Category Archives: Psychopaths

The Stanford victim’s powerful letter

It’s worth rereading the powerful letter written by the Victim to the Stanford Rapist in its entirety. She has been a voice for the voiceless. One in five women in the USA have been raped. The majority never get their day in court

‘Your Honor, if it is all right, for the majority of this statement I would like to address the defendant directly.

You don’t know me, but you’ve been inside me, and that’s why we’re here today.

On January 17th, 2015, it was a quiet Saturday night at home. My dad made some dinner and I sat at the table with my younger sister who was visiting for the weekend. I was working full time and it was approaching my bed time. I planned to stay at home by myself, watch some TV and read, while she went to a party with her friends. Then, I decided it was my only night with her, I had nothing better to do, so why not, there’s a dumb party ten minutes from my house, I would go, dance like a fool, and embarrass my younger sister. On the way there, I joked that undergrad guys would have braces. My sister teased me for wearing a beige cardigan to a frat party like a librarian. I called myself “big mama”, because I knew I’d be the oldest one there. I made silly faces, let my guard down, and drank liquor too fast not factoring in that my tolerance had significantly lowered since college.

The next thing I remember I was in a gurney in a hallway. I had dried blood and bandages on the backs of my hands and elbow. I thought maybe I had fallen and was in an admin office on campus. I was very calm and wondering where my sister was. A deputy explained I had been assaulted. I still remained calm, assured he was speaking to the wrong person. I knew no one at this party. When I was finally allowed to use the restroom, I pulled down the hospital pants they had given me, went to pull down my underwear, and felt nothing. I still remember the feeling of my hands touching my skin and grabbing nothing. I looked down and there was nothing. The thin piece of fabric, the only thing between my vagina and anything else, was missing and everything inside me was silenced. I still don’t have words for that feeling. In order to keep breathing, I thought maybe the policemen used scissors to cut them off for evidence.

“You don’t know me, but you’ve been inside me, and that’s why we’re here today.”

Then, I felt pine needles scratching the back of my neck and started pulling them out my hair. I thought maybe, the pine needles had fallen from a tree onto my head. My brain was talking my gut into not collapsing. Because my gut was saying, help me, help me.

I shuffled from room to room with a blanket wrapped around me, pine needles trailing behind me, I left a little pile in every room I sat in. I was asked to sign papers that said “Rape Victim” and I thought something has really happened. My clothes were confiscated and I stood naked while the nurses held a ruler to various abrasions on my body and photographed them. The three of us worked to comb the pine needles out of my hair, six hands to fill one paper bag. To calm me down, they said it’s just the flora and fauna, flora and fauna. I had multiple swabs inserted into my vagina and anus, needles for shots, pills, had a Nikon pointed right into my spread legs. I had long, pointed beaks inside me and had my vagina smeared with cold, blue paint to check for abrasions.

After a few hours of this, they let me shower. I stood there examining my body beneath the stream of water and decided, I don’t want my body anymore. I was terrified of it, I didn’t know what had been in it, if it had been contaminated, who had touched it. I wanted to take off my body like a jacket and leave it at the hospital with everything else.

On that morning, all that I was told was that I had been found behind a dumpster, potentially penetrated by a stranger, and that I should get retested for HIV because results don’t always show up immediately. But for now, I should go home and get back to my normal life. Imagine stepping back into the world with only that information. They gave me huge hugs and I walked out of the hospital into the parking lot wearing the new sweatshirt and sweatpants they provided me, as they had only allowed me to keep my necklace and shoes.

My sister picked me up, face wet from tears and contorted in anguish. Instinctively and immediately, I wanted to take away her pain. I smiled at her, I told her to look at me, I’m right here, I’m okay, everything’s okay, I’m right here. My hair is washed and clean, they gave me the strangest shampoo, calm down, and look at me. Look at these funny new sweatpants and sweatshirt, I look like a P.E. teacher, let’s go home, let’s eat something. She did not know that beneath my sweatsuit, I had scratches and bandages on my skin, my vagina was sore and had become a strange, dark color from all the prodding, my underwear was missing, and I felt too empty to continue to speak. That I was also afraid, that I was also devastated. That day we drove home and for hours in silence my younger sister held me.

My boyfriend did not know what happened, but called that day and said, “I was really worried about you last night, you scared me, did you make it home okay?” I was horrified. That’s when I learned I had called him that night in my blackout, left an incomprehensible voicemail, that we had also spoken on the phone, but I was slurring so heavily he was scared for me, that he repeatedly told me to go find [my sister]. Again, he asked me, “What happened last night? Did you make it home okay?” I said yes, and hung up to cry.

I was not ready to tell my boyfriend or parents that actually, I may have been raped behind a dumpster, but I don’t know by who or when or how. If I told them, I would see the fear on their faces, and mine would multiply by tenfold, so instead I pretended the whole thing wasn’t real.

I tried to push it out of my mind, but it was so heavy I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t interact with anyone. After work, I would drive to a secluded place to scream. I didn’t talk, I didn’t eat, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t interact with anyone, and I became isolated from the ones I loved most. For over a week after the incident, I didn’t get any calls or updates about that night or what happened to me. The only symbol that proved that it hadn’t just been a bad dream, was the sweatshirt from the hospital in my drawer.

One day, I was at work, scrolling through the news on my phone, and came across an article. In it, I read and learned for the first time about how I was found unconscious, with my hair disheveled, long necklace wrapped around my neck, bra pulled out of my dress, dress pulled off over my shoulders and pulled up above my waist, that I was butt naked all the way down to my boots, legs spread apart, and had been penetrated by a foreign object by someone I did not recognize. This was how I learned what happened to me, sitting at my desk reading the news at work. I learned what happened to me the same time everyone else in the world learned what happened to me. That’s when the pine needles in my hair made sense, they didn’t fall from a tree. He had taken off my underwear, his fingers had been inside of me. I don’t even know this person. I still don’t know this person. When I read about me like this, I said, this can’t be me, this can’t be me. I could not digest or accept any of this information. I could not imagine my family having to read about this online. I kept reading. In the next paragraph, I read something that I will never forgive; I read that according to him, I liked it. I liked it. Again, I do not have words for these feelings.

“And then, at the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times.”

It’s like if you were to read an article where a car was hit, and found dented, in a ditch. But maybe the car enjoyed being hit. Maybe the other car didn’t mean to hit it, just bump it up a little bit. Cars get in accidents all the time, people aren’t always paying attention, can we really say who’s at fault.

And then, at the bottom of the article, after I learned about the graphic details of my own sexual assault, the article listed his swimming times. She was found breathing, unresponsive with her underwear six inches away from her bare stomach curled in fetal position. By the way, he’s really good at swimming. Throw in my mile time if that’s what we’re doing. I’m good at cooking, put that in there, I think the end is where you list your extracurriculars to cancel out all the sickening things that’ve happened.

The night the news came out I sat my parents down and told them that I had been assaulted, to not look at the news because it’s upsetting, just know that I’m okay, I’m right here, and I’m okay. But halfway through telling them, my mom had to hold me because I could no longer stand up.

The night after it happened, he said he didn’t know my name, said he wouldn’t be able to identify my face in a lineup, didn’t mention any dialogue between us, no words, only dancing and kissing. Dancing is a cute term; was it snapping fingers and twirling dancing, or just bodies grinding up against each other in a crowded room? I wonder if kissing was just faces sloppily pressed up against each other? When the detective asked if he had planned on taking me back to his dorm, he said no. When the detective asked how we ended up behind the dumpster, he said he didn’t know. He admitted to kissing other girls at that party, one of whom was my own sister who pushed him away. He admitted to wanting to hook up with someone. I was the wounded antelope of the herd, completely alone and vulnerable, physically unable to fend for myself, and he chose me. Sometimes I think, if I hadn’t gone, then this never would’ve happened. But then I realized, it would have happened, just to somebody else. You were about to enter four years of access to drunk girls and parties, and if this is the foot you started off on, then it is right you did not continue. The night after it happened, he said he thought I liked it because I rubbed his back. A back rub.

Never mentioned me voicing consent, never mentioned us even speaking, a back rub. One more time, in public news, I learned that my ass and vagina were completely exposed outside, my breasts had been groped, fingers had been jabbed inside me along with pine needles and debris, my bare skin and head had been rubbing against the ground behind a dumpster, while an erect freshman was humping my half naked, unconscious body. But I don’t remember, so how do I prove I didn’t like it.

I thought there’s no way this is going to trial; there were witnesses, there was dirt in my body, he ran but was caught. He’s going to settle, formally apologize, and we will both move on. Instead, I was told he hired a powerful attorney, expert witnesses, private investigators who were going to try and find details about my personal life to use against me, find loopholes in my story to invalidate me and my sister, in order to show that this sexual assault was in fact a misunderstanding. That he was going to go to any length to convince the world he had simply been confused.

I was not only told that I was assaulted, I was told that because I couldn’t remember, I technically could not prove it was unwanted. And that distorted me, damaged me, almost broke me. It is the saddest type of confusion to be told I was assaulted and nearly raped, blatantly out in the open, but we don’t know if it counts as assault yet. I had to fight for an entire year to make it clear that there was something wrong with this situation.

“I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask for my name. “

When I was told to be prepared in case we didn’t win, I said, I can’t prepare for that. He was guilty the minute I woke up. No one can talk me out of the hurt he caused me. Worst of all, I was warned, because he now knows you don’t remember, he is going to get to write the script. He can say whatever he wants and no one can contest it. I had no power, I had no voice, I was defenseless. My memory loss would be used against me. My testimony was weak, was incomplete, and I was made to believe that perhaps, I am not enough to win this. His attorney constantly reminded the jury, the only one we can believe is Brock, because she doesn’t remember. That helplessness was traumatizing.

Instead of taking time to heal, I was taking time to recall the night in excruciating detail, in order to prepare for the attorney’s questions that would be invasive, aggressive, and designed to steer me off course, to contradict myself, my sister, phrased in ways to manipulate my answers. Instead of his attorney saying, Did you notice any abrasions? He said, You didn’t notice any abrasions, right? This was a game of strategy, as if I could be tricked out of my own worth. The sexual assault had been so clear, but instead, here I was at the trial, answering questions like:

How old are you? How much do you weigh? What did you eat that day? Well what did you have for dinner? Who made dinner? Did you drink with dinner? No, not even water? When did you drink? How much did you drink? What container did you drink out of? Who gave you the drink? How much do you usually drink? Who dropped you off at this party? At what time? But where exactly? What were you wearing? Why were you going to this party? What’ d you do when you got there? Are you sure you did that? But what time did you do that? What does this text mean? Who were you texting? When did you urinate? Where did you urinate? With whom did you urinate outside? Was your phone on silent when your sister called? Do you remember silencing it? Really because on page 53 I’d like to point out that you said it was set to ring. Did you drink in college? You said you were a party animal? How many times did you black out? Did you party at frats? Are you serious with your boyfriend? Are you sexually active with him? When did you start dating? Would you ever cheat? Do you have a history of cheating? What do you mean when you said you wanted to reward him? Do you remember what time you woke up? Were you wearing your cardigan? What color was your cardigan? Do you remember any more from that night? No? Okay, well, we’ll let Brock fill it in.

I was pummeled with narrowed, pointed questions that dissected my personal life, love life, past life, family life, inane questions, accumulating trivial details to try and find an excuse for this guy who had me half naked before even bothering to ask for my name. After a physical assault, I was assaulted with questions designed to attack me, to say see, her facts don’t line up, she’s out of her mind, she’s practically an alcoholic, she probably wanted to hook up, he’s like an athlete right, they were both drunk, whatever, the hospital stuff she remembers is after the fact, why take it into account, Brock has a lot at stake so he’s having a really hard time right now.

And then it came time for him to testify and I learned what it meant to be revictimized. I want to remind you, the night after it happened he said he never planned to take me back to his dorm. He said he didn’t know why we were behind a dumpster. He got up to leave because he wasn’t feeling well when he was suddenly chased and attacked. Then he learned I could not remember.

So one year later, as predicted, a new dialogue emerged. Brock had a strange new story, almost sounded like a poorly written young adult novel with kissing and dancing and hand holding and lovingly tumbling onto the ground, and most importantly in this new story, there was suddenly consent. One year after the incident, he remembered, oh yeah, by the way she actually said yes, to everything, so.

He said he had asked if I wanted to dance. Apparently I said yes. He’d asked if I wanted to go to his dorm, I said yes. Then he asked if he could finger me and I said yes. Most guys don’t ask, can I finger you? Usually there’s a natural progression of things, unfolding consensually, not a Q and A. But apparently I granted full permission. He’s in the clear. Even in his story, I only said a total of three words, yes yes yes, before he had me half naked on the ground. Future reference, if you are confused about whether a girl can consent, see if she can speak an entire sentence. You couldn’t even do that. Just one coherent string of words. Where was the confusion? This is common sense, human decency.

According to him, the only reason we were on the ground was because I fell down. Note; if a girl falls down help her get back up. If she is too drunk to even walk and falls down, do not mount her, hump her, take off her underwear, and insert your hand inside her vagina. If a girl falls down help her up. If she is wearing a cardigan over her dress don’t take it off so that you can touch her breasts. Maybe she is cold, maybe that’s why she wore the cardigan.

Next in the story, two Swedes on bicycles approached you and you ran. When they tackled you why didn’t say, “Stop! Everything’s okay, go ask her, she’s right over there, she’ll tell you.” I mean you had just asked for my consent, right? I was awake, right? When the policeman arrived and interviewed the evil Swede who tackled you, he was crying so hard he couldn’t speak because of what he’d seen.

Your attorney has repeatedly pointed out, well we don’t know exactly when she became unconscious. And you’re right, maybe I was still fluttering my eyes and wasn’t completely limp yet. That was never the point. I was too drunk to speak English, too drunk to consent way before I was on the ground. I should have never been touched in the first place. Brock stated, “At no time did I see that she was not responding. If at any time I thought she was not responding, I would have stopped immediately.” Here’s the thing; if your plan was to stop only when I became unresponsive, then you still do not understand. You didn’t even stop when I was unconscious anyway! Someone else stopped you. Two guys on bikes noticed I wasn’t moving in the dark and had to tackle you. How did you not notice while on top of me?

You said, you would have stopped and gotten help. You say that, but I want you to explain how you would’ve helped me, step by step, walk me through this. I want to know, if those evil Swedes had not found me, how the night would have played out. I am asking you; Would you have pulled my underwear back on over my boots? Untangled the necklace wrapped around my neck? Closed my legs, covered me? Pick the pine needles from my hair? Asked if the abrasions on my neck and bottom hurt? Would you then go find a friend and say, Will you help me get her somewhere warm and soft? I don’t sleep when I think about the way it could have gone if the two guys had never come. What would have happened to me? That’s what you’ll never have a good answer for, that’s what you can’t explain even after a year.

On top of all this, he claimed that I orgasmed after one minute of digital penetration. The nurse said there had been abrasions, lacerations, and dirt in my genitalia. Was that before or after I came?

To sit under oath and inform all of us, that yes I wanted it, yes I permitted it, and that you are the true victim attacked by Swedes for reasons unknown to you is appalling, is demented, is selfish, is damaging. It is enough to be suffering. It is another thing to have someone ruthlessly working to diminish the gravity of validity of this suffering.

My family had to see pictures of my head strapped to a gurney full of pine needles, of my body in the dirt with my eyes closed, hair messed up, limbs bent, and dress hiked up. And even after that, my family had to listen to your attorney say the pictures were after the fact, we can dismiss them. To say, yes her nurse confirmed there was redness and abrasions inside her, significant trauma to her genitalia, but that’s what happens when you finger someone, and he’s already admitted to that. To listen to your attorney attempt to paint a picture of me, the face of girls gone wild, as if somehow that would make it so that I had this coming for me. To listen to him say I sounded drunk on the phone because I’m silly and that’s my goofy way of speaking. To point out that in the voicemail, I said I would reward my boyfriend and we all know what I was thinking. I assure you my rewards program is non transferable, especially to any nameless man that approaches me.

“This is not a story of another drunk college hook­up with poor decision making. Assault is not an accident.”

He has done irreversible damage to me and my family during the trial and we have sat silently, listening to him shape the evening. But in the end, his unsupported statements and his attorney’s twisted logic fooled no one. The truth won, the truth spoke for itself.

You are guilty. Twelve jurors convicted you guilty of three felony counts beyond reasonable doubt, that’s twelve votes per count, thirty ­six yeses confirming guilt, that’s one hundred percent, unanimous guilt. And I thought finally it is over, finally he will own up to what he did, truly apologize, we will both move on and get better. Then I read your statement.

If you are hoping that one of my organs will implode from anger and I will die, I’m almost there. You are very close. This is not a story of another drunk college hook­up with poor decision making. Assault is not an accident. Somehow, you still don’t get it. Somehow, you still sound confused. I will now read portions of the defendant’s statement and respond to them.

You said, Being drunk I just couldn’t make the best decisions and neither could she.

Alcohol is not an excuse. Is it a factor? Yes. But alcohol was not the one who stripped me, fingered me, had my head dragging against the ground, with me almost fully naked. Having too much to drink was an amateur mistake that I admit to, but it is not criminal. Everyone in this room has had a night where they have regretted drinking too much, or knows someone close to them who has had a night where they have regretted drinking too much. Regretting drinking is not the same as regretting sexual assault. We were both drunk, the difference is I did not take off your pants and underwear, touch you inappropriately, and run away. That’s the difference.

You said, If I wanted to get to know her, I should have asked for her number, rather than asking her to go back to my room.

I’m not mad because you didn’t ask for my number. Even if you did know me, I would not want to be in this situation. My own boyfriend knows me, but if he asked to finger me behind a dumpster, I would slap him. No girl wants to be in this situation. Nobody. I don’t care if you know their phone number or not.

You said, I stupidly thought it was okay for me to do what everyone around me was doing, which was drinking. I was wrong.

Again, you were not wrong for drinking. Everyone around you was not sexually assaulting me. You were wrong for doing what nobody else was doing, which was pushing your erect dick in your pants against my naked, defenseless body concealed in a dark area, where partygoers could no longer see or protect me, and my own sister could not find me. Sipping fireball is not your crime. Peeling off and discarding my underwear like a candy wrapper to insert your finger into my body, is where you went wrong. Why am I still explaining this.

You said, During the trial I didn’t want to victimize her at all. That was just my attorney and his way of approaching the case.

Your attorney is not your scapegoat, he represents you. Did your attorney say some incredulously infuriating, degrading things? Absolutely. He said you had an erection, because it was cold.

You said, you are in the process of establishing a program for high school and college students in which you speak about your experience to “speak out against the college campus drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that.”

Campus drinking culture. That’s what we’re speaking out against? You think that’s what I’ve spent the past year fighting for? Not awareness about campus sexual assault, or rape, or learning to recognize consent. Campus drinking culture. Down with Jack Daniels. Down with Skyy Vodka. If you want talk to people about drinking go to an AA meeting. You realize, having a drinking problem is different than drinking and then forcefully trying to have sex with someone? Show men how to respect women, not how to drink less.

Drinking culture and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that. Goes along with that, like a side effect, like fries on the side of your order. Where does promiscuity even come into play? I don’t see headlines that read, Brock Turner, Guilty of drinking too much and the sexual promiscuity that goes along with that. Campus Sexual Assault. There’s your first powerpoint slide. Rest assured, if you fail to fix the topic of your talk, I will follow you to every school you go to and give a follow up presentation.

Lastly you said, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin a life.

A life, one life, yours, you forgot about mine. Let me rephrase for you, I want to show people that one night of drinking can ruin two lives. You and me. You are the cause, I am the effect. You have dragged me through this hell with you, dipped me back into that night again and again. You knocked down both our towers, I collapsed at the same time you did. If you think I was spared, came out unscathed, that today I ride off into sunset, while you suffer the greatest blow, you are mistaken. Nobody wins. We have all been devastated, we have all been trying to find some meaning in all of this suffering. Your damage was concrete; stripped of titles, degrees, enrollment. My damage was internal, unseen, I carry it with me. You took away my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my confidence, my own voice, until today.

See one thing we have in common is that we were both unable to get up in the morning. I am no stranger to suffering. You made me a victim. In newspapers my name was “unconscious intoxicated woman”, ten syllables, and nothing more than that. For a while, I believed that that was all I was. I had to force myself to relearn my real name, my identity. To relearn that this is not all that I am. That I am not just a drunk victim at a frat party found behind a dumpster, while you are the All­ American swimmer at a top university, innocent until proven guilty, with so much at stake. I am a human being who has been irreversibly hurt, my life was put on hold for over a year, waiting to figure out if I was worth something.

My independence, natural joy, gentleness, and steady lifestyle I had been enjoying became distorted beyond recognition. I became closed off, angry, self deprecating, tired, irritable, empty. The isolation at times was unbearable. You cannot give me back the life I had before that night either. While you worry about your shattered reputation, I refrigerated spoons every night so when I woke up, and my eyes were puffy from crying, I would hold the spoons to my eyes to lessen the swelling so that I could see. I showed up an hour late to work every morning, excused myself to cry in the stairwells, I can tell you all the best places in that building to cry where no one can hear you. The pain became so bad that I had to explain the private details to my boss to let her know why I was leaving. I needed time because continuing day to day was not possible. I used my savings to go as far away as I could possibly be. I did not return to work full time as I knew I’d have to take weeks off in the future for the hearing and trial, that were constantly being rescheduled. My life was put on hold for over a year, my structure had collapsed.

I can’t sleep alone at night without having a light on, like a five year old, because I have nightmares of being touched where I cannot wake up, I did this thing where I waited until the sun came up and I felt safe enough to sleep. For three months, I went to bed at six o’clock in the morning.

I used to pride myself on my independence, now I am afraid to go on walks in the evening, to attend social events with drinking among friends where I should be comfortable being. I have become a little barnacle always needing to be at someone’s side, to have my boyfriend standing next to me, sleeping beside me, protecting me. It is embarrassing how feeble I feel, how timidly I move through life, always guarded, ready to defend myself, ready to be angry.

You have no idea how hard I have worked to rebuild parts of me that are still weak. It took me eight months to even talk about what happened. I could no longer connect with friends, with everyone around me. I would scream at my boyfriend, my own family whenever they brought this up. You never let me forget what happened to me. At the of end of the hearing, the trial, I was too tired to speak. I would leave drained, silent. I would go home turn off my phone and for days I would not speak. You bought me a ticket to a planet where I lived by myself. Every time a new article come out, I lived with the paranoia that my entire hometown would find out and know me as the girl who got assaulted. I didn’t want anyone’s pity and am still learning to accept victim as part of my identity. You made my own hometown an uncomfortable place to be.

You cannot give me back my sleepless nights. The way I have broken down sobbing uncontrollably if I’m watching a movie and a woman is harmed, to say it lightly, this experience has expanded my empathy for other victims. I have lost weight from stress, when people would comment I told them I’ve been running a lot lately. There are times I did not want to be touched. I have to relearn that I am not fragile, I am capable, I am wholesome, not just livid and weak.

When I see my younger sister hurting, when she is unable to keep up in school, when she is deprived of joy, when she is not sleeping, when she is crying so hard on the phone she is barely breathing, telling me over and over again she is sorry for leaving me alone that night, sorry sorry sorry, when she feels more guilt than you, then I do not forgive you. That night I had called her to try and find her, but you found me first. Your attorney’s closing statement began, “[Her sister] said she was fine and who knows her better than her sister.” You tried to use my own sister against me? Your points of attack were so weak, so low, it was almost embarrassing. You do not touch her.

You should have never done this to me. Secondly, you should have never made me fight so long to tell you, you should have never done this to me. But here we are. The damage is done, no one can undo it. And now we both have a choice. We can let this destroy us, I can remain angry and hurt and you can be in denial, or we can face it head on, I accept the pain, you accept the punishment, and we move on.

Your life is not over, you have decades of years ahead to rewrite your story. The world is huge, it is so much bigger than Palo Alto and Stanford, and you will make a space for yourself in it where you can be useful and happy. But right now, you do not get to shrug your shoulders and be confused anymore. You do not get to pretend that there were no red flags. You have been convicted of violating me, intentionally, forcibly, sexually, with malicious intent, and all you can admit to is consuming alcohol. Do not talk about the sad way your life was upturned because alcohol made you do bad things. Figure out how to take responsibility for your own conduct.

Now to address the sentencing. When I read the probation officer’s report, I was in disbelief, consumed by anger which eventually quieted down to profound sadness. My statements have been slimmed down to distortion and taken out of context. I fought hard during this trial and will not have the outcome minimized by a probation officer who attempted to evaluate my current state and my wishes in a fifteen minute conversation, the majority of which was spent answering questions I had about the legal system. The context is also important. Brock had yet to issue a statement, and I had not read his remarks.

My life has been on hold for over a year, a year of anger, anguish and uncertainty, until a jury of my peers rendered a judgment that validated the injustices I had endured. Had Brock admitted guilt and remorse and offered to settle early on, I would have considered a lighter sentence, respecting his honesty, grateful to be able to move our lives forward. Instead he took the risk of going to trial, added insult to injury and forced me to relive the hurt as details about my personal life and sexual assault were brutally dissected before the public. He pushed me and my family through a year of inexplicable, unnecessary suffering, and should face the consequences of challenging his crime, of putting my pain into question, of making us wait so long for justice.

I told the probation officer I do not want Brock to rot away in prison. I did not say he does not deserve to be behind bars. The probation officer’s recommendation of a year or less in county jail is a soft time­out, a mockery of the seriousness of his assaults, an insult to me and all women. It gives the message that a stranger can be inside you without proper consent and he will receive less than what has been defined as the minimum sentence. Probation should be denied. I also told the probation officer that what I truly wanted was for Brock to get it, to understand and admit to his wrongdoing.

Unfortunately, after reading the defendant’s report, I am severely disappointed and feel that he has failed to exhibit sincere remorse or responsibility for his conduct. I fully respected his right to a trial, but even after twelve jurors unanimously convicted him guilty of three felonies, all he has admitted to doing is ingesting alcohol. Someone who cannot take full accountability for his actions does not deserve a mitigating sentence. It is deeply offensive that he would try and dilute rape with a suggestion of “promiscuity.” By definition rape is the absence of promiscuity, rape is the absence of consent, and it perturbs me deeply that he can’t even see that distinction.

The probation officer factored in that the defendant is youthful and has no prior convictions. In my opinion, he is old enough to know what he did was wrong. When you are eighteen in this country you can go to war. When you are nineteen, you are old enough to pay the consequences for attempting to rape someone. He is young, but he is old enough to know better.

As this is a first offence I can see where leniency would beckon. On the other hand, as a society, we cannot forgive everyone’s first sexual assault or digital rape. It doesn’t make sense. The seriousness of rape has to be communicated clearly, we should not create a culture that suggests we learn that rape is wrong through trial and error. The consequences of sexual assault needs to be severe enough that people feel enough fear to exercise good judgment even if they are drunk, severe enough to be preventative.

The probation officer weighed the fact that he has surrendered a hard earned swimming scholarship. How fast Brock swims does not lessen the severity of what happened to me, and should not lessen the severity of his punishment. If a first time offender from an underprivileged background was accused of three felonies and displayed no accountability for his actions other than drinking, what would his sentence be? The fact that Brock was an athlete at a private university should not be seen as an entitlement to leniency, but as an opportunity to send a message that sexual assault is against the law regardless of social class.

The Probation Officer has stated that this case, when compared to other crimes of similar nature, may be considered less serious due to the defendant’s level of intoxication. It felt serious. That’s all I’m going to say.

What has he done to demonstrate that he deserves a break? He has only apologized for drinking and has yet to define what he did to me as sexual assault, he has revictimized me continually, relentlessly. He has been found guilty of three serious felonies and it is time for him to accept the consequences of his actions. He will not be quietly excused.

He is a lifetime sex registrant. That doesn’t expire. Just like what he did to me doesn’t expire, doesn’t just go away after a set number of years. It stays with me, it’s part of my identity, it has forever changed the way I carry myself, the way I live the rest of my life.

To conclude, I want to say thank you. To everyone from the intern who made me oatmeal when I woke up at the hospital that morning, to the deputy who waited beside me, to the nurses who calmed me, to the detective who listened to me and never judged me, to my advocates who stood unwaveringly beside me, to my therapist who taught me to find courage in vulnerability, to my boss for being kind and understanding, to my incredible parents who teach me how to turn pain into strength, to my grandma who snuck chocolate into the courtroom throughout this to give to me, my friends who remind me how to be happy, to my boyfriend who is patient and loving, to my unconquerable sister who is the other half of my heart, to Alaleh, my idol, who fought tirelessly and never doubted me. Thank you to everyone involved in the trial for their time and attention. Thank you to girls across the nation that wrote cards to my DA to give to me, so many strangers who cared for me.

Most importantly, thank you to the two men who saved me, who I have yet to meet. I sleep with two bicycles that I drew taped above my bed to remind myself there are heroes in this story. That we are looking out for one another. To have known all of these people, to have felt their protection and love, is something I will never forget.

And finally, to girls everywhere, I am with you. On nights when you feel alone, I am with you. When people doubt you or dismiss you, I am with you. I fought everyday for you. So never stop fighting, I believe you. As the author Anne Lamott once wrote, “Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining.” Although I can’t save every boat, I hope that by speaking today, you absorbed a small amount of light, a small knowing that you can’t be silenced, a small satisfaction that justice was served, a small assurance that we are getting somewhere, and a big, big knowing that you are important, unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are beautiful, you are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute of every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away from you. To girls everywhere, I am with you. Thank you.’

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Stalking victims suffer trauma

Imagine living under a constant state of siege, never sure when your enemy is going to attack next, or where. Stalking is terrorism, pure and simple. As one expert in the field describes it: “To feel that you can’t get away from that person and that you’re at risk no matter where you go is tantamount to living under attack in a state of war.”
In a recent study of long-term stalking, a number of victims commented they could have dealt better with being raped. Although it might sound like an outrageous remark, those who counsel victims understand where it’s coming from. It’s because stalking is a crime that seems like it will never be over. It goes on day after day, and year after year, for as long as the stalker stays fixated on his victim. Victims develop symptoms of complex PTSD.
An obsessed stalker is like a rapist who doesn’t his victim rape once but keeps showing up in her bedroom. A victim of stalking can never be sure when her stalker will make his next move. This unpredictability means she cannot freely go on with her life. Being stalked results in enormous stress. Unlike in other crimes, the victim’s trauma increases over time, rather than diminishes. That’s because the victim can’t know if her attacker has withdrawn, or if he will be back.
Jenny, who had been stalked for two years recalls that a detective investigating her case told her that when an obsessed stalker stops, it is because one of three things: he’s in jail, he’s stalking somebody else or he’s dead. The best she can hope for, says Jenny, is to outlive her stalker.
But even when a woman’s stalker dies, he leaves a destructive legacy behind. As criminal profiler John Douglas says: “He has stolen time from her and irrevocably altered the way she sees the world” Douglas continues, “It enrages me to think that a decent, moral, contributing member of society has to pay such a high emotional, physical and financial price on a moment by moment basis so that some degenerate loser can have his fantasies and build up his own feeble, worthless ego.”

Non-stranger stalkers

alison summers the girls guide to predatorsWhen stalkers are in the news, it’s usually because they were hauled into court for stalking a celebrity. But the majority of stalkers are non-stranger stalkers, and they are adept at side-stepping the system.  Unlike celebrity stalkers — mentally disturbed individuals driven by delusional fantasies that a romantic relationship exists — non-stranger stalkers are sane and in control. They are rational, purposeful and cunning individuals. They premeditate their actions.Mary Lou Leary was the executive director of the US National Center for Victims of Crime from 2005 to 2009. (She now oversees the criminal justice portfolio at the Office if National Drug Control Policy.) Leary says what she found most remarkable about stalking in comparison to other crimes was

  1. The persistence of the predatory behavior
  2. Its long-term deleterious effects on the targe

“When you consider the impact that stalking has on a victim’s life, five weeks is forever — five years is incredible,” she marvels. ‘They often have to give up their current life, leave their jobs, their homes, establish a whole new identity.”

It is estimated that more than 50 per cent – some say it’s as high as 90%- of non-stranger stalkers are psychopaths; the rest are malignant narcissists or individuals with Borderline Personality Disorder. But they all share common characteristics. Non-stranger stalkers are grandiose, un-empathetic, vindictive, self-centered and aggressive. They don’t take responsibility for their actions, and actually blame the victim for the stalking.

A non-stranger stalker knows he is committing a crime and expects to get away with it. The target is usually someone with whom he once had a relationship, and who –as the stalker sees it- rejected him, and needs to be brought under his control.

When the stalker embarks on a campaign of harassment, threat and pursuit against his ex-partner, he is fueled by revenge. It is malicious behavior set about trying to destroy his ex-partner’s new life and to restore his domination.

Lawyer Rhonda B. Saunders is an internationally recognized expert on stranger and non-stranger stalking. She found that compared to other stalkers, “the stalkers of ex-intimates make up the most dangerous and malevolent group.”

Stalking as domestic terrorism

In 2009, the US Justice Department released the results of the largest survey ever done in the USA on stalking. The report stated that 3.4 million Americans had identified themselves as having been stalked during a one-year period. Some were male; the vast majority of those being stalked were female.

In this study, stalking was defined as a course of conduct directed at a specific person on at least two separate occasions that would cause a reasonable person to feel fear. The most common forms of stalking were unwanted phone calls (66 per cent), unsolicited emails or letters (31 per cent) or having rumors spread about them (36 per cent).

Nearly 75 per cent of the victims were familiar with their stalker who, in most cases, was an ex-spouse or ex-boyfriend.

A spokesperson for the US National Victim Center recently states un-categorically: ‘All stalkers have personality disorders.’ Narcissists, those with Borderline Personality Disorder, and Psychopaths are the most likely to stalk ex partner.Forensic psychiatrist Dr Park Dietz agrees. “None of the people who engage in stalking behavior are normal individuals.”

Criminologists say that non stranger stalking is triggered by the same emotionally inadequate response to losing control that serial killers exhibit. Robert Keppel, the lead detective in the Ted Bundy case, says that stalkers are typically “people who have abnormally short tempers, who snap at those around them during stress, who are prone to violence as a first resort . . . and who are almost pathological about exerting control over others and over events around them.”

The majority of domestic stalkers express their hostility towards a rejecting wife or girlfriend without murdering them. They stay at whatever is for them a ‘compensatory ‘level of violence. But the threshold between that and domestic homicide is ‘frighteningly narrow and the numbers of people on the edge so great,’ says Keppel.

According to experts, stalkers should be regarded as ‘terrorists’: whether they are stalking an ex-wife by spreading false rumors about her and sabotaging her employment, or breaking into her home.

Thought Crimes and Gilberto Valle.

Last night I watched the documentary ‘Thought Crimes’ on HBO. Did you see it? The subject was the Gilberto Valle trial. You’ll remember that he was freed by Judge Gardephe on appeal. The judge’s decision still baffles me. He ruled that Valle’s plans to kidnap, rape and cook women existed only in his own imagination. The judge said he was persuaded by the defense argument that the Cannibal Cop was merely sharing fantasies on the internet to like minded deviants: they were ugly, and misogynistic but essentially harmless.

But Valle had specific women in mind, not fictional ones. And he admitted to using police computers to track down addresses of the individuals he had described to his online buddies as his “prey.” To me, that shows he wasn’t musing; he intended to carry out the detailed plans he described. He was found guilty of “intent” to commit a crime.  Judge Gardephe’s decision that Valle doesn’t pose a risk to society disturbs me. Would the judge have felt the same way in a case where a man had not only been online discussing plans with co-conspirators to bomb City Hall, but had also done illegal searches on police computers, and tried to learn how to make bombs (in Valle’s case, it was chloroform) If the man argued it was merely a “fantasy”, would the Judge have released him back into society. I don’t think so. And what about Jeffrey Dahmer? If he had been chatting to fellow cannibals online about his heinous plans to capture and dismember young men,and he had done surveillance on them too, would the judge dismiss Dahmer as a harmless fantasist? He’d be irresponsible if he did. Anyway, I came away from the documentary believing that Valle was a dangerous individual who poses a danger to women, including his own wife.  I wrote a post a while back, addressing the Judge.  Here’s what I said:

Why was Gilberto Valle released yesterday after being found guilty in 2013 of conspiracy to kidnap? Oh yes, the judge who heard his appeal, decided the former New York City cop was harmless. Just a regular guy —like Jeffrey Dahmer was a regular guy. “This is a conspiracy that existed solely in cyberspace,” said the judge, Paul G. Gardephe. Well, I’m never going to get to meet you in person Judge, so I’ll just have an imaginary conversation with you in cyberspace.

I disagree with your decision, Judge Gardephe. I believe you’re wrong to regard the internet as a forum where psychopaths reveal murder fantasies to each other to great applause, but that’s as far as it ever goes. Recently, Elliot Rodgers went online to PickUpArtists, another website where men express hatred of women. Rodgers outlined his plan to shoot as many women as he could, and he went out and completed the task. He killed six people and wounded 13 others near the University of California before his rampage was ended.

Now, I have a question. If you had been given a transcript of Elliot Rodgers’s chat room conversation where he announced his intention to murder women, would you have dismissed it as insufficient to prove intent to harm? If you had, that decision would have come to haunt you. Well, Judge, like Elliott Rodger, Gilberto Valle was writing of his intent. And you have released Gilberto Valle. I hope that decision doesn’t come back to haunt you.

You ruled that a plan to commit a crime if it is shared on the internet —no matter that the research has suggested extensive planning—should not be taken seriously. I can assure you that if a plan to kill the President was discussed on the internet and the offender had been to scout out the White House, it would be treated as a credible assassination plot. No federal judge would release the prisoner from jail so he could walk free around Washington. DC.

And what if you were the intended victim? If a rage-fueled individual with a hatred of the justice system shared his plan online to break into your home and abduct, torture and kill you, and if he had located your address and followed you there, would you dismiss it as harmless fantasy and sleep peacefully in your bed at night? I doubt it.

So, what is it about the internet in this particular case that makes it a crime free zone for you? I don’t understand why you believe Mr. Gilberto Valle—a man with a manifest rage against women—did not have the intention to carry out his heinous plans. After all, he made plans. What if plans for the kidnapping of the famous Lindbergh baby had been discovered before the event actually occurred in the 1930s? Should a judge dismiss such plans as ‘fantasy’ because the child hadn’t yet been kidnapped? Should the conspirators be given their freedom even if they had tracked down the address of the Lindbergh baby, and had started lurking outside? Of course not. They had intent. And in the case of the Cannibal Cop, he had crossed the boundary from planning into action. He had taken the risk of illegally searching for his proposed victim’s addresses on a law enforcement data base, and he had begun stalking them. Doesn’t that imply intent to kidnap and kill?

“The highly unusual facts of this case reflect the Internet age in which we live,” you ruled. When it comes to sex crimes, the boundary between fantasy and realization isn’t as thick as the Great Wall of China, Judge. It’s thin. Every criminal profiler knows that. In the 1980s FBI profilers interviewed hundreds of homicidal sex predators in jails around the USA. John Douglas recalled: “One of the things we clearly established was that in any sexually related predatory crime, the fantasy always precedes the acting out.”

Roger Depue was head of the FBI’s Behavioral Sciences Unit at Quantico at the time. In his memoir, he wrote that it is inevitable that once a violent fantasy takes root, the homicidal sex predator becomes obsessed with figuring out how to bring it to life. Other interests are pushed aside. I’m guessing Gilberto Valle didn’t have much time for other hobbies while he was researching torture. The guy was a ticking time-bomb.

But let’s give the last word to serial killer Edmund Kemper who brought mayhem, death and suffering to eight women. “I knew long before I started killing that I was going to be killing, that it was going to end up like that. The fantasies were too strong. They were going on for too long and were too elaborate.”

You should have done your homework, Judge Valle before you let the prisoner walk.

B.T.K. wants to tell his story. Is that a good idea?

In August 2005, Dennis Rader pleaded guilty in a Kansas courtroom to 10 murders. Addressing the judge in a monotone, Rader, otherwise known as the B.T.K. Strangler, provided graphic details about each murder. He might as well been reading a shopping list. Rader’s flat delivery in the witness box added to the horrors he was describing. There was never a hint of remorse. Rader seemed to enjoy having everybody’s attention, and the TV cameras proved that he was no longer a nobody. Pausing in his testimony, he instructed the judge on the difference between “trolling” and “stalking.” His manner resembled a boring headmaster The only times there was a glimpse of the monster inside was an occasional smirk, quickly suppressed.

Since Rader is serving ten life sentences in the El Dorado state prison, one could reasonably expect that would be the last we heard of him. But not so fast. Serial killers are highly narcissistic. Rader was no exception. The attention-seeking prisoner missed being the spotlight. He even considered writing a book. Why not? He couldn’t profit from it of course, because of the Son of Sam law, but he would be back in the headlines. Luckily for the victims’ families as well as the rest of us he didn’t write his self-serving memoir. However, last year, Katherine Ramsland, a well-respected non-fiction author of 54 books, reached out to him. She wanted to write a book to help investigators and criminologists understand serial killers like Rader: would he co-operate with her? Would he what? Rader didn’t need any persuading. He embraced the idea.

Katherine Ramsland is a professor of forensic psychology at DeSales University in Pennsylvania who has in mind, she says, a “non sensationalist” book. Rader has in mind something different: a return to public attention. It’s a pity he will get it. Shortly after agreeing to co-operate, Rader sent a four page handwritten letter to a Kansas newspaper, to announce a book was on its way. The letter was labeled “From the Desk of: Dennis L. Rader.” He claims his intention is to help the victims’ families. “I can never replace their love ones, my deeds too ‘dark’ to understand, the book or movies, etc. is the only way to help them.” Obviously he’s hoping that his story will reach the big screen, too.

I’m not sure profilers will learn anything about the mind of a serial killer that they don’t already know. From the 1980s on, FBI researchers and criminologists have interviewed hundreds of serial killers in American prisons. There is also a first rate book written by veteran profiler John Douglas and Johnny Dodd called “Inside the Mind of BTK”. Still one has to applaud Professor Ramsland’s fortitude: I can’t imagine a more odious and unpleasant task for an author than to be in regular contact with Rader. Getting the truth from him is also going to be hard. As a psychopath, he will be determined to control the material. He might believe he can manipulate Professor Ramsland. He’s wrong of course. Ramsland is a highly respected psychologist who will recognize such tactics, but I don’t envy her the tug of war. The only person who will be enjoying himself is the subject. Just when you thought you had heard the last of him, Dennis Rader is back.

Obama urges students to do more to help prevent campus rapes

In 2009, President Barack Obama declared April to be National Sexual Assault Awareness Month. “Sexual assault is pervasive in the United States” said the President, in a solemn address from the Rose Garden. “One recent study found that 18 per cent of women in this country have been raped in their lifetimes. ” After detailing the worrying statistics, Obama gave a call to action : “ I urge all Americans to respond to sexual assault by creating policies at work and school, by engaging in discussions with family and friends, and by making the prevention of sexual assault a priority in their communities.”

Yup, that what he said back in 2009. Talk about a fizzler. Did “all Americans” respond to sexual assault in the ways the President recommended? Uh, nope. Now I’m not letting ordinary citizens off the hook, but even more striking than our lack of action was the deafening silence from those in positions of power.   Where was the church? The university chancellors? The senators, congressmen, state governors and city mayors? I guess they thought they had better things to do with their time than declare war on sexual violence.  Instead of the vast improvement Obama called for back in 2009, the statistics for sexual violence against women and girls continued to worsen.  In 2012 a study by the US Centers of Disease Prevention and Control reported that one in five women in this country has been raped or experienced an attempted rape, and “1.3 million women annually may be victims of rape or attempted rape. (New York Times 4/9/2012). Law enforcement officials also voiced the opinion that the country is in the midst of an “epidemic of sexual violence”.

When did society start accepting sexual violence against females as something sad but…well, inevitable?   Politicians are so complacent about sexual violence that it’s not an issue they even bother to campaign on. Is that because sexual assault is predominantly a crime against women and girls? It’s looking that way, isn’t it? I’m pretty sure that if 1.3 million males were raped in the USA in the year 2012, it would not only be unacceptable, it would be the number one issue on every politician’s lips. A situation where  one in 5 women is a rape victim adds up to millions of victims living in this country. It tells us something else: with such high numbers, there are a lot of rapists out there.   The FBI also tells us that most rapes are committed by repeat offenders. In fact, according to FBI experts in sex crimes, there is no such thing as a non serial rapist; there is only a rapist who was sent to jail before committing a second rape.  Rehabilitation has been proven not to work on serial rapists, which makes it a baffling decision whenever parole boards release violent offenders early for ‘good behavior’.  In jail these predators were removed from their prey. . Good behavior towards guards and fellow inmates does not guarantee future good behavior towards women and girls.   The Center for Missing and Exploited Children reports that of more than 560,000 registered sex offenders in the country, “at least 100,000 are ‘missing.’”

In the first two or three years after Obama first announced National Sexual Assault Awareness Month, there was little evidence of any nationwide change in sexual assault awareness. But then gradually the topic of campus rapes became hot news, and so did military rapes. In both those closed environments, the institutions—the military, the universities— had failed to treat the victims’ complaints seriously, and let their rapists go free, no doubt to prey on others. There is evidence that because of these high profile cases, ordinary people are getting fed up with the way rape victims are being treated, and so last week President Obama tried again. He called for a shift in the country’s response to victims of sexual assault, and a vast improvement in the way women are treated.   “Our society doesn’t sufficiently value women” he stated emphatically. He called for a “fundamental shift in our culture” .

Obama acknowledged that improvements to the problem of sexual violence against women had not progressed much under his tenure. “We’ve been working on campus sexual assault for several years, but the issue of violence against women is in the news every day.” So he tried a different tack. Instead of another appeal to those in positions of power to make fighting sexual assault a priority in their communities, an appeal which had previously produced such a lackluster response, he shifted his focus to the younger generation.   In a speech from the East Room of the White House, he announced a plan aimed at empowering students to do more to prevent sexual assaults on their campuses. Actually students have already been galvanized into taking action, so Obama is just encouraging the flames of protest, but it’s worth doing. The campaign’s name is “It’s on us,” and the intention, said the president, is send a message that every individual has a responsibility to confront the issue of sexual violence. We can only hope that students will continue to challenge the ongoing apathy of politicians and institutions to the issue of sexual assaults.  Now, that would be an example of a real community, one that looks out for each other.

Risky business. Attacks upon female real estate agents

The number of violent attacks on real estate agents has increased significantly over the years. The brutal slaying of 49 year old Beverly Carter, a real estate agent from Little Rock, Arkansas, is the latest tragic incident. Carter was killed while showing a home to a man she had thought was a potential buyer.   Her body was later found in a shallow grave about 20 miles north east of Little Rock, Arkansas. As Aaron Lewis was being brought into the police station by arresting officers, the 33 year old suspect answered reporters’ questions. “Why, Beverly?” one asked him.   Arron Lewis replied matter-of- factly, “Because she was just a woman who worked alone —a rich broker.”

Tracey Hawkins, a security expert who advises real estate businesses on safety issues, personally knows of at least six other attacks on realtors this year.   Homicides of female real estate agents have occurred all over the country. In 2007 Kosoul Chanthakoummane was found guilty of the murder of Sarah Walker, a top selling realtor for D, R. Horton in McKinney, Texas. Kosul had requested an appointment with a female realtor to see a model home. The body of Sarah Walker was found on the premises. She had been robbed, beaten and killed. In 2011, 27 year old Ashley Okland was killed on the job in Iowa.

A woman alone in an empty house is also seen as easy prey by serial killers. Mike DeBardeleben posed as a businessman who was about to be transferred to the Great Barrington area of Massachusetts, and needed to find a suitable home for himself and his wife.  One of the appointments he made was with Terry Macdonald.   When Terry didn’t make it back to the office, her colleague drove to the isolated home she had had been due to show DeBardeleben,. He found her tied up in the basement, where she had been asphyxiated with a pair of her own tights. “Mom was just a very unsuspecting, very trusting person” Terry’s daughter Lynn remembers. “She always looked for the good in people. She was always positive about them.”

FBI profiler Roy Hazelwood who specializes in investigating sex crimes, comments: “The real estate women are available, accessible. To me, it is the most dangerous legitimate profession in America. They go with total strangers to isolated areas on weekends, nights and holidays. And I think that’s the reason DeBardeleben chose them as victims.”

The murder of Beverly Carter this week has been a wake up call, according to the real estate office she worked for. From now on potential buyers will be required to show up at the office first, where their identification will be requested and checked. Tracey Hawkins, the security agent, hopes the industry will remain vigilant. “My fear is, for a while, agents will be all shook up…but what happens is everyone gets complacent.”

 

How do sex predators see the world?

To protect yourself against serial rapists and serial killers, it’s a good idea to see them as they see themselves.   Ted Bundy claimed that he had “ a consciousness which is comparable to a predator”, and that consequently his homicidal behavior was not influenced  by any “intellectual, moral, obvious considerations.”  What was he talking about?   Bundy, a psychology graduate, was talking about how he saw life through the lens of a psychopath.

In recent years, criminologists have established that 95% of serial killers are psychopaths; so are up to 90 percent of serial rapists. To a psychopath, everyday life is a jungle. If he’s not dominating, manipulating and controlling other people, he will be prey, like those he victimizes. And, he cannot allow that to happen. “Psychopaths say there are predators and prey. When they say that take it as factual,” states Dr. Robert Hare, who invented the Psychopathy Checklist, a diagnostic tool applied by doctors and criminal profilers around the world.

Psychopathy is a ‘personality disorder.’ Brain scans have shown psychopaths have little to no activity in the two areas of the brain that are connected to empathy and conscience. Answering the question of whether he felt guilt for murdering innocent people, David Gore said it was the opposite: “I actually thrived on killing.”

Dr. Hare, widely regarded as the world expert on the subject, describes the psychopath as a “human predator” or “social predator. To a psychopath, compassion, sincerity and kindness are just weaknesses in other people that he can exploit. This perception is not rooted in mental illness. It’s in his DNA. Nothing happened to him during his childhood to turn him into a psychopath, he was born that way. “Predatory violence is not independent of the psychopathic process and, in fact, appears to be quite dependent upon psychopathy” writes Dr J. Reid Meloy in his book Violent Attachments (p293.)

The psychopath’s personality is selfish, aggressive, manipulative, deceitful and prone to cruelty. He regards those qualities as among his strengths. Because it is a personality disorder — not psychosis or schizophrenia— there is no medication a psychopath can take to change his behavior. And if one existed, he would be unlikely to take it. The simple fact is that psychopaths enjoy preying on other people. Nor do psychopaths improve with therapy. If they go at all, they play games with the therapist. On one occasion Edmund Kemper had a victim’s head in the trunk of his car, while inside his psychiatrist’s office, the disturbed 21 year old was found to be ‘rehabilitated’, and no danger to society.

Because of their rock hard refusal to submit to treatment, many doctors today refuse to accept them as clients. It’s a thankless task, they say when psychopaths have no intention of changing.

To avoid being targeted by a psychopath, one has to accept that there really are people —4% of the population— who see other people as prey, and then learn how to recognize them by their behaviors. Predators are good at reading people. We need to be equally good at reading predators.

The Highway Serial Killings Initiative.

By the late 1960s, the US highway system had become a major hunting ground for serial killers.
When he was living in Seattle, Ted Bundy drove his VW across several state lines to abduct women. Jerry Brudos drove his station wagon up and down the I-5 freeway, from Portland to Salem to Corvallis, looking for women he could pick up. David Gore often teamed up with his cousin Fred Waterfield: “one of us would pick the other up early and we’d literally drive hundreds of miles hunting”.

Predators on the road keep an eye out for stranded female motorists, hitchhikers, lovers at scenic lookouts, women working a late shift at a 711, girls on beaches, and prostitutes at truck stops

“I never had to go far to find a victim for most all truck stops across the US had whores working in and around them. ( Joe Roy Methany)

Like Joe Roy Methany, and Keith Hunter Jesperson, a high percentage of serial killers now behind bars were once employed as long haul truckers. There is little to no criminal background checks on these jobs, and the amount of freedom and the lack of supervision is attractive to an antisocial type. With a long haul truck, it is also relatively easy for a serial killer to get away with murder. One FBI investigator explains “You’ve got a mobile crime scene. You can pick a girl up on the East Coast, kill her two states away and then dump her three states after that.”

Between 1980 -2010 the bodies of more than 500 missing women were found dumped near major highways. However, the numbers are likely to be “grossly underreported” says the FBI, which expects the total number of such homicides is probably in the thousands. The FBI suspects American highways have become dumping grounds for serial killers.

The more than 500 victims included prostitutes and hitchhikers – many of them picked up at truck stops or gas stations-, women whose cars had broken down, and women with jobs at 24 hour businesses along major highways.

The fact the killers have never been identified, prompted the FBI to set up The Highway Serial Killings Initiative in 2010. It has interrogated scores of truckers, particularly those who had come under suspicion for sexual assaults before 2010 but might not have been arrested for lack of evidence.

More than 200 potential suspects have been identified but as yet only 10 suspects – believed to be responsible for 30 homicides – have been arrested.

Ten arrests is obviously inadequate admits the FBI, when weighed against the hundreds of women’s bodies that have been found, but investigators are confident there will be more arrests in the future.