I Am Sansa: A Survivor’s Take on Sansa’s Rape

Since “Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken” aired, Game of Thrones fans have been inundated with reviews and think pieces about the rape of Sansa Stark. Critiques, criticisms, defenses, boycotts…the whole nine. That’s the price of controversy. What I have found lacking, however, are outspoken thoughts about how the scene affected real-life Sansa Starks—those who have suffered rapes or other sexual assaults. The vast majority of what I’ve seen are discussions of the scene without any focus on real victims and survivors, whose reactions, in this case, are very important.

Enter me. I can’t and wouldn’t speak for other survivors, but I hope my take on the scene can help others to feel, at the very least, supported.

Anyone who reads my Unsullied recaps will know that I have a years-old love affair with Sansa, and anyone who caught last week’s recap will know that my dearest wish is for Sansa to cut off Ramsay’s cock and throw it at the writers. I realize that first bit is a wish shared by scores of other fans—Ramsay is not well loved. But what about the second bit?

There has been an outcry among fans, that’s for sure—I haven’t missed it, and I appreciate it more than they could ever know. But I also haven’t missed the lackluster defenses of the producers’ decision to write in a little extra Sansa abuse, most of which can be broken down into three basic points:

1. It’s a plot point from the books.

I can’t say much for this one, as I haven’t read the books. What I can say about it, though, is that the producers have deviated from the books so much as it is, so why not cut such an unnecessary scene? Because, no matter which way you slice it, Sansa’s rape is superfluous, as it only confirms what we already know: Ramsay is a psychopath, Theon lives to be punished, and the Boltons are Sansa’s enemy.

It’s hard to say for sure yet, but what Sansa’s rape seems to set up is Theon’s ultimate reaffirmation of self. It’s clear that Ramsay orchestrated the whole thing to punish Theon, especially since the scene’s focus ends on him. Isn’t that just a treat? Sansa gets raped, and it’s not even about her. As if victims of assault aren’t made to feel worthless and disposable as it is, Sansa’s own victimhood is purposed for Theon. Surely there were other ways for Theon to regain his sense of self, Dan and David?

For those of you claiming that this is just Game of Thrones being Game of Thrones, I have to ask you: If the scene had been cut, would you really end up thinking, “Well, Ramsay really should have raped Sansa, because now I can’t follow any of this”?

We know the show is bleak. We know it’s riddled with pain and violence. We know. As much as the producers are driving this home, what I want to ask them is if they know what real-life pain they’re causing rape survivors.

2. It wasn’t THAT bad.

Honestly, what does this reaction mean? Saying that the scene “wasn’t that bad” implies that it could have been worse, but how does one measure the severity of rape? There is no scale of “not that bad” to “traumatic.” Rape is just that—there is no hierarchy. So when people claim that the scene wasn’t that bad, it reads like saying that rape isn’t that bad.

Here, let me explain how this works: Imagine, if you will, the very worst thing that has ever happened to you. Now imagine that it’s a hot-button topic, one that you can scarcely escape in your day-to-day life. And then imagine that a TV show, a movie, a book, includes that thing in a storyline, and a good chunk of people discussing it claim that it’s “not that bad.”

Now imagine how that makes you feel.

To have your experience and your reaction to this horrible thing invalidated is almost as bad as it were happening all over again. For me, it took a long time to admit to myself that I had been raped, and when I finally came to terms with it, I didn’t come to terms with it at all. Admitting it to myself was one thing, accepting it was something else. I stopped eating, I drank excessively, I cut myself. I was desperate for affection, attention, for validation that I didn’t deserve what had been done to me, and that I was still worth something.

It’s a long road to recovery that I’m still walking. So when people react dismissively to even a fictionalized account of sexual assault, there’s still a small part of me that doubts myself. During my early period, I hated myself to the point of obsession—I would do anything to self-destruct. I don’t want to go back to that. But it’s not always up to us to simply “get better,” because that’s not how getting better works.

If you’re not a survivor of assault yourself, chances are you know someone who is. So before you analyze the scene for its merits or whatever it is so many of you are doing, consider that Sansa’s rape isn’t just some plot point—it’s a reality.

3. It’s just a show/it’s fiction.

Oh, my sweet summer child…The “just a” philosophy is, at its core, nonexistent. Allow me to direct you to the Jaws Effect, a phenomenon that swept the nation after the release of—appropriately enough—Jaws, when sharks were killed in multitudes due to the paranoia the film incited. Allow me to direct you to the Slender Man Stabbing, in which two adolescent girls stabbed a peer nineteen times in efforts to please the imaginary monster. Allow me to direct you to the positive influence Harry Potter has had on children’s attitudes about reading. Allow me to direct you to the work of William Shakespeare, all of which is still studied today because of the man’s profound understanding of human nature.

Nothing is “just” anything, and that includes scenes on Game of Thrones. Fiction reflects life, and life reflects fiction. Even in a fantasy series, we crave characters we can relate to, characters who are real. It’s exactly why we’ve come to deplore the Mary Sue-type characters, the cardboard cutouts, and the Sand Snakes (let’s just face it).

When someone makes this argument, all they’re saying is that the things in fiction aren’t real to them. But rape is real to many people—it is a crime, a violation, and a struggle for us to overcome.

Much of these defenses stem, I think, from two things: one, a desire to regard Game of Thrones as virtually flawless; and two, living in a rape culture that dictates our perceptions of the crime. But nothing is flawless—we must always keep an open mind, especially when it comes to things we love. We can’t blindly follow, otherwise we’ll never transcend these faults and move on to other things we suck at. And as far as rape culture goes, that needs to be dismantled and burned to the goddamn ground. Survivors have coped with enough fear; we shouldn’t be afraid to speak out, too, which is why Sansa’s rape isn’t a plot point to just forgive and forget.

Make no mistake—Sansa will survive this, and in that way she will continue to be an inspiration to me in my own abuse recovery. But the final fact of this discussion is that the rape isn’t about her, because the writers couldn’t allow us even that small courtesy. “That’s just Game of Thrones for you” is no justification, but rather an insult to survivors as well as to the show itself, and to its fans. We all deserve more than this simultaneously feeble and painful attempt at plot movement and character development. The show has proven its proficiency at streamlining the books before, so what gives here? I wish I knew.

In the end, though, what’s done is done. None of us can control what ends up on the screen, but we can think critically and compassionately about it. Even if it’s not real to you, it is real to someone else, and you can’t convince us that it’s “just fiction.” To us, Sansa’s rape is real, and it’s not about Theon. It’s about Sansa, and it makes a difference.

We are Sansa, and no matter what anyone says or implies to the contrary, we deserve a voice. For those of you who’ve yet to find it, I hope you do, and I support you through it all.

• Published on 05/23/2015 at 11:00 AM CDT
• Last updated on 05/23/2015 at 11:00 AM CDT