‘Those Girls’

May 09, 2016

One woman we provided support for, wanted to tell her story wrote this blog. It’s hard to hear at times but we need to hear from her and others, so we can never think of them as ‘Those Girls’.
‘Let me give you a summary, of things both said and implied by some Police officers, about girls caught up in sexual exploitation cases:
‘Nothing but trouble, Inconsistent, Not worth police time, Asking for it, Foolish, Drunkards, Misleading, Prostitutes with too much make-up, Pests.’
How about vulnerable? Scared, confused, abused, injured and raped.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have been one of those girls, and I want to set the record straight. It is vitally important that you, the police – protectors of society – take time to look at this serious issue from the point of view of the victims. Please believe sexual exploitation is something massive and understanding is an essential in tackling it. Girls like me understand it, because we have lived it. Some of us may never escape the far-reaching consequences of having suffered from this type of crime, and to discount our knowledge is to throw away a valuable asset. So please, I implore you, sit up and pay attention.
I’ll paint you a scene: You’ve been at work all day. You’re tired. You didn’t have time to take your lunch break. And sitting in front of you is a girl you’ve seen four times in the past week, as she’s phoned the station in trouble needing to be rescued from various situations. For the fourth time you’ve all but begged her to make a statement and she hasn’t cooperated. You’re frustrated. You’re stressed. You just want to go home and you cannot for the life of you understand why this girl is refusing to answer your most basic questions. At first you were eager to try and help but you’re now convinced she doesn’t want help, and you’re wondering if she’s doing this for attention, you know getting in the cars, knowing full well what those men are like. Why does she agree? Why does she have contact with the men who want to hurt her and then blow every opportunity to grass them up?
At first the girl was eager to get help too. You were the twenty fourth officer who has promised her all the protection in the world in return for a video interview. After meeting with her sixth officer, and the threats continuing and continuing she’s thinking ‘What’s the point?’ Interviews and statements aside the problem is just not going away and she’s still abducted off the streets by these guys trying to hurt her, and she’s followed home. Her home is attacked and there are incessant calls and texts and so, of course, she’s going to call the station, because although she’s lost all faith in you and your colleagues fixing the problem long term, she knows that getting in contact will get her a couple of hours of safety as she’s locked in an interrogation room. It saves her being locked in the bedroom any way.
The girl explained to you, early on, that she has no faith in the system. You told her it would be different this time and are annoyed that she won’t believe you. She’s annoyed that you won’t believe her, and trust in her experience of how things have been handled. To you she is a case that you can do nothing with. To her you are another person who just doesn’t understand. Just when she starts to think, ‘Maybe this time it will be different’, and she’s contemplating how to go through the trauma of explaining the whole horror story again from scratch you’ve given up and sent her on her way. She loved that one officer, the lady officer, who listened and made her feel safe; you then took the one lady officer of the case. I missed her, because I thought she cared. Next week there will be someone else working the case. Next week she’ll have faced three more life or death situations and those walls will have increased two fold AGAIN. Next week I will have to repeat myself over and over again, next week you will tell me again, I am confused, inconsistent and I don’t make sense. No maybe I don’t, but neither does why those men chose me.
I am not being dramatic for the sake of trying to keep your attention. Interviews are standard procedure for you, for us they really are trauma. You are asking us to relive moment by moment abuse that is still raw, and then repeat it over again as you pick it apart.
You want to get a picture of the crimes; we want nothing more than to get those pictures out of our heads. You want us to speak up, but we’ve spent the last couple of years months being conditioned to believe that we have no voice.
You told us to trust you, well so did our abusers. You said you were on our side, and that you’d take care of us – so did they. I know you are a police officer, but you are also a man and in the sick world I live in men equal people who put you down and use you up.
You said you would believe me, but you ask me so many questions I’m now struggling to believe myself. You said “Look at me, I’m an officer,” and I said “All I can see is your handcuffs, sir.”
They looked at me, stared at me; you pay close attention too, trying to figure out my body language. They took photographs of my body; you snap pictures of my wounds. They promised me the world, you promised me justice. Neither of you said promises can be broken.
They hurt me with their words as well as their fists. I expect it of them. But words from someone in authority cut deeper. They told me I was worthless, but I never truly felt it until you asked my friends and family if they thought I was a prostitute.
I found it hard to keep track of their names; I find it harder to keep track of your badge numbers.
You said that my story didn’t add up. Do you really believe it makes sense in my head either? This is not how I envisioned living my life. I don’t get a kick out of you asking me if I enjoy being victimised. You said I put myself at risk, I know that no matter what I’ve done the past few months has resulted in risk and I did not ask for it. I enjoyed the car ride, I enjoyed feeling special. I enjoyed the few vodkas, but no I didn’t ask to be raped or passed around like a rag doll, I didn’t ask for my clothes to be ripped off.
You criticise me for not being clear. I can barely think straight. If I tell you the truth, maybe you would think I am a slag or slut…maybe I would get into trouble, because they said it’s my fault.
You are annoyed with me for not giving you descriptions. I’m terrified because they said they’d kill me if I identified them. You say you can’t take my call, because you’re getting off at five. They tell me they’ll be round at mine for six. Their cars have loud music, to disorientate, your cars have sirens. They drove me around to different addresses and parks, anywhere they could have sex, I sat in the back of their car. I tried to forget.
You drive me around, asking me where it happened, telling me to point the places out, I sat in the back of your car, you wont let me forget.
They hurt me, they touched me in private parts, I tried to say no, you said the nurse needs swabs and its my choice, she touched me in those parts too, I tried to tell you I’m scared.
Ask me again why I didn’t give that statement.’