July 10, 2020

The refrain frequently caught on cell phone and body cameras: I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. 

What I wonder about is the police violence that’s not caught on tape—sexual violation. It’s violence that harasses, gropes, misgenders, and rapes but remains hidden despite being the second most common form of police misconduct after excessive force. It’s the kind of police brutality that doesn’t go viral. 

In this moment, when so many of us are wondering how to hold the people who are responsible for keeping the peace accountable for decidedly destroying the peace of so many people in the U.S., I’d be remiss if I didn’t highlight what few of us know: police don’t just use their power to tear gas, pummel, and murder. They also use their power to sexually violate. Far more often than not, their misconduct is met with zero consequences. 

People who sexually harm others are skilled at picking their victims. Officers who commit these crimes are no different. Police are commonly in contact with vulnerable citizens: victims, criminal suspects, or people perceived as ‘suspicious’. Predatory officers use it as an opportunity to abuse the power of their position and target marginalized people for sexual violence. That includes young women and girls, women of color, transgender women, homeless women, women with mental illness, undocumented women, women who are addicted to drugs and alcohol, women with disabilities, low-income women and those in the sex trade. They’re often folks without supportive circles—those who are never believed when they complain of being brutalized or raped.

CAASE’s research documents how this plays out in Chicago. This past year, we released a report on how Chicago enforces its prostitution laws against people who sell sex. It includes interviews with women who were in the sex trade, some of whom self-identified as trafficking victims. Each one said they were harmed by police in some way, from being verbally harassed or groped to being forced to provide sex to avoid arrest. While this report is new, Black people have been ringing the alarm on police brutality for centuries and Black women have raised their voices the loudest about police sexual misconduct and assault. 

So, why are we still here in 2020? The easy answer is white supremacy and how it is used to justify brutality and violence. The more truthful answer is that we, as a culture, have not chosen to listen to or work with those most impacted by police violence to understand the full, comprehensive nature of the issue, as well as possible solutions that could revolutionize the way that police treat not only Black people, but all people in the U.S. 

To that end, my suggestions for those of you who are aching to do something about this, who want nothing more than for folks to feel safe and protected by the people who are paid to keep them safe and protect them: advocate for and with Black people, including Black survivors. 

For years, I’ve facilitated workshops and performance spaces for survivors of sexual violence through an informal project called Surviving the Mic. It is survivor-led, which means that my voice isn’t the only one that matters. It means that the survivors in the room can and do say what they need in order to feel brave enough to tell their stories. It means I shut up and listen. It means that I don’t undermine or debate people’s lived experiences. It means that I believe in the power of survivors to determine and dictate how they should be treated. This model is the way forward in this cultural moment, whether we are confronting sexual violence or anti-Blackness because these forces are inextricably linked.

Patriarchy claims that women must be contained, suppressed, managed and that we want special or different treatment than our fellow citizens. It asserts that women lie about being sexually harmed in an attempt to manipulate situations and facts just to garner sympathy. White supremacy tells a very similar tale about Black people and anti-Black violence. These oppressive forces have so much in common that to address one we must address the other.

To sum up, listen to and advocate for Black people like you would for anyone who’s been treated unfairly, who’s been harmed and traumatized. Advocate for those of us who feel terrorized by our own country through the physical and sexual violence wielded by police. Recognize that we must work together to lift and protect all of our humanity. This is the moment that Martin Luther King Jr. described as the mountaintop. We can see. We can see what has gone wrong. Now is the time for all of us to listen to those most affected, those most brutalized and traumatized, so we can understand how to make it right and get to work. 

CAASE will host a listening session for survivors of sexual violence at the hands of the police on Tuesday, July 28th, from 12:30-1:30pm. Learn more here.

To better understand police sexual misconduct and its impact on vulnerable communities, check out this reading list . 

About the author:

Nikki joined CAASE as Community Engagement Director in 2019, to lead CAASE’s efforts to deepen engagement with survivors of sexual harm and build relationships with communities in Chicago that are disproportionately vulnerable to sexual violence. Nikki also supports CAASE in advancing its commitment to intersectional equity in its culture, services, and mission.