Introduction. The fact that I spelled

subpoena, s-u-h-p-e-e-n-a. May suggest I'm not qualified to tell this story. But all

court transcripts are at the world's disposal. All news articles online. This is not the

ultimate truth, but it is mine, told to the best of my ability. If you want it

through my eyes and ears, to know what it felt like inside my chest, what it's like to

hide in the bathroom during trial. This is what I provide. I give what I can. You take

what you need.

In January 2015, I was 22, living and working in my hometown of Palo Alto, California. I attended

a party at Stanford. I was sexually assaulted outside on the ground. Two bystanders saw it,

stopped him, saved me. My old life left me and a new one began. I was given a new name

to protect my identity. I became Emily Doe. In this story, I will be calling the defense

attorney, the defense, the judge, the judge. They are here to demonstrate the roles they

played. This is not a personal indictment, not a clapback, a blacklist, a rehashing.

I believe we are all multi-dimensional beings. And in court, it felt harmful being flattened,

characterized, mislabeled, and vilified. So I will not do the same to them. I will use

Brock's name. But the truth is, he could be Brad or Brody or Benson and it doesn't matter.

The point is not their individual significance, but their commonality. All the people enabling

a broken system. This is an attempt to transform the hurt inside myself, to confront a past

and find a way to live with and incorporate these memories. I want to leave them behind

so I can move forward. In not naming them, I finally name myself. My name is Chanel.

I am a victim. I have no qualms with this word, only with the idea that it is all that I

am. However, I am not Brock Turner's victim. I am not his anything. I don't belong to

...