Muddling Through the Web of Justice

I do not remember a time during my childhood when I was not abused. I do not remember a time when I was not plagued with a burden no child should face. Now, after years of therapy, I am free from the invisible wounds my abuse inflicted on me. I no longer spend days trying to forget the way his hands felt. The only worry that still sticks with me is the thought that he might do the same crime to someone else. My experience is a thorough example of a complete miscarriage of justice at the hands of those who were supposed to protect me.

At nine-years-old, I confessed to my mother what abuses were happening in my father's home. She immediately went to the police, but I, being so young and naive, feared my father would not love me anymore if he were imprisoned based on my accusations. I refused to tell the authorities what happened when my mom brought me to the police, and the case was dropped. I will always regret not prosecuting my abuser when I had the chance, but I will also be angry that the justice I deserved depended on only a child's word.

I am wiser than I was then. I struggled with the aftershocks of abuse, but in the end, came out stronger than if it had never happened. I felt that it was my duty to protect anyone that would encounter my father, so I decided at 16 to try to press charges once more. I was unafraid of the repercussions of my allegations. I walked into the police station ready to brawl with anyone who stood in my way. I unabashedly told every single detail of my horrific childhood. I was interviewed by a male officer, which I did not particularly feel comfortable with, but I could not do anything about that. He listened as I told him everything, and I felt safe recounting to the kind man what happened to me for the ten years I was under my father's care. I was assured over and over by the police that something would be done to bring my father to justice. I could not describe my surprise when I was yet again turned away a couple months later. This time, according to the officer, my word was not enough to prosecute. The police said that there was not enough evidence to move forward. This confused me because they did not collect any physical evidence from me. The authorities did not search my father's home, which contained child pornography. The police did not question my father, nor did they investigate my grandparents, who lived with him. How is it fair to say there was not enough evidence when they did not collect any?

If any victim will ever get redemption for the horrors they experienced, a complete revamping of the justice system is necessary. According to the police, the statute of limitations ran out for many of the crimes committed against me. The statute of limitations is essentially a timer that begins the minute a crime occurs. When the timer runs out, the victim or victims can no longer prosecute the person that committed the crime. For example, if the statute of limitations is five years for a robbery, a person who waits five years and one day to go to the police, they can no longer prosecute the criminal. If the statute of limitations were different, my situation and many other victim's situations would be different. It is hard to believe that a law created by a room full of stuffy, old men dictates whether my father will pay for his crimes. Although the statute is relatively long for sexual abuse, the limit for physical violence is much shorter. Often, physical abuse is the only abuse that leaves traces of evidence on the body. Physical abuse is much easier to prove in court, and by imposing the strict limit of the statute of limitations, victims are silenced first by their abusers, and then by the justice system.

There are multiple ways cases like mine could be revolutionized. DNA collection should be automatic as soon as someone is accused of a crime. If the person is innocent, they should not have a problem having their DNA on file. Also, interviews with those accused of a sex crime should be mandatory.

My father was never interrogated, and I genuinely believe that if he were questioned enough, he would have confessed.

Only a small number of victims do not tell the truth when accusing abusers of a sex crime, yet, throughout my whole experience, responses to my claims always had a vague undertone of “no way that happened.” Well, newsflash, naysayers: it did happen, and it will happen again if people do not change their perspectives on victims and sexual assault. My struggle is not uncommon. Sexual and physical assault occurs often, and even more often than that, victims do not get justice because the police, courts, and other authorities do not do the job they are morally and legally required to do.

As I struggle to move my life forward, I wonder if my case is unique, or if the statute bars people from getting justice every day. There is no reason why my experience should happen to someone else. The laws created for the statute of limitations and the sexual abuse case protocol, in general, should be altered to accommodate victims that find the courage to accuse later in life. By extending the statute of limitations for all crimes, the opportunity for justice for victims increases tremendously.