In June, Stanford student Brock Turner was convicted of the brutal rape of an unconscious woman behind a dumpster during his freshman year. Following Turner's outrageously light sentencing, Buzzfeed published the powerful, heart-shattering victim-impact statement read by this anonymous woman, Emily Doe, in court. Her statement went viral, sparking crucial conversations about the many injustices nested within this case: the role that his race and athlete status had on Turner's light sentencing (Turner only served 3 out of a meager 6 month sentence), the harmful, disproportionate focus on drinking and "party culture" that implicates victims in their assaults, the cover-up culture on campus rape, and on and on and on.
Emily Doe was just named one of Glamour Magazine's women of the year, and she has written an essay about her life after the trial to mark the occasion, exerpted below.
On her statement in court and Turner's sentencing:
From the beginning, I was told I was a best case scenario.
I had forensic evidence, sober unbiased witnesses, a slurred voice mail, police at the scene. I had everything, and I was still told it was not a slam dunk. I thought, if this is what having it good looks like, what other hells are survivors living? I'm barely getting through this but I am being told I'm the lucky one, some sort of VIP. It was like being checked into a hotel room for a year with stained sheets, rancid water, and a bucket with an attendant saying, No this is great! Most rooms don't even have a bucket.
After the trial I was relieved thinking the hardest part was over, and all that was left was the sentencing. I was excited to finally be given a chance to read my statement and declare, I am here. I am not that floppy thing you found behind the garbage, speaking melted words. I am here, I can stand upright, I can speak clearly, I've been listening and am painfully aware of all the hurt you've been trying to justify.
I yelled half of my statement. So when it was quickly announced that he'd be receiving six months, I was struck silent. Immediately I felt embarrassed for trying, for being led to believe I had any influence. The violation of my body and my being added up to a few months out of his summer. The judge would release him back to his life, back to the 40 people who had written him letters from Ohio. I began to panic; I thought, this can't be the best case scenario. If this case was meant to set the bar, the bar had been set on the floor.
On the response to her statement going viral:
I started getting e-mails forwarded to me from Botswana to Ireland to India. I received watercolor paintings of lighthouses and bicycle earrings. A woman who plucked a picture of her young daughter from the inside of her cubicle wrote, This is who you're saving.
When I received an e-mail that Joe Biden had written me a letter I was sitting in my pajamas eating some cantaloupe. You are a warrior. I looked around my room, who is he talking to. You have a steel spine, I touched my spine. I printed his letter out and ran around the house flapping it in the air.
Her response to the one comment that bothered her, "I hope my daughter never ends up like her." :
If you think the answer is that women need to be more sober, more civil, more upright, that girls must be better at exercising fear, must wear more layers with eyes open wider, we will go nowhere. When Judge Aaron Persky mutes the word justice, when Brock Turner serves one month for every felony, we go nowhere. When we all make it a priority to avoid harming or violating another human being, and when we hold accountable those who do, when the campaign to recall this judge declares that survivors deserve better, then we are going somewhere.
So now to the one who said, I hope my daughter never ends up like her, I am learning to say, I hope you end up like me, meaning, I hope you end up like me strong. I hope you end up like me proud of who I'm becoming. I hope you don't "end up," I hope you keep going. And I hope you grow up knowing that the world will no longer stand for this. Victims are not victims, not some fragile, sorrowful aftermath. Victims are survivors, and survivors are going to be doing a hell of a lot more than surviving