An empty stage in Portland
An empty stage in Portland.
(David Greenwald/The Oregonian)
Story by David Greenwald and Lizzy Acker
The Facebook post dropped like a concussion grenade on a Saturday night. A Portland musician announced publicly that he had sexually assaulted a woman.
Joel Magid's admission made headlines from the Northwest to England. And the shock waves from it have rippled through Portland's especially tight-knit indie music scene, which had enjoyed a reputation as being friendly, familial and relatively diverse and feminist.
"We're talking about the land of Kill Rock Stars. 'Bitch' [magazine] has their spaces here. There is a lot of that Riot Grrrl mentality still existing," said Jeni Wren Stottrup, a singer, writer and podcaster who's worked in local scene for years.
In the days that followed Magid's post, Stottrup and other women in Portland music responded with their own Facebook posts, sharing private stories of sexual assault. Some were recent, others years ago. But each post described the trauma and pain that's been a struggle to heal. A handful of men spoke out, too, joining them in solidarity as others remained silent.
"I didn't know ... how many of my friends were victims of sexual crime," the musician Ali Muhareb said. "I just imagined Portland was this utopian society and that these kinds of things, we were all above that... Even Joel Magid, I had no clue that any of the men in this community were capable of sexual violence."
It's become unavoidably clear that they are -- and Portland's seemingly progressive, community ethos hasn't saved it from the culture of rape and sexual assault that has become a national discussion.
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After telling her story, Stottrup said women reached out to her immediately to say it had happened to them, too.
"The fact is that ... so many of us have been assaulted," she said. "How everyone is approaching it is different. Some people want to scream out, and accuse and yell, some people want to bash people. ... It's hard when you have communities, too. When you talk about knowing someone for a decade, there's so much messiness going on right now."
Shortly after Magid's post went up on Facebook, a woman who identified herself to the Portland Mercury as Erica Ordway, claimed Magid raped her in 2010. Ordway declined to speak for this story but she told the Mercury that she's talked to the police about Magid.
Portland Police say the investigation into Magid is ongoing. In an interview with KGW on Tuesday night, Magid said he did not assault Ordway and is cooperating with authorities. Portland Police confirmed they have spoken with Magid.
"Mr. Magid vehemently denies that he sexually assaulted Erica Ordway," says Magid's lawyer, Lissa Casey, "and maintains that her accusations are untruthful."
The woman who was the victim of Magid's claimed assault has not come forward. Multiple sources say she is no longer in the United States. Sgt. Pete Simpson of the Portland Police Bureau says, "It's extremely difficult to prosecute a case without a victim."
According to the anti-sexual violence organization Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network, two-thirds of sexual assaults go unreported: 20 percent fear retaliation, and an additional 13 percent don't believe police would help.
Resources for survivors
Portland Police Sgt. Pete Simpson offers the following resources:
Multnomah County Victims' Assistance Program, which provides support during the reporting of sexual assaults and referrals to victim services and resources: 503-988-3270.
Call to Safety, for support and services: 503-235-5333, 1-888-235-5333.
Project UNICA (Proyecto UNICA), advocacy services for Spanish-speaking survivors of domestic and sexual violence, with a 24-hour crisis line: 503-232-4448 or 1-888-232-4448
Learn more about these programs by calling 503-823-0260 or visiting portlandonline.com/police/ womenstrength
Some women interviewed for this story described frustration with reporting assault to police. Others considered it an ordeal that typically didn't lead to any results. One musician said she was left by police on the side of the road after reporting a rape on a camping trip in a town several hours outside of Portland. When she tried sometime later to contact police in Portland, she said, they told her there was nothing they could do.
Another female musician said she woke up after a party at her house, in her bed naked, unsure how she got there or exactly what happened. She found a text message on her phone from an ex, also a musician, who had a history of forceful sexual behavior toward her that just said, "I'm sorry."
"After that occurred, he decided he hated me," she said. "He started telling people that I was a slut."
Sometime after, she stopped playing music. "I was just so afraid," she said. "I would go out to shows and he would give me intimidating looks."
She says one of the most disturbing parts of the experience was the response of male friends after she told them what happened. After she broke up with a different man, he started bringing the man she says assaulted her to her shows.
"He never questioned whether I was telling the truth," she said of that second ex. "He questioned whether it was a big deal."
Multiple women in Portland's music scene described feelings of alienation and ostracism after they reported assaults.
"I've gotten suicidal," said one woman. She told people in the music scene that a former boyfriend in the scene knowingly gave her a sexually transmitted disease. In response, she said, she felt unwelcome in what was once her safe haven.
"I've been diagnosed with PTSD," she said.
The Oregonian/OregonLive does not name victims of sexual assault without their permission.
Keri Moran-Kuhn, associate director for the Oregon Coalition Against Domestic and Sexual Violence, understands the issues with reporting assault to police.
"The number one thing that I talk about is reaching out to a community-based nonprofit," Moran-Kuhn said. "It's a good beginning place because they know what your options are."
Advocates can tell you what your options are in a non-judgmental setting, and they are completely confidential. Moran-Kuhn finds that stigma and myths are a huge obstacle for assault survivors.
"If somebody is saying to themselves, 'Oh my gosh, I just should not have drank as much as I did last night,' that's a myth that's held and ingrained in our society that puts the blame on the victim," Moran-Kuhn said.
"If somebody drinks too much, the worst they should have is a hangover."
Jeni Wren Stottrup, who has remained involved in discussions after sharing her assault story, seconded the need for education about resources.
"One of the things that I'd wish I'd known was how easy it would've been at the time for me, because I had insurance, to just go to a crisis center," Stottrup said. "And say, 'I'm not doing OK.' There was a lot of stigma, that it was because I was crazy, or I was wrong, and I didn't want anyone to know I was struggling as hard as I was at that time."
Even the Portland Police Bureau understands that not every victim feels comfortable reporting to police.
"We do want people to report to police," Simpson said. "It's extremely difficult to prosecute a case without a victim."
When someone does report, Simpson said, police have advocates on hand to assist. But if they can't or don't want to, he said, "We encourage people to look at these other resources."
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The music scene has begun taking matters into its own hands. Facebook conversations turned to action. Portland musician and publicist Sierra Haager started a private Facebook group, Portland Musicians Against Sexual Violence, which grew quickly to more than 200 members. Just over a week after Magid's post, about 40 people gathered at the Baker Building on Sept. 12 for the group's first community meeting.
The meeting was billed as an attempt to solve the problem of sexual assault in the Portland music community, but many people in attendance wanted to talk about another type of fallout. In secret and private online groups, accusations had begun to fly about other people in the music community who might have similar histories or who might be protecting abusers.
Magid's admission, that he had "pulled out my penis ... and forcibly lifted the woman's skirt" surfaced concerns that had already been simmering. Beginning in March, a 20-year-old woman in the scene began what she calls "The Blacklist."
The woman, who asked not to be named for fear of reprisal, says her list has grown to around 50 names. It's a private Google doc, shared among 10 venues and bookers. She describes the venues that use the list as all-ages spots and places where house shows occur. She said those venues agree not to book individuals on the list or their bands. The Oregonian/OregonLive could not independently verify that.
To get on the list, the woman said, a victim or what she calls a victim's "advocate" must come forward with a story of what has happened to them. These stories include rape and sexual assault, but also other things that have made people feel "unsafe."
"The problem with rape accusation and with sexual assault accusations is that they're extremely hard to prove," the woman told The Oregonian/OregonLive. "So I am taking a radical stance and just believing them.
"Now we have at least attempted security," she added. "People sign a non-disclosure agreement. They have to agree to guidelines. They have to agree not to share it."
The list has been leaked, however. And at the Sept. 12 meeting the list was discussed. A handful of people expressed discomfort about anonymous accusations with no further evidence.
Some also say they are being painted as sympathizers, rape apologists and misogynists for questioning the ethics of a blacklist. One woman who attended the meeting at the Baker Building says she's been called a bully for expressing some concern about the list.
"I feel like they're trying to create this weird ideal little bubble where no problems exist," she said. "None of these people recognize what they are doing."
Another Portland musician also felt attacked after he mentioned some concerns about the list at the meeting. With Oregon's racist history, he worried, people of color may get on the list simply because people feel "unsafe" around them. He did not want his name used for fear of reprisal.
He's considering leaving Portland after he was labeled a rape apologist for expressing his concerns about the list.
"I'm terrified now," he said, "that my band is going to be negatively affected by this."
The creator of the list acknowledged the concerns, but said, "No matter what, it's a radical militant action that some people are going to be pissed about."
And the law may be on her side. Duane Bosworth, a first amendment lawyer at Davis Wright Tremaine, says, "If [the list] merely says you have been identified as unsafe, that's not actionable."
He adds, "That is somebody can't sue because that is a matter of opinion."
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These problems are not unique to Portland. The conversation that's happening now has been making its way across the world in the last few years, as survivors speak out with increasing courage. The criminal acts of rape and sexual assault affect hundreds of thousands of people, overwhelmingly women, each year, according to Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network, with the majority of victims under 30. One out of every six women in the U.S. has been "the victim of an attempted or completed rape," the organization states.
With the amplification of social media, that's led to dozens of public accusations: against celebrities such as Bill Cosby and Roger Ailes, to the music publicist Heathcliff Berru, who was outed by women on Twitter who brought forth abuse claims. Admitting only to behavior that "may have been inappropriate" in an initial statement, he blamed his actions on drugs and alcohol -- like Magid's claim of heavy drinking -- and offered to check into rehab.
For the music world, assault is only part of the issue, alongside the underlying sexism and boy's club culture that's long been part of the industry.
On the morning of Aug. 24, 2015, music critic and editor Jessica Hopper published a simple question on Twitter that peeled the problem wide open.
"Gals/other marginalized folks: what was your 1st brush (in music industry, journalism, scene) w/ idea that you didn't 'count'?"
Responses came by the hundreds. The story spread from The Guardian to Vox. It was not the beginning or the end of the conversation, one that's happened behind closed doors across art scenes and entertainment corporations alike for decades, but it was a new phenomenon made possible by the power of social media: those doors aren't closed any more.
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The Magid story, and its coverage, continue to draw controversy. The Tuesday evening KGW interview drew anger from a community already on edge. At the end of that interview, Chris Willis, who was interviewing Magid asked, "So is her claim ... are the police investigating it? Is she a stripper?"
Joel Magid interviewed on KGW on Sept. 20.
Magid's lawyer responded: "A burlesque dancer I believe but I'm not sure."
Willis countered: "We have burlesque in Portland? [laughs]"
Casey: "I guess."
Willis: "I'm hanging in the wrong social circles."
The man setting up the lights then says, "And then you're a victim of that. You're victimized."
KGW has since removed the video and issued an apology, but reaction in the community has included calls for protests of the station.
Women continue to look for ways to deal with the frustration in the way survivors are handled as well as concerns about preferential treatment and what can be an inherently misogynistic scene.
The controversial blacklist isn't the only answer that's been offered -- and it's one that doesn't reach far beyond its underground niche. It's not in use at rock clubs in Portland such as Mississippi Studios and the Doug Fir Lounge, whose booker wasn't familiar with its existence.
Instead, survivors are finding ways to make these spaces safer. The Facebook group behind the Monday meeting has spun off into private groups for survivors to heal. One group, Babes Hang With Babes, is trying to make connections and help women feel comfortable in public. People are sharing links to mental health resources and other methods of support.
"This is a messy problem that doesn't yet have simple solutions," Haager said. "What we can do is keep showing up, keep amplifying each other's voices, and keep learning from those around us."
Fill out my
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--Lizzy Acker,
, and David Greenwald,