time and three years’ probation. Despite the prosecution suggestion of at least six years in jail, the judge reportedly stated that a harsher sentence would have had a “severe impact” on the 20-year-old rapist (as reported by Miller, 2016). Apparently, his swimming prowess was perceived to have somehow mitigated his guilt in attacking and penetrating an unconscious 23-year-old victim on the ground behind a dumpster.
Predictably, “the light sentence drew harsh criticism from prosecutors and advocates and prompted widespread fury on social media” (Miller, 2016, para 4). A particularly insightful tweet identified one aspect of rape culture: in the aftermath of victimization, accusers of rape have their pasts scrutinized for any semblance of a transgression (as if that somehow justifies being attacked) while perpetrators’ potential futures being undermined is used as a justification for not pursuing persecution—or, as in this case, getting off with a slap on the wrist.
The outrage, of course, did not stop there. The public release of a letter Turner’s father wrote to the judge (to be used for consideration during sentencing) amplified the most damaging aspects of rape culture, while also conveying an utter lack of disregard for the victim of his son’s attack, and complete ignorance of the seriousness of the crime. He brazenly refers to the rape as “20 minutes of action,” and goes on to bemoan how “depressed’ his son has been through the public scrutiny, and that he no longer enjoys steaks or his former favorite foods (as reported by Miller, 2016). What a “steep price to pay” for the next 20 years of his life. On Monday, the satirical paper The Onion tweeted the headline, “College Basketball Star Heroically Overcomes Tragic Rape He Committed” with an accompanying video.
Perhaps the most searing letter to be released on social media—and a breathtaking example of true resilience and courage—was the 12-page testimonial that the rape survivor read in court after hearing the lenient sentence of her attacker. Described by witnesses in the courtroom as one of “’the most eloquent, powerful, and compelling pieces of victim advocacy...’” Once the letter was released online, it took on a life of its own, as they say (Bever, 2016, para 5).
Foregoing the regular euphemisms that disguise and dismiss the true horror of rape, the victim addressed the defendant directly and starting the testimonial with, “You don’t know me, but you have been inside of me, and that’s why we are here today” (as reported by Bever, 2016, para 10). (For the full transcript of her letter, click here: washingtonpost.com/you-took-away-my-worth).
The victim goes on in excruciating detail to describe not only the details of what she remembers of her attack, but the injuries that she endured, the feeling of waking up in a hospital gurney without knowing what had happened to her that night, the pain she felt deep inside of her body as she was examined and trying to piece together and process what the hospital personnel was telling her. She recounts the confusion, the denial, the apathy, the rage, the whole range of emotions she felt in the aftermath of her attack. In her own words:
One day, I was at work, scrolling through the news on my phone, and came across an article. In it, I read and learned for the first time about how I was found unconscious, with my hair disheveled, long necklace wrapped around my neck, bra pulled out of my dress, dress pulled off over my shoulders and pulled up above my waist, that I was butt naked all the way down to my boots, legs spread apart, and had been penetrated by a foreign object by someone I did not recognize. This was how I learned what happened to me, sitting at my desk reading the news at work. I learned what happened to me the same time everyone else in the world learned what happened to me. That’s when the pine needles in my hair made sense, they didn’t fall from a tree. He had taken off my underwear, his fingers had been inside of me. I don’t even know this person. I still don’t know this person. When I read about me like this, I said, this can’t be me.
This can’t be me. I could not digest or accept any of this information. I could not imagine my family having to read about this online. I kept reading. In the next paragraph, I read something that I will never forgive; I read that according to him, I liked it. I liked it. Again, I do not have words for these feelings.
The content of her letter is excruciating, and eloquent, and impossible to ignore. She is unrelenting in transmitting the experience of being brutally and violently attacked. Of somehow being blamed by the defense, of being marginalized because she had been intoxicated, of being scrutinized by the defense because she didn’t remember all of the details of her attack. She writes, “I had no power, I had no voice, I was defenseless” (as reported by Bever, 2016). With that simple refrain, she represents the countless experiences of victims of rape and sexual assault who are shunned or ignored by the criminal justice system, who are persecuted by the public and attacked by the media, who fail to come forward in fear of retaliation or that very powerlessness she describes.
Except now she is not powerless. With that testimony in court and the publication of the letter which has now spread far and wide, she has raised visibility of the realities of rape culture. This is what a culture that objectifies women and blames them for their own victimization has wrought; this is what happens when we blame our girls for being raped instead of raising our boys not to rape; this is what happens when fathers describe forced sex without consent as “20 minutes of action” instead of condemning the acts that their sons have engaged in; this is what happens when we mistakenly refer to sexual assaults as sexual promiscuity incited by alcohol intoxication.
The question now becomes, what do we do with this outrage on social media? How do we transform it into action? How do we pursue advocacy and promote a change of values to counteract the destructive elements of rape culture? This survivor has had the courage to speak up and speak out about her brutal experience and given voice to many of the voiceless.
Let her experience have not all been in vain.
Bever, L. (2016, June 4). ‘You took away my worth’: A sexual assault victim’s powerful message to her Stanford attacker. The Washington Post: Early Lead. Retrieved on June 8, 2016 from: washingtonpost.com/you-took-away-my-worth
Miller, M. (2016, June 6). ‘A steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action’: Dad defends Stanford sex offender. The Washington Post: Morning Mix. Retrieved on June 8, 2016 from: washingtonpost.com/news/morning-mix/steep-price-to-pay
Copyright Azadeh Aalai 2016
