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“It wasn’t rape because we were both intoxicated.”
“I assumed she meant yes, since she didn’t say no.”
These are lies. Beautifully fabricated, well-told lies. Lies that stem from tales of back-slapping college encounters and alcohol-laden rendezvous, often laughed off as ‘normal rites of passage’. There’s only one thing eerily missing in these lies: consent.
If you were to understand this fully, look no further than Stanford sex offender Brock Turner’s statement of defence (delivered during his trial):
This statement, of course, takes no account of the fact that the woman he sexually assaulted was, at the time, unconscious and so utterly incapacitated by alcohol that she lacked the ability to ‘respond’.
For anyone not in the know, a 23-year-old woman was sexually assaulted in January 2015 by a 20-year-old Stanford University varsity swimmer. ‘Sexual assault’ in this case, is an umbrella phrase for an encounter that involved an unconscious woman, naked to her boots with her clothes wrung around her neck, while a 20-year-old college man humped her behind a dumpster and digitally penetrated her.
Abrasions, lacerations and dirt were discovered later, in her vagina.
Also Read: Stanford Survivor Reads Out Powerful Letter to Her Rapist in Court
The case came to a widely decried end last week, when the judge sentenced Turner to just six months in jail and three years of probation. The judge believed a sterner punishment would have a “severe impact” on the 20-year-old, who was once an Olympic hopeful. This, of course, in complete mockery of any ‘severe impact’ a woman discovered with her clothes undone and no memory of a sexual encounter could possibly have.
The question to ask, is this: how many Brock Turners get off scot free because their crimes are shrouded in the well-woven narratives of victim blaming, founded on the refuge of alcohol?
The Stanford case may seem far away, for a country half a timezone away – but here’s the thing: the details are all too familiar, the blame game just as pervasive.
I was once told by a friend how it had ‘happened’ to her. As we swapped horror stories – stories of ‘obvious sexual assault’, she offered hers – a tale just as common, but that remained in the dark alleyways of ‘ambiguity’ and alcohol-befuddled memories.
She had been flirting with a man at a party, she said. She had too much to drink, she said. The last thing she remembered, she said, was passing out, alone, on an empty bed at the house of the host. She’d half-woken up in the middle of the night to feel the hands of the man caressing her, fondling her – in an all too familiar fashion.
“I thought I had brought this upon myself,” she confessed years later. Despite knowing better at the time of the recounting, the feelings of conditioned victim blaming were too hard to ignore.
When I read the Stanford story, a thousand infinitesimal details washed over me in a blurred kaleidoscope of images and sounds. Of the time that a relative dismissed the story of an Uber rape survivor, declaring “but that one was bound to happen – she was passed out in the back of the cab.” (because raping a non-drunk girl would have been more sympathy-inducing.) Of times that girlfriends have shared stories, months, often years later, of ex-boyfriends, of men they’d flirted with, of strangers – fondling them as they lay drunk and incapacitated. Here’s the thing: the inability to voice ‘no’ does not translate to a ‘yes’. The assumption of consent is not consent.
Why is the Stanford case any different? Why must we make excuses for anything that ‘sounds like, looks like’ consent, but isn’t ACTUALLY consent?