“I believe you. I’m sorry that happened to you, but…” — that’s what a sexual assault victim hears from everyone who is involved in their case. That “but…” is the real problem, because that is the moment they tell you there is nothing they can do.
I heard it from a victims’ advocate in a voicemail in July of 2024.
As a victim, it is nonsensical to hear it from a deputy DA who wields the power to sign a piece of paper for him to be charged. What exactly do you mean, you believe me but you won’t charge him? That is, in my mind, binary. If you believe it, you charge them, because if, as a prosecutor, you believe it, you can convince a jury. That was my understanding of how the system works.
It’s not.
I got my latest “I believe you, but…” today from the Nevada Independent, who had approached me about doing an opinion piece regarding Wolfson and how that whole thing went down.
We’d been talking for weeks. I knew they weren’t going to publish it. They never do.
“I believe you, but…”
I’m almost at the point of giving up again. Why am I putting myself through this? Why am I begging for a small space in public for my voice to be heard and my story to be told?
I haven’t figured out if it’s because they believe me, but I’m crazy (I’m not crazy; I am incredibly traumatized). Maybe they believe me, but rape is uncomfortable.
I’m fairly sure this came down today because the Indy did a piece on how insurers are not covering mental health and addiction services the same way as medical services, as they are supposed to, and reports on 17 insurers came out showing it. I might have mentioned that the person who used to be in oversight of enforcement kind of got fired for raping me. And I had fucking told the Indy ad nauseam that there was a huge shake-up and everyone left for whatever reason, and DOI was NOT admitting to anyone leaving. In fact, they kept {D} in the legislative directory that came out in February of 2025. I’m waiting for 2026 to come out to see if he is still there.
I shit you not, some interagency council he was on didn’t know he left until after he got fired in Vermont. Like, come on, people.
This is just frustrating. I believe you, but…
I’m going to lose my mind if I hear that again. If you believe me, fucking do something about it. Help me. Don’t just pat me on the head and tell me you’re sorry it happened. Save your #MeToo-era ritualistic empathy wording — it’s so 2006. Go dust off your hand-crocheted vagina hat for someone else.
I believe you care, but… do something about it.
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