Some decades ago, a shift in rhetoric encouraged victims of sexual violence to distance themselves from victimhood. The connotations behind the prevailing terminology portrayed victims of sexual violence as passive and irreparably damaged. The goal of the shift was, understandably, to reclaim a sense of identity and strength for those who had experienced sexual violence, and to convey a sense of agency and empowerment to sufferers as a whole.
Enter “survivor”.
Where ‘victim’ evoked brokenness, “survivor” evoked resilience. Where “victim” spoke to ongoing pain, “survivor” was about transcending… And a story of overcoming is much more marketable.
For me, “survivor” has always felt victim-blaming. It silences my pain. It asks me to redirect my emotions. It puts the onus on me to get through. It dismissed me while I was in the thick of trauma, not sure if I would make it to the future that “survivor” offered. Even now, with the privilege of having a choice, I have to decide every day that I will survive, that I want to survive.
For me, “survivor” distances me from my status as a victim of crime. It eclipses the damage done by the perpetrator. In fact, it feels like it removes the perpetrator from the picture altogether, which is a little too convenient. I understand that the goal is to reclaim my power, but I want him to claim accountability. If the focus is that I survived the crime, you might forget its nature, you might forget that someone is at fault for committing it. I don’t want him any more removed than he already is by the community, or by the headlines.
For me, “survivor” feels like sanitising, watering down my language so that others feel comfortable enough to acknowledge what happened to me. It would be easier, more digestible if I thought of myself as a “survivor”. If we skip to the empowerment part, you don’t have to grieve with me, because what I faced is over.
For me, “survivor” is a shaming of those who did not survive the crimes committed against them.
I understand that “survivor” emphasises the courage required to confront the trauma of sexual violence. But why does my strength hinge on making it to the finish line? Are we not all, in some way, constantly overcoming? Is there not something inherently wrong with a society that can only talk about grief, particularly women’s grief, when it is over? Are we leaning into a patriarchal standard that refuses to look crying women in the eye?
“Victim” is not a dirty word. It isn’t something to be cured. It doesn’t imply weakness or passivity, it legally describes what I am; a victim of a crime through no fault of my own. It is a categorisation, not a state of mind. It isn’t contingent on whether my perpetrator was found guilty in a court of law, or whether I pulled through. I don’t need to progress from “victim” to “survivor’” and if there is a progression, it isn’t linear.
When participating in criminal proceedings, “victim” is a label one has to get comfortable with, quickly. A goal of With You We Can, Australia’s national online resource demystifying the police and legal processes for victims of sexual violence, is to prepare people for just that. So, we use the term consistently.
I was reminded recently in a conversation with Dr Rachael Burgin that within the legal process, another terminology war exists. Often victims of crime are referred to as “complainants”, a term traditionally reserved for the person who reported the crime. Many victims of sexual assault are not the ones who initially report to police – a friend or family member might report on their behalf. But if the two terms become synonymous, the wrong person is afforded access to services and support. As such, in this context, being referred to as a “victim” might trump being called a “complainant” not only because the latter implies that you’re a nuisance for reporting the crime, but because the former is a privilege.
The system, the sector and the community should, and do, have room for nuance. But the amount of questioning and shaming I come up against because of my choice to use the term “victim” makes me think that we are falling for a distraction, criticising each other instead of the cause.
I don’t ever mean to force the term on someone who identifies as a “survivor”. And I don’t think less of anyone who identifies as a “survivor”, not one bit. The only important thing about defining yourself as a victim, survivor, or both, is that you chose it. If “survivor” makes you feel respected, if it highlights your resilience like it intends to, you are a survivor to me.
Just remember, movements shift, language evolves, and you are many things in addition to whatever label you choose for yourself. Whatever I am, I am lucky to be here to tell my story. And I am lucky that society thinks I am worth listening to, because of my privilege. That is what’s important.
Let’s honour each other’s experiences, and our understandings of them. Let’s be okay that they differ and evolve. I don’t need to be shamed for my choice to identify as a “victim”. What I need is a world that gives us all less to have to survive.
Feature Image: Sarah Rosenberg.
If you or someone you know is experiencing, or at risk of experiencing, domestic, family or sexual violence, call 1800RESPECT on 1800 737 732, text 0458 737 732 or visit 1800RESPECT.org.au for online chat and video call services.
