On the evening of February 6, 2012, Suzette Jordan went to a nightclub in a hotel on Park Street in Kolkata. A 30-something year old, she was a single mother of two daughters...
A conservative estimate is that approximately 90 percent of conventional romantic comedies begin this way. Suzette Jordan’s reality, however, was a far cry from any comedy whatsoever. Jordan was raped by five men, in a moving car, at gunpoint.
For a year, Suzette was the Park Street rape victim. The Bengal government was despicable; Mamata Banerjee declared that Suzette’s statements were shajano gochano, the literal translation of which is ‘embellished and tidied.’ Those who did believe her, were, amazingly, no better. Dr Kakoli Ghosh Dastidar, MP, said that it was not a case of sexual assault, but of a deal between a sex worker and a client that went wrong.
In 2013, Suzette had had enough. She waived her right to anonymity and came out to the world as the woman who had been raped in Park Street in February 2012. By then Suzette had been mocked, slandered, violated and denied jobs. An embittered but undaunted Suzette took it upon herself to lead by example, and to offer support to others who had faced assault.
In March 2015, Suzette died of multiple organ failure, after battling meningoencephalitis. She was 40 years old.
Suzette was no mere victim of rape. She had survived, and how. She wore her scars for all the world to see, so that she could enable other women to live like her, unabashed, proud and free.
A Letter to His Daughter
In a letter to his daughter, a grieving Peter Jordan offers a beautiful tribute to his daughter, whom he calls the Lioness of Kolkata.
I remember as if I am watching you even now - you as a three-month-old infant rocking on my chest to the beat of the song “We Will Rock You.” Now you are two years old and hanging from the ledge of our terrace by the tip of your fingers squealing in delight, and me, my heart thundering, screaming for you to jump into the safety of my arms.Peter Jordan’s letter to Suzette
He speaks of her joie de vivre, and her incredible ability to face her circumstances and emerge triumphant. From Peter’s account, Suzette was a person without malice. Always chatty, pleasant and ready to help.
Ever inquisitive, you always wanted to learn everything, chattering and questioning incessantly. Why, I found you once playing with a razor blade and cautioned you. I told you that you would cut yourself. “Then what, Daddy?” “And then you would bleed and have to be taken to the doctor for an injection.” She promptly cut her finger - “I wanted to see the blood, Daddy.”Peter Jordan’s letter to Suzette
His account of her determination to fight is inspiring.
I tried to deter you from becoming vociferous because I was afraid that your plight would get politicized. You turned around and told me “If I stop now, Old Man, think of all other women/girls I will be harming, they must know the truth , they must be aware of all the dangers, they must come out into the open and FIGHT because we are NOT JUST VICTIMS, we are human beings like everyone else and we hurt too.Peter Jordan’s letter to Suzette
A Tribute to Her Mamma
A few days before she died, Rhea Jordan, Suzette’s daughter, wrote about her in a school assignment. Writing about who she aspired to be like, Rhea’s essay about her mother is honest. She describes not a flawless, ‘perfect’ mother, but someone who made the best of what she was given. She writes about hardship, but most of all, she writes of her mother’s ability to find joy in the little things. The essay was published on theladiesfinger.com.
She had her bad days, never completed her education, she’d drink, she’d smoke, she’d sometimes get into my clothes. She had 21 tattoos and a whole lot of scars from mutilation, she was a rebel, she never had a permanent job. [...] She taught me to believe in myself: “Never is it important to fit in, its okay to stand out, and enjoy the view,” she’d say. There have been days where we never had any money, not a rupee at home to eat. “It’s okay”, she’d smile reassuringly, “at least we have each other.” [...] My Mama taught my sister and I to live for the small moments, moments like our first kiss, the adrenaline rush during a thrilling moment.
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