My name is Camille Haberman, and I am a Licensed Clinical Social Worker. I work for the Austin (Texas) Police Department (APD) as a Victim Services Counselor. APD’s Victim Services Division was one of the first in the nation to offer advocacy and support services to crime victims from counselors employed within the law enforcement agency. Traditionally, these services were provided by community nonprofit agencies. Victim Services Counselors work with crime victims and people impacted by trauma on the streets, with patrol officers, and in investigative units, with detectives. I have worked for APD for 15 years, initially in the Child Abuse Unit. I am currently assigned to the Sex Crimes Unit, working closely with the detectives who investigate sexual offenses against adult victims.
After graduating with my master’s in social work (MSW), with a concentration in Children and Families, I began my career at a domestic violence shelter, working in the Children’s Program, providing individual therapy and support groups to children who had witnessed domestic violence and sexual assault, and who had often experienced abuse directly. Although I felt that I had a meaningful impact on these children’s lives, I was frustrated that the abusers who sent them into shelter were rarely held accountable for their crimes, at least in that small town at the time. I began to fantasize about a job where I could do the counseling that I loved but play some role in the justice system. I saw an ad for a Victim Services Counselor in the Child Abuse Unit of the Austin Police Department, interviewed for the job, and was hired. I had found “my calling.”
After working in the Child Abuse Unit for 6 years, my wise supervisor suggested to me that we explore my career and ways in which I could broaden my skills. She recognized, as I could not, that I was burning out. Many social work positions involve exposure to trauma and the risk that such exposure poses to the social worker, but I believe daily witnessing of child abuse can be especially demoralizing. I began to work with other investigative units and different crime types, eventually discovering my next passion—to work with adult sexual assault victims. I provide support to victims of sexual assault during the course of an investigation which usually entails numerous phone calls and in-person (at the APD, school, or work) client contacts. I help the victim understand the investigative process, the criminal justice system, and her rights as a crime victim. Aspects of the investigative process are particularly anxiety-producing for victims (e.g., giving a formal statement to a detective, viewing a photo array to identify the person who has harmed her). I am present during these investigative steps to provide support and crisis counseling. With the victim, I explore the impact of the sexual assault, thoughts and feelings about the assault, and her coping. I educate on common trauma reactions, facilitate coping skills, identify support systems, and make referrals to longer term counseling as appropriate. I conduct assessment with the victim about her strengths and needs, and her history with other crises. I make referrals to outside agencies when indicated and often advocate for the client with these other agencies and organizations, as well as within the police department. In short, I hope to contribute to a victim’s recovery from a profoundly violating experience, help her to regain her voice and to access resources for her continued recovery process.
As a side note, I use the term “victim” throughout this essay and the pronouns she/her. Clearly, there are male victims of sexual assault, but the vast majority of victims with whom I interact are female, thus the feminine pronouns. There is legitimate debate among those who work in this field about the appropriate term to use for someone who has been sexually assaulted. Many believe that we show the most respect to a person’s experience and her resiliency by calling her a “survivor.” I understand this argument and am awed by a person’s capacity to overcome a sexual assault but believe that survivorship is a state that a person progresses toward slowly. It takes time and hard work and is painful. I believe that by not acknowledging that a person has been hurt, has been a victim, we minimize the devastating impact of rape. I work in a law enforcement agency in which those involved are labeled as victims, witnesses, and suspects. So my use of the word victim derives from my own beliefs about recovery, but also from my work culture.
I both love and hate my job, so want to elaborate about both its rewards and challenges. I am fascinated by human nature and find it interesting to hear a person’s story, what has gone on before, how she came to this place, and what this event means to her. I am daily amazed by our resiliency. I could not work in this field if I did not have an abiding faith in resiliency as I hear about another person’s trauma and see the struggle after. Many victims find ways to cope, to reconstruct their lives, and, often, to grow and become “more” through the process. I am honored that victims allow me to witness this process. When I think about helping a victim, I think in terms of witnessing. As a less experienced social worker, I frequently felt anxious when trying to determine what I should DO to help a client. I imagined there were magical words or steps that would fix the problem. The truth is that I do my best work by simply being present with a victim, listening to what this experience means to her and acknowledging that there is no quick fix. I feel great satisfaction when a victim feels she was “heard.”
I enjoy the multidisciplinary aspect of my job. I collaborate daily with law enforcement, prosecutors, community advocates, and Sexual Assault Nurse Examiners (SANEs). Our different professions mean we offer varying skill sets and perspectives, but it sometimes means that we argue, vehemently. This collaborative approach represents the best practice in terms of serving victims, and it is rewarding to be part of a team, working toward a common goal.
I have discussed the honor I feel that victims are willing to share with me their most private and painful emotions during a dark period in their lives. It is an honor and one of the most rewarding aspects of my work but also a risk. As a student, I learned about secondary traumatization (vicarious trauma), but I did not appreciate its depth until working in the field. It is not just that I hear a victim’s despair, see her tears and sometimes bruises and scratches every day, but it is the knowledge that there are people in our world who are capable of doing these horrible things to others. Exposure to multiple traumas can make a person vulnerable to sexual assault, youth, old age, mental health challenges, physical and cognitive disabilities, addiction, prostitution, and homelessness. These are the issues that I confront, and they are well beyond the scope of my work (or individual abilities). It is impossible to face some of the saddest aspects of the human condition, and to feel somewhat helpless in combatting them, and to not be affected. My view of the world is not the same as when I graduated with my MSW. There is probably less hope and more distrust than when I was 25 years old. Fortunately, my organization and leadership recognize these risks and are supportive in terms of self-care and accessing resources to cope with the impact of our work. I know that social work programs now place more emphasis on self-care, or perhaps I was dismissive of the need back then. In any case, I would not trade my profession or my job, but I have come to recognize there is a cost and I could have been more proactive in my self-care efforts.
Also challenging are societal attitudes toward sexual assault. Many people have this “Hollywood version” of sexual assault, in which a terrifying stranger jumps out from a dark alley and brutally rapes his victim, who screams and fights then immediately reports to the police. That is not how most sexual assaults happen. Most of the time, a person is raped by someone she knows and probably trusted. It often occurs when she is intoxicated and less able to perceive the risk or to extricate herself from the situation once she realizes what is happening to her. There is almost always fear and rarely physical violence, and a victim may be afraid to report the assault, blaming herself for “getting that drunk” or not reacting the way she thought that she should, wondering if she caused it in some way. I expect to hear statements of self-blame from a sexual assault victim and to explore those statements with her. It is disheartening that society blames the victim, focusing on her behavior and vulnerabilities instead of the perpetrator’s actions. These beliefs are so pervasive that I do not talk about my work in my personal life as I will inevitably hear something like, “Well, what did she expect would happen after she went home with him after meeting him at a bar?” It makes me sigh; it makes me exhausted.
I learned that the greatest predictor of a “successful” intervention with a client is the quality of the relationship between that client and social worker. I think daily about the importance of building rapport with a client. As a student, I learned and practiced relational skills, to convey respect and empathy, to probe, explore, clarify, paraphrase, be genuine, and employ the ever-elusive “professional use of self.” While I was confused for years about this last concept, I learned it means finding a way to apply your education and experience while still being yourself. At this point in my career, I wouldn’t know how not to do that!
As simplistic as it sounds, we assume these skills come naturally because we are social creatures. That is not the case. The deliberate attention to relational skills was an important part of my development as a social worker. The theories I learned prepared me as well, as I apply theories related to crisis intervention, mental health, and feminist theories of rape. I like to think I practice my own form of narrative therapy in talking to a victim about her life story, the chapter in which I play a role, and what her continuing narrative can look like.
While I value my education, I have learned more from my experience in the field and from my clients. Before I worked for APD, I probably held the same expectation as others in our society that a sexual assault victim would of course report it to the police. I have learned from victims there are multiple reasons that a victim may not report, most based on fear. A primary reason victims, even children who are abused, do not report to police or disclose to someone they know is fear of not being believed. It is a sad statement about our society that an outcry of sexual abuse or assault is so often met with disbelief that it would hinder a victim’s willingness to ask for the help and support she desperately needs. I do not understand our skepticism when it comes to sexual assault outcries. Perhaps we do not want to confront this ugly aspect of human nature. It is frightening to face that there are predators among us, callous to others’ rights, the most basic of which is to control what happens to one’s own body. It is especially frightening when the alleged perpetrator is charming and likeable, the boy next door. Maybe it is easier to disbelieve the outcry than to admit the dangers around us.
Victims also fear judgment about those vulnerabilities. They are afraid of being judged for the decisions they made before the sexual assault, whether that was getting drunk or high, trusting someone that they recently met, expecting that their partner would respect their willingness to participate in some kinds of contact but not others, etc. If they have a mental illness, they have already been called “crazy” by someone in their lives and may fear judgment about this issue as well. Victims fear the criminal justice system itself—the humiliation of a forensic medical examination, demands of multiple interviews in which the rape is revisited, and threat of being cross-examined by a zealous defense attorney during testimony (another piece of the Hollywood version of sexual assault). Victims are overwhelmed and making a decision about whether they can handle the prospect of this daunting process at exactly that moment when their inner resources are depleted. They often feel unsure if they can handle the next 30 minutes. We have made significant strides in responding more sensitively and respectfully to sexual assault victims, but our process remains tedious and difficult, often referred to as “re-traumatizing.”
These are just some of the legitimate barriers that prevent a victim from reporting a sexual assault. I wonder why any victim would make a report, considering what may ensue after! I have stand-by questions when talking to a victim and trying to gain insight into her world. I ask about her thought process when deciding to call police and what made her choose to do it. Victims tell me that they made the report because it was the “right” thing to do, and they want him to know that what he did is not acceptable. Invariably, this is followed with a comment that maybe this investigation will prevent the suspect from raping someone else. What incredible bravery! It touches me that victims are usually motivated by a desire to save others from hurt and a sense of justice that goes beyond their own experiences. I have learned courage from the clients I have served, and I am humbled and inspired.
A memorable woman comes to mind as I write about courage. In 2008, I met a sexual assault victim named Candace. The initial report read that Candace had come home after working a night shift at a local music venue. As she was walking home from a convenience store near her home, she encountered a man with a T-shirt wrapped around his face. Only his eyes and cheek bones were clearly defined. This image disturbs me. She must have known in that moment that she was in trouble because he was hiding his face! Before she could react, he struck her on the head and knocked her unconscious. When she regained consciousness, he was raping her.
A few days later, Candace came to the Sex Crimes Unit. She was bruised and complained of pounding in her head (where she had received stitches). Despite her physical pain, she was anxious to proceed with the investigation and wanted to do everything she could to help catch the offender. She had already contacted the neighborhood newsletter to notify the community of the danger. Candace was “a trooper” during a long and emotionally painful interview. She was receptive to my role, and we spent time talking about the assault and its impact. She later met with a composite artist to generate a sketch of the suspect. During that session, Candace glanced at the sketch, gasped, and stated, “Oh my God!” Her eyes welled up with tears. She made some suggestions for minor changes but soon was overwhelmed and indicated that she could not continue the session, as the image was eliciting such strong emotional reactions.
Throughout my contacts with Candace, she consistently voiced concerns for community safety. She felt that she had not been as alert that night as she usually was, feeling comfortable in her quiet and “safe” neighborhood, and she wanted to warn other women to be cautious. She even met with a reporter to talk about her experience and to get her message out. Candace was task-centered and practical in the first days after the assault, which is not uncommon. It was not until weeks later that she called me and stated that the initial “shock” had passed, and she was now “beginning to unravel.” She described panic attacks, generalized anxiety, and feelings of anger. She was worried about her ability to maintain a healthy and intimate relationship with a man she was dating. She had accessed therapy and was developing coping strategies, but she was struggling.
I hesitate to share Candace’s story because a brutal attack by a stranger is so uncommon and I do not want to reinforce the Hollywood myth. The truth is that the brutality is part of what makes this case so memorable for me. It is also unsolved. There is DNA evidence that links this perpetrator to another unsolved sexual assault. Candace was devastated when she learned this.
The case, this woman’s story, stands out in my memory for a more positive reason, though. Candace, at the age of 39, quit her job and went back to school. She recently graduated with her bachelor’s in Social Work and received a Social Work Student of the Year award. She has applied for graduate school at my alma mater. She works with girls with disabilities and GENaustin, both centered on female empowerment. She volunteers at a local college to raise awareness about sexual assault and has a trip planned to Central America to serve victims of domestic violence, sexual abuse, and trafficking. It has been 6 years since the night of the rape, and Candace still maintains contact with me and the detective, periodically checking in to see if there have been any new leads and to let us know how and what she is doing.
I learned in school that the Chinese character for crisis is also the character for opportunity. Candace endured a terrible event, but she grew from it and found a passion and a new life direction as a result. When I wrote to her to ensure she was comfortable with my writing about her, she told me that she was honored and encouraged me to “put it out there!” I am honored to have known her and welcome her to our profession. For me, she personifies resilience.
I have described my experiences with sexual assault victims, but I work with other crime types as well. A powerful memory relates to Brenda, whose daughter was murdered. When Brenda reported her daughter missing in June 2012, I was asked to call her by the Sergeant of the Missing Persons Unit because she called in daily and was distressed. When I first called her, she was very frustrated. She did not feel the police department was doing enough to find her daughter. I do not think she believed I could be helpful to her unless I was going to somehow make that happen. Brenda’s daughter, Margo, was an addict and prostituted herself to support her addiction. Brenda believed that Margo was forgotten and uncared for and our conversation that first day involved my validating her fears and frustrations but assuring her that Margo’s case was important. We frequently talked by telephone and eventually met in person. Brenda told me she went to the area of town where Margo met customers and stood on corners, holding up a sign and a photo of Margo in hope of learning what happened to her. She asked gas station clerks, homeless individuals, and other prostitutes about Margo. Brenda was 65 years old. She told her employer that she could not take any shifts until her daughter was found. As the days and weeks passed, Brenda grew suspicious of a man with whom Margo had developed a relationship. She confronted this man, who claimed he did not know where Margo was. Brenda would call me to talk about what she had learned, all of which we relayed to detectives. She told me about Margo’s younger life, about her sweet nature, sense of humor, and the tragedy of her addiction. Brenda loved her daughter, and the stress of the situation was affecting her physically and psychologically. I remember well the shift that occurred at some point, when Brenda acknowledged aloud that she knew that her daughter was dead. She could not bear that Margo was “out there” in the Texas summer heat. She just wanted her to be found, so that she could lay Margo to rest.
One Saturday morning in late August, I was at home and heard a news brief that a badly decomposed body had been found in a park and that police were on the scene. I had this sinking feeling and an absolute conviction that they had found Margo. I was worried that Brenda would see this same coverage but be unable to get any answers. I contacted my supervisor, the Missing Persons detective, and the Homicide Unit. I learned that Brenda had been notified that a body was found, but it would take some time for an identification to occur. I called Brenda then, and we talked about how excruciating it was for her to wait. It was Margo, and the homicide detectives soon elicited a confession from the paramour that Brenda had suspected for weeks. Charges were filed against him, and I began to transition Brenda to my counterpart in the District Attorney’s Office who would continue to provide her with support and information through the prosecution. Brenda called me after the first time that they talked by telephone. She told me that she wanted me to keep the case and explained that the Victim Assistance Counselor called Margo by her given name (Margo was her nickname) and did not seem to know anything about her. I reminded Brenda it took me time to learn about Margo and asked her to be patient. A year later, that same Victim Assistance Counselor updated me on the trial and Brenda. At 5:15 p.m. on a Thursday evening, I went to the courthouse to sit with Brenda and her family to listen to the closing arguments. The man was convicted of manslaughter rather than murder. A few months later, Brenda called me. She joked that I would never get rid of her. She had been thinking about her own health and, really, her own death. She wondered what would become after she (Brenda) died.. She had decided that she wanted to bury the ashes and asked for my assistance in coordinating this with the Crime Victims’ Compensation fund. I attended that burial ceremony on the second anniversary of Margo’s death. Brenda was surrounded by relatives (she is the matriarch of a large family) and friends, and I think I may have stuck out a little. Even so, I was encouraged to sit next to Brenda in the front row. It was so meaningful to me to be there, and I think it was for Brenda, too. It was coming full circle, from the beginning to the end.
I share this story as it illustrates my earlier point about the power of “witnessing,” or being present with a victim through their trauma. I was not able to find Margo, bring her back, or deliver a guilty verdict, but I was able to stand by Brenda through this journey and I trust that I helped her bear the grief. I am honored by that opportunity.