“I know it wasn’t my fault,” I
told my counsellor last summer. “It was his; he was the one who did it… At
least it was only me he got.”
This was my reaction to being
raped a second time. At least it was only
me.
I couldn’t quite understand why
she was so upset by this, not at the time. After all, surely it was better that
I was the victim than someone else? I was already damaged goods, I’d already
been through it once before, and I was getting the right support so didn’t have
to experience the ordeal of finding it again. If he was going to attack someone
– and statistics would imply that it was premeditated to some degree – then I
was grateful it was me and not another woman.
I thought that I was being
rational and mature about a terrible situation, that my presence that evening
had somehow saved this nameless, faceless victim. To some extent, a lot of
women do this, try to put a positive spin on it. I know I’m not alone, and
protective strategies such as this have their place. We need ways to carry on.
But as time went on, I started to
realise something awful. Because by assuming that responsibility, or accepting
myself as the “right person”, I was becoming complicit in the victim-blaming
culture that had developed around me.
No, I wasn’t suggesting it was my
fault because I had been alone in the sauna, or that I had made myself
vulnerable in the clothing that I had worn. However, by adopting a position as
the “best” target, I had created a hierarchy of merit.
No-one deserves to be raped.
No-one is asking for it or putting themselves in the wrong position or to blame
in any way. It is only ever the perpetrator’s fault. End of.
A single woman shouldn’t feel
“grateful for the attention”, nor should anyone feel that it’s “harmless fun”,
and someone who has been there before shouldn’t feel any less important or any more
deserving because of their past.
The End Victim Blaming Campaign
asks us to think about our own frame of reference, how we respond to stories
and why we respond in that way. Sometimes it’s also useful to think about how
we would respond if it was another person reacting that way too, allowing us
some perspective and a chance to review without feeling that the self-care is
self-ish.
I know that if a friend or
colleague told me that they were relieved it was them, that they didn’t matter
and they weren’t important because they were damaged, I would be appalled.
Because we all matter; we are all worthy of love, care and respect.
As a teacher, I’ve worked
alongside children who have been victims and witnesses of male violence against
women and children. It never fails to shock me how many so-called professionals
will say, “At least it’s only ----‘s family, it’s not like they had much
promise anyway.” No. Just no.
You see, there are even further
reaching implications than hierarchies compounding victim-blaming. The idea
that some people are more deserving of assault than others is in direct
opposition to equality. If we believe in equal rights for any group, we need to
believe in equality for all. How can I support feminism and the idea that all
humans are equal if I don’t consider that child to be just as deserving of
safety and love as every other child in my school? How can I support equal
rights for all people if I won’t even afford myself the same dignity as I
afford others?
Challenging others starts with
challenging ourselves. How do we respond to others and how do we respond to our
own situations? Do we allow ourselves healing time? Do we allow ourselves to
care? Because believing in our own rights and equality, believing in our own
right to safety and compassion, is an important step in challenging the
hierarchy and victim-blaming culture.
There is no “right victim”, not
even me.
The Right Victim was written as a submission for EVB Campaign's website, which they are posting on 20th February 2014.