The terms that so many stories of sexual assault are forced into, and the demands placed on victims and abusers to look and act in a recognizable way, make the thought of naming my abuser in public seem like something that would only cause me more pain. So does the possibility of any self-appointed vigilantes attempting to do so on my behalf. The notion of monitoring a mob I didn’t ask for sounds exhausting, whether this mob is coming for his head or mine. The awareness that my experience would be transmuted into a fascination with his moral character makes me want to get offline forever. It is easy to imagine a world where audiences’ infatuation with fame takes priority over a survivor’s needs.
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No matter what I choose, I also carry the sense of responsibility toward other survivors or potential victims. By not naming my predators, do I enable them to do more harm? By acknowledging nuance in my experiences, do I hand over the tools for any reactionary who seeks to weaponize the “gray area”? Do I cause other survivors to doubt their own authority or create a more hostile environment for those who wish to speak?
