I am sharing with you my experience of reporting rape to the police and the happenings of the case. In doing so, my intention is to give others an awareness of the aftermath of sexual violence, but mostly to inform other survivors of some of the ins and outs of the criminal case, honestly and vulnerably. How you take this information is up to you. I am not here to tell you to go to the police and report the crime done to you because that decision should come when you feel moved to do so. Many people suggested to me that I go to the police long before I came to the decision of my own accord. It is about you, and only you, and therefore should be your decision.
That being said, this is my experience with calling 101, reporting the crime, not pursuing the case, re-opening the case, visiting the station, making my statement, and hearing the developments of the case until the outcome. For fluency, I have also included my feelings and life developments surrounding the police case.
[I am a citizen of the UK. My experiences of reporting this crime will be different to others for we each have unique circumstances.]
December 29th, 2020
The lead police officer called me today at 12 o’clock. She informed me that a detective inspector (D.I.) has assessed the case and concluded there is not enough evidence to send it to the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS). This is okay. I knew this. It was always his word against mine.
In June 2020, I watched the BBC series from Michaela Coel, I May Destroy You. The protagonist, Bella, is drugged and raped in the mouth at the start of the series, and the next morning she goes to the police to give her evidence and open the case. We follow this police case throughout the series as the memories haunt and cast a shadow over her life. A couple of episodes in, she is raped by a colleague. Midway through sex, he takes off the condom without her consent or her knowing and continues to penetrate her, breaching the consent. In the first moments after it happening, she doesn’t realise it was rape.
At a book launch that Bella is reading for and he is on the panel (for they are both authors), Bella takes the opportunity to publicly announce that he is a rapist. He is sat on the stage in front of the audience when she does this, meters beside her podium. He tries to leave the event but the audience – armed with social media cameras and phone torches – block the exits. Bella’s best friend, Terri, stands in front of the door as he, panicking, tries to leave the building. He looks at her desperately and she tells him, “Nah. You’re gonna feel it”. Feel the panic. Feel the stuck-ness.
This scene moved me to tears. Tears of anger, tears of power. It was after watching this I decided to open my case with the police and make him feel it.
A year and a half ago
In April 2019, after a stressful month completing my degree with increased anxiety and PTSD symptoms, I spoke with a trusted friend and reported the rape that occurred in 2015 to the police. I called 101 (the national non-emergency number which is staffed 247) and spoke to a female member of staff and told her what had happened. She made sure I was in no immediate danger, that it wasn’t an emergency, and we proceeded with details of where it happened and which police I could speak to.
I couldn’t even remember his last name at the time, because I’d not wanted to think about it in so long, so I looked it up on Facebook whilst being on the phone and gave her his full name. [I will not put his name publicly here because if I ever want to re-open this case anything like that would affect my case]
I wanted the crime to be a part of the bigger picture, a piece of the puzzle, or part of the statistics. At this point, in April 2019, I knew I did not want to proceed with the case. Meaning, I did not want to go to the police station to provide an official statement, or go to court, or have anything to do with him. I was a little lost and very emotional, but all I wanted to do was tell someone, officially, and have it on records. It felt important and validating.
Despite living in Birmingham at the time, and having previously lived in Cambridgeshire, I was put in contact with Suffolk Police because this is the county in which the rape occurred. I spoke with an officer who told me she would lead the case, and I informed her of my wishes: that I did not want to pursue the case further, or for him to be contacted etc. She allowed this. She was respectful, calm, and helpful. I was told that at any point if I changed my mind, all I would have to do is get in touch with them again. I had email addresses and phone numbers to contact if I wanted to.
I was meant to be provided with a contact for a local ISVA (Independent sexual violence advisor) service to provide me with support and/or counselling. The officer checked up with me on that once or twice but I was never actually given the contact details. That was okay since I soon paid for therapy and I was not alone in the journey, but for others I think it important that this be provided.
That was sort of it for the first encounter. I received some letters to confirm the crime had been reported, and the officer spoke of my bravery in doing so.
A few months later
In summer of 2019, after graduating from my undergrad, before starting a post-grad study in London, my parents offered to pay for private therapy for me. It was talk therapy with a psychologist and it was great.
This development came about because I wanted to make progress in sort of "getting over it". I had decided to finally inform my Dad about the rape, because he had never known, and inform my brother that I had officially reported it to the police. Initially, I hadn’t wanted my dad to know because I didn’t want him to feel upset and hurt for his daughter. I had made my mum and brother promise never to tell him. However, when we finally spoke about it, he was supportive and loving, yes, upset, but supportive. It was still a very upsetting thing for me to talk about, and I think my mum helped me out with telling him.
Despite my brother being the first person I told back in 2015 when it happened, he hardly remembered it had ever occurred when I informed him of the crime now being reported. He was also supportive and encouraging. I am so blessed to have three members of my family able to put things aside to be there for me. They have each played different roles in supporting me and I am full of gratitude.
My mum and I searched online for local therapists and counsellors, reading bios and services, and feeling rather put off by many of them. Mum gathered a few recommendations together and sent them to me in an email to have a look at myself. None of them specialised in rape or sexual trauma, but they were all women. Only one of them felt right for me (just looking online), because of how her bio was written and how professional she sounded. I got in touch and straight away told her I wanted therapy because I wanted to talk about the r*pe. At the time I could hardly say the word without crying.
In our first session she invited me to talk about it. I fucking broke. I told her the things that haunted me the most that I had never said aloud. I told her how I felt disgusting and shameful. I think I could then move through a lot of those feelings because I was able to express them and get them out of my head.
Throughout the last year and a half, a lot of other stuff has come up surrounding the rape that I’ve had to say out loud or write down to be able to get it out and move through it. For example, it has been a vital part of my healing to be able to express to my partner the dark thoughts or memories that come into my head about the rape. He reminds me I don’t have to bear the burden of them on my own. With this, my mum, my friend, talk therapy, and writing, I have moved through a shit tonne of dark stuff.
September onwards 2019
Anyway, I had some therapy, I thought I was cured, done, then I experienced something awful which retriggered a lot of trauma. I carried a heaviness with me in my move to London. Soon I met a person who would become a friend, counsellor and guide in breaking through this heaviness to find light again. We had monthly phone calls to process things, I wrote a [never-to-send] letter addressed to the person I was angry at and I let rip on a lot of repressed anger. We came up with a game plan, I confronted it, and it turned out to be completely not what I thought. It is tricky to write about something I don’t want to write about whilst still trying to share the lessons I learned from it. It seemed my trauma and repressed anger had found a way to channel itself into something I could more easily compartmentalise and process.
I met my now partner, I “fell” in love, trustingly, honestly, carefully, wonderfully. From the beginning of us dating, I'd told him about the rape and the importance of consent and communication and his response made me feel secure and excited. But, still, over time, I had mini flashbacks, PTSD symptoms, I anticipated horrible things happening and lived in some anxiety for it. I was still affected by it. (obviously, it’s rape. You can’t just tick a box and be cured.)
March onwards 2020
Lockdown. I moved out of London, back in with my parents. Being sat around at home a lot I started thinking and writing about the rape, about who I am and how I am about the rape. I discovered the meaning of being a “survivor”. I felt empowered, I felt strong, I felt weak, I felt brave, I felt vulnerable, I felt a lot and wrote a lot of it down. I soon set up Getting Loose. I wanted to make change, to help others, to share my experience to offer value to you. Then, I watched I May Destroy You.
I believe I got in touch with the Suffolk Police officer who was assigned to my case back in 2019 via email. I informed them I wanted to go through with it this time. I wanted him to feel it. Even if it never went to court (which it probably never would because it was a “historic” case), I wanted him to know what he had done, and I wanted to do everything I could with it, leave no stone unturned.
Great, she said. I was given an official crime reference number, and we agreed a date I would come to the police station to record my statement.
How it went down.
September 1st
My mum and I travelled to the address given by the police, she stayed in the car in the carpark. I was met at the door and taken into a room with sofas, a table, some tissues and soft furnishings. The officer wrote down the contact details of any witness accounts she could attain. These were: my brother (since he was the first person I told), my mother (since she was involved and had known from a week or so after the event) and my ex (because I told him after it happened, and he had lots of knowledge of the PTSD and trauma since he was the person in a relationship with me for two and a half years after the rape). I did not prepare or expect an ex to become involved in the case, at all. I hadn’t had any contact with him for a long time, and the relationship had ended bitterly. Nevertheless, I reluctantly provided her with an email address.
Whilst in this little room, the officer explained to me the likely outcomes and happenings of the case. Most likely, she said, would be that he would make a statement that said consent was given. Or, he could deny any sexual contact at all. Lastly, he would admit to raping you. Obviously, the latter would be extremely unlikely because that would mean he would go to prison. His admittance was never a realistic outcome. Most realistic would be, I would make my statement, he would make his, I would say he raped me with no consent, he would say he had sex with consent. He would lie, was what I concluded, and I had to make my peace with that.
If this case was ever taken to court, I gave my consent and signed a piece of paper to say that I would attend. To reiterate, I didn’t expect this to happen, and if it ever did I knew it would be challenging and triggering but that I would do it, regardless.
The officer explained to me that next, we would go inside a different room with cameras and microphones and she would ask me about the incident and any relevant information. She informed me that she would have to ask for details which might be horrible or difficult, and that I could stop the interview at any time. I felt I was in control. I could stop if I needed to, or I could do the whole thing in one go.
The room was like a badly decorated living room. It had cream painted walls, some oak side tables, and some armchairs. I sat in one of the cushioned armchairs holding a cushion. She sat facing me in another chair. Soon, she asked me to tell her what happened, why I was there at the station, what I was reporting, and prompted me for details and descriptions. The whole interview was filmed and recorded for evidence as my official statement.
This is called an ABE Interview – achieving best evidence. I believe, if the case were to go to court, this would be shown as evidence. I reckon because of the body language, vocal expression, facial expression, there is a lot more indication of authenticity there, as oppose to words on a piece of paper.
The interview was challenging. I cried. I had to describe a lot, what he looked like, how the event came to happen. The worst part, which fucked me up a bit after, was that I had to describe what his genitals felt like.
Sorry.
I think it took an hour. Then, I was out of the station. She would contact the witnesses and get statements, and after receiving those she would contact the suspect and invite him into the station for an interview.
My mum was in the same spot in the carpark waiting for me. I think I cried when I got in the car. I called my friend, I told her a dark doubt I was thinking, ‘what if it wasn’t that bad’. My friend’s response was perfect, she is amazing, and she told me that as a third party she is a more reliable source and she can confirm that what I went through was traumatic, that it was rape, that I have been largely traumatised by it, that I am doing the right thing, that I am not blowing anything out of proportion, that I just underwent a standard procedure for a rape case, and that I’ve done it now, and that it’s a bit shit, but that I’ve done it.
When I got home, it was about 2pm, I was exhausted. I went to bed and slept until about 6 o’clock when my boyfriend came over. The two of us and my parents ordered a Jannah (our favourite Indian restaurant) takeaway, watched tv, ate and had a nice evening. I felt loved and cared for.
I got in touch with my ex and we arranged a phonecall. I wanted to give him a heads up that he would be contacted by the police and asked to provide a witness statement, that he had nothing to worry about. He was very supportive. I was blown away by how aware he was, and seemingly always had been, of the trauma caused. Throughout the relationship we had, I denied myself the facts and never truly accepted that what happened was rape. I had also never admitted to, or understood, having panic attacks or PTSD or depressive episodes throughout the time we were together. But on this call, he seemed to be very aware and explained how he tried to get me to accept it but that I shut it down. Anyway, he agreed to say whatever was needed of him to “make this bastard pay”.
In the following month or so, my brother and mum were called and they both gave their statements over the phone. Mum found it really upsetting and challenging and was full of worry and sadness and anger the day she had to do it. My brother was fine because, he said, he didn’t really know all that much about it, and a lot of his statement was, ‘I don’t know’. Although, I can imagine that in any case, making a witness statement for your little sister's rape case is not nice in any way, but if he turned to anyone for support it wasn't me which I am grateful for because I needed the support. The 5 closest people to me, my friend, my brother, my partner, my mum and my dad, have taken turns and different roles in supporting me. They've shown strength and have often put aside their own upset and anger and hurt to support mine. This is important to acknowledge, I think.
I never heard again from my ex whether he made a statement or not. I assume he did because in December, I was called by the leading officer to inform me that they had now interviewed the suspect.
December 4th
The rapist – for there is no other word for it – arrived at the police station with a solicitor. The rapist had a prepared statement and refused to answer any questions in the interview. The statement essentially supposed, sexual intercourse was had between myself [the rapist] and her [the victim] and consent was agreed. That was it. That was all he needed to do to get himself in the clear. His word against mine.
Because this rape case is a “historic” case, meaning it happened a long time ago, there is no evidence – really – except our own accounts of the incident. There is no scratch marks or bruises or discharge or condoms or tissues or underwear or clothes. There is just my word and his.
I knew this, of course, going into it. But to hear him deny it triggered a lot of self doubt. “did it really effect me that bad? Did I imagine all the “no”s and “I don’t want to”s?”. Soon, I figured, even though now-me is okay from the rape, 17-year-old me was absolutely not okay, and I’m doing this all for old me really. Seeing it like this, separating myself from it, was helpful, as if I was doing it for someone else which made it easier to be kind and encouraging. But really, I was doing it for me.
In regard to him. He was called by the police, told that he was the main suspect in a rape case, and asked to come to the station to give his official statement. Shit a brick, right?! The officer told me his dad was very much involved in all the contact, and that the suspect didn’t say much outside of his statement and polite hellos. She said, although she didn’t see fear in his eyes, he was very cautious and prepared. He probably just did everything his solicitor told him to do.
And that, he had to hire a solicitor.
Someone said to me, ‘you must be laughing and feeling great now you know he is facing the music.’ But it’s really not that simple.
Initially, after hearing the news, I went to a place of doubt, then, I sat on the kitchen floor crying my eyes out in anger and upset because HE DID THIS TO ME. Soon, I was able to laugh at his situation. I did this to him. I made this happen. I made him feel it.
*angry full stop* .
The officer told me that the next step would be for them to review any evidence and see if there was any more they could do, and then someone would make an assessment to see whether there was enough to take it to court.
December 29th
Unless I request for the case to be reviewed again by another D.I (detective inspector), the case is closed. Unless I think of new evidence to report, and re-open the case, under which he would be interviewed again, the case is closed.
For now, for me, the case is closed.
For him, I don’t even care, I won’t even know, but it was good to make him feel it.
December 31st
Wow, thank you for reading this far. I hope by sharing this I can help a few other people to seek support, seek closure, seek "healing" from the crime against them. And that you might understand the process in the UK a little more.
Visit the Getting Help section of gettingloose.co.uk to seek professional support. To report a crime, in a non-emergency, call 101.
For me, this year has been one of great change, bravery, vulnerability, and growth. I'm grateful to have this case closed in time for seeing in the new year.
"Conviction rates for rape are far lower than other crimes, with only 5.7% of reported rape cases ending in a conviction for the perpetrator. (Kelly, Lovett and Regan, A gap or a chasm? Attrition in reported rape cases, 2005)"
Approximately 85,000 women and 12,000 men (aged 16 - 59) experience rape, attempted rape or sexual assault by penetration in England and Wales alone every year; that's roughly 11 of the most serious sexual offences (of adults alone) every hour.
Only around 15% of those who experience sexual violence report to the police
Approximately 90% of those who are raped know the perpetrator prior to the offence
https://rapecrisis.org.uk/get-informed/about-sexual-violence/statistics-sexual-violence/
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