The shame that shouldn’t be

If a person were to be shot or stabbed, they would not hesitate to say so. There would be no shame in admitting that someone had taken a knife or a bullet to their flesh. There would be outrage, sympathy, and a demand for justice. Society would not question what they were wearing or why they were in that particular place at that particular time. The burden would be on the perpetrator, not the victim.

But when it comes to sexual assault, a different set of rules apply. A survivor hesitates, struggles, and sometimes never speaks of what happened. Instead of seeking justice, they bury the trauma deep inside, weighed down by an overwhelming sense of shame. Not shame for the attacker – for the one who violated their body and humanity – but shame for themselves. As though they had invited the violence. As though they had been complicit in their own suffering.

Why is this? Why is it that we, as a society, recognise the physical violence of a gunshot wound or a stab wound, but when the violence is inflicted through coercion, force, or manipulation of a different kind, we question the victim? The wounds are still there. Sometimes unseen, but no less real. The pain lingers, the damage reverberates through every aspect of a survivor’s life, yet the world tells them to be silent.

We do not ask a shooting victim why they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We do not demand that a stabbing victim explain their past choices, their habits, or their state of mind at the time of the attack. We do not suspect that perhaps they had “led on” their assailant, or secretly wanted to be harmed. And yet, for survivors of sexual violence, these are the very questions that prevent them from speaking, that isolate them, that make them believe – falsely – that they carry the blame.

This shame is not innate. It is learned, imposed, and reinforced by centuries of whispered judgments and societal conditioning. It is a tool of oppression, a weapon as effective as any blade or bullet, silencing survivors and shielding perpetrators.

But just as we have challenged outdated ideas about justice in other realms, we must challenge this. No one should feel ashamed of surviving. No one should feel hesitant to say, ‘I was assaulted,’ any more than they would saying, ‘I was attacked.’

The crime should bring shame upon the criminal, not the survivor.

The silence must end. The burden must shift. And the shame – that should never have been theirs to carry – must finally be lifted.