Tony Messenger
Metro columnist
Cora Faith Walker’s mother grasped my hand and pulled me close.
We were at an event this summer where her daughter, a Democratic state representative from Ferguson, was receiving an award and I was the keynote speaker.
Walker’s mother stared intently to make sure she had my attention, and said two words:
“T³ó²¹²Ô°ì-²â´Ç³Ü.â€
Those two words, delivered with precision and passion, were a response to three words I had written nearly two years ago.
“I believe her,†, after Walker accused a fellow state representative, Steve Roberts Jr., of drugging her and that August. Roberts, through his attorneys, has denied the allegation. ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ police believed Walker. So did the city prosecutor’s office, sources from both agencies told me at the time. They turned the case over to a special prosecutor, who declined to bring charges.
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Roberts has sued Walker for defamation. for damages from the alleged rape.
By the time the case goes to trial, if it ever does, Judge Brett Kavanaugh will either be on the U.S. Supreme Court, or the allegations that as a 17-year-old, he sexually assaulted Christine Blasey Ford, who was 15, will have derailed his nomination for a lifetime appointment to the nation’s high court. (Late Sunday, a new allegation surfaced, this one from Kavanaugh’s time at Yale.)
For the most partisan political beings among us, that case is about Republican vs. Democrat. It’s President Donald Trump vs. The Resistance. It’s U.S. Senate candidates Josh Hawley vs. Claire McCaskill.
But in every story I read about Kavanaugh and Ford, I see Walker, and Amy Harms.
In 2015, Harms was a law student at ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ University. Roberts — yes, the same Roberts — was an assistant prosecutor. They were at a bar. He came on to her. Harms says by putting his hands down her pants and fondling her, according to court records.
Like Walker would a year later, she filed a complaint with police. It was investigated and sent to a special prosecutor. No charges were filed.
Last year, Harms sued Roberts for damages. The young attorney is representing herself. The case was scheduled for trial in August, but was delayed.
Walker and Harms were local examples of courage during the rise of the #MeToo movement, women who decided that it was important to put their names next to sexual assault charges, to protect future women, to take whatever came their way.
Today, in light of Kavanaugh, they are Exhibits A and B in the next chapter of the movement. After Trump tweeted that Ford’s alleged attack couldn’t have been a big deal because she didn’t report it to police, women started a new hashtag that tells a story all too familiar to sexual assault victims. It’s called , and the stories behind it are much bigger than today’s political battles.
Walker reported, but not right away. She told her husband, her family. She thought about the repercussions. She knew what was coming.
They’d call her a whore. A drunk. A liar.
She stood up and took it all, and for the past two years she’s walked the marble halls of the Missouri Capitol with the man she says raped her.
“I completely get why women don’t report,†she told me two years ago. “I completely get it.â€
But she did. And then, she put her name on it to help other women.
“I felt a moral responsibility to speak out,†Walker said. “The idea or the thought of me trying to just bury it is one I could not live with.â€
Harms added her name to the movement because of Walker’s courage.
This is how the #MeToo movement grew into something so powerful that men who assaulted and harassed with impunity continue to be haunted by a past in which the privilege of being a man, or being from money meant never having to say I’m sorry.
Like a brush fire, the movement burned from the entertainment world to the business world and the political world, and now it’s turning up the heat in the American judiciary.
My friend Nicole VanderDoes saw this coming. The former chief counsel with the American Bar Association’s Standing Committee on the American Judicial System, in February, VanderDoes wrote of , one that she never reported.
“I know that judges can commit rape and can coerce sexual activity because of their positions of power. Many, like me, will stay silent because they fear the professional repercussions that would come with speaking out. But the day will come when judges will be named,†VanderDoes wrote in the ABA Journal. “So lawyers, judges, courts, judicial disciplinary authorities and bar associations need to be prepared so that when that day comes, we can preserve the integrity of the judicial system by holding all judicial officers to the highest standards and showing the public that no one is above the law.â€
If Christine Blasey Ford and Judge Brett Kavanaugh take the stand in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee on Thursday before a national television audience, our nation’s divided and broken political system will be on full display.
But underneath the surface, women in every city in the nation, who work silently next to their abusers, who didn’t report for all the reasons that will be on shameful display, will continue to find their voices.
In Christine Blasey Ford, in Cora Faith Walker, in Amy Harms, in Nicole VanderDoes, they will see themselves.
Together, they will gain strength, and on behalf of mothers and daughters, sons and husbands, brothers and sisters, they will change a nation.
#WhyIDidntReport: Tweets in and around ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½
Why didn't you speak up earlier?
The president of the United States tweeted a question that shocked sexual assault survivors but is a common response when a victim raises allegations years after an assault: Why didn't you speak up earlier?
He directed his tweets to a woman who alleges that his Supreme Court nominee sexually assaulted her in high school.
Around the country, victims responded to this question with powerful, personal testimony about why they didn't report an assault.
Here is a sampling from the hashtag #WhyIDidntReport from individuals from around the ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ metro region.
@AnnDaughter
Because of the horrific responses like those of
— Ann’s Daughter (@AnnDaughter)
@ladybacon86
Because a male doctor would absolutely be believed over a 14, 15, 16, and 18 year old girl
— Sarah Star (@ladybacon86)
@DoBigGood
He wasn't a stranger and it wasn't violent. I just said "no" and he ignored me. I didn't want to make a fuss. I was afraid I would be judged.
— Do Big Good Consulting (@DoBigGood)
@shvwneey
He was the brother of my closest friend.. I didn’t want to get him in trouble because I know I’d either see my friend hurt or lose my friend all together.
— nos•tal•gic. (@shvwneey)
@mskimkelley
— kim kelley (@mskimkelley)
he was my boss. i would have lost my job.
he told me it was my fault.
he told me i was too drunk to remember (when he actually had roofied me).
the people at the rape crisis center said reporting it wouldn’t make a difference. it was my word against his.
@Swanks2n
I was only 10 (1970) whn a family member assaulted me. Even after he died in 1975, I was afraid of the consequences I wld face from family if I opened up. It took me 13 more years until I told my mother. I have had a knot in my throat all week.
— Jaye Elle (@Swanks2n)
@JacksonSalzman
Growing up with 2 sisters, the hits close to home and I can't even imagine what I would have done if my sisters told any of those things happened to them.
— Jackson Salzman (@JacksonSalzman)
It's heartbreaking that we have representatives and a president that continue to push this
@rcovrynstrength
I was sexually abused from the age of 5-8 by fam mem, and raped twice as a 16 year old and 21 year old. I didn’t tell anyone until I was 24 about all incidents. I remember everything and what I didn’t, I got help to remember. I was scared no one would believe me
— Briana🌸 (@rcovrynstrength)
@IBeEricaLeigh
He had his gun on my nightstand & it was pointed in my direction as it was happening & I thought he would/was going to kill me. Also i was too ashamed and I felt no one would believe me..
— E.💋 (@IBeEricaLeigh)
@ardenasaservice
First time: I was told I had an overactive imagination and made it up. The second time: He didn't mean anything by it.
— arden 👩â€ðŸ’»ðŸ’¾ (@ardenasaservice)
@CoraFaith4MO
Because it was and is imperative to my healing process that I have some level of control over if, how and when I tell my story.
— Cora Faith Walker (@CoraFaith4MO)
@CrazyRunnerSTL
I was a kid and my parents talked to his. It was the “easiest route†and they figured “i wouldn’t rememberâ€. He was 13 and I was 4.
— Sam ðŸƒðŸ»â€â™€ï¸ðŸ§˜ðŸ»â€â™€ï¸ðŸ¶ (@CrazyRunnerSTL)
@Danielexists6
Because I knew that if I did, she'd never let me live it down. I was 17, and didn't know better.
— Daniel (@Danielexists6)
@THEmattjamieson
Because both us being gay men I was afraid I wouldn't be taken seriously.
— Mattie Jamieson (@THEmattjamieson)
@corkymcg
I tried to report in 1992 but couldn't because they told me only women could be raped.
— Corky McGraw (@corkymcg)
@jjlangum
I was ashamed. Blamed myself. I thought no one would believe me. Or they would blame me too. I’m shaking as I write this tweet. If you talk about it, acknowledge it, then that means it happened. It makes it real. You can’t pretend like it was a bad dream.
— Jacki Langum (@jjlangum)
@sdkstl
As more stories emerge, if you or someone you know is struggling during this new intense focus on sexual assault and needs to talk, here are some 24/7crisis options:
— Staci D Kramer (@sdkstl)
call: 1-800-273-8255
text: HELLO : 741741 🇺🇸(686868 🇨🇦)
@Squatchycat
I did. And I wasn’t believed. Because I knew I was gay at 16 I was obviously “confused†or “just don’t understand how guys flirtâ€
— Sarah MonsterðŸ³ï¸â€ðŸŒˆðŸ (@Squatchycat)
@laineleigh
Because he was a man I dated off & on. Because he’s a “so-called†nice guy. Because I couldn’t remember exactly what happened. Because I was too drunk to say no & not totally conscious. Because I told myself I shouldn’t have put myself in that position.
— Ashleigh Harold (@laineleigh)
@KristieLyon
I was four years old and I thought I was bad and deserved it. And I also felt like I had to protect my siblings and my parents.
— Kristie Lyon (@KristieLyon)
@christinalrios
Because the nurse in the ER told me that they’d have to take my clothes as evidence and I would have to go home in a hospital gown and my mom would need to be told.
— Christina Rios (@christinalrios)
@katforshort
Because I was 11 years old. Because I was in 6th grade. Because it was a small town. Because I was ashamed of where he touched me. Because I was afraid my parents would be mad at me. It took me 35 years to tell another person, and that person was my husband.
— Kat Wheeling (@katforshort)
@ashybaabyyy
Because I was only 15 and TERRIFIED of what would be said about me and having to relive that moment over and over.
— ♡Ashley♡ (@ashybaabyyy)
@iamthemzbrdget
Because my mom said that’s what happens to girls who drink at parties. He took my virginity.
— Bridget (@iamthemzbrdget)
@dubiousklz
I froze up and couldn't find my voice to say no. I knew they'd ask me if I tried to say no. Why didn't I fight him off? Maybe it was somehow my fault.
— MelDubious Ⓥ (@dubiousklz)
@kmdoebert
(1)Because breaking apart my life & breaking the hearts of people I love wouldn’t change what happened to me (2)Because I had been drinking & no one would believe me (3)Because I had been sleeping & I don’t know who it was & he made me scared to move
— Kimberly Doebert (@kmdoebert)
@MissRoxy
Totally shocked, 15 & scared. What if; no one believed me, people treated me differently, my parents tried to kill him and got in trouble? I didn’t want to have to go over the details. I didn’t want to hurt his Mom whom I cared deeply for. He was my best friend.
— Megan Q (@MissRoxy)
