As much as I hate to do this, I have to thank Donald Trump. Thanks to the #TrumpTapes released last Friday, where he admits to sexually assaulting women because his celebrity status entitles him to do so, millions of women have come forward with their stories of sexual assault and shirking the shame that accompanies the assaults. And I am one of them.
For years, I kept silent about the multiple times I have been sexually assaulted by men…until this year. I came out publicly as a victim just a few weeks ago when I spoke to the North Carolina Democratic Party State Executive Committee about disability rights and policy. In doing so, I informed the party, when discussing criminal justice, that 80% of disabled women are sexually assaulted, many of which have been victimized on multiple occasions. I followed that fact up with the unfortunate truth that I am part of that statistic. My voice couldn’t help but to crack, and many audience members teared up. However, I have never publicly talked about those incidents in detail until the Republican nominee for President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, was caught on a live mic bragging about sexually assaulting women. And for that shirking of burden and shame, I am grateful.
Americans need to understand just how serious and real sexual assault is and should never be something, about which to brag. Therefore, I am going public with the dreadful assaults I endured that had Donald Trump committed, he would’ve bragged about:
The first time, I was five. A step-family member exposed himself in my face and asked what I thought of it. And that wasn’t the only time. I was so young that I never even understood how terrible and abusive it was. So I never told my mother until I was an adult. He, too, like Trump, felt entitled to sexually abuse a girl, while professing himself to be a devout Christian.
Several years later in life, while in high school and a young developing woman, I visited the eye doctor. Diligently studying 15 hours a day took a toll on my distant vision. So I needed glasses. The ophthalmologist, during the entire eye exam, pressed his genitals on my leg and touched my thigh with his hand.
Neither of those incidents compare, however, to what I endured in law school. On Valentine’s Day, I spent the day protesting the holiday with my best friend, as both of us were single. He drank copious amounts of wine (3 bottles, to be exact). So, to protect him, I permitted him to sleep over, rather than drive home drunk. I went to sleep, only to wake up to him taking off my clothes and ultimately raping me. Despite saying “no” repeatedly, he continued, and due to my disability, I couldn’t fight back. After it was over, he permitted me to get up and go to the bathroom to rinse the blood off, but I had to return to my blood soaked bed and re-lie in those sheets, due to my inability to change my own bedding. After he left, in shock, I called my classmate and girl friend, barely able to utter the words, asked her if she could come over and help me change and wash my bedding. She rushed over and took the bedding off as quickly as possible, but the beautiful silk pillow my mother made for me was ruined from blood that could never be removed.
I suffered from terrible PTSD, which according to Donald Trump must’ve been due to being weak, and couldn’t bring myself to go to a doctor for three days, as the emotional pain was far worse than the physical pain. The exam was almost as bad as the rape. It was like reliving the assault all over again, as is every cervical exam since. The lacerations were still there, and they healed relatively quickly. But the emotional scars will likely never heal.
Several years later, I moved to NYC and then Israel, where I had unfamiliar men in both places grope me, lick me, rub me, make kissing sounds at me, stalk me, follow me home in their cars or on the subway. But the worst offense is when, one night, I was “walking” home late at night in Jerusalem, because the last bus home was inaccessible. The walk was an hour walk, it was midnight, and my battery was dangerously low. I called my friends for desperate help, but finding an accessible vehicle, that late at night seemed unlikely. An ultra orthodox man with a beard, dressed in a white shirt and black pants, tzit tzit exposed, in a white bread truck-like vehicle stopped and offered to help me home. I explained to him in my broken Hebrew that it wasn’t possible, because I couldn’t access any vehicle without a lift or ramp, but thanked him for the offer. He said excitedly that he had one. As a fellow religious Jew, I trusted him and thanked God for sending an angel. It was conceivable to me that he had some sort of loading ramp, due to the shape of his vehicle. So, he told me to just meet him in the adjacent alley. And I complied.
He parked and met me as I was going toward his car. But when he reached me, he immediately began rubbing my back. I knew instantly that I was in danger, and the apparent angel was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Religious men are forbidden by Jewish law to touch women except their wives. In my broken Hebrew I kept saying “no” and “don’t touch,” but he didn’t obey. He proceeded to take my belongings away from me, kiss, lick and suck on my neck, tried kissing my mouth, akin to Trump’s admitted behavior, and then put his hands up my skirt (which I strictly wore for religious purposes).
I tried to move my chair with the joystick, but he grabbed my hand and kept me from doing so. Again my disability kept me from fighting back. But I had mental strength. I kept telling him that my friends were coming to pick me up and were on their way. He responded by reaching to pick me up out of my chair like a child, in an attempt to kidnap and rape me. I grabbed my joystick and spun my chair in the opposite direction, which made him lose his balance and stumble. At that very moment, God answered my prayers and a car approached, in this, otherwise, empty part of the city at night, and I lied and said, “there are my friends!” He ran to his truck and raced away from the crime scene.
My friends were indeed coming in an ambulance, but I didn’t know when they would arrive, and I was terrified he would return beforehand. The two minutes that passed before the ambulance arrived, right as the predator did, in fact, return, I shook in terror. When they arrived, they saw me and knew with a simple glance that something terrible occurred.
This time, I reported it to the police, but they refused to investigate. Even though he touched my chair, laptop and handbag, all of which he could’ve left fingerprints, they refused to brush for them. They made me come to the precinct several days later to make an official report and then told me they could do nothing because I didn’t have the wherewithal to get his license plate number while he was speeding away from the crime scene.
The next few weeks were emotional torture. I was terrified to go outside. When I did, I would see him everywhere. Every man with a white shirt, black pants and a beard terrified me and sent me rushing home, often preventing me from attending rape counseling. I suffered from countless panic attacks, and soon thereafter, I decided to never wear skirts again, breaking Jewish laws of modesty for my own safety.
I had hoped that was the end of my victimization, but another was yet to come. Several years later, in North Carolina, at Charlotte’s downtown CMC hospital, I was severely ill, suffering from sepsis, and an Emergency Room tech transported me to my admission room. Once we arrived, he transferred me to the other bed and then reached under my gown, right in front of my mother, and groped my left breast. I was so sick that my fever was 104 and my heart rate was 136. I was fighting for my life and in no condition to report a sexual assault. But once I was no longer septic, I told a nurse. The hospital investigators came to my room and ultimately decided that I was lying because I didn’t immediately report and there had never been a report against him like that before. And the police took their word. He, like, Donald Trump, felt entitled to grab my “t*t,” as our Republican nominee calls them.
The media’s focus on the Trump Tapes is about his lewd comments and language, and they entirely miss the point. Donald Trump is admitting to committing sexual assault. He shouldn’t be our next President. He should, instead, be on the sex offender’s registry. If he weren’t a rich, privileged white man, he would be. Rather, he is a major party’s nominee for POTUS.
In the face of a decision between a sexual predator, who assaults, belittles, insults and gropes women, and the potential first female president who is the most qualified person ever to run for the office of POTUS, I can affirmatively say #ImWithHer.
To those who believe his comments were, indeed, “locker room banter” where “boys will be boys”: you are perpetuating the rape culture that is so prevalent in this country and abroad. No man, regardless of his celebrity status, is entitled to grab a woman’s crotch or kiss her without prior consent, let alone brag about it while mic’ed for a televised show.
To those who say Trump’s comments are no worse than singing along to lewd lyrics: this is such a false equivalency, and it’s offensive to women, like me, who have been sexually assaulted. Repeating lyrics have nothing to do with your own actions, let alone akin to bragging of committing sex crimes against women.
To those comparing Trump’s pride in assaulting women to Bill Clinton’s affairs: again, this is another false equivalency. Bill’s affairs were consensual. Infidelity does not sexual assault make. And even if it did, Bill Clinton is not on the ticket! Women are not an extension of their husbands anymore. You are making women empathize with and relate to Hillary more than ever.
Trump’s decision to compare his crimes to Bill’s indiscretions is such a losing strategy when women make up more than a majority of the electorate. And his perpetual blame game, in this instance, excuses rape and rape culture. I implore every woman, every father to daughters or with a mother, every devout religious person, to think about what message it sends to the women of this country and the world to elect a sexual predator to be the leader of the free world. You have the chance to come forward against sexual assault and a man who boasts of committing the crimes, of which I was a victim…a chance to tell your children that you stopped a sex offender from ruling this country. A vote for Trump is tantamount to a vote for condoning rape. This is the antithesis of the family values, to which the Republican Party so staunchly cling.
Please, Dump Trump, end our country’s pervasive rape culture, and simply thank him, as I have, for bringing national attention to sexual assault.