Like a lot of people around the country, I’ve been outraged by the Brock Turner case — and that’s putting it very, very lightly.
Since I first read about it, I’ve been consumed by the case — the trial, the sentencing, the Victim Impact Statement (VIS), the letters from the Dad and the friend, the absence of a mugshot, the Facebook funding page, the details of the Judge, the petition, the appeal — and it’s been both addicting and devastating. I can’t and won’t try to do the same justice to the story and deeply unnecessary plight of the victim as other eloquent writers have and/or will, suffice to say that I am angry to my core and sadder than I have been in a long time. This case affected me, as I hope it did others, in an irreversible way. But I really came here to ask you a question.
What do we do now?
I mean that in a true and literal sense. Days after the sentencing, I was having a conversation with my longtime friend and roommate. After having just filled her in on the latest details, we had a passionate conversation about both the case and the wider issues surrounding it, culminating in a need for action.
We discussed the petition for Judge Persky to be recalled, but also discussed that even though technically he can be recalled (since he is in an elected position), it’s both pretty difficult and relatively unprecedented to pull off. He was also up for re-election today (June 7), and running unopposed. We wondered if it was possible to somehow protest the absurdly lenient sentencing, but couldn’t easily find California’s Mandatory Sentencing Statute, which would outline the requirements for making exceptions to the mandatory sentence laws that should have been applied in this case. We also figured that someone might have looked into that already if it were in fact possible, but could not find any such reference. We considered Brock’s decision to appeal the conviction, but were mostly preoccupied and horrified with the possibility of a clean outcome for him. So we were left with broader solutions; raising awareness for The Hunting Ground or apps like Callisto, donating to various organizations and causes, things like that. But none of those really scratched the itch of this case, this flaming shitshow of a case happening right now.
What do we do?
Certainly, without a doubt, any of the broad solutions mentioned above are all incredible and important things to do — any step at all that helps move the needle in the right direction is a worthy cause. But this is why I think I am so devastated: because these kind of causes have existed. This is not the first campus assault case, not even a tiny bit close to the first, and it won’t be even a tiny bit close to the last. What is so sad is that in 2016, despite cumulative years of effort, despite the hours and energy put into inciting change, of grappling with coming forward, this is the message we’re left with. This is what we get. This is what victims everywhere get for the work and frustration spent fighting this exact and specific kind of setback — a setback where victims are undermined, and defendants are sentenced according to their privilege. The victim in this case has spent more time fighting her battle, re-living her trauma than Brock will spend in Palo Alto county jail. He did not deserve an exception to the minimum sentencing of the law; not once has he admitted guilt or even any real expression of responsibility, shown remorse, even shown a consideration for the victim’s life.
I can’t accept this. But I also feel weighed down by the powerlessness of that statement, because what does it really matter? I feel like we’re fighting in the dark, against an all-consuming force that swallows any attempts to push back. So many people lost any semblance of tolerance a long time ago, and yet this goes on. Things like this sentence happen. How? How? What do we do now? I’m really asking. What do we do?
