‘The Judge Raped Me’

As told to LULU RECLUSADO-NARIO

I WISH I could tell you exactly who I am and who my perpetrator was. But I want to protect the people I love. What’s revolting is I’m protecting the guilty as well.

That guilty person was a member of the Judiciary and from what I know, there’s no other profession that puts greater demand on the moral righteousness and uprightness of an individual than his. Judges should not only possess proficiency in law, but moral integrity as well.

I met the man several years ago during a Tri-Regional Conference of the Justice department. As a member of the Steering Committee, I took charge of the participants’ hotel accommodations. At the conference, I bumped into an old college friend who happened to be the Judge’s executive assistant. During the conference, he introduced me to his boss.

A week after the conference, I got a call from the Judge, who indulged me in small talk—`How are you today?’ and so on. A series of calls to invite me out then followed. Each time, I always found an excuse to say no. But he would not let go. He called me up again and again.

Actually, it made me wonder, what does he want? I am very much married—my husband works in Singapore as an IT consultant and we have two lovable kids, both in grade school. The Judge, too, is married—I had seen him in church with his family.

The nightmare began when he dropped by the office, asking for the documents of a case handled by my office and was now being transferred to his. As I handed him the folder, he said, “Why don’t you give me initial inputs about the case over a cup of coffee at Starbucks across?”

He then took a peek at my boss’ office and said, “May I borrow her for a while?”

“Go ahead,” my boss said, hardly noticing I was fidgety being with the Judge.

After that coffee break, I thought that should do it. As I was about to go home, however, I saw him at the lobby. He came up to me and said, “Let me give you a ride and maybe you can give me more information about the case.”

Before I could say anything, he held my elbow and led me to where his car was parked. In the car, he asked legitimate questions about the case and I felt at ease—until he took a wrong turn and then another. I told him that he just missed my street, but he kept driving until it dawned on me where he was taking me.

When we got to a motel, I told him I had to go to the comfort room, but he grabbed me from behind and pushed me inside a room. I screamed, but he was much too strong. “Be quiet,” he said. “Don’t act like a virgin.”

He then cocked his gun and placed it on the side table near the bed and started unbuttoning my blouse. I was shaking hard, but no tears came. I was too terrified to cry.

He tore the last button on my blouse and as he removed it, I felt like I was going to faint. He was overpowering with his breath right on my neck. I avoided his kisses, but his weight was just too much. He started kissing my neck and fondling my body parts. There I learned the meaning of revolting, disgusting, and a combination of negative feelings that I wanted to die.

After he raped me, he took out a digital camera and took a video of me—with just a blanket covering my body. As I cowered in fear, he held his gun and aimed it at me “Smile!” he said.

And it got worse. On the way back home, he demanded me to send him text messages of sweet nothings or ‘Thank you for tonight’ stuff. When I said no, he stopped the car, aimed his gun at me, and told me to text him right then and there.

“Do what you’re told or I will post this video in the Internet! I can even send it to your husband and mother-in-law,” he threatened.

While at the office, he continued to drop by to tell me to send him more text messages—or else. He even waited for me once after work to have me sign a greeting card with the message, Missing you like crazy. Of course, this was done at gunpoint.

I found it weird that he demanded those text messages and letters. I thought it was just to fill his ego or whatever—until I met Sheila.

Sheila, whose husband was also working abroad, swore me to secrecy and told me how the Judge raped her and also took a video of her and how he also told her to send him those text messages.

Resigning was not an option because our husbands would find it unusual. We had the jobs we wanted and the pay was good. Most of all, the office was conveniently near our homes and the kids’ schools. I’m using too many excuses but the point is, I didn’t want to rock the boat. I couldn’t think of a reason why I would resign—without telling a lie.

But one day, Sheila and I woke up feeling tired of being afraid. So we decided to tell the truth. Telling the truth was liberating, but it started another series of nightmares. We quit our jobs, even as we had to pay for our own attorney’s fees. We had to keep it secret from our husbands who were miles away from us.

As the case progressed, we found out it was not just me and Sheila. There were three other girls who came out in the open. Just like us, they stayed quiet for fear of exposure and shame.

The Judge, in defense of himself, exposed the video, the text messages, and the signed greeting cards.

But he was found guilty beyond reasonable doubt. He was given the penalty of dismissal from the service and forfeiture of retirement benefits. He could not seek reemployment in any branch of government, including government-owned and -controlled corporations. He also faced disbarment as a member of the Philippine Bar.

Funny, but when the trial ended, I felt sorry for the guy. I thought about his daughter who had nothing to do with the crime. I tried to recall what happened and if I had sent out some wrong signals to him. I could have said no forever. I could have told my friend, his executive assistant, so the Judge would stop badgering me with those calls.

My husband came home almost a year after the trial. I didn’t want to hurt him with the truth. I didn’t want to lose him, either, just because I was honest with him. But he had to know. Of course, his initial reaction was anger, and then guilt for not being there during my ordeal.

This thing didn’t just happen. Considering the many women the Judge victimized—all married with husbands working abroad—he seemed to have it all planned out. It was a crime that started in his mind, and the text messages and cards were all in preparation for when he got caught.

But there’s such a thing as justice—which apparently this judge didn’t believe in.

Note: Although events in the story are true, names of places and persons and some circumstances have been altered to protect the identity of those involved. Any similarity to actual names of places and persons, whether living or deceased, is purely coincidental.