[Congressional Record Volume 162, Number 91 (Thursday, June 9, 2016)]
[House]
[Pages H3567-H3568]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
ZERO TOLERANCE FOR RAPE
The SPEAKER. The Chair recognizes the gentleman from Texas (Mr. Poe)
for 5 minutes.
Mr. POE of Texas. Mr. Speaker, two Stanford students were biking one
night when they noticed a half naked woman lying motionless behind a
dumpster with a male student on top of her. When they confronted the
attacker, the man took off in the darkness of the night. The Good
Samaritans were able to catch the coward and knock him to the ground.
The woman, just 22 years of age at the time, was being raped, and the
rapist was caught in the act.
When the victim regained consciousness, she was on a gurney, covered
with pine needles, and was bleeding. Her assailant was Brock Turner, a
scholarship swimmer at Stanford. Brock was found guilty of sexual
assault on three counts. His sentence? A mere 6 months in prison and 3
years probation. Because the judge said ``a prison sentence would have
a severe impact on him.'' Well, isn't that the point?
Mr. Speaker, the punishment for rape should be longer than a semester
in college. The defendant's dad called it a ``steep price to pay for 20
minutes of action.'' Clearly, Brock is a chip off the old block and
daddy will never be named father of the year.
For many victims, Mr. Speaker, rape is a fate worse than death. Here
is why. Because rape victims say that after being raped, they die
emotionally many times; and with homicide, one dies only once.
After the sentencing, the brave victim read, Mr. Speaker, a 7,200-
word statement to her attacker, the rapist. She said in part:
``I tried to push it out of my mind, but it was so heavy I didn't
talk, I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I didn't interact with anyone. I
became isolated from the ones I loved the most. After I learned about
the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the news article listed
his swimming times, saying `by the way, he's really good at swimming.'
``I was the wounded antelope of the herd, completely alone and
vulnerable, physically unable to fend for myself, and he chose me.
During the investigation, I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed
questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family
life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an
excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask
for my name.
``My damage was internal, unseen, I carry it with me. You took away
my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my
confidence, my own voice.
``While you worry about your shattered reputation, I can't sleep
alone at night without having a light on, like a 5-year-old, because I
have nightmares of being touched where I cannot wake up. I did this
thing where I waited until the sun came up and I felt safe enough to
sleep.''
Mr. Speaker, I was a prosecutor and a criminal court judge in Texas
for over 30 years. I met a lot of rape victims and learned how these
attacks sometimes devastate their lives.
This judge got it wrong. There is an archaic philosophy in some
courts ``that sin ain't sin as long as good folk do it.'' In this case,
the court and the defendant's father wanted a pass for the rapist
because he was a big-shot swimmer. The judge should be removed.
The rapist should do more time for the dastardly deed that he did
that night. This arrogant defendant has appealed the sentence. I hope
the appeals court does grant the appeal and make it right and overturn
the pathetic sentence and give him the punishment he deserves.
As a country, Mr. Speaker, we must change our mentality and make sure
that people recognize sexual assault and rape for the horrible crimes
that they are. As a grandfather of 11, I want to know that my
granddaughters are growing up in a society that has zero tolerance for
this criminal conduct. No means no. A woman who is unconscious does not
even have the ability to consent or fight back.
Victims, like this remarkable woman, must know that society and the
justice system are on their side. Too often the focus is on defending,
protecting, and excusing sex offenders like Brock Turner. The
entitlement mentality, being a good college athlete, and self-
righteousness do not trump justice.
In 6 months, when Brock Turner is out of prison, he will return to
his life, but the life of the victim may never be the same. The
criminal has given her a life sentence of mental pain, anguish, and
turmoil. Mr. Speaker, when rape occurs, the criminal is trying to steal
the very soul of the victim.
Justice demands the judge be removed. The defendant should receive
more time in prison. We, the people,
[[Page H3568]]
the community, must support and assist the victim in all possible ways
because, Mr. Speaker, rape is never the fault of the victim.
And that is just the way it is.
Mr. Speaker, I include in the Record the statement of the victim in
this case.
This Is a Partial Excerpt of a 7,200 Word Statement From the Stanford
Rape Victim
``Your Honor, if it is all right, for the majority of this
statement I would like to address the defendant directly. You
don't know me, but you've been inside me, and that's why
we're here today.
On January 17th, 2015, it was a quiet Saturday night at
home. My dad made some dinner and I sat at the table with my
younger sister who was visiting for the weekend. I was
working full time and it was approaching my bed time. I
planned to stay at home by myself, watch some TV and read,
while she went to a party with her friends. Then, I decided
it was my only night with her, I had nothing better to do, so
why not, there's a dumb party ten minutes from my house, I
would go, dance like a fool, and embarrass my younger sister.
On the way there, I joked that undergrad guys would have
braces. My sister teased me for wearing a beige cardigan to a
frat party like a librarian. I called myself `big mama',
because I knew I'd be the oldest one there. I made silly
faces, let my guard down, and drank liquor too fast not
factoring in that my tolerance had significantly lowered
since college. The next thing I remember I was in a gurney in
a hallway. I had dried blood and bandages on the backs of my
hands and elbow. I thought maybe I had fallen and was in an
admin office on campus. I was very calm and wondering where
my sister was. A deputy explained I had been assaulted. I
still remained calm, assured he was speaking to the wrong
person. I knew no one at this party. When I was finally
allowed to use the restroom, I pulled down the hospital pants
they had given me, went to pull down my underwear, and felt
nothing. I still remember the feeling of my hands touching my
skin and grabbing nothing. I looked down and there was
nothing. The thin piece of fabric, the only thing between my
vagina and anything else, was missing and everything inside
me was silenced. I still don't have words for that feeling.
In order to keep breathing, I thought maybe the policemen
used scissors to cut them off for evidence. . . .
On that morning, all that I was told was that I had been
found behind a dumpster, potentially penetrated by a
stranger, and that I should get retested for HIV because
results don't always show up immediately. But for now, I
should go home and get back to my normal life. Imagine
stepping back into the world with only that information. They
gave me huge hugs and I walked out of the hospital into the
parking lot wearing the new sweatshirt and sweatpants they
provided me, as they had only allowed me to keep my necklace
and shoes. . . . My sister picked me up, face wet from tears
and contorted in anguish. Instinctively and immediately, I
wanted to take away her pain. I smiled at her, I told her to
look at me, I'm right here, I'm okay, everything's okay, I'm
right here. My hair is washed and clean, they gave me the
strangest shampoo, calm down, and look at me. Look at these
funny new sweatpants and sweatshirt, I look like a P.E.
teacher, let's go home, let's eat something. She did not know
that beneath my sweatsuit, I had scratches and bandages on my
skin, my vagina was sore and had become a strange, dark color
from all the prodding, my underwear was missing, and I felt
too empty to continue to speak. That I was also afraid, that
I was also devastated. That day we drove home and for hours
in silence my younger sister held me. My boyfriend did not
know what happened, but called that day and said, `I was
really worried about you last night, you scared me, did you
make it home okay?' I was horrified. That's when I learned I
had called him that night in my blackout, left an
incomprehensible voicemail, that we had also spoken on the
phone, but I was slurring so heavily he was scared for me,
that he repeatedly told me to go find [my sister]. Again, he
asked me, `What happened last night? Did you make it home
okay?' I said yes, and hung up to cry.
You said, Being drunk I just couldn't make the best
decisions and neither could she.
Alcohol is not an excuse. Is it a factor? Yes. But alcohol
was not the one who stripped me, fingered me, had my head
dragging against the ground, with me almost fully naked.
Having too much to drink was an amateur mistake that I admit
to, but it is not criminal. Everyone in this room has had a
night where they have regretted drinking too much, or knows
someone close to them who has had a night where they have
regretted drinking too much. Regretting drinking is not the
same as regretting sexual assault. We were both drunk, the
difference is I did not take off your pants and underwear,
touch you inappropriately, and run away. That's the
difference.
You said, If I wanted to get to know her, I should have
asked for her number, rather than asking her to go back to my
room.
I'm not mad because you didn't ask for my number. Even if
you did know me, I would not want to be in this situation. My
own boyfriend knows me, but if he asked to finger me behind a
dumpster, I would slap him. No girl wants to be in this
situation. Nobody. I don't care if you know their phone
number or not.
My independence, natural joy, gentleness, and steady
lifestyle I had been enjoying became distorted beyond
recognition. I became closed off, angry, self deprecating,
tired, irritable, empty. The isolation at times was
unbearable. You cannot give me back the life I had before
that night either. While you worry about your shattered
reputation, I refrigerated spoons every night so when I woke
up, and my eyes were puffy from crying, I would hold the
spoons to my eyes to lessen the swelling so that I could see.
I showed up an hour late to work every morning, excused
myself to cry in the stairwells, I can tell you all the best
places in that building to cry where no one can hear you. The
pain became so bad that I had to explain the private details
to my boss to let her know why I was leaving. I needed time
because continuing day to day was not possible. I used my
savings to go as far away as I could possibly be. I did not
return to work full time as I knew I'd have to take weeks off
in the future for the hearing and trial, that were constantly
being rescheduled. My life was put on hold for over a year,
my structure had collapsed.
I can't sleep alone at night without having a light on,
like a five year old, because I have nightmares of being
touched where I cannot wake up, I did this thing where I
waited until the sun came up and I felt safe enough to sleep.
For three months, I went to bed at six o'clock in the
morning.
You cannot give me back my sleepless nights. The way I have
broken down sobbing uncontrollably if I'm watching a movie
and a woman is harmed, to say it lightly, this experience has
expanded my empathy for other victims. I have lost weight
from stress, when people would comment I told them I've been
running a lot lately. There are times I did not want to be
touched. I have to relearn that I am not fragile, I am
capable, I am wholesome, not just livid and weak.
He is a lifetime sex registrant. That doesn't expire. Just
like what he did to me doesn't expire, doesn't just go away
after a set number of years. It stays with me, it's part of
my identity, it has forever changed the way I carry myself,
the way I live the rest of my life.
To conclude, I want to say thank you. To everyone from the
intern who made me oatmeal when I woke up at the hospital
that morning, to the deputy who waited beside me, to the
nurses who calmed me, to the detective who listened to me and
never judged me, to my advocates who stood unwaveringly
beside me, to my therapist who taught me to find courage in
vulnerability, to my boss for being kind and understanding,
to my incredible parents who teach me how to turn pain into
strength, to my grandma who snuck chocolate into the
courtroom throughout this to give to me, my friends who
remind me how to be happy, to my boyfriend who is patient and
loving, to my unconquerable sister who is the other half of
my heart, to Alaleh, my idol, who fought tirelessly and never
doubted me. Thank you to everyone involved in the trial for
their time and attention. Thank you to girls across the
nation that wrote cards to my DA to give to me, so many
strangers who cared for me.
Most importantly, thank you to the two men who saved me,
who I have yet to meet. I sleep with two bicycles that I drew
taped above my bed to remind myself there are heroes in this
story. That we are looking out for one another. To have known
all of these people, to have felt their protection and love,
is something I will never forget.
And finally, to girls everywhere, I am with you. On nights
when you feel alone, I am with you. When people doubt you or
dismiss you, I am with you. I fought every day for you. So
never stop fighting, I believe you. As the author Anne Lamott
once wrote, `Lighthouses don't go running all over an island
looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.'
Although I can't save every boat, I hope that by speaking
today, you absorbed a small amount of light, a small knowing
that you can't be silenced, a small satisfaction that justice
was served, a small assurance that we are getting somewhere,
and a big, big knowing that you are important,
unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are beautiful, you
are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute of
every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away
from you. To girls everywhere, I am with you. Thank you.'
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