There has been a lot of discussion about why Cosby's accusers didn't report the rapes or report them right away. Some of the alleged victims are very young--at least two were underage (15 and 17). (That's statutory rape even in the unlikely event that the sexual activity was consensual.)
As of yet, there has not been a criminal case against Cosby, and the civil case from 2006 was settled financially. A financial settlement does not necessarily mean guilt, since stars often settle "nuisance" suits to make people go away. On the other hand, over a dozen women were represented in that suit.
In the meantime, let's take the Barbara Bowman case: Bowman was 17 at the time of the alleged rapes, which, according to Bowman, involved her being drugged by Cosby. She was uncertain at first what had happened. But even after you're certain, why might you not report it? (Remember Bowman did go to a lawyer and they laughed at her).
An Open Letter to Whoopi Goldberg
Here’s why women often don’t immediately report sexual assault, let alone get rape kits.
http://www.phillymag.com/news/2014/11/18/open-letter-whoopi-goldberg/
I was raped at 17. My rapist was not a powerful celebrity. He was a nobody. But I didn't go to the police. I didn't go to a hospital.
Why don’t we tell, Whoopi? Because our skin burns with shame. I thought my body would never get clean, not only from him but from my own stupidity and weakness. The minute after it ended I felt like I was being torn into pieces, like I was on fire, and I just wanted to shower. I felt crazy, confused, angry, beaten, lost, like I had a zipper running from throat to naval. I felt more alone than I’ve ever felt before or since. I felt like the severed pieces of my body were floating in darkness. I felt savaged. I felt terrified.
Here’s what I did not feel: capable of calmly picking up the phone. Capable of walking to the hospital and talking to one functionary after another. Capable of filling out paperwork. Capable of being touched by another person without exploding into flames. Capable of functioning at all like a human being because I wasn’t a human being. I felt like if I even went outside of my room my organs would explode out of my body. How would I explain that to the cops?
Ultimately, I told one person who I swore to secrecy. Had I allowed him to tell others, my rapist would perhaps be serving time rather than serving sandwiches in a vegetarian restaurant in the Bronx where, last I heard, he was a manager*. But I believed I was to blame.
Months passed before I told someone else, but they did not take appropriate action, and he remained free. Years passed before I went into detail about it — in a cover story for a newspaper, no less — and I didn't use his name. Even now I allow him to have a family, a business, a good life, from what I hear, because I think to myself: Well, he was young. Maybe he’s changed. We contain multitudes. It’s complicated.
Why don't I tell? Deep down, I still feel like that terrible girl who made something bad happen. I think about confronting him, sure. But I do nothing. I will do nothing. If he were a celebrity, however, you bet your fucking ass I’d tell my story.
Read more at
http://www.phillymag.com/news/2014/11/18/open-letter-whoopi-goldberg/#2UIWkBAg9djbEiUG.99
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