The #MeToo Survivors You’ve Never Heard Of

By Kimberly M. Foxx

It’s hard to skim the news without seeing stories about celebrities accused of horrendous sexual abuse. From R. Kelly to Jeffrey Epstein and Harvey Weinstein, it’s a long list. These men leveraged their power and influence not just to create opportunities to abuse victims, but to discourage and prevent them from coming forward.

Of course, these scenarios are not limited to the rich and famous. Nearly all cases of sexual abuse stem from predatory relationships enabled by imbalanced power structures. It doesn’t matter whether the abuser is a Grammy-winning artist, a friend of the President, a basketball coach, or a pastor. Abusers draw their power and influence from the position they hold in a survivor’s life or community and use it to inflict greater harm. That is, a victim must contend not only with the abuse they’ve suffered, but also the ramifications of disappointing or upending whatever circles their attacker controls by bringing forth allegations of abuse. The #MeToo movement helped us see that celebrities can be toppled. Now, we must remember that there are thousands more survivors whose abusers aren’t famous, but their trauma is no less real or important to address.

Years ago, as a sex crimes prosecutor, I was investigating allegations of sexual abuse made against a popular high school basketball coach. Initially terrified to talk to my colleagues about what the coach had done, the survivor opened up to me.

“Do you know what it will mean for me if I get rid of this coach?” she asked, knowing that helping the investigation would anger those who revered her attacker and might blame her for destroying his reputation and career. It didn’t matter that the coach’s name was not well-known outside of a few Chicago neighborhoods; this was her community, he was a power player in it, and that gave him control.

I told this brave young woman that as a child, I had been sexually abused by a relative and encouraged to keep it quiet to avoid family conflict. I told her that I understood the original trauma, the trauma of telling her story, and the trauma that could follow from her community. She eventually shared her story with me, and I believed her when she did. But not all survivors are able to speak out. The understandable fears of not being heard and vilified by the people closest to them are very real. That is why we must treat every single case of sexual abuse — no matter if the accused is an acclaimed artist or a local coach — with the same level of care. The only way to break the cycle of power held by perpetrators is for all survivors of sexual abuse to know there is an accessible support system in place.

As Cook County State’s Attorney, I held a press conference in the wake of the Surviving R. Kelly documentary asking for victims and witnesses to call our office, sharing with the world my own story so that young women and girls might feel more welcome coming forward.

This plea yielded some of the information that ultimately led to Kelly’s federal indictment earlier this year. In August, Minnesota authorities were able to bring new charges against him based on the allegation of another young woman who called our office’s tip line. We encouraged these women to come forward by acknowledging their fear, believing their stories, and pledging to use the full power of our office to keep them safe and create a path to justice.

But we cannot only provide this type of support for victims of celebrities. All survivors must be assured that we believe their stories and understand the trauma they are experiencing, or they will remain in the shadows, just like I did as a young girl. This is particularly true for Black women, more than 20% of whom are raped during their lifetime; yet women of color have a more difficult time coming forward.

For too long, the criminal justice system has reinforced these outcomes. As a young prosecutor, I remember a man at a training telling me, “nothing is worse than being falsely accused of sexual assault.” I recall thinking, I can think of something worse. This type of approach signals to survivors that their experience isn’t worth coming forward.

We must change this entrenched mindset and start treating victims differently. Not only does that mean ensuring these offices better reflect our communities, it also means bringing a victim-centered, trauma-informed approach to survivors.

In my office, we’ve revamped our sex crimes trainings, partnered with advocacy and research groups to increase reporting of abuse, and intentionally diversified the attorney pipeline coming into our office.

We’ve also pursued vertical prosecution, where a victim works with the same attorney from the beginning through the end of a case, in order to build and maintain trust. And recently, we welcomed the Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office’s first facility dog, Hatty, who will provide comfort and support to child victims of sexual assault as they navigate what can be a confusing and scary justice system.

These changes can be a national model for other prosecutors’ offices.

If we fail to change, we allow the imbalance of power and sexual abuse to continue without disruption. That’s not acceptable. Justice must be available to every survivor and accountability must be brought to every perpetrator, whether famous to all or famous only to some.

Kimberly M. Foxx is the first African American woman elected to lead the Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office in Illinois, the second largest prosecutor’s office in the country.