By Sarah Fletcher

When Durham student Louis Richardson was acquitted of rape and sexual assault, dialogue around the case went far beyond the Durham bubble. Students echoed the claims of his defence lawyers and were quick to talk about false rape allegations (such as Sarah Westlake in her article for Floreat Castellum) – but so were high profile people in the media. Angela Epstein wrote in The Telegraph that we should “name and shame” the “bogus victims”. Martin Daubney went on air to talk about the psychological effects false allegations can have towards young men. Most damningly, Sandra Paul, a criminal defence lawyer at Kingsley Napley, said: “the fact that he was falsely accused of rape will always be known and precede whatever else he has to say or contribute. How can that be right or fair?.”

Not only are these conclusions false, they’re misconstruing legal terminology for manipulative purposes – and this rhetoric goes far beyond the Richardson case. This is a trend in how we talk about similar cases in the media that needs to be addressed. There is often the unspoken assumption that an acquittal translates to innocence, assuming perfection from the court. But in reality, these two concepts are not straight forwardly synonymous, as much as we wish they were. An acquittal tells us little about the motives of the accuser. An acquittal is not a moral assessment that proves one side was lying – especially when the defence and prosecution put forth such radically different versions of the alleged crime – so we should stop treating it as if it is. An acquittal solely means that there was not sufficient evidence to give the accused jail time. This is all too common in sexual assault trials, which often take place long after the alleged crime and so often turn into “he said, she said” accounts of the event due to lack of evidence. Being found “not guilty” in the court of law is not an objective assessment of the situation, but rather a conclusion that there was not enough information to jail someone “beyond reasonable doubt”, a phrase defence lawyers often purposely conflate with “beyond any doubt”.

Sexual assault and rape cases are undeniably different in nature from other crimes, though they are treated the same under the justice system. In no other crime does the defence of the accused lie so heavily on the alleged dishonestly of the accuser. Other crimes are “whodunits?” – the defence has to convince the jury that there was a different perpetrator rather than deny the crime was committed at all. And the definition of rape by law is not in the victim not giving consent, but in the accused’s reasonable belief in his or her consent. In these scenarios – in which the perpetrator can argue he reasonably believes the accused consented despite the victim’s protestations – there is no conviction, but no way the accusation can be false either. Unfortunately and naturally – and at the expense of many sexual assault crimes being reported to the police – this most often plays out in court as character assassination for the accuser. Many people rightly believe that people can be raped and continue their relationship with the accused – women in abusive marriages as an example. Many people also believe what a women wears and how much she drinks has little bearing on whether she was sexually assaulted. Despite this the rhetoric that always underpins the defences’s statements is the archaic “she was asking for it”, because it’s the only way, most of the time, they are able to fight for their client.

And when the accused are named in the media, people routinely ask: “what happened to innocent until proven guilty?” The truth is: nothing. “Innocent until proven guilty” is a legal concept that is upheld solely within the court room. Whether or not you think it’s an ideal the rest of society should strive for, whether or not you believe in anonymity for the accused, is your own prerogative. But people who believe an accuser who has subjected herself or himself to the scrutiny of the court or reporters who form their own opinions on a case are not going against the concept.

Lawyers like Sandra Paul are actually making weighty accusations themselves with their statements about false accusations and are failing by their own standards. Paul talks about the “fact” of the false allegation – a crime? So where is “innocent until proven guilty” for the initial accuser before she has been tried in a court of law? Paul fails the own high standards she sets for herself by speaking so carelessly about the Richardson verdict. In many cases, this rhetoric can even turn into libel. Think about the victim of footballer Ched Evans, who has had to change her name 5 times to escape harassment over her ‘false accusation’, despite the fact that the court of law found Evans guilty of rape.

When we speak of sexual assault and rape trials in the future – trials that often follow messy and conflicting narratives – we are welcome to our own opinions on the verdict. To look at the data, between January 2011 and May 2012 there were 5,651 prosecutions for rape in England and Wales compared to 35 false allegations. Of the 3,891 rape cases that went to court in 2014, 60% ended in conviction – and surely we realise the accusers who make of the remaining 40% are not manipulative liars or conniving and hysterical opportunists, despite the popular narrative. But no matter how we interpret these statistics, misconstruing legal definitions and using concepts meant for juries to bludgeon opposition helps no one. Whatever standards we set ourselves, let’s be consistent and question our own underlying assumptions and rhetoric.

Illustration: Olivia Howcroft