Rachel Denhollander: The One Who Wouldn't Stand Down

Rachel Denhollander’s story is a real -life David and Goliath story.  It is the story of how Rachel Denhollander took down Larry Nassar, the charming, beloved USA Gymnastics team doctor who had been sexually abusing young girls for decades. 

“With all the knowledge you have, there will be just enough light to know what to do next.” In her memoir, What is a Girl Worth, Denhollander, now a lawyer, makes us privy to how she used 'all the knowledge she had' to guide even the minutest detail. 

Her relationship with Nassar began when Denhollander became his patient at age 15, and was repeatedly sexually abused by him.  At the time, she knew something was “off” but also knew that she would not be taken seriously if she reported it.  She believed there would be some future time when the time would be right to report it.  In the meantime, she finished high school, college, and law school, and had three children. 

Sixteen years after her abuse, she describes how she knew the time was right: 

 I popped my computer open.  I kept a running grocery list in my email so that I could quickly send it to myself when running to the store.  I’d left my internet browser open the night before, and my Facebook page filled the screen.  I went to minimize it, and that’s when I saw the story trending in my news feed.  I briefly wondered why, because I had not done or searched for anything that should have made it a relevant story for me, but nonetheless, there it was: “A Blind Eye to Sex Abuse: How USA Gymnastics Failed to Report Cases.”  My heart sank….several sentences from the article jumped out at me:Top executives…failed to alert authorities to any allegations of sexual abuse by coaches—relying on a policy that enabled predators to abuse gymnasts long after USA Gymnastics had received warnings…      

By this report—these reporters—got it.  They understood the dynamics.  They knew best practices.  They were not fooled by USAG’s conflation, deflection, and excuses.  They had hit the truth hard, even though USAG was headquartered in their own city.  The report was explosive.  It hit every note, and the damage to the families and these little girls wasn’t hidden under layers of nice verbiage.

       They understand the devastation.  They knew why this matters.

       I scanned the story three times, looking for any hint they knew about more than just the coaches.  Looking for Larry.  There was nothing.   But they understood.  And they were pursuing those files.

       If they exposed the coaches, maybe they can expose Larry.  I glanced back at my Facebook page.  The story was still trending.  People were paying attention.  They were listening.

       This is it.  Now.  This is it.  Ellianna began fussing. I had been still too long.  I took a deep breath and resumed my bouncing as she laid her head back on my shoulder.  Then I opened my email.

       There will be price to pay if this gets out.  If the church finds out, they will think you’ve just imposed your situation on them.

       I shook my head.  I didn’t matter.  I felt physically ill at what I knew would unfold if the IndyStar picked this up.

       It doesn’t matter.

       Now.  This was it.  Now.

       I started typing.

       I am emailing to report an incident…I was not molested by my coach, but I was molested by Dr. Larry Nassar, the team doctor for USAG.  I was 15 years old…I have the medical records showing my treatment…They are in a file cabinet at my parents’ house, which is several hours away.  I did not ever report Nassar to anyone, except my own coach, some years later…I was told not to tell the owner of the gym…it would come back on me.  I decided against going to the police…it was my word against his…I was confident I would not be believed…   I have seen little hope that any light would be shed by coming forward, so I have remained quiet.  If there is a possibility that is changing, I will come forward as publicly as necessary.

And I hit Send.

(TTThe IndyStar Interview

       In addition to making all the phone calls, researching, compiling evidence, and doing my best to maintain normalcy as a mom, I agonized over and meticulously planned which details to share in the IndyStar report.  I had seen enough accusations buried or ignored to know what going public meant.  Not only would I be verbalizing my trauma and relinquishing every shred of my privacy by having those details out there forever, but it also opened me up to the immediate attack of having done this for fame or money.

       But I knew it had to be done.  I knew that if I did not give explicit details very publicly, Larry wouldn’t be forced to answer publicly, and that had to happen. I was absolutely certain the only way this could be done was to meet him where he was most confident—in the public eye—and to do it without flinching.  And I had to offer enough detail that other survivors could hear the story and realize that what they had been through was not medical treatment.  I needed them to be able to hear what I said and then realize, wait…that happened to me.  Just as important, I needed the institutions that surrounded Larry, which had undoubtedly protected him for years, to be subject to swift public pressure and scrutiny, making it impossible to dismiss and bury the allegations again.

       By the time Mark and Robert arrived, I had had to decide exactly which details to release and how to release them.  Each detail was chosen and framed to reach a specific goal.  …

Appearance

       I’d critiqued every aspect of my appearance, right down to what I wore.  I assumed Larry would hire defense attorneys who would attempt to weaponize everything I did.  I anticipated the attack that I, as an attorney, had used my legal training to fabricate a story or lie about details in order to meet the legal requirements.  And I needed other survivors to know that I could be approached and that I understood the confusion and pain that were likely to follow.

       Not too sharp or professional…relatable.  I passed over

the business suits.  But I also needed to project mastery of the subject matter and story, and a high level of competence and tenacity.  I needed to make it clear to Larry and the institutions surrounding him that these allegations were credible, handled professionally and were not going to be easily dismissed.  No jeans or casual clothes.  I ditched the gray blazer that matched my pencil skirt and paired it with a soft, lacy top instead.  It was absurd to have to calculate how my clothing choices would be analyzed when I spoke up, yet this was the forced reality of a sexual assault survivor.

 Contrast her IndyStar apparel to the day she first met the detective:

Today was a business suit day.  Unlike the day I recorded the IndyStar interview, my goal was to relate to Detective Munford as professionally and articulately as possible.  If this investigator wasn’t motivated to handle the case well, I wanted it made subtly clear that I was capable of pushing the issue and had no intention of letting it go. 

Her further reflections ahead of the IndyStar interview:

       Much of what I said would go into print; only a bit would make it into the video piece.  But every word mattered.  Every movement, every facial expression, my tone, my body language- everything communicated something, and I needed it all to communicate the right things. 

I thought about the tight knit gymnastic community.  The stories we had all told about Larry.  The videos and pictures of him helping Kerri Strug off the mat at the 1996 Olympics.  His outstretched hand, seemingly eager to help and care for us.  To understand the abuse, people needed to recognize Larry’s prominence in our sport.  They needed to see how Larry gained our admiration and confidence.  They needed to realize how impossible it was for survivors to speak up.

       The first question I would get from the community and the first attack from Larry’s defense attorneys would be why I hadn’t spoken up earlier.  I knew this interview wasn’t just about facts; it was helping the community understanding grooming and trust.  It was about proactively combating the assumption that survivors automatically speak up if they’ve really been abused.  And it was about communicating to the survivors who would see this that I understood.  I knew what it felt like to trust him.  I knew what it felt like when the world was turned upside down.  If they spoke up, I would hear them and I would understand.  Jacob was right.  I could do this.  I had been trained to do this.  I had taught this.

Before the interview, her husband asked her if she was afraid she would cry:

       I shook my head.  “No.  I can’t cry, so I won’t.”  I knew crying would lead to my being judged as an overly emotional person trying to manipulate the situation, or as someone who was too unstable to be credible.  I had to avoid that to the best of my ability.  I’d been abused before Larry, and a swift line of attack would be to argue that I had projected my first abuse onto an innocent party.  No.  No Tears allowed period.  And yet I also knew that if I showed no emotion, I could be attacked for not “looking” like a survivor should look—not showing real hurt.  And a lack of tears could be used to argue that my story was a made-up claim.  I knew very well that in many ways, the dynamics survivors have to navigate just to be heard are no-win situations.  Tears are attacked.  No tears are attacked. 

Too much education and you’re smart enough to manipulate (hadn’t one of my own church elders asked that question about my advocacy for other victims?), yet victims from marginalized communities are often written off as ‘those kinds of people’ who are just looking for attention or a quick buck.  Every look, every word, every mannerism, every alleged fact could and likely would be scrutinized and attacked, weaponized and used to try to discredit me.  I was walking a tightrope.  The community surrounding Larry would attack immediately, and he would surely hire attorneys skilled in this type of manipulation and mind game.  I had to think both short- and long-term.

The interview began:

     “Can you tell me about Larry.  Can you describe him to me?” 

I answered with a smile.  “Everybody who’s a gymnast knows who Nassar is.”  Let survivors know you are one of them.  You understand the dynamics.  We speak the same language.  “He’s not just a normal sports med doc,” I said.  The community outside the gymnastics world needs to understand why a survivor would never dare to speak up.  He has power and is surrounded by people with power.  “He’s extremely personable, extremely gregarious.  Very warm.  Very caring.”

       Reference grooming.  Advocates and investigators will recognize it.  Victims will know you understand.  Don’t attack.  Attacking shuts people down.  Speak to the dynamics.  “He’s the type of person that knows how to make you want to trust him.  There’s a reason he has risen to his place of prominence.”  I carefully emphasized the last phrase.  He knows how to make you want to trust him.  He knows.  It is intentional.  It is calculated.  It is manipulative.  A direct and harsh attack on a beloved abuser never works.  The community and even victims flock to defend against harshness.  But other survivors needed that seed of doubt planted too.  The community needed that seed of doubt planted.  Larry is a very nice guy.  And he knows it.  He makes you want to trust him.  He calculates it.  He doesn’t just engender trust; he makes you desire to trust him by creating careful physical and emotional connections.  Nothing Larry did was an accident, so nothing I was going to do could be either.  I wanted to send that message to survivors, too.  I understand.  Survivors want to trust the abuser.  They are groomed to want to.  It is not your fault, I silently breathed into that sentence.  I understand why you trusted.  I did too.  Larry did it on purpose.  It is not your fault.

       Mark nodded letting me continue.  The cultural dynamics and interpersonal relationships between victim and abuser played in my mind.  Let your honest grief show.  Grief communicates and invites people in.  Harshness and anger create instinctive protective reflexes.  Grief, more than anything, was what I hated to show, because it is so vulnerable.  But I felt it, and I needed to communicate it, no matter how much it hurt.

       “Honestly, part of what grieves me so much is that he has everything he needs to be an incredible leader,” I continued.  “He has the personality, he has the skill, he has the knowledge.  And he is using that to prey on people,” I paused and for a brief moment allowed my grief to come through, despite how vulnerable that made me feel.  “What a waste.”

       I knew his victims were, by and large, going to love Larry.  Truly love him.  Because he had calculated that.  His friends, coworkers, and the community loved him.  Because he had calculated that, too.  I needed to identify with that emotion.  What Larry had done with the skills he had was grief worthy.  It was heartbreaking.  I needed survivors to know it grieved me, too.  I didn’t want this to be Larry.  With every word I spoke, I saw other survivors in my mind—the little girls and women I couldn’t protect; the ones who had been silenced; the ones whose lives were about to be turned upside down as they fought the idea that someone they cared for and trusted had wielded their innocence against them.  And many would fight that reality.  Their parents would fight that reality.  Because it was devastating.  I wanted them to know, in every way I could communicate it, that they were not alone in that grief.

…

       Then Mark asked the question I dreaded the most: “What happened?”

       “I’d had myofascial release done before by a physical therapist, so I consented.  But as he was doing that, he also began to massage internally as well.”  I pressed each clinical detail out, forcing the recital to be technical.  Precise.  Accurate.  Graphic.  No room for misinterpreting.  No ability to second guess what I was describing.  I needed Larry to have to confront each of these dynamics specifically.  I needed survivors to hear his answers.  I needed Larry to see this interview and know I was not mincing words.  Not flinching.  Not shying away from the reality.  I needed him to know that I knew exactly what he did and that I was going to tell it publicly, without hesitation, every chance I got.  He was confident, and rightly so.  He had gotten away with this for decades, and I wanted him to know I was equally confident.  He could not talk his way out so easily this time.

       I used the technical terms he had used—the terms other survivors were likely to have heard.  And I used the legal terms that would need to be proven if we got that far.  I used that language for survivors.  I used it to set myself up for testifying in a criminal trial—likely years down the road—and I used it to send a message to Larry and his attorneys.  I know the law and the medical aspects of what happened, and I will handle them both well.

       “He would continue to progress in what he touched, and where he touched, and how he touched, and nothing was off limits for him.  He never wore gloves.  Never.”  I picked details that would indicate to anyone willing to hear that this did not follow normal medical procedure.  It escalated.  It lacked standard best practices like wearing gloves.  Something was wrong.  The facts didn’t add up.  There was a reason to ask questions.

       “My mom was actually in the room at the time,” I began explaining to Mark, shifting the focus again to answer the cultural questions I would be asked—how was this possible?  How could I not know? “He would just position me and position himself so that she could not see what he was doing.  I didn’t realize that she couldn’t see and so that was also part of the dynamic that kept me quiet.  I thought if there was something wrong, surely my mom would speak up.  But mom couldn’t see what he was doing.”  I spoke softly, knowing how many other parents would soon find themselves in my mom’s situations, realizing they had been witnesses to their own daughters’ sexual abuse and had not seen it.  I ached for them.  And I needed these parents, these survivors to know—it happened right there in the open, to not assume their situation was different because a parent was in the room, or for parents to downplay a daughter’s concerns with the mistaken belief that they would have seen the abuse happening.  I needed the public to see how Larry had wielded the beautiful bond between parent and child to manipulate and cover evil.

       Mark nodded.  The truth that parents had been in the room was difficult for everyone to swallow.  So brazen.  So calculated.  So much damage to everyone.

       “What was going through your mind?” he asked quietly.

       …this was one of the most important we had to reckon with as culture—the mind-set of victims during and after abuse, the damage that is caused—why they cannot speak up.  It was what we had gotten wrong as a society almost every time.  It was the question that would, more than anything, help other survivors be able to examine their own confusion and what they felt in that moment and realize they weren’t alone—and they weren’t crazy.  There was a reason something didn’t feel right.

       “I was terrified,” I answered honestly.  “I was ashamed.  I was very embarrassed.  And I was very confused, trying to reconcile what was happening with the person he was supposed to be.

       “He’s the famous doctor.  He is trusted by my friends.  He is trusted by these other gymnasts.  How could he reach this position in the medical profession, how could he reach this kind of prominence and stature if this is who he is?”

       I wanted to help the readers of the IndyStar understand how survivors could be unaware of what was happening to them, unable to trust their own instincts.  The questions that made it so difficult for a community to identify an abuser were the same questions that kept victims silent.  The dynamics that made it seem impossible for an abuser to really be an abuser were the very same dynamics that allowed the abuse to continue.

       “It is much easier in some ways to hide from what’s happening and just go somewhere else mentally.  It was easier to not have to verbalize and recognize that was happening.”

       I wanted readers and viewers to understand what had taken me so long to realize, that victims’ responses—especially in the moment—aren’t just fight or flight.  There’s also freeze.  Few people really understand that third response, so overwhelmed with shock, confusion, and fear that I literally shut down to try to survive the reality.  And I knew that many survivors would, as I had, blame themselves—and be blamed for that response.  They needed to know this reaction was common, and it didn’t mean they had consented to the abuse.  For years I hadn’t understood that my response was normal—even biological and outside my control—and I’d felt so much guilt for not being able to fight back.  I wanted to spare these women and little girls the years of self-blame.  I would have pushed through the feeling of uneasiness and defended Larry even in their own minds.  I knew because I did it too.  You are not crazy.  This is not your fault.

       Did I think the USAG was responsible for my abuse?  I answered honestly and without hesitation.  “If they truly didn’t know, hands clean, then, no, I don’t hold them responsible.”  I was immediately going to be attacked for wanting money, even though I had not filed a civil suit and had no intention of doing so, and I needed to make it clear that there was only liability if the wrong things were done.  You are not on a war path.  Be reasonable.  Be precise.  Be accurate. The attacks would come anyway, but accuracy and a calm, reasonable position would make my allegation easier to consider.

       And yet I needed to leave room to deal with the strong likelihood that USAG needed serious cultural reform.  “If they did with him what they did those other coaches, I absolutely do.”  I paused.  “I think time will tell.”

As the lead plaintiff, I had to use the technical, legal, and medical terms so the judge would have context for what was being described.  I worked specific details into each of my answers, knowing that the witnesses who came after me might not have the same level of clarity, or even the same vocabulary, that I now had.  I wanted my descriptions to be crystal clear, so that if those witnesses could not reach that level of specificity, the words they had would be enough to job the judge’s memory of my descriptions.  I wanted to lay the foundation for them as cleanly and precisely as possible.