Lady Justice

The justice system in this country is fucked.  I mean, seriously, seriously fucked.

Having recently gone through a mockery of a trial for child sexual abuse of which I was a victim, I think I’m well qualified to say that.

I was abused at the age of 8.  By a friend of a family friend.  In the home of my parent’s friends, with my parents only a room away.  Now, I’m not alone in this.  Some thirty years later, the abuse came rushing back when someone, his own nieces and nephew, decided to speak up.  At the end, there were ten victims.  Ten children who had been subjected to his sins.

Now the law is ridiculous.  I know that everyone is innocent until proven guilty, however...  it seems that the justice system has some rather odd rules that would seem to favour the perpetrator and not the victims.

When you spend over thirty years burying the memory of the trauma, you don’t really want to open up that pandora’s box because let me tell you, it’s going to be ugly.  My counsellor calls it disassociation.  You separate yourself from the trauma so it’s like it never happened.  And that’s what most victims usually do in order to survive.

Unfortunately, once that box is open, the wounds have festered for so long that you will never ever be able to close the box again.

First the committal hearing and if that goes well, the Public prosecutor will take it to trial.  This is where the pricey barristers earn their keep.  The defence barrister sets about trying to discredit the evidence.  They use your words against you, and try to confuse you by asking the same question in ten different ways.  They paint a scenario different to what you know has transpired and then ask if you’re absolutely sure about what you’re saying.  They allude to things, almost subliminally and if you don’t pick up on it, you’re in real danger.

The offender decides to plead not guilty and the one trial with the 10 victims is now 10 separate trials.  The first trial goes badly.  Not guilty on all counts.  By the second trial, the tide turns and he’s found guilty on all counts.  A major breakthrough with the third trial, he’s found guilty of sexual penetration and his bail is revoked and he’s remanded in custody.

A weekend in remand is enough to make him rethink his strategy and he comes to the table with a plea bargain.  And of course, since the justice system rewards offenders for admitting guilt, he knows he’s going to get a reduced sentence.

From the 18 charges still left to try, he agrees to plead guilty to 6 counts only.  The Public Prosecutor thinks this is a great deal and we are all summoned to the OPP to be told the news.  My charges are dropped in favour of the plea bargain. 

Abused by the pervert and now abused by the system that is supposed to protect the victims.  The prosecutor tells me he knows the truth, but it’s the best case scenario.  He’ll do jail time.  And at his age, it’s not going to be fun.

Like I care.  I don’t care how old he is.  I want the bastard to suffer.  I want him to cry until he’s raw inside and I want him to never have a good night’s sleep again.  EVER.

Sentence day arrives and the judge demands he apologise to his victims.  His words are empty and meaningless.  I want to slap the shit out of him.  By the end of the day, he’s off to jail to serve a maximum of 2 years in jail.  2 years.  For robbing 10 children of their innocence.

I can only hope he gets his just punishment in jail.  I hope someone makes him their bitch.  I pray that he gets rogered with a very large conditioner bottle every night in the showers.  I hope he gets a nasty infection in the very tip of his member that requires lancing with a rusty nail.

In the meantime, I’ll do my best to heal and move on.