Meeting of the Parliament (Hybrid) 25 November 2021
In 2016, when I was a member of Parliament, I spoke in the House of Commons about being raped at the age of 14. Too little has changed. In the immediate aftermath, I received thousands of cards, letters and emails. Simultaneously, I received extensive abuse on social media, almost always from men. After my speech, I made a complaint to Police Scotland. The perpetrator was identified and charged but not prosecuted, due to the passage of time. It was never reported in the press.
Making a police report was difficult. I learned why some facets of my adult character were as they were. When I described my very varied career to Police Scotland, the police explained to me that my workaholic habits were entirely understandable, because when someone like me starts running, they keep running. Many women, however, run into the arms of an abusive partner, drugs or drink.
The police also helped me to understand why my disclosure in such a public arena, in which I was being constantly scrutinised and briefed against, was a rational action. It is common for women to disclose after a significant life-changing or shocking event, such as the loss of a child or partner—and, often, after years of silence and denial. Disclosure was me finally standing my ground. I was naked from the inside out, and all I had was that small internal voice that whispered, “Hear me.”
I learned that freezing, rather than fighting or fleeing, had become a learned behaviour. I understood how I had repeated that freezing during other events. The victim’s guilt and shame that I carried is, regrettably, quite normal.
The process was difficult for me and my family, as we came to realise the extent to which I had masked my pain. I went through a process of grieving for the innocent girl that I had been, and the uncluttered woman that I might have become. However, I refuse to have my voice shut down ever again.
Multiple studies help us to understand how trauma forges different neural pathways and how future life events can add trauma upon trauma. That makes true recovery difficult.
All around the world, women are raped, beaten, abused, subjected to genital mutilation, sold into slavery and prostituted. Data from the UN tells us that, globally, almost one in three women have been subjected to violence from an intimate partner, generalised sexual violence, or both, at least once in their life. Fewer than 40 per cent of the women who experience violence seek help of any sort, such are the taboos against speaking out.
Women and girls together account for 72 per cent of all human trafficking victims globally. Girls represent more than three out of four child trafficking victims; most face a life of sexual slavery. Sex-based violence is a major obstacle to universal schooling and the right to education for girls. Recently, we have seen that at first hand in Afghanistan. Not only has the Covid pandemic enabled more crime against women; it has disproportionately affected them economically, thus placing them more at risk.
The me too movement brought solidarity to women, in the sharing of common experiences about the use and abuse of power; however, it has not brought change. Historically, our state systems were developed by men, for men. Our law, our business practices and so on are now being replicated by artificial intelligence algorithms that are, ironically, embedding sexism further. The advances that women have made feel elusive. Women, as a sex class, are constantly under threat, and many feel that our hard-won rights are being challenged. The fact remains that countless women were, like me, attacked because of their sex.
Sexist and misogynistic behaviour is common in politics, and we cannot pretend that our Scottish Parliament is immune. Scotland’s lion is rampant in one area—that of casual entitlement—despite huge efforts by Government and by multiple agencies.
Sexual violence is not confined just to some. It affects lesbians, gays, straight people and trans people; women, children and men. However, the perpetrator is almost always a man. Good men—that majority of decent, loving and caring men that I know exists—have a critical role in helping to effect the changes that we so desperately need. Whether in the face of casual sexism, a joke that the female target does not find amusing, or more blatant misogyny that tries to shut down women’s voices, society needs us all, including men, to shape the change that we still so desperately need to see. We must all commit to making that change.