Sexual Abuse Survivors Have Suffered Enough. Trump's Win Crosses the Line

At any given moment, there are an estimated 40 million survivors of sexual violence living in the United States, and on Nov. 6, a man found liable for sexual abuse in a court of law; a man who has been accused by more than 26 women of sexual misconduct; and a man who proudly proclaimed his propensity for forcefully kissing and groping women became the President-elect of this country—again.

Across America, more than 50 people every hour experience some form of sexual trauma, forcing them to have to craft ways to survive for the rest of their lives. Sexual harassment, assault, and abuse occur so often in this country that it fits the criteria for a public health crisis: widespread prevalence, long-term health consequences, and economic impact.

There are so many things about a new Donald Trump administration that feel precarious to me as a survivor of sexual violence and leader in the movement to see it eradicated. Chief among them is thinking about legislation that has undergirded large swaths of work to support survivors across the country. Legislation like the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) and the Victims of Crime Act (VOCA) that provide crucial funding to rape crisis centers and other direct service agencies were emphatically supported by President Joe Biden’s administration. In fact, this past fall, the White House held a celebration to commemorate the 30th anniversary of VAWA, the groundbreaking legislation introduced by Biden when he was in the Senate. It is easy to envision both of these acts, which require regular renewal and funding, being eviscerated by a Trump White House and Republican-led Congress.

But while my anxiety elevates thinking about the potential consequences on policy and funding, I am also deeply concerned about what the results of this election mean for us as Americans. When self-admitted sexual harassment, adjudicated sexual abuse, and a willful disregard for consent is not a line that voters are unwilling to cross, then where is the line? If it’s also not racism, sexism, xenophobia, or violence, all of which Trump and his acolytes put on full display during his first term and this campaign, then where is it?

As a Black woman, the second-largest group of survivors in this country after Indigenous women, I feel deeply betrayed by the results of this election. We voted for our interests. We knew what was at stake because we believed Trump was who he said he was the first time. The thanks we get for our steadfast diligence is even less protection.

Rape is not partisan. For survivors, the violations of our bodies had nothing to do with who we vote for or what we believe. Yet with a perpetrator made President and an abundance of information about how he and those around him feel about bodily autonomy, suddenly it feels that way because our bodies are subject to politics. The framing for the “great” America that the President-elect and his followers want allows for expectant mothers to bleed out and pubescent survivors to fight for the right to control their small bodies, riddled with fears and bound by laws that prevent them from accessing critical care. So again, I have to wonder: Where is the line?

I fear for those most vulnerable to experiencing sexual violence in an America where it happens every 68 seconds and where even the most powerful man in the country has a history of sexual abuse. As parents, educators, and advocates fight for issues like consent education, how do we explain to our children, particularly our boys, that this behavior should not be the norm? When we knew exactly who Trump was eight years ago, and we still invited him back?

On the world stage, where America is already far behind other countries in recognizing sexual- and gender-based violence as a social, political, and cultural crisis, how will we make any more progress in that direction when we can’t stand boldly against a man with the track record of Donald Trump? Not for our daughters, mothers, sisters, and wives, but for the humanity of our nation.

There is a particular brand of moral fortitude that is endlessly required from those of us pushed furthest to the margins: Black, Indigenous, queer, women of color, disabled, and low-wealth communities are constantly asked to give more and more. I hesitate to bring a call to action to these groups, because we literally never stop.

Instead, I want to question the 53% of white women who voted for Trump and the men in their lives, their husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers: What will you do when we win? The election may be over, but our fight goes beyond this moment as we work to reshape our world without centering this President-elect or his vision. How far will you go in sacrificing your humanity for power? Where is your boundary? Because I am clear about ours, and this is it.

Tarana Burke is the founder of the MeToo movement. She is a member of the 2018 TIME100.

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