A couple weeks ago, Woody Allen received the Cecil B. DeMille Award at the Golden Globes for his “outstanding” contributions to the world of entertainment. Yet a darker story has emerged. On Feb. 1, Dylan Farrow, Allen’s adopted daughter, published her first public account of the sexual assault that defined her childhood. In the piece, she asks her readers to imagine growing up in a world that celebrates her tormentor and “a lifetime stricken with nausea at the mention of his name.” She explains that she was finally able to write about her sexual assault after receiving support from other survivors who shared “their fears of coming forward, of being called a liar, of being told their memories aren’t their memories.” Indeed, writing this piece was incredibly brave.
Yet rather than laud Farrow for her courage or offer her support, many have been quick to point out that Allen is innocent until proven guilty, despite Farrow’s “allegation” — a remarkably pejorative way to describe a survivor’s experience, even if it has not been demonstrated to the extent that the law demands, which is an incredibly difficult feat — and that we should not cease to celebrate his work. Many have even posted celebratory photos of Allen and frames from his films on Facebook. Such responses to a survivor’s speaking out against her rapist reflect our society’s blatant disregard for the grave issue of sexual assault.
The response to Farrow’s piece serve as an example of the sexist attitude that pervades Dartmouth’s own culture surrounding sexual assault. In my last column, I referred to my disillusionment with the “sheer number of sexual assaults” at this school. Indeed, too many people here have shared their experiences of sexual violence with me. When I say “too many,” I do not mean that I begrudge helping my friends in need — I am always willing to listen and provide confidential support — but that I am frightened by the ever-increasing volume of survivors I know. What upsets me even more is their fear of coming forward about their assaults and fear of the cynicism of their peers, both of which are not unfounded.
Whenever news breaks about a sexual assault on this campus, students, first and foremost, cast doubt on the survivor’s claim. Some will immediately defend the accused’s character and say that they cannot believe that he — and while I fully acknowledge that perpetrators are not always male nor victims always female, I am choosing the use the most common scenario — would do that. The woman (or victim), they conclude, must be confused or lying. Some will immediately attack her character and call her a slut, as if alleged “sluttiness” could justify, or even explain, the violence to which she was subjected. Others will stick to the “innocent until proven guilty” theory and not only view the survivor with immense suspicion but also continue to glorify her “supposed” assailant in the name of justice.
Imagine, as Farrow asks us to, that you are a survivor who has chosen to come forward against a member of our community. You know he will hate you. You know that his friends will hate you. You know that even those whom you trust — your sorority sisters, your friends — may reject you. You know that other students will gossip about your sexual assault incessantly, and you will risk being defined by it. You know that you will constantly have to convince others of the reality of your experience while your perpetrator complacently walks around this campus, free to assault another person (after all, 90 percent of rapists are repeat offenders) until he is proven guilty. Only then will he have to deal with significant repercussions, but even this is unlikely, since in most classic “he-said, she-said” scenarios suspicion and contempt for “accusers” colors the outcome of the hearing. Yes, speaking out will be hard, to say the least.
“Innocent until proven guilty” is too black and white a way to understand sexual assault. Of course, we want to avoid wrongfully condemning someone for such a heinous crime. However, dismissing the validity of a painful experience and condemning a survivor, who — as I should not have to point out — is not the one on trial, retains little semblance of justice. We must, therefore, support survivors and stop perpetuating a culture that is hostile to them. And survivors, find strength in those like Dylan Farrow. Refuse to let the doubters silence you.
