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轉載自公號【加拿大和美國必讀】
這是美國知名媒體人宗毓華（Connie Chung）寫給指控曾遭卡瓦諾性侵的受害者，美國心理學女教授克裡斯汀·布雷西·福特(Christine Blasey Ford)的一封公開信。信中主要描述了宗毓華自己在小時候遭遇性侵的經歷，那時候的宗毓華跟當年的福特女士一樣，不敢告訴家人，也不敢報警，多年之後同樣記不起具體的事件和那麼多的細節。唯一印象深刻的，只有惶恐與無助。只有擁有極大勇氣的人，才能在許多年之後將當年的經歷公之於眾。
親愛的克裡斯汀·布雷西·福特：
我也曾遭受過性侵，但不是36年前，而是大約50年前。我一直把這個不安的秘密埋藏在自己心裡，沉默了50年。對我實施騷擾的人是我們當時最信賴的家庭醫生。更讓我覺得氣憤的是，他正是1946年8月20日接生我來到這個世界的醫生。現在，我已經72歲了。
那是20世紀60年代，我還在讀大學，外面性解放正在如火如荼的進行。這段經歷的確切日期和年份對我來說已經很模糊了，但事情的細節卻永遠是那麼清晰——它永遠銘記在我腦海裡。
我能確定對方是誰嗎？嗯，是的，100%確定。
我當時在一所很酷的男女同校大學裡，但不那麼酷的是我在60年代還是處女，我確實有了一些性經歷，但是還沒有跟任何人發生性關係，我覺得自己可能很快會進行下一步。
我去找了我的家庭醫生，希望他能給我一些避孕藥、避孕環或者安全套。
他在辦公室就在他的家裡，這是一棟經典的19世紀風格房子，吱吱作響的木地板上擺著已經磨損了的維多利亞風格天鵝絨家具。他的辦公室在進門的左手邊，走進辦公室，可以看見裡面玻璃窗蓋著緊密的窗簾。這是一個很大的房間，房間被帘子分隔成兩部分，一半是他的辦公區域，另一半是他給病人做檢查的區域。
需要強調一下，我確實記不清具體日期，甚至是年份。但我仍然可以詳細描述這些內容：他坐在窗臺邊的桌子那裡，要求我把衣服脫到腰部以下。當我脫下去之後，他來到檢查區域在檢查臺上安裝腳架。
我當時20多歲，從未接受過婦科檢查，所以也沒有見過這種檢查時用的腳架。我伸展雙腿，將腳抬起放到那些冰冷的腳架上有種很奇怪的感覺。
當時我盯著天花板，他的右手食指按到我下面開始摩擦，他的中指直接伸了進去，然後開始有節奏的活動。他還用柔和的聲音跟我說，「注意呼吸」……
令我震驚的是，我生命中第一次出現了性高潮。我的身體猛地抽了幾次。然後他靠過來，吻了我一下，碰了一下我嘴唇，然後再慢慢回到他自己的辦公區域。
我不記得對他說了什麼，我甚至無法直視他。我只能趕緊穿好衣服開車回家。
當時，我可能把這件事情告訴過我的一位姐妹了。但我沒有告訴我的父母，我也沒有報警。我從未想過要保護其他女人。請理解，我當時對性體驗的感覺是尷尬。我雖然20多歲，但卻對性沒有任何了解。我想做的就是把這件事埋在心裡，保護我的家人。
我母親看不懂英語，更不用說開車。所以在那以後，我告訴她我們的家庭醫生住得距離太遠了。我們不會再見到他了。
多年之後，我把這件事情告訴了我的丈夫。我什麼時候告訴他的呢？哪一年？什麼日期？我也記不清了。
當《紐約客》和《紐約時報》的優秀報導引發了這一場 討論的時候，我這個埋藏在心底的不安經歷被回想了起來，我願意把這件事告訴任何想傾聽它的人。
我記得那位家庭醫生差不多30多年之前，在他大約80多歲的時候去世了。我曾經很多次路過他的家，或者說是他的辦公室，但我不想再看見那個地方。就在昨天，我在谷歌地圖上找了一下這棟房子。再次看見它，我感覺到了驚嚇。
當我公開講述這件事的時候，克裡斯汀，我也很害怕。我不能安然入睡、因為不能好好吃東西。你感覺怎麼樣？如果你也跟我一樣不安，我其實完全可以理解。我萬分恐懼，但卻哭不出來。
我作為媒體人30多年的優秀經歷在未來是否會被降級成為這件事的「註腳」？「她也是（She Too）」會不會刻在我的墓碑上？我不想說出真相，但我又必須說出真相。作為一名記者，我們觀念是真相統治了我們的生活，這也是我日常工作中的關鍵內容。
克裡斯汀，我和你一樣明白真相的重要性。幾年前，我的丈夫讀了麗塔·梅·布朗的一部名為「六分之一」的小說。他告訴我，「這本書有一個很好的理念」。「說實話的好處是你不必記住你所說的話。 」
希望自己可以忘記這個真實的事件，但我卻忘不掉，因為這就是真相。我寫信給你是因為我知道確切的日期其實並不重要。重要的是，我們確切的記得發生在我們身上的事情，記得是誰給我造成的傷害。我們會永遠記得真相。
克裡斯汀·布雷西，說實話就行了。
本文作者介紹：
宗毓華（Connie Chung），美國知名媒體人。上世紀70年代起，先後任哥倫比亞廣播公司、全國廣播公司等三大電視網記者和新聞節目主持人，1993年，她被任命為《CBS晚間新聞》（CBS Evening News with Dan Rather and Connie Chung）的聯合主播，成為坐上美國主流電視網晚間新聞主播位置的第一位亞裔美國人和第二位女性。曾獲選全美十大傑出婦女之一和電視「艾美獎」、「金錘獎」等獎項。
加拿大和美國必讀編譯自華盛頓郵報
轉載自【加拿大和美國必讀】謝謝授權
英文全文
Dear Christine Blasey Ford,
I, too, was sexually assaulted — not 36 years ago but about 50 years ago. I have kept my dirty little secret to myself. Silence for five decades. The molester was our trusted family doctor. What made this monster even more reprehensible was that he was the very doctor who delivered me on Aug. 20, 1946. I’m 72 now.
It was the 1960s. I was in college. The sexual revolution was in full swing. The exact date and year are fuzzy. But details of the event are vivid — forever seared in my memory.
Am I sure who did it? Oh yes, 100 percent.
I was a cool college coed but not that cool. I was still a virgin in the 』60s. I did advance to the so-called heavy petting stage, short of intercourse. I assumed that would come next.
I went to my family doctor to ask for birth-control pills, an IUD or a diaphragm.
His office was in his home, a classic Georgetown 19th-century house, creaky wooden floors with worn velvet Victorian furniture. His office was to the left of the front door, through double doors with glass windowpanes covered with tight curtains. It was a large room divided by a curtain he could draw. Half the room was his office, the other half his examination space.
Again, I cannot remember the exact date or even year. Yet I can still describe the following in detail. He drew the curtain, asking me to remove my clothes below the waist while he sat at his desk by the bay window. When I was ready, he came to the examination area and installed stirrups on one end of the cushioned examination table.
Here I was in my 20s, and I had never had a gynecological examination. I had never even seen exam stirrups before. It was extremely odd to spread my legs and dig my heels into those cold iron stirrups.
While I stared at the ceiling, his right index finger massaged my clitoris. With his right middle finger inserted in my vagina, he moved both fingers rhythmically. He coached me verbally in a soft voice, 「Just breathe. 『Ah-ah,』 」 mimicking the sound of soft breathing. 「You’re doing fine,」 he assured me.
Suddenly, to my shock, I had an orgasm for the first time in my life. My body jerked several times. Then he leaned over, kissed me, a peck on my lips, and slipped behind the curtain to his office area.
I don’t remember saying anything to him. I could not even look at him. I quickly dressed and drove home.
At the time, I think I may have told one of my sisters. I certainly did not tell my parents. I did not report him to authorities. It never crossed my mind to protect other women. Please understand, I was actually embarrassed about my sexual naivete. I was in my 20s and knew nothing about sex. All I wanted to do was bury the incident in my mind and protect my family.
My mother could not read or write English, let alone drive. From then on, I told her our family doctor lived too far away. We’re not going to see him anymore.
Years later, I told my husband. When did I tell him? What year? What date? I don’t remember.
When the superb reporting of the New Yorker’s Ronan Farrow and the New York Times’s Megan Twohey and Jodi Kantor helped touch off this intimate discussion, my dirty little secret reared its ugly head and I told anyone who would listen.
I think the doctor died almost 30 years ago in his 80s. I』ve driven past his home/office many times but refused to look at it. Just yesterday, I found the house on Google Maps. Seeing it again, I freaked out.
Christine, I, too, am terrified as I reveal this publicly. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. Can you? If you can’t, I understand. I am frightened, I am scared, I can’t even cry.
Will my legacy as a television journalist for 30-plus years be relegated to a footnote? Will 「She Too」 be etched on my tombstone instead? I don’t want to tell the truth. I must tell the truth. As a reporter, the truth has ruled my life, my thinking. It’s what I searched for on a daily working basis.
Christine, I know the truth, as you do. Years ago, my husband read a novel by Rita Mae Brown called 「Six of One.」 He told me, 「There’s a great line in this book. 『The advantage of telling the truth is you don’t have to remember what you said.』 」
I wish I could forget this truthful event, but I cannot because it is the truth. I am writing to you because I know that exact dates, exact years are insignificant. We remember exactly what happened to us and who did it to us. We remember the truth forever.
Bravo, Christine, for telling the truth.
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