Opinion | Bringing up false accusations invalidates assault survivors

Danielle Shorr, graduate creative writing student

I am a different person than who I was before the assault. Trauma has a way of undoing identities, reshaping them as time passes, and even more so as healing takes place. I have been made permanently aware of this reality. There is an ever-present, often indefinite impact of trauma: its half-life.

Five years later, my trauma is no longer an intrusion in my day-to-day life. Now and then, it asks to be acknowledged and less frequently, acts as a barrier to intimacy. For the majority of the time, it is a discretion I carry quietly. Only occasionally does it become an active roadblock.

The long-term effects of sexual violence are well-known. Post-traumatic stress disorder is now recognized as more than just an issue relating to veterans. But still, the reality of its impact is often forgotten or dismissed, and its validity often diminished or ignored, in favor of a diversion.

I know firsthand that when sexual assault survivors come forward, they may not be believed. When voicing their experience with sexual assault and the trauma that results, survivors are often faced with the counterargument of false accusation, as though the two can be compared.

With the increasing public discourse about sexual assault, specifically surrounding the allegations against Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh, many have called attention to the existence of false accusations.

At the forefront of the discussion is that accusations have the capacity to destroy the accused’s life, as though sexual assault doesn’t destroy the lives of its victims.

If the validity of an accusation is not called into question – which it almost always is – then a question may be posed of whether or not its impact on the perpetrator’s life should continue in the years following the attack. Why didn’t the victim come forward? Why did they wait so long? Who’s to say they aren’t lying? The understanding here is clear: We talk more about the effects of accusations than we do about the effects of assault itself.

I often refer to people who have experienced sexual assault as “survivors” rather than “victims.” Recovering from an assault is not passive. It often requires therapy, and other forms of active help. It can take years for survivors of sexual assault to get access to the help they need, and sometimes, they don’t receive it at all. The same goes for justice.

Our legal system is often fallible, and the poor handling of sexual assault cases in the U.S. isn’t a secret. A mere 6 percent of rapists will spend a day in jail for their actions, according to the U.S. Department of Justice. It isn’t a mystery why many women don’t report, or why they often wait years to come forward.

We have been led to believe that the prevalence of false accusations is higher than it actually is. Similar to how “black-on-black crime” is often brought up to detract from the issue of police brutality, the idea of false accusation comes to light in the discourse about sexual assault.

The possibility of false accusation and the fear that an accusation ruins the accused’s life is nothing compared to the impact of assault.

Accusing sexual assault survivors of making false claims is an attempt to invalidate their experiences. It’s a form of derailment and dismissal.

Perhaps instead of worrying about the impact that accusations have on the alleged perpetrators, we should acknowledge the stories of survivors and the lasting weight of their trauma.

Even after the actual incident has passed, the psychological burden of assault remains. The truth is, you don’t forget: a hand covering your mouth, a knee digging into your rib cage, the paralysis of fear. Time does not heal all wounds. Then, one day, your rapist might be a prominent figure in the news or set to take a powerful position in a country that has previously silenced women like you. The year is 2018, and many of the girls you know have a story just like yours, have yet to forget it, and most likely, have never sought justice for it.

My rapist’s name is something I’ve shared only in secret. I have never come forward publicly about the entirety of what happened to me, and. it’s likely I never will. The “what-ifs” are a constant I consider daily. Even back then, years ago, I knew that the consequences of my admission were likely to outweigh any potential for justice. The current climate of this ongoing conversation reminds me that we need to hear survivors of sexual assault and believe them.