By C.Kimberly Toms | July 5, 2025
In the hushed moments of a Wisconsin courtroom, after the jury had retired for lunch, the judge turned to me with a mocking tone and asked, “Why do you have a handful of paper clips?” Her words cut through the silence with the precision of a scalpel, reducing me to what she likely perceived as a weak, stupid little woman clinging to insignificant objects.
But I wasn’t holding paper clips. Curled in my palm was my consecrated rosary from New Orleans, a gift from my parents over 20 years prior —all I had left of them at that time. I was alone in that courtroom, alone in Wisconsin, having lost everyone in my life in the years leading up to when I dared to use my voice against a former Department of State special agent who had raped me and spent years stalking me. This rosary was my lifeline, my connection to something sacred in a system that had shown me nothing but cruelty.
The judge’s mockery wasn’t an isolated incident. Throughout the trial, she had shown more kindness to my rapist than to the victims, some of whom she had openly referred to as liars. Yet, her casual belittlement of my faith, my coping mechanism, my very humanity, exemplified everything wrong with how the criminal justice system treats sexual assault survivors who dare to testify.
The Justice Department’s recent Framework for Prosecutors emphasizes that prosecutors must build provable cases in a trauma-informed manner that treats victims with humanity. This isn’t just about legal strategy—it’s about recognizing that sexual assault survivors entering the courtroom are not just witnesses but human beings carrying the weight of immense trauma. Because my offender had already tried to kill me, I felt I had no choice but to be one of the 2% of victims who achieve a guilty verdict. That was my only hope for safety, an incredible stressor in those few moments on the stand.
Meeting with the victim, as early as possible in an investigation, is the most basic and effective way to evaluate the merits of an allegation, according to the Office on Violence Against Women. Yet in my case, there was no meaningful preparation. The prosecutorial team simply sat me at the head of a conference table surrounded by staff and detectives about a half-hour before we were due in court, lightly outlining which areas of my testimony they would explore. Their apparent fear of “leading” a witness had led them to become fully detached from how to treat a victim witness and, more importantly, how to prepare them for the courtroom experience.
Research consistently shows that prosecutors have a particular responsibility to prepare the victim-witness thoroughly and sensitively, and to lead the direct examination in a trauma-informed manner. This preparation isn’t just about legal technicalities—it’s about understanding that trauma affects memory, speech patterns, and emotional responses in ways that can be misinterpreted by judges and juries.
Given the prevalence of myths about sexual assault, it is necessary for the prosecution to provide expert testimony to dispel these myths and provide a context for the victim’s behavior. Prosecutors must educate themselves about counterintuitive victim behavior and prepare to address it proactively, rather than allowing defense attorneys to exploit misconceptions.
My experience in Waukesha County, Wisconsin—the same jurisdiction that has handled infamous cases like the Slenderman stabbing, Gypsy Rose’s arrest and the Christmas Parade attack—revealed
systemic problems in how sexual assault cases are prosecuted. The judge’s bias toward a law enforcement defendant was palpable, her treatment of victims was openly hostile, and the prosecution’s hands-off approach to witness preparation bordered on malpractice.
That rosary in my palm represented more than religious faith—it was a tangible connection to love, to family, to the person I had been before this nightmare began. The judge’s mockery of what she perceived as “paper clips” was really mockery of a survivor’s need for comfort, strength, and connection to something larger than the hostile courtroom environment.
Prosecutors and other investigators should give victims and their advocates as much notice as possible regarding trial preparation or trial dates. But beyond logistics, prosecutors must understand that survivors enter their courtrooms carrying sacred objects—literally and figuratively. These might be rosaries, photos, letters, or simply the courage it took to show up. All deserve respect, not ridicule.
Proper victim witness preparation requires prosecutors to see beyond the case file to the human being who will take the stand. This preparation should include:
A trauma-informed approach recognizes signs of trauma in staff, clients, and others and responds appropriately. This means prosecutors must educate themselves about trauma’s impact on memory, behavior, and testimony, then prepare juries to understand these realities.
When I sat in that witness stand, holding my rosary like a lifeline, I wasn’t just testifying about crimes—I was fighting for my life, my truth, and my right to be believed. The prosecution’s failure to prepare me wasn’t just about legal strategy—it was about their failure to recognize my humanity in a system designed to question it.
The criminal justice system fails sexual assault survivors in countless ways, but perhaps none is more preventable than the failure to properly prepare victims to testify. This preparation isn’t just about building stronger cases—it’s about honoring the sacred trust that survivors place in a system that too often fails them.
In that Wisconsin courtroom, a judge reduced me to a child with paper clips. But I was a survivor with a rosary, a woman with a voice, and a human being deserving of dignity. In many ways, I was one of the three sacrificial lambs standing up against an empowered offender who should have been unveiled and prosecuted 30 years earlier. Prosecutors must do better. Survivors deserve nothing less.
Have you experienced prosecutorial negligence or positive treatment as part of testifying against a violent offender? I’d love to hear about your experiences! Connect on LinkedIn to discuss.