[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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