Penn-Capital-Star Commentary: Survivors of Sexual Violence Can’t Wait Any Longer Pass the State Budget.

The following is commentary was published by the Penn-Capital Star on October 17 and penned by Maria Z. Gardner is a writer and advocate for survivors of gender-based violence and complex trauma. She can be reached at maria@mariazgardner.com

Republished under Creative Commons Licensing

Survivors of sexual violence should not need to publicly lay bare their most vulnerable moments to compel Pennsylvania legislators to pass he state budget.

Yet here we are.

More than 100 days past the June 30 deadline, Harrisburg is still at an impasse, leaving Pennsylvania’s 47 rape crisis centers in an existential crisis of their own. Philadelphia’s only rape crisis center has paused its services. Across the state, others are scaling back, depriving survivors of the life-saving advocacy that helps them navigate hospitals, police departments, courtrooms, and other complex systems in the aftermath of assault.

I wish I had more options to stand up for survivors without reopening my own wounds. But after months of political gridlock, I fear that unless lawmakers hear directly from those who rape crisis centers serve, they will continue to write survivors off as another line in a spreadsheet that can wait

Survivors can’t wait. I know firsthand.

I first met an advocate from Pittsburgh Action Against Rape (PAAR) in August 2021 in an exam room at Magee-Womens Hospital. I had just arrived there in the backseat of a squad car after being assaulted by a stranger on the Allegheny River Trail during my lunch break. Gravel from the fight still clung to my skin as I walked into the emergency room alone.

Not long after I was admitted, a woman appeared at my bedside. She introduced herself as an advocate from PAAR. Her job was to explain every step of the medical, legal, and recovery process ahead — and to make sure I was taken care of along the way. She made it clear that I could choose to consent — or not consent — to any part of the experience.

That I could make decisions about what happened to my body next had not occurred to me until that moment. Her advocacy restored my sense of agency, which had been stripped the moment I encountered my assaulter. And her presence reminded me I was no longer on my own.

I told her I was 10 weeks pregnant. She calmly described what the nurses would do to protect the pregnancy and what to expect from the forensic exam. Later, she explained what the criminal investigation would entail. She said she could stay in touch for as long as I needed — not only through the hospital visit but through the entire legal process.

PAAR gave me a critical resource that many survivors navigating crisis today no longer have: a trained counselor, funded in part by the commonwealth, whose job was to protect my well-being, dignity, and choices.

Over the months that followed, my advocate communicated with the district attorney so I could prepare for the baby and maintain some normalcy. As we prepared for trial, she held my hand and warned me when I might face triggering evidence. When I testified in court, she physically stood between me and my assailant.

When the jury reached its verdict, she called me with the news. The man who assaulted me had been convicted and would serve a lengthy prison sentence. Together, we cried — it was almost over.

Weeks later, she read my victim impact statement to the judge at a sentencing hearing while I nursed my newborn daughter at home.

I couldn’t have survived this trauma without the help of a rape crisis center, and I mean that literally. There is no version of me — dazed, traumatized, and pregnant — who could have navigated a criminal case without that support. My advocate made justice possible without breaking me in the process.

Rape crisis centers aren’t optional. They’re part of the state’s public-safety infrastructure — the quiet system that helps people report crimes, preserve evidence, and cooperate with law enforcement. Defunding them through legislative inaction doesn’t just fail survivors; it weakens justice for everyone.

Today, advocates like mine are being laid off. Helplines are going unanswered. Survivors are facing the daunting recovery process without guidance.

The legislature’s abandonment of Pennsylvanians has placed survivors like me in the unjust—and re-traumatizing—position of pleading our cases to state leaders in Harrisburg after already doing so in court.

Every day the state budget remains stalled, another survivor will sit alone in an exam room, wondering how they will survive what comes next. I urge Pennsylvania’s elected leaders to pass the budget immediately so she doesn’t have to do it alone.