Dear survivor, I believe you

EVERY now and then, there is a story that takes over the news. It is a top story one day, and lingers in the main section, even if not on the front page, for a while. It pops up again when it becomes particularly relevant. It is discussed widely, and in public, by people with varying degrees of knowledge of the situation, but usually with strong opinions regardless of knowledge. People participating in commentary are confident and loud in their positions. They do not think about the consequences of being heard by the people in the news story or their loved ones, much less people in their own lives or in close physical proximity who relate to the story in a personal way. They do not view the affected people as human beings, making it easier to use them as fodder for uninformed conversations.

Much of the messaging in the media is to the general public. Some of it is directed to the government. There is not enough support, in word and deed, directed to survivors of gender-based violence. Today, in the aftermath of a high profile case and in the flurry of conversation about the US presidential election, my attention is specifically and exclusively on survivors.

Dear Survivor,

I believe you.

I know that what you said happened is what happened. I know there are parts that you have forgotten — some that you would like to remember, and some that you are relieved to be rid of. Memory sometimes seems to fail us. Know that the brain has ways of protecting us. Trust that your brain and your body, in all that they are doing, are trying to protect you from further harm.

People may have said and may continue to say that you lied or exaggerated, and that is far from the truth. I know that we, survivors, often minimise when we recount what has happened to us. There are parts of our stories that we do not want to think about it, much less talk about. There are parts of our stories that we will only tell when we are ready. There are parts of our stories that no one else will ever know. Sometimes we have to keep something for ourselves, even when it is pain. You know the truth, and no one’s disbelief is more important than that.

I know that you did nothing to cause the violence you experienced. People make hurtful comments, state assumptions as though they are facts, and forget that you are a real person who has experienced one of the most horrific acts of violence. It is tempting to read the news, to read the comments, and to see what people are saying, and it is usually best to avoid it all. I hope that you have someone you can rely on to monitor the news and the comments made, record them, and make them available to you or the relevant people working with and for you if and when there is a time that may be useful. You do not need to do it alone.

I know that you are not and cannot be solely responsible for your healing. Even meeting your most basic needs can be difficult, and this is not a failing of yours. Lean on the people who love you. You may be inclined to push people away in this moment. Consider that you may actually need to let people in. Allow them to help you, whether by dropping off meals, helping with childcare, or sleeping in another room so you have privacy as well as someone to call on when you need support. Professional mental health support is important too. If you are able to access therapy, take the opportunity. You need a safe space to talk.

It makes sense if you are disappointed with the people around you who did not do everything they could to prevent the violence you experienced. There may be people who could have warned you, but didn’t. There may be people who saw what was happening and did not take action. There may be people who could have stepped in, and they stayed on the sidelines. There may be people who could have supported you in material and immaterial ways, but they never made the offer. It is okay to be upset with them. It is okay to forgive them. It is okay if you cannot even contemplate forgiveness right now, or ever. It has to be in your own time, and it all depends on the way you process everything that has happened. You are entitled to your feelings, and you do not have to put mind over matter all of the time. You do not have to set anyone free from the consequences of their actions or inaction. You deserve to be free, even from the expectation that you be the “bigger person”.

I understand that you may be angry with people you have never met. I understand that you may be hurt because of things strangers have said about you, about your story, and about your actions toward justice. These almost-anonymous people are reckless in their commentary, and there is very little recourse for you. Your feelings, however, have a purpose. You know the difference between right and wrong. You know that what you experienced was wrong, and the way you are being treated by the people who seek to discredit you is wrong. You may not see a clear action to take as a result of your feelings, but it is important to recognise them and your right to them.

Justice, Survivor, is not often had through the judicial system. In far too many cases, survivors are put on trial. It is we, the ones who were harmed, who are made to retell stories of violation, whose characters are called into question, and who are accused of trying to ruin the lives of violent people. It is exhausting, it is frustrating, and it is demoralizing to try to navigate systems that were not developed for our benefit at all. We are expected to fit into them and to take what we can get from them.

Your justice — and certainly your healing — will likely not come through a court case. It may be in knowing that you spoke the truth. That you did not take on the shame that belongs to the perpetrator. That you would not be quiet about what happened. That you said their name out loud. That you can share your story with other people. That you are the person someone else can call when they see the signs, when they are in trouble, when they want to know the way forward, when they need someone to stand with them against another person who thought they could get away with it. That you still know that you are a person, that you have rights, that you are whole, that there are many possibilities, and that you, above all else, can love and trust yourself fiercely.

It is difficult to participate in inhumane processes as human beings. This is not a statement on your character. The systems we live within are terribly flawed. We need more people and organizations to help people to navigate them, but more than that, we need to change them. This is not your job.

Your number one responsibility is to prioritize yourself and your healing, knowing that the road is long, and can be a bit easier with support. When you need help, please ask. If you did not get referrals when you reported, if you reported, reach out to non-governmental organizations working in this area. You can always contact Equality Bahamas at equalitybahamas@gmail.com. We want you to win — not just a court case, but the struggle to stay in this life, to centre yourself, and to embrace the journey of healing. You deserve to be here just as much as anyone else. Your life has value. The world needs what you came here to deliver. Believe it as strongly and unreservedly as I believe you.

In Solidarity,

ALICIA WALLACE

Published in The Tribune on November 6, 2024.