“Delicate of profile, with eyes of a deep blue… sculptural and exquisite… such was Fantine; and beneath these feminine adornments and these ribbons one could divine a statue, and in that statue a soul.” – Victor Hugo, Les Misérables [1]

Young, innocent, and naive – this quote describes Fantine, who embodies the “perfect victim”: a woman who suffers unjustly through no fault of her own. With limited reading skills and being unable to write, she is forced to sell her possessions, her hair, then her teeth, until she has nothing left to sell but her body. The real tragedy is that Fantine’s suffering wasn’t her fault, she is a true innocent, with no fatal flaws or hamartia that doomed her.

From Fantine to Ophelia (Hamlet), Beth March (Little Women), and Desdemona (Othello), literature is filled with women whose purity, fragility, and youth earn them public sympathy. But what happens when a victim is more complex? When she is angry, older, provocative, or a person of colour? What happens when she doesn’t fit the mould of innocence and silence?

In real courtrooms, this question isn’t just literary - it’s legal. The further someone is from the image of the “perfect victim,” the less likely they are to be believed. And in cases of gender-based violence, that disbelief often means no justice at all.

What about those who aren’t “perfect victims”?

“What was she wearing?” is a question still asked far too many times in the courts and in headlines. As if a short skirt or bold makeup was an invitation– or if being desirable meant a person was less deserving of safety. This attitude is rooted in the same idea of the “perfect victim” as someone who is passive, modest and never provocative.

So, what happens when the victim doesn’t fit this mould? When she’s a sex worker, or someone who doesn’t conform to society’s narrow ideas about so-called “purity”? Suddenly, their story is less credible. Their past is scrutinised. Their background is weaponized. And, in too many cases, the stigma projected onto her overshadows the crime that happened.

This is not limited to one country. Globally, hostility toward “imperfect” victims remains widespread, yet even well-meaning legal reforms often fail to reach those most at risk and do little to help.

A 2020 Canadian study of 367 women in sex work found just 38.2% reported violence to police, and among immigrants, that figure falls to 12.7%, despite legal reforms meant to help them. [2] Furthermore, in the UK, nearly 47 % of sex workers report being raped or robbed, yet only 6 % of hate crimes they suffer reach police, with 91% of incidents instead being passed through charities like National Ugly Mugs (NUM). NUM receives around 60 reports of violence each month, including about 10 accounts of rape – of those, only 25% of these reports ever make it to court. [3]

But behind these statistics are real stories, about real people who were victims of assault, murder, or mistreatment. One of these victims was Marcia Powell. A 48-year-old incarcerated woman, she died due to extreme heat exposure in 2009. On May 20th, Marcia was placed in an outdoor “holding cage” at Perryville Prison in Arizona. That day temperatures soared to 107°F, and despite prison rules that outdoor confinement should be two hours maximum, Marcia was left for four hours. Additionally, she was held without adequate water, shade or even medical care. When Marcia collapsed, her core body temperature had reached 108°F, and she suffered first and second-degree burns. [4]

Despite the negligence by the guards, no one was charged, Her case was under-reported and sidelined, with attention quickly shifting away. Marcia had a history of sex work and drug use, details that were quickly publicised by the media. These details were “enough” to justify public and legal indifference. Furthermore, she suffered from schizophrenia and mild intellectual disability – factors that should have called for greater protection, not dismissal. However, because she didn’t fit the mould of the “perfect victim”, her death was brushed aside.

If appearing “provocative” is enough to undermine a victim’s credibility, being a person of colour has often meant not being believed at all.

In 1944, Recy Taylor, a 24-year-old Black woman, was abducted at gunpoint while walking home from church in Abbeville, Alabama. She was gang-raped by six white men. All of them confessed, yet not one of them was convicted of a crime.[5] Two grand juries, composed entirely of white men, refused to indict any of them. The facts themselves were not in question. The real problem was who the victim was.

The injustice of Taylor’s case wasn’t hidden - it was simply ignored. Despite an investigation by NAACP activist Rosa Parks, national protest, and widespread coverage in the Black press, local authorities and the white media refused to act.[6] Her race, class, and social status meant that she was never considered a credible victim in the eyes of the law. She was a young mother, a churchgoer, and completely innocent. But she was also Black. And in 1944, that was enough to erase everything else.

This wasn’t just about the racism of the Deep South, though that was central. It was also about the long-standing idea of the “perfect victim”, a victim who is White, modest, passive, and socially “pure.” That ideal did not include Black women, who were often portrayed through deeply racist and misogynistic stereotypes, as promiscuous, angry, or somehow less deserving of protection.

Though her case unfolded under the brutality of the Jim Crow laws, the underlying concept it reveals, that some people are more “believable” victims than others, is far older, and sadly, still visible today. If Recy Taylor had been white, it’s likely the public and legal response would have been entirely different. Her race didn’t just influence how she was treated; it also impacted whether justice was served.

Conclusion

The truth is, victims don't come as one perfect form. Survivors come from every background, every gender and every identity. They are angry, quiet, brave, terrified – or all those things at once. Some do fit the “ideal” image, most do not. However that shouldn’t matter when it comes to the law.

Credibility should be based on evidence and humanity, not stereotypes. Courts and the media must do better by listening without judgment to make space for every voice, not just the ones that fit the mould.

We need to believe survivors, not because they are perfect, but because they are people. And people deserve justice.