Empower Survivors

Dr. Ford’s courage in coming forward to tell us what happened to her has empowered many of my Maryland constituents and many others around the country to come forward with their own stories of abuse. I have received written statements from over 50 Marylanders telling me about the sexual abuse that they had encountered — some of them told me they had shared with me what they had not with their own family members.

They felt it was important that I know why they didn’t report their abuse at the time, why they didn’t tell their parents, and why their memories are not perfect decades later. They told me what they do remember. They told me they remember the clothing they wore on the day they were assaulted. They told me they remember the scent, the cologne; the feeling of unwanted hands. These memories haunt them.

These stories are reminders of how our society has let down survivors of sexual assault for decades. The ways that these survivors have been treated has been shameful. I am humbled by the trust they have shown to share these experiences with me, and I will let the stories of a few of them speak for themselves:

Here’s what one woman wrote:

“Once I was 16. I was at a party. There was alcohol. He was popular, I wasn’t. He was big and strong, I have never been. He threatened me afterwards. He needn’t have bothered. He told me no one would believe me. He told me I wanted it. I showed a friend the bruises. He said everyone would say I was a slut. I told another friend I was frightened. She said I should just avoid him in school. I told an adult I trusted at my job. She told me about how when she reported when she was young, how the police treated her, how her parents reacted. How she regretted saying anything. I never told my parents. I went to a free clinic and the “therapist” asked how could I know it was rape if I had been drinking.” Those are the powerful words from one Marylander.

Another wrote:

“I remember the assault vividly. I was on my way home from church. I don’t remember the sermon before. Details after are fuzzy. But I remember the assault. I remember looking at a nearby home where I knew elderly people lived. I could see that their TV was on and I wondered, ‘Would they even hear me scream?’ I didn’t tell people. I didn’t think people would believe me.”

Another constituent wrote me this quickly, without editing. She told me she cried when she read it to her husband. Here’s what she wrote:

“Having experience in working with victims in a prosecutorial manner, or as a judge, or even defending the accused does not make you an expert. The expert is the victim. I am that victim. I am that expert. And as such I can tell you absolutely, without hesitation, that what haunts you the most, what affects how you relate in the future with your loving spouse, what affects how you feel about yourself, and what affects even your sense of smell, is the memory of the person who abused you. Not the address where it took place, not the time on the clock, not the day of the week — but the smell of the person assaulting you, the feel of their hands, the confusion in your head because you don’t know what’s happening because it’s all happening so fast, and yes — their name. You never forget their name. Then comes the shame. What did I do to cause this? What will people think of me because now I’ve been touched, I’ve been tarnished, I’m not pure. Will I be believed? At this point my life has already been altered beyond repair, but it’s an internal alter. If I talk, it alters my external world as well. Maybe it’s better to just not talk because then at least I can pretend things are as they have always been. I can just pretend that I’m exactly the same person — but I’m not.”

Another wrote that she understood that a man could move on from assaulting a woman, particularly if they were drunk at the time. She said:

“The man who assaulted me later acted as if he was catching up with an old friend and had no memory of the event. I have several friends who have experienced the same thing.”

Another echoed a similar experience, writing:

“He had been drinking heavily with friends at a restaurant or bar. I had not. Later that night he raped me. He was very inebriated and displayed a complete personality change. He was violent and angry and did not even seem to see me. I was paralyzed and probably saved my own life by not fighting back as he had essentially become a rabid animal. The next day I confronted him about what happened and he had no memory of the crime he committed.”

These aren’t isolated incidents for survivors. As I’ve said, I’ve gotten over 50 personal testimonials from survivors since Dr. Ford had the courage to come forward. People who have not shared what happened to them with some of their closest friends or family members. These are stains etched in their memories. Many of them, as I said, never told a soul. Others were ignored or dismissed — when they brought these awful experiences up, they were told to stay quiet.

It is an insult to these survivors when some have called them partisan, and in many cases, they went out of their way in their messages to say that their concern had nothing to do with ideology or partisanship. Nothing. Some told me they are Republicans. Others are independents. Some of them grew up in families that had no care about politics. Others told me they are Democrats, but they’d be willing to accept a different conservative judge — but not this one.

When President Trump went to a campaign rally and mocked Dr. Ford, he mocked every one of those 50 survivors that wrote to me. He mocked every survivor of sexual abuse around the country.

After Judge Kavanaugh’s confirmation today, there will be a lot of people who are angry and hurt. But we cannot lose hope, we can’t give up. As Dr. King reminds us, “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” Keep speaking out and fighting, the United States is better than this.