Snelgrove trials spark chorus of 'me too' among sex assault survivors in N.L.

Robyn LeGrow always told herself she'd just had too much to drink that night.

LeGrow, who lives in St. John's, publicly recounted her own encounter with sexual violence just hours after a jury indicted police officer Doug Snelgrove, who sexually assaulted an intoxicated woman in her own home in 2014.

LeGrow saw her own experience in the Snelgrove testimony. She, too, was young. She, too, could only remember flashes of what happened — one second drinking with friends, and the next waking up with a teenage boy on top of her. And her attacker, too, maintained a position of power over LeGrow, entailed by his social status.

"He was a golden boy," she said simply, reached by phone on Tuesday. "I wouldn't have been believed."

LeGrow joined a chorus of sex assault survivors sharing their own traumatic experiences in the wake of Snelgrove's momentous conviction on Saturday. 

A wave of solidarity with the Snelgrove case survivor — known only as Jane Doe — sparked demonstrations and campaigns last week, amid a flood of discourse about consent and abuse of power, in a close-to-home revival of the #MeToo movement.

A clear pattern has emerged in the aftermath of Snelgrove's third trial, however; despite the cultural landscape slowly clearing the way for survivors' stories, victims still point to roadblocks that prevent them from bringing those experiences to police.

LeGrow describes internalizing her own assault, blaming herself until last year, when a therapy session uncovered the true nature of the incident as rape.

Prior to that, "I justified it, and even defended him myself, in my own head, throughout it all," she said.

'I wasn't asking for anything'

Sarah-Dena Harnum's assault happened just two years ago, when a strange man grabbed her throat and groin in a dark hallway of a St. John's restaurant, attempting to pull her into a nearby storage closet.

In seconds, she managed to wrestle him away and watched him flee. The memory still elicits an angry tremor in her voice.

Despite the tears and doubt that lingered for days afterward, Harnum never reported it. 

"There's going to be the usual things that women get asked," she explained. "'What were you wearing? Were you drinking? Did you lead him on? Were you making eye contact with him across the restaurant?'

"I didn't want to deal with that."

Harnum, a trans woman, said she also faced the added burden of dealing with police and defence lawyers as a marginalized person. 

"If you're trans and you look pretty, you must be looking for it. You must be asking for it," she said with disgust, her fury still palpable over the phone.

"I wasn't asking for anything."

Crime a 'kick in the gut' to survivors

Both Harnum and LeGrow, however, can count themselves among the majority of sex assault survivors. Justice Canada statistics indicate that victims report only five per cent of sexual assaults. Other reports peg that number lower.

"Those stats are frightening. It's no wonder why women don't come forward — not only don't come forward, but blame themselves for what happened to them," LeGrow said.

The Royal Newfoundland Constabulary's understated response, adds LeGrow, doesn't do much to flip the script for people like her.

The force's hesitancy to speak publicly "tells us that if the verdict was to come back as not guilty, it would make you wonder, what would be the repercussions with this officer?" she said.

"Not taking a stand against the actions of an officer who clearly abused his power, who clearly went against his code of conduct … it sends a message to survivors that that sort of behaviour from an officer is OK."

"When we look at positions that people hold in our society … the expectation is it's based on trust, it's based on support," said Sandra McKellar, executive director of the Newfoundland and Labrador Sexual Assault Crisis Prevention Centre.

When people in power harm the vulnerable, McKellar continued, it's like a "kick in the gut whenever that [trust] is questioned."

RNC Chief Joe Boland has refused interviews, citing ongoing legal proceedings.

"I will recognize victims and survivors in our community, and echo the statement I provided on my first day as RNC chief; I will ensure the highest level of accountability at all levels, and a standard of professional ethics and investigative capabilities to govern all efforts of the RNC," Boland said in an emailed statement Monday.

Indictment offers glimpse of progress

Yet even as the Snelgrove trials prompt flashbacks to survivors' own experiences, they've also offered catharsis for those who encountered unsurpassable roadblocks to justice.

"Trauma has ripple effects. It has ripple effects on the individual.… It also has ripple effects throughout the province," said Janet Lee, a legal expert with the Journey Project, which advises survivors.

"[But] support, too, can have ripple effects."

The conversation now, LeGrow points out, has turned to power dynamics — a key concept in the Snelgrove conviction. 

"I'm happy to see that this case has set precedent," she said. "There's this understanding of power, that people think that things are theirs to take. Consent is so much more than just a yes or no. It's a mutual understanding that we each have a right to make our own decisions."

The police officer's indictment "gave me some faith that at least somewhere, somehow, some justice can prevail," Harnum said.

"Things are changing. I just don't know how much."

Read more from CBC Newfoundland and Labrador