Following recent CPS disclosure scandals, police forces across the UK have implemented a policy of conducting ‘full digital data downloads’ of victims’ mobiles in rape cases.
Survivors of rape have since been required to sign off on the contents of their phones being downloaded and stored by the government for 100 years.
Estimates show that the average mobile contains data equivalent to approximately 30,000 printed pages of A4. The time required for the police to review this information has caused lengthy delays in investigations. As a result, victims’ lives have been placed on hold indefinitely and perpetrators have been able to reoffend with impunity.
Whilst CPS guidance instructs the police to pursue ‘reasonable lines of inquiry’ in criminal investigations, there have been reports of victims’ mobiles being seized in cases where there was no prior contact with the perpetrator. In addition, media reports show that victims’ personal data has been disclosed to the defence even when it was not relevant to their case.
Furthermore, it is clear that this practice has devastating consequences for victims’ privacy. Article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights, enshrined in domestic law via the Human Rights Act of 1998, guarantees the right to ‘family and private life.’ So why does this provision seemingly not apply to victims of rape?
As a survivor with lived experience of these issues, I’ve decided to share my story in hopes that it will help others in future.
My Story
After years of physical, emotional, psychological, sexual, and financial abuse, I finally found myself in a position to leave my husband. I eventually arrived at the decision to report the abuse to the police.
Prior to reporting, I conducted extensive research. I read CPS and police guidance and reviewed relevant legislation in an attempt to gain an understanding of the process.
I knew that engaging with the criminal justice system would be difficult and re-traumatising, but I couldn’t bear the thought of my abuser inflicting similar treatment upon anyone else.
Despite all I had read, nothing could have prepared me for what would happen next.
***
Following my initial report, I encountered numerous obstacles. I had to fight for many months for an opportunity to provide my formal statement.
After finally scheduling an interview with the police, I received a phone call from the officer in charge of my case, less than 24 hours prior to our appointment.
During this call, she informed me that she would be confiscating my mobile the following day in order to download its contents. As I was not previously aware of this practice, I had many questions.
The officer explained that if I failed to relinquish my phone, then ‘the investigation could be compromised.’ I understood this to mean that the police could close the case against my wishes if I did not comply.
In a state of panic, I asked about a replacement mobile. In response, the investigating officer indicated that she could supply me with a flip phone whose sole function was to dial 999 in the event of an emergency.
I expressed that this device would be insufficient and would further compromise my safety, as I needed to be able to send messages, look up transport directions, etc. She repeatedly stated that it was the only option available.
***
Consequently, the following morning, I spent several hours in a phone shop attempting to purchase a new mobile. It was a very stressful experience.
As I had no credit history in the UK, I was ineligible for a contract. I had to purchase the handset outright, and was required to put down a hefty deposit. By the end of the transaction, I had spent nearly £1,000.
Upon meeting with the police, they said that handing over my mobile was ‘my choice,’ to which I would ‘have to consent.’ I explained that I had concerns about their use of the term ‘consent’ in these circumstances as I wasn’t freely or willingly able to do so without consequence.
I expressed that this was particularly problematic within the context of a rape case, for which the concept of consent was central to the allegations. They ignored my statements and displayed no signs of empathy.
***
As the officers pushed the Stafford statement toward me, I read through its terms. They were requesting full access to all of the data on my phone and I would be required to sign off on it being stored for 100 years.
I panicked, then froze.
I questioned my judgement in reporting to the police in the first instance. I questioned whether this massive invasion of privacy could ever be justified. I wondered who would be reviewing every text, email, and WhatsApp message I had sent to friends, family, and colleagues over many years.
I felt sick at the thought of a stranger looking through the thousands of photos I’d taken. I wondered who would be in government 100 years from now and what personal information of mine they would be able to access.
The room was spinning.
***
Ultimately, it became clear that I didn’t have a choice— if I didn’t sign, then the police wouldn’t investigate, enabling my ex-partner to abuse and rape other women.
So I signed away my privacy for the next century, hoping that it would protect others from the horrors I’d been subjected to by a vicious perpetrator.
Meanwhile, I knew that I shouldn’t have been put in that position in the first place. Why would the police need to see my holiday photos, texts to my mother, and my work emails? Presumably, none of these things were relevant to my case.
I’m also aware that my abuser has not been subjected to similar treatment— perpetrators’ mobiles are not confiscated and downloaded as a matter of course.
After all he’d done to me, why was I left feeling like the criminal as opposed to the victim? My interaction with the police felt like being violated all over again.
***
At a time when conviction rates in rape cases are at an all-time low, whilst reporting is at an unprecedented high, campaigners have stated that rape has effectively been ‘decriminalised’ in England and Wales.
How many victims have been deterred from reporting or have refused to participate in investigations due to the introduction of the ‘digital data download’ policy?
Access to justice is supposed to be a fundamental component of our legal system, but the justice gap for survivors of sexual violence is forever widening.
***
Thankfully, organisations like the Centre for Women’s Justice have since launched judicial reviews in an attempt to challenge these damaging policies. However, they have been met with forceful opposition from the government at every turn. I am hopeful that they’ll eventually have their day in court.
In the interim, I know that it’s incredibly unlikely that my case will ever see the light of day. Regardless, the government will hold onto my digital data for 100 years, and I know that there’s nothing I can do to get it back.
Written by ‘R’, a survivor and campaigner against domestic and sexual violence.