After surviving a crime and enduring years of investigation, survivors enter the courtroom carrying more than evidence—they carry hope for validation, justice, and closure. These hopes often rest not just on the final verdict, but on smaller, seemingly procedural moments that hold profound meaning for those who have fought so hard to reach that courtroom.

Yet too often, judicial decisions strip away these critical moments, leaving survivors feeling re-victimized by the very system designed to protect them. I know this firsthand.

The Weight of “Small” Moments

I had fought through the crimes themselves and seven years of federal and state investigations to get to that moment in court when the prosecution asked me to point out my offender. This moment represented the culmination of years of fighting—through trauma, investigation, and legal proceedings. It was my chance to face the person who harmed me and declare, in a room full of witnesses, “This is the person who committed these crimes against me.”

The defense attorney objected. The judge called a sidebar and ultimately did not allow me to point out my offender, even when I asked if I could proceed. Years of courage and perseverance were dismissed in an instant. My moment of empowerment was silenced by a gavel.

Closure Interrupted

The moment of sentencing—watching an offender face consequences—represents critical closure for many survivors. When judicial decisions arbitrarily cut off access to these moments, they deny us the psychological resolution we desperately need.

As my offender was being found guilty and handcuffed, the judge cut off my Zoom connection. I was not allowed to see that critical moment I needed for closure, particularly since my offender was a federal law enforcement officer. I had to frantically scan TV news channels to find footage of his arrest—forced to witness this pivotal moment through media coverage rather than as a participant in my own case.

The Ripple Effect of Judicial Bias

Despite seven years of Joint Task Force investigations that proved my claims and found “double digits” of victims who suffered exactly what I suffered, this judge openly called the other victims liars and told me I was not credible. When a judge questions survivors’ credibility despite extensive investigations that validated their experiences, they don’t just harm individual cases—they perpetuate dangerous narratives about victim credibility.

The judge also minimized my case through victim-blaming, saying in court and in front of the media: “It’s not like he held a knife to the throat of someone he didn’t know and raped them.”