The survivor experience
On the morning of April 28, 2000, 19-year-old Guylaine Potvin was found dead in her basement apartment near the CEGEP de Jonquière where she was a student. Though the case remains unsolved, elements of the investigation have shown certain similarities with another file concerning an event in Sainte-foy in July 2000, in which another student living alone was assaulted in her apartment. This student who was left for dead - survived.
Last Spring the survivor of the second assault reached out to me. She had heard that I had a website and podcast where I regularly feature obscure and forgotten Quebec cold cases and illuminate them. She asked if I would consider doing a program recounting the events of her own sexual assault, and the murder of Guylaine. Like too many survivors, after 18 years, she was still looking for answers.
I spent many weeks considering the matter. I made a number of excuses and found arguments about why this was a bad idea: My podcast is in English; its largest audiences are in Australia, the United States and the United Kingdom; too much time had passed; the cases couldn’t be solved. She countered, saying that none of that mattered. The cases had been featured in the French media, but largely ignored in Quebec English communities. Besides, police had once been tracking a suspect who resided in the United States; we might get lucky. She continued that she’d given up with the usual channels of investigation, discouraged by the apathy of police, tired of endless interactions with social services intake “specialists”. She was ready to take her chances with me.
One more obstacle, which I took to Kathryne Owen of the Lennoxville & District Women’s Centre. I explained the situation, my reluctance to become involved, the very real fact that I have absolutely no training in the interaction with sexual assault survivors. Kathryne told me that she wasn’t surprised the victim had approached me given my history of championing cold cases. I didn’t need training, just the willingness to offer a sympathetic and non-judgmental ear.
So that’s what I did. Over the summer we got to know each other. I’d ask questions, if something was too personal, we agreed that she did not have to respond. We started with a name. I call her Isabeau, though that’s not her real name. After a painstaking and graphic, iterative process, one day Isabeau sent me a poem describing her experience. She said, “you can read it on the podcast if you like”.
The poem is a stunning expression of the survivor experience. I explained that I could not read it, that she must be the one to record it. After much hesitation, she eventually did:
(the original, French version follows) I remember a woman's voice: "Stay with us".
Who is she?
Why is she saying that?
Where am I?
I open my eyes, a strange room, a hospital, a doctor.
I had a single question: "What happened?" They had a single answer: "The police brought you, you can talk to them later". "No, right now"
Exhausted, disoriented, I yielded.
A man, standing close to me: "I’m a police officer"
"Can you tell me what happened? "A single answer came, not the one I wanted: "I don’t know"
"How are we going to figure it out?" I remember the statement sheet, the pencil, the makeshift tablet.
I remember my question: "What should I write? "
I wrote, a little.
I was sleeping in my bed, in my room. I remember your hands on my throat. I remember your stench.
I remember you.
Exhausted, disoriented, I yielded.
I opened my eyes.
A new space: where am I? What’s happening again? Before me, a policeman, the same one. His blue eyes, blank.
On the bedside table, a white box. "What's in the box? "
I thought it may contain answers, A forensic kit.
A different policeman takes pictures of my wounds.
I can’t seem to move, taking pictures is his burden.
"Move me as you need, I really can’t help you"
"Tell me if I hurt you"; I said nothing. Exhausted, I yielded.
Gynecological exam.
I cannot seem to move.
A pregnant doctor, kneeling on the foot of the bed.
"Ok, come on, we'll do it like this"
She pulls me by my legs. Exhausted, I yielded.
A call from the policeman
"My colleagues want to talk to you" A hope: they found you.
They show me a picture. Young, beautiful, happy. You chose her too.
She will have no memories of your hands, your stench.
It became clear to me: They were already looking for you.
The investigation.
The hope, the days, the screams, the tears. Questionable friends, gone.
The despair, a promise: "We'll drink some port."
The thoughtlessness: "at least, in the other case, we had an autopsy to work with" The desertion, a cold case.
And then life, still life.
18 years passed.
I remember every night of rage. I remember her, and every picture of her: her birthday cake, her cat.
The color of her address book, her doodles, her handwriting.
I remember the policeman's eyes: blue, blank.
I remember my question.
I still remember your stench.
To hear this poem recited by Isabeau in its original French: https://player.fm/series/who-killedtheresa/all-the-devils-are-here-guylainepotvin-wkt2-23
John Allore has worked in victim advocacy since 2002. He maintains the website, Who Killed Theresa?, one of the first crime blogs on the internet which details the investigation into the unsolved murder of his sister, Theresa Allore.
John was a founding board member for CAVA, Canadian Association for Victims Assistance, and a founding member of AFPAD, Quebec's Association des Familles de Personnes Assassinées ou Disparues (http://afpad.ca/en/) . He has been invited to present at victim and justice conferences across North America and was recently recognized by the Canadian Senate for his work with Victim’s Advocacy.
HELP & RESOURCES:
CAVAC (Crime Victims Assistance Centre) : (819)820-2822 (877)822-2822 http://www.cavac.qc.ca/english/network/estrie/index.html
CRCVC (Canadian Resource Centre for Victims of Crime): https://crcvc.ca/
POLICE (Estrie): (819) 821-5555