A Survivor on Speaking Out Against Shame, Silence, and Sexual Assault

I caused a stir in India when I spoke out against rape culture, shaming, and silence. Thirty years later, I found the strength to do it all over again鈥攖his time to an international audience.

When she was 17 years old, Sohaila Abdulali, who had recently immigrated to the United States, spent the summer visiting family in Mumbai. She was out with a male friend one evening when four men abducted them, raped her, and threatened to kill them both over the course of a long and traumatic night. A few years later, encouraged by India鈥檚 feminist movement, Abdulali published an article in the magazine Manushi, criticizing the shaming and silencing of survivors and causing a cultural stir. She went on to a career of research, advocacy, activism, and writing, and a personal life that 鈥渨as good and full of love.鈥� Thirty years later, Abdulali once again found herself in the media spotlight as a survivor. She describes those experiences in this edited expert from her new book, What We Talk About When We Talk About Rape, published by the New Press.

On Dec. 16, 2012, Jyoti Singh, a young physiotherapy student in New Delhi, went out for an evening with a male friend. She was gang-raped on a bus, and left with grievous injuries. She died a few days later, and the country went into an uproar. The story electrified the country and the world. It set off storms of protest in India, and exposed some truly horrendous aspects of our culture, and rape culture in general.

Suddenly rape was trending. It was all over the news, part of every conversation, the topic of the moment.

Through all of this, I said nothing. I was horrified at the tragic story of Jyoti Singh鈥檚 murder, heartened to see the crime getting so much attention, and relieved that I had nothing to do with any of it because I had done my bit three decades ago, and now other people were fighting the good fight.

Then, a couple of weeks later, I got an email from a friend in Delhi. 鈥淭his is doing the rounds on Facebook.鈥� Somebody had dug out the old Manushi article, photo and all, and posted it. It instantly went viral. I was still the Only Living Rape Victim of India.

And then all hell broke loose. Rape is a lot about loss of control, and this was a very familiar feeling. I had spent 30 years getting past this, and it was back with no warning. My story was all over Facebook and Twitter and all the other platforms I didn鈥檛 even know how to use. Indian TV stations called and asked for interviews. The Western media, eager to capitalize on the buzzy news story of the world鈥檚 new Rape Hot Spot, but with no actual victims to talk to, asked me for interviews. I just sat there, shocked, wondering when my 11-year-old was going to ask about all the phone calls.

I said no to everyone, but over the next few days of mayhem I became increasingly confused. I didn鈥檛 want to upset my mother by prolonging the attention. I didn鈥檛 want the rape to define my life. But I didn鈥檛 want my slightly overwrought manifesto of so long ago to be my last word on the subject, either. Should I say something?

Then I thought of who I was now鈥攁 mother, a survivor, a writer. I remembered being on that mountain being raped, and bearing it all by dissociating and writing a news story in my head. Well, here was my chance to actually do it. The piece I wrote was a distillation of many of the ideas in this book鈥攖he idea that rape doesn鈥檛 have to define you, that it doesn鈥檛 have to reflect on your family, that it is terrible but survivable, that you can go on to have a joyous life, and that four men on a mountainside don鈥檛 have to own you forever. The , and I went live on their web channel to talk about it. The editors let me say most of what I wanted, although, to my abiding regret, they changed 鈥淚 reject the notion that men鈥檚 brains are in their balls鈥� to 鈥淚 reject the notion that men鈥檚 brains are in their genitals.鈥� (鈥淏alls鈥� is just so much more evocative.)

Then all hell broke loose鈥攁gain. I was still blindsided by the comprehensive panic that engulfed me when I woke up that morning and realized the paper was on my doorstep and on my computer, along with millions of other doorsteps and computers.

To the journalists I said I was done; but I saved the emails, and replied to almost all of them. Very few were nasty, and some of the nasty comments were too funny to sting. People wrote from India, the US, Denmark, Australia, Saudi Arabia, the UK, Canada … Women wrote saying they had been raped and never told anyone; men wrote expressing horror and helplessness; a neighbor from India wrote to tell me I was 鈥渙ne helluva tough cookie indeed鈥�; friends wrote to say they were weeping. It was all very interesting. Some of it was terribly sad. Imagine the loneliness of someone who is being raped by someone close to her, and has to write to a total stranger because she has never had anyone else to share her burden or ease her pain.

If you鈥檙e a survivor yourself and reading this, you know that when I write 鈥淚 had finished being shocked and upset long ago,鈥� I don鈥檛 mean it鈥檚 done and dusted and put away and now I鈥檓 finished with the rape. I remember a male friend to whom I talked less than a year after it happened. 鈥淒o you think I鈥檓 thinking about it for too long?鈥� I wanted to know. 鈥淚 still feel scared and upset; do you think I鈥檓 making too big a deal out of it?鈥� 鈥淵es,鈥� he said, 鈥測ou are. You should be over it by now.鈥� That shut me up for quite a while.

It took me a long time to see how clueless he was. You don鈥檛鈥済et over it鈥� so easily. It doesn鈥檛 work like that. Rape is no different from any other trauma in that way鈥攜ou can鈥檛 make it unhappen. No matter how much you heal, you can never be unraped, any more than you can be undead. I mean that it is one of the patchwork of events that have made me the person I am. Sometimes it鈥檚 upsetting; usually it鈥檚 just there. I have made my peace with it鈥攎ostly.

So why on earth am I back, writing about it again? Now, more than ever before, people are writing and talking about rape. In the past couple of years, quite a few brave people all over the world have spoken out about their own experiences of being raped. Sexual abuse is all over the Western media. I鈥檓 an odd sort of skeptical observer to it all: a brown bisexual middle-aged atheist Muslim survivor immigrant writer without a Shame Gene. Those are my qualifications.

I didn鈥檛 die. I told the men who raped me that I would keep their secret. I made up a whole scenario about meeting them again if they let me go. I told them I had a disease. I told them that they were better than this. I told them about my grandmother. I tried every crazy argument I could think of to change their minds about committing murder. I talked nonstop. I talked my way out of oblivion. And I鈥檓 still talking.

Copyright 漏 2018 by Sohaila Abdulali. This edited excerpt is adapted from What We Talk About When We Talk About Rape, published by 聽and reprinted here with permission.

Sohaila Abdulali was born in Mumbai, India. She has a B.A. from Brandeis University in Economics and Sociology, and an M.A. from Stanford University in Communication. She has written and edited a wide assortment of material, and worked on communication strategy and materials with clients including the First Lady of the City of New York, Oxfam, the World Health Organization, the United Nations Development Programme, Sesame Workshop International, and United We Dream. She writes and edits grants, annual reports, web copy, op-eds, blogs and articles.聽Her writing has been published in India, the U.S., England, South Africa and Canada. She is a founding board member of聽Point of View, a women鈥檚 media group in Mumbai, India. She continues to write and publish both fiction and non-fiction. She lives on the Lower East Side of Manhattan with her family.