On September 29th, 2026 I attended a parole hearing for a man whose crimes had profoundly affected my life 35 years earlier. For purposes of the hearing, I was simply known as Jane Doe. He had been convicted of torture involving another survivor who was just 13 years old when she was attacked. DNA evidence had linked him to crimes against me and two other women in northern California but the statute of limitations had expired on the sexual assault charges. I provided ancillary testimony in the 2009 torture case.
Thirty-five years later, I found myself returning to the Bay Area under entirely different circumstances. During one of my flights to San Francisco, I received an unexpected message about this upcoming parole hearing from a fellow survivor friend. I’ve remained in touch with this survivor since 2006 upon discovering the same offender attacked at least three of us in the Bay Area. I had not been initially informed of the hearing as my whereabouts through the years had not been updated. Fortunately, my fellow survivor friend, reconnected me with personnel from the victim services office who welcomed my participation in the September hearing. I was invited to submit a victim impact statement and address the parole board at the hearing.
In my victim impact statement, I asked the parole board to carefully consider his history, his current circumstances, and whether he had demonstrated sufficient rehabilitation for his release. At his last parole hearing, he received the maximum parole denial of 15 years.
Since the hearing was conducted virtually, we survivors were encouraged to use the pseudonyms Jane Doe 1, 2, and 3 to protect our identities from the offender and his attorney. Although I have spoken publicly about my experience through decades of advocacy work, I chose to remain anonymous during the nearly three-hour hearing. Given that the offender stole my driver’s license and other personal belongings, I felt that maintaining my anonymity was a prudent choice.
Initially, the three-hour hearing was intimidating. I had not seen the perpetrator’s face in nearly twenty years. Remaining off camera made the experience less daunting though and allowed me an opportunity to observe everything through a distance. I felt safe. Although each of us had apprehensions about this process, we felt strongly that for our own protection, and the safety of the general public, this person should remain at his current address. The hearing allowed me to feel as if I was genuinely heard, my experience was acknowledged, my concerns for others were taken seriously and therefore I felt empowered. I don’t believe many survivors ever have the opportunity to feel empowered in this way. The outcome of the hearing ultimately resulted in the parole board denying his parole for another seven years. A win for me and the other survivors.
There is another person whose role in this story deserves recognition:
Larry was the detective in 1991 who investigated my case. With uncanny foresight, he arranged for my DNA evidence to be sent to a private laboratory in addition to the Berkeley Police Department. Years later when the perpetrator’s DNA was entered into a national database, that evidence that was preserved helped connect my case to the other identified survivors. Larry’s dedication to the investigation continued long after his retirement, and over the years we became friends.
I was able to let Larry know about the outcome of the parole hearing almost immediately after the decision was made. Larry felt that the outcome was favorable. Sadly, less than two weeks later, I was notified that Larry unexpectedly passed away. I will always cherish the unlikely friendship that began as a relationship between an extraordinary police detective and me, a crime victim, that grew into something far more meaningful. I will remember and miss my dear friend for the rest of my life.
This is not a story I relish telling. But if sharing my experience can help educate others, challenge the shame and silence that still surrounds sexual assault, or encourage another survivor to speak, then I believe lending my voice is worthwhile.
Recently, I had another opportunity to share my story in greater detail. My friend Dr. Archelle Georgiou invited me to be a guest on her podcast, which explores issues surrounding health care. Our discussion included Larry’s significant role in the investigation and our subsequent friendship. This interview offered an opportunity to reflect upon the hearing, the passage of time, and why I believe conversations about sexual assault still matter.
The podcast will air mid-November, and I invite you to listen at Speak Up for Your Health with Archelle Georgiou, MD.
The Work That Remains
That we still have work to do as a society is evident in the many cases that continue to make headlines. One recent example is the Cornell Rape Case. This is just one public story among thousands that are heard and thousands that may not ever being heard.
I was treated with respect and felt empowered after my recent parole hearing experience. That said, I wholeheartedly believe survivors still encounter shame and blame, fear of being believed, and barriers to justice. Even today, when I occasionally tell my assault story, I catch myself blaming myself for not living in a more secure apartment, for example. I find it troubling that so many survivors I’ve met seem to carry at least some portion of blame when in fact, responsibility lies solely with the perpetrator. Often, as survivors, we doubt and question ourselves. Given the judgement and questioning survivors may face, it’s hardly surprising that some people hesitate to come forward, whether to authorities, family members, or even close friends. I’ve always believed in the power of speaking out, but I also recognize that others may choose to stay silent for any number of reasons. Their stories are no less deserving of compassion and belief.
We Must Believe Survivors
I also believe that experiencing profound trauma does not preclude a person from living a happy, fulfilling life. With help, love, acceptance, and compassion, healing is possible. The effects of trauma may remain with us forever, but they need not define us. We can still find love, happiness, purpose, and joy. Two things can coexist.
This post is dedicated to survivors everywhere in the world—to all the Jane Does whose stories have already been told, and to those whose voices have yet to be heard. Your stories matter, whether spoken or unspoken. Hope exists for all of us.