Know Her Name
Her name was Emily Doe. Two words and eight letters gave her the identity of a victim of sexual assault. She was found unconscious, stripped of her clothes, behind a dumpster on the Stanford campus. The case People v. Turner (2016) became a media frenzy, as it was not merely a case about sexual assault. It was a case about wealth and privilege.
The recent release of the memoir, Know My Name , has allowed her to reclaim her power. She revealed that her real name is Chanel Miller. Two words and twelve letters that go beyond the label of a victim, instead describing her as a survivor, artist, and author. The memoir has continued the conversation about the pervasive rape culture within society and has been a reflection of its slow shift. The memoir comes at a time when Times Up and #MeToo have pushed this conversation to the forefront. Women and silence have been synonymous for far too long, and these movements have acknowledged that. Survivors of sexual assault and rape will no longer be subjected to silence. Their power lies within their existence, within their stories, and within their ability to speak out.
Chanel Miller details the moment that changed her life forever in the pages of the book. It is a story about survival, overcoming obstacles, and finding power within herself. There is intimacy, vulnerability, and brutal honesty in her memoir. She doesn’t sugarcoat the graphic nature of her assault, nor does she shy away from detailing the pain that she felt. The care for this story is demonstrated not only in the storytelling but also in the cover art. Japanese Kintsugi art inspires the gold lines on the cover. In Kintsugi, powdered gold mends fractures in pottery (Miller, 2019). In a way, Kintsugi is reflective of her memoir as she emphasizes the notion that it's possible to make fragmented pieces whole again.
The narrative surrounds her sexual assault on the Stanford campus by a student named Brock Turner in 2015. This trial, and the way law enforcement handled it, would be the catalyst for the movements and revolutions that we see today regarding sexual misconduct. Turner was found guilty of “three felony counts of sexual assault” (Stack, 2016, para. 3). He was given a lenient sentence of six months in county jail, of which he only served three of those months. Turner's case is a prime example of the intersectionality of the sexism of rape culture, and the classist racism of the justice system in the United States. The Turner case made it evident there's a need to mobilize and demand structural change in the United States.
Turner's case is a prime example of the intersectionality of the sexism of rape culture, and the classist racism of the justice system in the United States.
Vulnerability is laced in Miller’s words as she recounts her very publicized trial. As mentioned previously, the judge sentenced Turner to only six months of jail, sending waves of shock throughout the nation, including Miller herself. She writes: “The judge had given Brock something that would never be extended to me, empathy. My pain was never more valuable than his potential” (Miller, 2019, p. 241). The violation of her body is a permanent feeling, yet it's not reflected in how the justice system offered a sympathy card for the white defendant. This ruling set a dangerous precedent to others who may believe their white complexion excuses them from consequences.
It has been made clear that the justice system in the United States is deeply flawed as it consistently aims to appease only wealthy white individuals. Turner’s light sentence and his ability to pay $150,000 of bail on the night of his arrest is evidence of this fact (Miller, 2019). Even after all the odds were against him, the justice system managed to protect him. In an interview that Miller did with 60 Minutes, she expressed her outrage for Turner’s light sentence. “There are young men, particularly young men of color, serving longer sentences for nonviolent crimes for having a teeny-weeny bit of marijuana in their pockets. And he’s just been convicted of three felonies, and he’s going to serve one month for each felony. How can you explain that to me (Whitaker, 2019)?” The double standard that Miller points out is a clear indication of the wealth and racial inequality within the system. The flaws within the system have silenced victims that have developed a deep understanding that power and wealth are more substantive in the court of law than their pain.
It is also important to note that the justice system has never prioritized sexual assault cases, which further explains why survivors stay silent. The study “Decision Making in Sexual Assault Cases: Replication Research on Sexual Violence Case Attrition in the U.S” conducted by Melissa S. Morabito, Linda M. Williams, and April Pattavina, is evidence of this. They reported: “Within policing, we found that sexual assault investigators had low prestige and were often under-resourced, considering sexual assault cases are resource-intensive (Morabito et al., 2019, p. 6),” this statement is particularly problematic. With a justice system that wasn’t built for sexual assault victims, it becomes impossible for prosecutors to hold perpetrators accountable. The United States is a breathing and walking contradiction preaching “justice for all,” when thousands of sexual assault victims have yet to receive the justice that this country promises.
The backlog of rape kits only further emphasizes the flaws within our justice system, but it also is another factor that discourages survivors from coming forward with their stories. The Manhattan District Attorney’s Office reported that “researchers analyzed 1,268 police reports associated with untested sexual assault kits in Detroit, Michigan. Researchers discovered that law enforcement often utilized biased stereotypes to discredit survivors and close criminal cases (Vance, 2019, p. 6).” It is a valid reason to claim that departments are too underfunded to review rape kits, but it is unacceptable when the officers themselves are being negligent. There is a lack of empathy and compassion that combines with the stereotypes built by society. Abuse of power begins when police departments believe that justice is a privilege. Rape culture and the procedures of the justice system are not mutually exclusive. We must do better, and that starts with dismantling the entire system. Simply revising legislation and making unfulfilled promises will not protect the lives of women.
When we discuss the fractures within our justice system, we must discuss media perception as these institutions coincide with each other. There is a specific script followed when media outlets report rape and sexual assault cases. When the Washington Post headline to their article about the assault reads “All-American swimmer found guilty of sexually assaulting an unconscious woman on Stanford campus” (Miller, 2016), they are unknowingly contributing to rape culture. The usage of the phrase “All-American swimmer” glorifies and softens his character, which influences public perception. The media describing Turner as a “star athlete” shies away from the truth. In this case, he is nothing more than a rapist. Sensationalized headlines allow the general public to believe that this incident is excusable because the perpetrator seemingly has a bright future ahead of him. Unfortunately, the judge presiding over the case seemed to hold the same notions, as this was one of his justifications for ordering a light sentence. The system and frankly, societal norms have prioritized the potential “future” of the rapist over the emotional scars of the victim. The media glorified Turner and managed to sink lower when they referred to Miller solely as an “unconscious woman” or “Brock Turner’s victim.” Using such phrases allows for debates regarding the morality of the situation, which in no way should be dialogue. Hopefully, there is a common understanding that the violation of anyone’s body is morally wrong. Language matters, and rape culture persists when we glamorize rapists through how we represent them.
Miller’s painful experience is, unfortunately, a collective one, as acts of sexual violence have become embedded within the American culture. A culture in which intoxication levels determine whether or not a male can thrust their genitals into a woman’s body, a culture that questions a woman’s attire during the time of the incident. These questions and precautionary measures have become second nature for women because society has allowed “boys to be boys.” “What this reasoning does not grapple with — and it is a perennial rejoinder to discussions of sexual assault and women’s vulnerability — is that no one escapes unwanted male attention because they don’t meet certain beauty standards or because they don’t dress a certain way, writes Roxane Gay (Gay, 2017, para. 10). Gay’s reasoning is profound. These so-called “requirements” for women aim to justify the actions of men. The scapegoating of women perpetuates this idea that their harm was self-inflicted. We teach girls all the ways to not be sexually assaulted or raped, which is counterproductive, as we should be teaching boys about consent. We live in a world where toxic masculinity pollutes the air, and such topics of discussion are taboo. Therefore, it is easier to blame victims for the actions of the perpetrators, and have women take precautionary measures to simply exist.
Therefore, it is easier to blame victims for the actions of the perpetrators, and have women take precautionary measures to simply exist.
The deliberate intention of silencing women is the main component of rape culture. We have seen this with the recent high-profile case of the sexual allegations made against film producer Harvey Weinstein. In the New York Times article, “Harvey Weinstein Paid Off Sexual Harassment Accusers for Decades,” Jodi Kanter and Megan Twoby write that “Mr. Weinstein enforced a code of silence; employees of the Weinstein Company have contracts saying they will not criticize it or its leaders in a way that could harm its ‘business reputation’ or ‘any employee’s personal reputation,’ a recent document shows (Kanter & Twoby, 2017, para. 17).” Power struggles to maintain that power exists at the expense of discrediting victims. These abuses of power from the perpetrator are why women are unable to come forward with their stories. We have seen the emergence of movements where survivors are speaking about experiences that may have occurred over decades ago, further drawing attention to the corruption of men in positions of power. Suffering alone has become the only option for many victims of sexual assault. Unfortunately, this is the price they pay in a world that wasn’t built for them.
Miller was silenced when she was asked irrelevant questions like whether she had a boyfriend, how many tacos she consumed before she arrived at the party, and how many drinks she had. She was silenced when her character was questioned. She was silenced when the defense twisted her words and created a narrative that made the assaulter the victim. She expresses the physical and mental isolation she felt in the powerful victim impact statement that was published in a Buzzfeed article, and that can now be found in her memoir. “Lastly, you said, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin a life. A life, one life, yours, you forgot about mine… You took away my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my confidence, my own voice until today” (Baker, 2016, para. 44). It is not only heartbreaking but infuriating that society has made the victims out to be the evil ones in these cases. Women feel as if their body is a playground that is meant to be stomped on and disregarded. Miller’s anger and pain translated well to the rest of the nation as this case contributed to the birth of movements where the goal is accountability. The time is coming when silence will no longer be the remedy to maintain the perpetrator’s power. That time is now, and Miller is part of this fight.
There is a tremendous amount of courage in Miller’s decision to reveal her identity and publish a memoir that exposes all of her emotions within the pages. This time she speaks her own truth, on her own terms, without any interruptions. In a system that has worked tirelessly to suppress her voice, she has found herself inspiring millions around the world. Her name is Chanel Miller. Know that name. Remember that name.
By Ashley Chen
llustrations done in collaboration with the New Media Artspace at Baruch College. The New Media Artspace is a teaching exhibition space in the Department of Fine and Performing Arts at Baruch College, CUNY. Housed in the Newman Library, the New Media Artspace showcases curated experimental media and interdisciplinary artworks by international artists, students, alumni, and faculty. Special thanks to docent Maya Hilbert for creating artwork for this piece.
Check the New Media Artspace out at http://www.newmediartspace.info/