Were You Asking For It? by Isabel Lardner

“Yeah, but were you asking for it?” 

These are the words that shattered for me the illusory America I once believed in: the place where if I did nothing wrong, if I told the truth, I would be safe. This is the question that haunts every rape survivor, every survivor of sexual harassment, every woman who takes the bus home late at night and has to pretend to herself that she doesn’t see the predatory grin of the man who chooses, of all the empty seats, the one right behind her. If she doesn’t pretend, if she recognizes the smile for what it is, she has been taught to wonder,

am I asking for it? 

The answer, of course, is that unless she is sober, over the legal age as determined by state law, and has provided coherent, emphatic consent, she is not asking for it. Yet too often the response to a woman’s report of assault—I will not say her “confession,” because it is the perpetrator’s responsibility to confess—is a variant of this question. It is the immediate, unthinking reaction of a woman’s audience to search for some version of the event where blame can be best assigned to her, even in situations where she is clearly not at fault. 

“What were you wearing?” 

This country is still defined by patriarchal institutions that somehow retain their power despite the fact that they perpetuate the biased, sexist attitudes of everyone in American society, knowingly or accidentally. Of course sexual assault is an everyday occurrence when college campuses are centered around men’s athletics, when the fields of business, science, engineering, and technology are thoroughly unwelcoming to women, and when governmental leadership positions are won by men running against significantly more qualified women. And now, when the strongest of us finally breaks into one of these fields, the power dynamic that exists between her and her coworkers reminds her daily that although she belongs there, it will always be infinitely harder for her to achieve what she wants. 

“Were you drunk?” 

In an incredible expression of unity, over eighty women accused film producer Harvey Weinstein of sexual harassment or assault in October 2017. Their bravery spurred the development of the #MeToo movement and exemplifies the incredible power of the silence-breakers, yet Weinstein walks free. Those women told the world they were not asking for it, but the entertainment industry grinds ceaselessly on, and perpetrators of assault and abuse like Weinstein remain successful despite their crimes, in the corporate and scientific world as well as

entertainment. Less than one percent of rapists are arrested for their crimes, and even fewer are incarcerated, because somehow concrete evidence provided by a woman is less persuasive than a man’s unsubstantiated denial. 

The power of our voices is not a small thing, and we cannot be ignored forever. The recent conviction of Larry Nassar, despite its incredible lateness, is a significant step forward. The fact that the assaulted women were so afraid to step forward is proof of the shame we wrongly force on the survivors of sexual assault, causing the case to serve as a reminder of the silence we expect from those women. Yet their voices, when they raised them together, accomplished something: they cast off that shame and ensured that no more women would suffer the way they had at Nassar’s hands. Our power lies in the act of telling our own stories: we must not forget our ability to do so. 

We must make our voices heard until this senseless victim-blaming ceases; until sexual predators are held accountable for their actions; until sexual violence becomes an exceptional event with swift repercussions; until this country’s utterances of “me too” no longer drown each other out; until we are secure in the safety of our daughters and sisters; until, finally, “Were you asking for it?” is replaced by a promise of acceptance and aid.