been partially snipped off. Several racial epithets—including “nigger” and “KKK”—were written on her frail and bruised body. When authorities had the opportunity to speak with the terrified-looking fifteen-year-old, she claimed that six white men—one of whom had a badge and was presumably a cop—had raped her repeatedly in the backwoods of upstate New York. The case heightened racial tensions across America. Not long after Brawley came forward, outspoken African American rights advocate Reverend Al Sharpton took over her case, speaking as an advisor for Brawley and her family. Sharpton made several serious and shocking allegations himself. In one protest, which he staged outside the state building in Albany, New York, to show how disgusted he was with the state’s handling of the Brawley incident, Sharpton linked the treatment of Brawley to that of the late Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., saying, “We come because twenty years after they mercilessly shot down a man of peace, we still have no justice.” Then Sharpton said that a New York prosecutor, Steven Pagones, “on thirty-three separate occasions . . . kidnapped, abused and raped” Brawley. A year after the accusations of rape and assault had been lodged by Brawley, a grand jury looking into the case concluded that the teenager had invented the entire story with her mother’s help. It turned out that Tawana Brawley “was not the victim of forcible sexual assault,” but a pathological liar. Brawley’s name soon became a punch line, as did Sharpton’s. Brawley’s was one of the most high-profile criminal cases of the 1980s. Police departments nationwide were miffed that a young girl, fueled by her mother’s greed, could invent such a deleterious story with the thought of destroying lives and careers by playing off issues of race. **
Donna Palomba was no Tawana Brawley, although there was a racial footnote to her story: Donna had said her attacker could have had a Jamaican accent, she just wasn’t sure. In any event, it’s possible that the memory of a recent, nationally covered, false rape case still lingered in the air among law enforcement.
Yet Donna had no motive besides the truth. As she sat at home after that strange meeting with Captain Robert Moran and Detective Phil Post, still getting nowhere, Donna wondered what was going to happen next in the saga that had become her life. It was clear she was being blamed, but exactly how had these police officers come to think of her as the type of person to have an affair and then invent such an extravagant plan to cover it up? This thought—the question of her character—bothered Donna perhaps more than anything.
We had been thrown into a world we knew nothing about. This consumed our lives. I went to bed with it and then woke up with it. How was I going to navigate through this foreign field? Should I hire legal counsel? John and I could not turn to anyone in our community. On top of that, I felt protecting my identity—which had not been a problem since the attack up until that point—was all I had left. I was Jane Doe. Imagine. I was just getting used to this new identity, and they were trying to strip me of it. I needed to stay unidentified. My business depended on me being in public, meeting with people. Potential clients would not take kindly to the idea of me being a “liar” who made up false rape allegations. The moment I was arrested under those charges, my name was going to be smeared across the media. I would be finished. I feared that if my name was dragged through the papers as a liar . . . a woman who made up a story, I was going to lose everything.
John and Donna waited for Lieutenant Post to review the tapes and get back to them. It had been ten days since they had met with Captain Moran and Lieutenant Post, and the WPD had not so much as called to check in. The department’s silence was overwhelming. Donna wondered if a sheriff, at any moment, was going to pull up to her
Donna Palomba was no Tawana Brawley, although there was a racial footnote to her story: Donna had said her attacker could have had a Jamaican accent, she just wasn’t sure. In any event, it’s possible that the memory of a recent, nationally covered, false rape case still lingered in the air among law enforcement.
Yet Donna had no motive besides the truth. As she sat at home after that strange meeting with Captain Robert Moran and Detective Phil Post, still getting nowhere, Donna wondered what was going to happen next in the saga that had become her life. It was clear she was being blamed, but exactly how had these police officers come to think of her as the type of person to have an affair and then invent such an extravagant plan to cover it up? This thought—the question of her character—bothered Donna perhaps more than anything.
We had been thrown into a world we knew nothing about. This consumed our lives. I went to bed with it and then woke up with it. How was I going to navigate through this foreign field? Should I hire legal counsel? John and I could not turn to anyone in our community. On top of that, I felt protecting my identity—which had not been a problem since the attack up until that point—was all I had left. I was Jane Doe. Imagine. I was just getting used to this new identity, and they were trying to strip me of it. I needed to stay unidentified. My business depended on me being in public, meeting with people. Potential clients would not take kindly to the idea of me being a “liar” who made up false rape allegations. The moment I was arrested under those charges, my name was going to be smeared across the media. I would be finished. I feared that if my name was dragged through the papers as a liar . . . a woman who made up a story, I was going to lose everything.
John and Donna waited for Lieutenant Post to review the tapes and get back to them. It had been ten days since they had met with Captain Moran and Lieutenant Post, and the WPD had not so much as called to check in. The department’s silence was overwhelming. Donna wondered if a sheriff, at any moment, was going to pull up to her
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