“I’m very much in awe of her. Through it all she remained steady,
she remained constant while the system stumbled around her.
She was the one who remained constant.”
Before I get into this, let me say that I understand and respect the fact that conversations around gender-based violence are conversations where ideally, men should not be the one leading, and in which men need to sit down and really listen. I get that. And if anyone is upset at my writing this, I apologize, but...
I noticed on Facebook how few of the men I know did any more than simply click 'Like' over the last few days (apologies to those who did do more), and I've spent those days wondering why. And to that end, I sat down to write this and share some ideas "man to man", you might say, for two reasons:
First, because maybe men will hear it better coming from 'one of their own' even if that really shouldn't be necessary. Second because of a point I'd like to make below about civil suits and credibility that I never see addressed anywhere. It's a myth I see often, and most often propagated by men (but not exclusively) and which I'd really like to see dispelled.
So.
Gentlemen,
A few years ago I read "Know My Name" by Chanel Miller. Afterward I had an odd thought: I've never before wanted to be part of a 'book club', to sit around drinking/sipping tea/whatever it is people do at these things, and discuss a book. Not until that book. I've wanted to be able to sit around, with male friends, and discuss the many tiny details Chanel taught me which I'd never before considered. There are so many small but important details in the bigger picture that one seldom hears about, seldom thinks about - as a man, anyway. Many of these details are probably things with which most women are already familiar, through their own experiences or through those of close friends.
Sprinkled throughout the book there was a list of paradoxes the survivors find themselves trapped in which I'd never even considered. Some seemed obvious when stated, I'd just never reflected on them. Her insobriety would be asserted as evidence of his innocence; his insobriety would also be asserted as evidence of his innocence. Others were downright horrendous and not something I would have ever thought of: Her sister - her best friend - was a witness, so she was told to never discuss the experience with her, lest they be accused of conspiring, so for the years awaiting trial, her ability to process the trauma was being hampered.
That's tip of the iceberg. (You really should read this book.)
Now, a few years later, as I read the news about Jane Doe's fight for justice here in Newfoundland, and read the excellent play-by-play accounting by Rhea Rollman, I am reminded of many of these lessons from Chanel's excellent book, and find myself squirming at how closely some of what I'm reading now mirrors this other case, as just how systemic and erroneous some of these things are.
One of the things from Chanel's book (sorry, perhaps I should have said 'spoiler' a while ago) was that being the survivor of a sexual assault is financially punitive. I won't get into all the ways how, but at the very least ask yourself 'who pays for therapy?' (And in some places 'who pays for the rape kit?' is a disgusting question with an even more disgusting answer.) Stop. Think about that for a second. Being the survivor of a sexual assault also means being punished financially. It's the most egregious example of the pink tax I can think of.
In Snelgrove's trial, Jane Doe was grilled on whether she'd be pursuing a civil suit as if to suggest - as society so often does - that any hint of a financial motive infers questionable credibility.
How do you reconcile these two ideas?
If there is just ONE thing you take away from what I'm writing today, just one, let it be this: assuming that anyone launching a civil suit is less credible is a backward way of thinking. If anything, it should make them more credible. There are a number of reasons one might pursue a civil suit. Even setting aside the desire to (rightly) cover the financial burden placed on the survivor, you are talking about two very different systems with different rules and ways of operating, and punishing the assailant financially is still another possible way to punish the assailant. In fact, given how closely prosecutions and police work together, and how reluctant police and prosecutions might be to investigate 'one of their own', going after Snelgrove in civil court actually strikes me as quite possibly the easier route to some form of justice. That Jane Doe - as she repeatedly said under questioning - postponed such considerations to pursue the matter first criminally really speaks to her determination. And when any survivor chooses to pursue the matter civilly, it means some lawyer somewhere who probably only gets paid out with a win has chosen to put their time and energy into their belief in their client. How does that not add to the credibility, instead of detract from it? Easy. Because abusers have peddled the excuse of 'she's just in it for the money' to discredit their accusers so often and for so long that we've fallen for it and continue to perpetuated this grossly oversimplified myth. If it's truth that the courts are after, then frankly, it's a line of questioning that shouldn't even be permitted.
But with regards to 'why aren't more men participating in this conversation?' I gave it a lot of thought, gents, here's all I could come up with, and my response to each:
Isn't this a women's issue?
If you think it's not your concern, you're simply wrong, and frankly whatever excuse you're using to bury your head in the sand is just a shitty rationalization to excuse your discomfort on the subject. I don't need to explain to you why it's everyone's business. Do not be so disingenuous. You know the 'everyone has a mother/sister/daughter' argument. You know your life is filled with female friends, acquaintances, and coworkers. Are you unconcerned with their plight? How is it you can find yourself concerned with and share articles about break-ins and shoplifting and 'does anyone recognize this person who stole from this local shop?' without ever finding yourself wondering about the gender of the people involved I might add, without ever hesitating to click Share, and yet when it comes to subjects like sexual assault, you're so strangely silent? Do you have more concern for those random shop owners than the women in your life? How is what criminals are doing at that gas station is suddenly 'your business' but somehow gender-based violence is not?
If this was your honest answer, goddamn, I feel like I shouldn't even have had to say that.
This. Is. Your. Business.
These days you can't say anything, sure!
"We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented." (Elie Wiesel)
If anyone jumps down your throat for saying something as simple as "I believe women", I'll eat my hat.
I understand some trepidation about what to say, and how, and to who - I totally get that. I'm genuinely fearful here writing this that I might somehow step on toes, or be accused of hogging or shifting the conversation. I am trying to be careful in my choice of words. And I will do my damn best to keep the focus where it needs to be.
But saying nothing is not 'being neutral', not that being neutral would be an acceptable position anyway. Saying nothing is a tacit approval of the status quo.
Your fear of 'saying something wrong' is nothing compared to the fear women and queer people face every day, answering the door to let a stranger come repair something in their house, or crossing the parking garage to get to their vehicle, fingers gripped tightly around their keys. Be brave enough to face possible scrutiny and criticism, they're still risking a lot more than you are. A few harsh words in reaction to your misstep in choice of language won't kill you. Might someone come after me for using "women" and not "womyn" or "folx" or for saying "queer" instead of "gender non-comforming"? Maybe, but I seriously doubt it. Why? Because they can see the points I'm trying to make and they can easily tell which side I'm on. But if you're saying nothing at all, do they know which side you're on?
I honestly don't know what to do or say.
And now we get to the heart of it. I'd like to believe this is where most of you arrive. Actually, I need to believe that.
Me either. It breaks my heart. My eyes welled up with tears just typing that. To know something is so wrong and to feel so helpless to do anything about it.
But something Daniel Sloss said in an HBO special has been ringing in my ears for years now:
"I can't do much. I just won't do nothing anymore. I'm just suggesting you do the same."
I don't know what the solution is or where my role is in whatever solutions there may be, but:
I... recognize pieces of the puzzle... and I'm committed to searching for and hearing about more. And so do you, if you're being honest with yourself.
So do something. Do. Anything. Just don't do nothing.
In the very least, you need to stand and be counted.
You need to let the women in your life know they have your support and the men in your life know that gender-based violence is not acceptable. I'm really not asking much, nothing more than the same simple things you do every day with cat videos or funny GIFs. Post a link. Share a story. Preferably something told from the female perspective. Go comment on someone else's shared article about how you hope some rapist dies choking on a turd. If you can afford it, do something more productive like find an appropriate organization and make a donation, even if it's a small one. (When I post this on Facebook, feel free to comment with appropriate links. I've only begun looking, so I'm happy for suggestions myself.)
I'm not asking you to do much.
I'm not.
I'm only asking you to not do nothing.
And to be clear... just clicking 'like'... is nothing.
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PS: If you know Jane Doe, please tell her I said "thank you".
