How All of Us Participate In the Silencing of Truth
“Just because we can’t see the path doesn’t mean it’s not there.” — Karen Duvall (Merritt Wever, Unbelievable)
I recently binge-watched the Netflix crime drama series, Unbelievable. I added it to my list when it was released, but of course, it became buried in my queue. When my husband started the first episode on his own, he realized it was something I’d want to watch with him. I don’t often binge-watch shows but couldn’t help it with this one. I admired how the writers explored so many sensitive concepts with nuance and respect. They were able to tread the path between art and ethics — not corrupting the story for preachy moralism, nor deconstructing ethics for an edgy story (such as with the Ted Bundy movie, Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile). The characters were portrayed with such depth and dignity that I felt called to reflect on what their experiences meant to me. It seemed disrespectful, even voyeuristic, to view it as pure entertainment. Especially knowing it was based on a true story I could not witness the suffering of these women without allowing it to change me in some way.
What can we take from this story?
How do we avoid perpetuating these same failures in our own lives?
How do we allow injustice to exist through our own actions or inaction?
Nota Bene
- If you are planning to watch Unbelievable, then maybe don’t read this yet. But if you’re not going to watch the show, this piece should still make sense — I try to provide enough context for it to be readable without seeing the show.
- The Netflix series is based on a true story reported by The Marshall Project and ProPublica. You can read the original report here at ProPublica.
While there are many elements worth exploring in the story, I was most compelled by the way Marie was punished and alienated by her support network. At first, when her foster parents and friends find out about the sexual assault, they attempt to support her. But as the story unfolds, she finds herself completely cast out from all social groups. I felt so frustrated that Marie seemed to give up and I kept wishing she would stand up for herself. But as I watched her becoming more withdrawn, spiraling into self-sabotage, and cut off from her friends and family, I realized her reaction spoke to a deeper truth. It would have been easy to have her resist the intimidation and to have everyone rally round her in support of the truth. This would have been more comfortable to watch. But instead, we had to accept — for a time — that she had given up. This begs the question: what could cause a person to deny their own experiences? How does someone go from knowing the truth to accepting a lie?
Unbelievable offers a perfect example of how someone’s experiences are systematically rejected. Marie was slowly overwhelmed with a two-fold message: you can’t trust yourself — trust us because we’re the ones in charge. This disintegration of her confidence happened slowly and subtly, there was no defining moment to point to, but a series of humiliating and alienating ordeals.
In the immediate aftermath of her assault, Marie was never asked what she wanted. She was given instructions, questioned, and sent from place to place, with no regard to how she felt. She was either surrounded by people who expressed little empathy or she was left to cope with her feelings alone. There was no space for her to express her preferences and feelings. Instead, she was interrogated and forced to relive her experiences again and again. This alone was dehumanizing, but it was also completely unwarranted.There was no reason why she had to explain her story multiple times, and instead, the pointless questioning began to undermine her confidence in what she knew.
As the story progressed, the detectives’ intimidation tactics became more overt. Their transition from ambivalence to animosity occurred after the lead detective spoke with Judith, one of Marie’s former foster mothers. Judith provided the justification for why Marie might be lying. Judith’s interpretation gave the detectives a dangerous opportunity to further erode Marie’s self-confidence. They began spinning hypothetical scenarios, explaining to Marie how it would be possible — and even reasonable — that she lied about the attack, using the personal information provided by Judith. From questioning minor details about the attacker (was he wearing a hoodie or a jacket?), they jumped to questioning if the event happened at all. This is a classic form of manipulation for narcissists, psychopaths, and abusers in general: If the victim can be shown in error or even unsure of any fact, they use it to dismiss everything else.
And this is where the detectives began emphasizing their role as authority figures. First, they explained that they have much work to do on the streets “keeping people safe,” whereas their interview with Marie was a waste of time. It is an obvious message: We are important, and you are not. When Marie suggested taking the lie detector test, they gave her such a load of police jargon that she decided not to pursue it, intimidated by their veiled threats. She was so young and naïve that they were easily able to sway her opinion by using an unfamiliar vocabulary. Yet again, they claim their persuasion was meant to keep Marie safe, that they don’t want her to suffer the consequences of failing the lie detector. In the role as detectives, they can nudge Marie into accepting a false narrative, simply because they are the experts.
The detectives are at the center of this intimidation, but Marie loses all hope when her community gives up on her as well. No one knew what really happened in the interview room, and yet they accept the official verdict that Marie lied about the entire experience. Her friends isolate her and don’t hesitate to express their anger at her supposed betrayal. There are a few people who continue to support her, but under the assumption that she lied about the assault to gain attention.
“When they’re bigger than you, you can’t win.” — Marie Adler (Kaitlyn Dever)
Marie was especially vulnerable to the detectives’ mind games due to her background and life situation. Through her turbulent years in foster care, she was conditioned to be silent and compliant. Her experience taught her that it never works to stand up to someone bigger than you. To someone who has never experienced this level of manipulation and gaslighting, it might be hard to comprehend how she came to doubt herself. But her story demonstrates how deep these survival instincts run — when your power is taken away, you will do whatever it takes to simply stay safe. Marie sensed how dangerous it would be to persist in contradicting the police. She did not have a well-established and stable life, she was lacking a strong support network, and barely on the cusp of adulthood. Her subsequent struggles with her job and living situation prove just how tenuous her situation was. The detectives’ tactics might have failed against an older person in a more secure position, but their power threatened Marie’s entire world.
For someone who has suffered from this kind of emotional abuse and manipulation, there is no quick fix. You can’t walk away from the person or situation and expect everything to suddenly be normal. The things we do, the roles we adopt, the burdens we bear, all to simply stay alive for one more day in a dangerous and volatile world — these are wounds that do not heal easily or quickly. If not attended to, they will continue to show up in many ways.
Authority is a powerful silencer. This cannot be overstated. Anyone in a position of authority has an enormous level of influence. Those in power don’t have to tell you to be silent, they silence you through their tone of voice, through their body language, through the words they don’t say. For someone vulnerable, there is a desperate fear of those who are in control. When I started feeling frustrated with Marie for not speaking up for herself, I began to think of all the times in my life I made decisions out of fear. I would say the things I was expected to say, I would hold my tongue when I wanted to speak — all because I was afraid of those who had authority over me. And then I realized this tragedy of silence was not simply for dramatic effect — it was a reality of our everyday life.
Without even trying, I thought of many examples of authority being used to enable abuse and corruption, from widespread cultural problems to more personal observations. Sometimes those in power are the perpetrators and they seek silence to avoid punishment or accountability. But sometimes, like in the case of the detectives in Unbelievable, there is no deep personal motivation. It might be the sheer banality of laziness — if a problem is made known, they will have to work to fix it. Or maybe the truth is too uncomfortable to accept, so it is easier to block it out.
There is no doubt that power corrupts, as Lord Acton noted, whether it is political, institutional, religious, or otherwise. But to go a step farther, how does someone gain power? Where does their authority come from?
Those in authority are there only because we allow them.
We allow them to influence and control us. We accept, or reject, their legitimacy of power. As a society, a nation, a religious community, or other social community, our choices determine who has authority. Our attitude about power creates an atmosphere of truth or a culture of silence. We can be passive subordinates or powerful advocates. Even if you are not in the position of being pressured or controlled, your mindset about authority impacts those around you.
Imagine an alternative reality where Judith has no doubts about Marie’s veracity. Imagine a situation where Marie’s friends are solidly supportive, and critical of the detectives who seem to be dismissing her case. Would the police have gotten away with this if Marie was not alone in the battle? What would have happened if she had family, friends, and counselors advocating for her? How much different would her experience have been if she was surrounded by truth-seekers longing for justice?
It can sometimes feel like we are powerless in a corrupt system of injustice, but we have the greatest power of all: we can choose who we believe. We can accept the convenient lies or stand up for inconvenient truths. It is our choice.
