Only Yes Means Yes

Trigger warning and language advisory

Last week I followed the national news too closely, and spent too much time on social media. #metoo is a powerful movement. I think it has changed men and women from victims or survivors into advocates for one another. In my utopian fantasy world of the future, #metoo becomes unnecessary as no one would even consider sexually assaulting another person. I was unprepared for the moving stories of #whyididntreport Those stories are compelling, and I won’t be looking at them again anytime soon.

I live in this world. Where people will question how someone can recall an event from the past with such clarity. Where people will question why someone would not report a sexual assault. Where people wonder why it took so long to come forward. Where people question the motives for bringing it forward now.

As for clarity, the memories are replayed over and over and over, seared into the memory with the pain of a branding iron. Details that the un-traumatized quickly forget are remembered years and years later. Locations, smells, taste, sounds, textures and where you were touched are not forgotten. This is not conjecture.

As for not reporting, there are so many reasons: Who do I report to? Does what happened constitute assault? Will anyone believe me? What if there’s no evidence? Fear of retaliation. Did I provoke it? Does not saying no mean yes?

As for waiting so long, I can stuff things down for a very long time, and I imagine that most anyone can stuff things down, almost out of reach, almost out of memory, until some thing traumatic happens, or a name comes up.

Twenty five years, a cinch. Indeed, over forty years.

I don’t remember the year, but I know it was October. I remember her grabbing my hand and running down the beach at night and then high into the dune. The taste of cigarettes and booze in her mouth. Her hand fumbling and rummaging around in my pants. My secret gratitude that others came down the beach and broke off the momentum. What the fuck just happened? Did I want that? Does she fancy me? I don’t even know this girl.

Was it a dare, or just drunkenness? We’ll never know. I didn’t report it. I didn’t know to report it. It pales in comparison to what others have experienced. I don’t know what her issues were.

I believe someone that comes forward years after an ‘incident’. It’s painful to reveal something that you have tried to hide for years.

Perhaps you can be so drunk that you can’t remember what you did. This wasn’t a car crash with parts spread all over the road. There won’t be justice here. There won’t be forgiveness here. There won’t be mercy here.

I am probably naive. I can imagine a world without sexual assault. I can imagine a world with justice, forgiveness, and mercy. It can happen.

It begins here.