Anonymous
As a White woman with no criminal record, my testimonial here is far from intuitive; however, I am sharing my story as a victim impacted by the racism inherent in the justice system.
When I was 19 years old, I was violently raped by someone I had dated when I was 13. This man had kept tabs on me as I finished middle and high school and would periodically check in with me under the guise of friendship. When I went to college, he finally made his move.
I went to the police within 12 hours of my attack and ended up in an interview room with a detective and a victim’s advocate. Over the next four hours, I answered what felt like endless questions and wrote my statement. At one point, when I mentioned something the rapist had said to me, the victim’s advocate said, “He’s done this before,” to which the detective nodded. I gave the police my clothing and endured a physical exam. I provided the police with the home address of the rapist, his phone number, and all identifying information. I assumed he would be punished.
The next day, an assistant district attorney (ADA) called me and informed me that they would not be pressing charges against my rapist. The ADA stated, “He’s a nice young man with a good job, and it’s your word against his. I wouldn’t be able to convince a jury, I’m sorry.”
Implicit in that denial of justice lay the identity of my attacker: a White man from an upper-middle-class family serving in the Merchant Marines. His word mattered. My word mattered far less.
I knew when I heard the ADA describe my rapist as a “nice young man” that the ADA never would have uttered those words to excuse an attack by someone who wasn’t White. And in reviewing the data procured under the Racial Justice Act, my suspicions were confirmed. Within the county where I was attacked, Black men were 13.6 times as likely to be charged with rape as were White men, while Hispanic men were charged at a rate 2.5 times higher than White men. I was denied justice because I was attacked by a White man. A rapist, whose utterances were common enough to be recognized by a victim’s advocate and a sex crimes detective, walked free because of his race, his skin color granting him immunity.
The Racial Justice Act matters to me because racism within the judicial system creates more victims. As a rape survivor denied justice, I was victimized twice. And given the recognized pattern of behavior, I do not doubt that the man who raped me has since pursued more victims. The criminal justice system’s oversized focus on people of color not only unjustly criminalizes the BIPOC community at disproportionate rates, but concomitantly fails to acknowledge the crimes of White offenders. Individuals of color who are arrested, charged, and imprisoned at disproportionate rates and for disproportionate lengths of time are just as much victims of an unjust system as I am.
Societally, we look for offenders where we expect them. When the public image of a “criminal” is constructed by racism, law enforcement, district attorneys, and juries are less capable of recognizing and punishing White offenders. The Racial Justice Act acknowledges this fact and works to remedy it as the first of many steps we must take to create a more equitable justice system. The RJA gives me hope for a justice system that will protect all people equally and will no longer create additional victims on either side of the courtroom.
