This article contains references to rape and sexual assault.
Whenever a footballer appears in the news accused of sexual assault, the blood drains from my face. When I read how the complainant in the Benjamin Mendy trial was cross-examined, I wept.
As a survivor of rape (and a friend to many other survivors), following high-profile court cases containing allegations of sexual assault is a highly triggering experience. It takes me back to various crossroads in my life, where I could have decided to report my experience but instead opted for the relative safety of silence.
Was I traumatised? Yes. Scared? Of course. But at least I didn't have to suffer the shame of being asked, “You had sex initially with you on your knees and him behind you. You then gave him oral sex, didn't you?” as one of the “tearful” complainants in the Benjamin Mendy trial was asked during the five-month trial (as reported by the MailOnline).
Today, Mendy was cleared of six counts of rape and sexual assault, while his co-defendant Louis Saha Matturie was cleared of three charges of rape involving two women. The jury could not reach verdicts on six other counts of rape and sexual assault; Mendy and Saha Matturie are facing separate retrials.
This verdict has prompted me to reflect on why I didn’t report my own experience of rape and the shame it's cast over my life.
“Shame has lessons to teach us.”
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It's 2016, and I'm sitting across from my GP, politely asking if he can test me for every known sexually-transmitted disease. When he informs me that I'll have to wander down to a specialist sexual health clinic for “that sort of thing”, I glumly inform him that I was raped the night before and I can't face another clinic visit right now. Silence. Looking at me directly, he gently asks, Are you intending to report it? I reply with uncharacteristic resolve: No.
Earlier in the year, the Welsh footballer Ched Evans was found not guilty of raping a 19-year-old woman after his initial conviction – for which he served half of a five-year prison sentence – was quashed by the Court of Appeal. In his retrial, the complainant was quizzed at great length about her sexual history, including her preferred sexual positions and the language she used during sex. A witness who claimed to have watched the encounter through the window told the court that the complainant said, “F[*]ck me harder.”
As I sat in that GP's office, I let out a glum smile, remembering the night before. We'd met in a nightclub, full of CCTV and surrounded by strangers (AKA potential witnesses). I'd danced with him and flirted with his friends – I was the life of the damn party – before sulkily allowing him to lead me to a taxi, which would transport us to his hotel.
I don't need to tell you what happens next; I'm sure you can fill in the gaps.
When I eventually came around, my body initiated an escape plan before the word ‘rape’ even crossed my mind. I grabbed his jumper, pulled it over my dishevelled party dress as I slid into grotty ballet pumps and fled the scene. When I press the button for the lift, I realise I have no idea which floor I'm on; how far off the ground I am. The panic makes its way from my frantic bones to my numbed-out brain. Somehow I end up in the hotel's underground car park rather than the hotel lobby. Time slows down for a while until one of the hotel employees finds me, asking if I'm OK and do I need help? I say no – thank you – and get myself the hell out of there. I've never felt so ashamed.
When I asked why they needed all my data, police told me: ‘To see if you’re of good character’.
In the 48 hours between leaving that hotel and sitting down in front of my GP, I've already given myself the cross-examination of my life. Multiple witnesses saw you snogging that man's face off, Lucy. Isn't it right that you were vying for his and his friend's attention? Look at this CCTV… does this look like the kind of woman who isn't intending to get laid by any means necessary? The snide cross-examiner takes a permanent residence in my brain, reminding me that I stole that man's jumper.
There's a scientific word for this phenomenon. It's called shame, and it lives within us all – especially, as in my case, survivors of sexual violence. A study of 25 women who had been sexually assaulted found that up to 75% reported “feeling ashamed about themselves following sexual assault”, which another researcher suggested may have impacted the likelihood of the victims disclosing the assault.
In the six years that have passed since that hard-fought-for STI test, I've made progress with my internal cross-examiner. I've learned to advocate for myself. Engaging in feminist activism and investing in weekly therapy sessions has enabled me to identify and dismantle the shame that settled inside me.
Conversations about mental health still stall at polite thresholds. Self-harm needs to be talked about, too.
A feeling of peace comes with accepting that yes, I was raped, and no, it wasn't my fault (even if I was flirting with all the grace and decorum of a reversing dump truck). The minute I take my story to the police and eventually – if I'm one of the lucky ones – to court, I threaten that hard-earned peace. I hand my power back to the snide cross-examiner, but this time they're not just an unwelcome voice in my head; they're an actual person, a barrister, whose job it is to expose the holes in my story.
Thanks, in large part, to the efforts of women's rights organisations, special measures are being introduced across courts in England and Wales to enable potential victims to submit pre-recorded evidence of their cross-examination. While this is a step in the right direction, the measure is subject to an individual application to the court rather than an option universally offered to complainants.
I desperately want to live in a world where survivors of sexual violence report their experiences without thinking twice, where the thought of cross-examination doesn't immediately invoke feelings of dread. If the ongoing slew of high-profile cases involving allegations of sexual assault has taught me anything, it's that the world has never seemed so distant.
For more information about reporting and recovering from rape and sexual abuse, you can contact Rape Crisis.
If you have been sexually assaulted, you can find your nearest Sexual Assault Referral Centre here. You can also find support at your local GP, voluntary organisations such as Rape Crisis, Women's Aid, and Victim Support, and you can report it to the police (if you choose) here.
For more from Glamour UK's Lucy Morgan, follow her on Instagram @lucyalexxandra.
The resources and helplines you need to know.
