The troubling message from the Ghomeshi trial
On Thursday many of us woke up to the news that Jian Ghomeshi was acquitted on all counts of sexual assault and choking following the trial that’s been brewing since allegations against him came out in the fall of 2014. Even for those of us who are deeply cynical about the justice system and its ability to protect women, the judge’s decision was a blow.
The defence’s strategy hinged on discrediting Ghomeshi’s accusers, and while Judge William Horkins’s ruling stated that the acquittal doesn’t mean that something didn’t happen, the testimony of the three women was not rock-solid enough to warrant a conviction.
The message this ruling sends is unambiguous: if you want the legal system to protect you, be a good victim. Take detailed notes of your assault, ideally while it’s happening. Don’t laugh, don’t joke, don’t try to normalize the situation. Be consistent: don’t have complicated feelings, don’t contact your assaulter, definitely don’t speak to other women about what happened, especially not if it might have happened to them, too. In other words, don’t do anything that a conscious, complex, vulnerable being might do when faced with a traumatic situation.
This message is troubling, but it’s certainly not new. And it points to a gaping hole in our collective ability to address violence when it’s something other than being attacked by a stranger in an alleyway.
One thing this trial has led me to think about is this: why do we have a special category for sexual assault? Rape and other forms of sexual violence are vio- lence, not sex, so why the modifier? Why not just call it assault, and lump it under the same heading as muggings, beatings, and other instances of physical aggression?
I don’t know the legal reason for the distinction, but I think there is a philosophical one, and it has to do with the fact that when violence and intimacy collide there is a whole set of psychological and emotional repercussions that go along with it, and these need to be accounted for.
When the vast majority of instances of sexual assault take place between people who know each other — who are in relationships, or friendships, or marriages — it means that the boundaries around violence are not always cut and dried.
Women are cautioned to protect ourselves from strangers on the streets, in bars, in parks and on subways, and we’re led to believe that if, in spite of our best efforts to defend ourselves, we’re overcome, we’ll see justice served (though of course even in such cases it rarely plays out that way, given that the burden of proof is usually on the woman to show she wasn’t “asking for it” or acting otherwise imprudently). But when the violence comes from within a relationship of any kind, where there are emotional at- tachments and exchanges, we know the system will leave us stranded.
So where do we look for justice? Not from the courts — even before the verdict was announced we saw the script of victim-blaming and character assassination playing itself out. And while a different verdict would have given some relief to the three women, and set an important precedent for survivors of sexual assault, there’s little joy to be had in seeing someone go to prison, because, as someone once pointed out, the prison system is the last place you go to learn to respect women. It’s a no-win game.
What’s ultimately missing here is accountability. While I can’t speak for the survivors, what would bring me some modicum of satisfaction would be for Ghomeshi — and other men — to speak to the accusations, to address the sense of entitlement entrenched in their relationships with women, to look without flinching at the imbalance of power, both legal and social, and how it allows them to run their lives with impunity.
In other words, to do what women have been doing all our lives, without even thinking about it.
If there’s any positive outcome to this verdict, let it be this: that it strengthens our resolve to never rest easy in the idea that the system works. Because it doesn’t. I know that today. I knew it yesterday. I’ll know it tomorrow, and every tomorrow until we change it.
The message this ruling sends is clear: be a good victim. In other words, don’t do anything that a conscious, complex, vulnerable individual might do when confronted with a traumatic situation