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Black & Pink News
SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2020
Whose Harm is It Anyways? By David Booth, Deputy Executive Director of Black & Pink Trigger Warning This wasn’t an easy post for me to write. I’ve not been all that open about my experience with sexual harm while I was incarcerated, nor have I gone into much depth about it. There are still moments where my breath catches or when I’m enjoying bedroom moments and I forget that I’m safe. Moments where the harm feels so present. I imagine many of you navigate similar moments. I am honoring that space and your healing journey with a warning for the following article. While not explicit, It might bring up uncomfortable or triggering emotions. Please honor your boundaries and take care of your emotional needs. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, I encourage you to take a sharp inhale through your nose. Hold your breath for three seconds. Then exhale fully out of your mouth. Repeat twice more, then check in with your needs to see if you can continue reading. This article will be here later so I invite you to pause and come back to it later. Trigger Warning
“Do you wanna be my girlfriend?” Judging from the way he looked at me, this wasn’t a negotiation and much less an ask. Asking me to be his girlfriend told me all I needed to know. I was the weaker body here. No, this was a demand and saying no wasn’t an option. I did what I needed to escape from incarceration alive. Even all these years later I can still sometimes feel the pressure of his hand on the back of my head urging him to completion. I never reported him. PREA standards weren’t mandated by my home state at that point. I wondered whether anyone would believe me. The laundry room, where it happened, was the only place in the facility that wasn’t monitored by cameras. Usually a CO stood
guard. We slipped down there for warmth while laundry was being delivered around the unit. A part of me also wondered if I deserved the harm. What finalized my decision to keep silent was prior experience. The last time I spoke out, my voice was muted. I didn’t expect things to be different this time around either, more so because I was incarcerated. Would there really be “justice” for someone like me? I’ve mostly navigated through processing the experience, but there are still moments where I realize this harm changed me. Some of these moments are small, but jammed with meaning, where I fear being alone with larger male bodies. Other moments are reinforced, where my body is a transaction.
My worth is captured in the disbursement of pleasure granted by the transaction. Still others are more of a swirling mass of moments cascading into rivers of hurt, ebbing and flowing from past to present. The #metoo movement illuminated so many stories like my own and exposed the harm inflicted. It created space for difficult but needed conversations across the country in ways we’ve not seen before. Powerful men were held accountable for their actions. Celebrities used their platforms to speak out. Space was carved out for more people to feel achingly comfortable in their vulnerability. Rape culture is losing its edge, but we must do more. We need to actively work to transform the narrative of shame that has privileged
