The toll of trauma: part three

Previous parts of this series told the stories of two young women who each suffered an alleged sexual assault in Gunnison County. What happened to both occurred in a setting where they should have felt safe. Celeste Hendry was in her own home, while Jazmyn Hart was in the trusted company of her “Uncle Luke.”

For years, they shared their stories selectively, to sisters and mothers, to boyfriends. Jazmyn feared the rumors in her small hometown of Crawford. Already, insults were hurled at parties, and whispers that she’d lied arose from her assailant’s family. Celeste felt her professional path as a healer would be sullied if she disclosed her story, branding her a “victim,” her mother Enid Holden said. 

“[Sexual assault] is much closer to death, to being murdered, than it is to having a sexual encounter … I think sometimes the severity of it is lost,” Enid said.

The women eventually reported the incidents to law enforcement and entered into the local court system — a decision few victims ever make. Celeste reported her alleged assault the morning after; Jazmyn, three months later. It’s a difficult decision, which many believe offers a promise of justice or protection.

But after reporting, the women faced a legal system fraught with rules and procedures that do not always prioritize the needs of victims. Jazmyn re-lived the event over and over in interviews, all for an outcome she felt was devoid of accountability. For Celeste, reporting did little to soothe her fear that her alleged assailant would return.

As a result, factors entirely out of these women’s control took the most from them. A reduced bond set Celeste’s alleged assailant free after she’d lived with anxiety and pain for years. A day after he posted bail, she took her own life. Jazmyn’s case sat cold at the Gunnison County Sheriff’s Office before her assailant, Luke Chesnik, was offered a plea deal with no jail time. She felt that the district attorney would not fight for her when she was finally ready to face the ordeal of a trial.  

In the wake of sexual assault, victims and their families may be left wondering who’s fighting for them, if their assailant will ever be held accountable and mostly, where healing can be found.

“If the law allows repeat offenders to be free, and victims to live in fear and have their lives destroyed, then I don't think that serves justice at all,” Enid said.

‘Fairness, respect, dignity’

Over half of all women and one in three men in the United States will experience sexual violence in their lifetime, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Currently, Project Hope, the Gunnison Valley’s only nonprofit dedicated to helping victims of sexual assault and domestic violence, is managing about 150 cases. This means the nonprofit is likely serving only a fraction of the possible need, said Executive Director Amy Kirschbaum. 

She estimates that of the ongoing cases, fewer than half involve the police and next to none proceed into the court system. Those who seek help from Project Hope are not obligated to report their assault to the police, meaning many will privately carry the burden of sexual violence for a lifetime.

Amy Engleman, a law enforcement victim advocate with the Gunnison Police Department, took on just 11 sexual assault cases in Gunnison County in 2023. That includes the City of Gunnison, Gunnison County, Mt. Crested Butte and Crested Butte.

“[After an assault], this person now has to find a way to live,” Engleman said. “Some people live in silence and some rebuild. Some have to pack up in order to rebuild, but they still carry that trauma with them.”

In addition to filing police reports, both women sought help. Celeste went to Project Hope, Enid said. And Jazmyn went to the Dolphin House in Montrose, which helps underage victims tell their stories in a safe space. Beyond immediate support, they had resources under Colorado’s Victim Rights Act (VRA), meant to ensure that victims are treated with “fairness, respect and dignity.” 

But when it comes to court, those rights simply ensure victims are kept informed of the judicial process. They have no ability to determine the outcome. Prosecuting attorneys do not represent victims and their families. Instead, their job is to enforce the laws of the State of Colorado. 

For this reason, a district attorney is under no obligation to act on victims’ desires. They are bound by “an ethical obligation,” to only pursue charges they have a reasonable chance of proving at trial, said Deputy District Attorney Darren Struble. This can leave families raw with anger when plea deals are offered, or when their memory of events is repeatedly questioned. 

But after years of being afraid to face Chesnik in court, Jazmyn finally felt ready.

“For the majority of this case, I did not want anything to do with being in the courtroom with him … [but] I started coming around to the idea of speaking up and saying my piece,” she said. “He got to tell everybody in that courtroom his side of the story and there's only a handful of people who've heard mine. I felt it was something I had to do.”

Instead, the Harts were notified of a plea deal. When Struble offered Chesnik a deal, he did not need Jazmyn’s approval or input on the terms of the plea. All he was required to do by law was inform her of it. It was a “heart shattering” moment, Jazmyn said. 

“That's a slap in the face,” said Jessica Hart, Jazmyn’s mother. “You're sitting here telling me that the [assailant] has the right to go to trial. But the victim doesn't?”

Innocent until proven guilty

Even after reporting, a single wrinkle in the investigation is all it takes to dissolve a case — a search warrant executed improperly, evidence missed at the scene or in Jazmyn’s case, a loss of physical evidence as time passed

These are among the factors that push prosecutors toward plea deals. A plea is sometimes the only way to ensure a measure of accountability, said Aimee English, victims services supervisor for Colorado’s 7th Judicial District. She estimated that sexual assault cases involving felony charges take between one to two years, or longer if more evidence is discovered along the way. Jazmyn’s took five.

“There's a misperception amongst victims, that a case is as simple as they tell their story, we present it to a judge and then a jury finds them guilty,” English said. “But we've done many cases that seem cut and dry to us, [but they] go before a jury and end in a not guilty verdict.”

At each step of the way, victims must accept uncertainty that is beyond their control. Which charges will stick? What evidence will be accepted? How will a judge rule? 

For instance, Gunnison County Court Judge Ashley Burgemeister reduced the bond of Celeste’s alleged assailant from $60,000 to $15,000, despite Celeste’s request to leave it unchanged. She “would not feel safe” were he released, Struble said at a bond hearing in May.

When Burgemeister reduced the bond, she had access to the arrest affidavit and charge sheet, with considerable detail of what Celeste said happened that night. She knew of the previous sexual assault charge against the accused in Texas that was pled down to a non-sex misdemeanor, and had Struble’s assertion that Celeste was fearful of him. 

And in an American courtroom, defendants are innocent until proven guilty. The premise guards against prejudice and is meant to ensure a fair trial. But in cases of sexual assault, this idea — a bedrock of an impartial court system — can have consequences for victims. Investigations push them through repeated cycles of questioning and uncertainty. 

The presumption of innocence is especially relevant in bond decisions, said former federal prosecutor Rick Kornfeld. Kornfeld represented the State of Colorado as a Special Assistant Attorney General, and has extensive experience prosecuting white collar, violent and organized crime. 

When setting a bond, a judge also considers whether the accused is likely to flee if released from jail or poses a serious risk to the victim. The rest is left to their interpretation of the law, and the evidence and charges in front of them, Kornfeld said. There’s never an exact formula for the outcome. 

“Holding somebody in custody, while their case is pending, is a very serious thing,” he said. “And you're being held at the same time while you're presumed innocent.”

Along the way, Celeste and Jazmyn interacted with local victim advocates and state VRA representatives, on top of multiple visits to the Gunnison District Attorney’s office. VRA representatives are tasked with walking victims through the court process — such as how to enter protection orders — and accompanying them to meetings with the prosecutor and to court dates.

The caseload for VRA staff in the 7th Judicial District (which contains Gunnison County) is staggering. English estimates that the office handles about 1,000 cases per year, with only six full-time employees. And money for Colorado VRA is about to plummet. Victim services funding is projected to fall from $17 million last year to just over $3 million, which Gov. Jared Polis budgeted in the 2024-25 budget. For English’s office, this would at least mean cutting one of her full-time employees.

The Harts said that they felt that neither law enforcement nor the district attorney’s office fought for them. Jessica filed two complaints with a VRA subcommittee, outlining unanswered emails from the sheriff and the feeling that the district attorney “just wanted to get it over with,” according to the ruling. But in both cases, the subcommittee found no violation had occurred.

“Justice is served when a victim can tell their story in a way that they need to tell their story,” English said. “And that’s probably the most justice they’re going to get.”

VRA representatives meet with district attorneys each month to review ongoing sexual assault cases. Struble, designated as the county’s sex offender-specific prosecutor, attends special training a few times a year. Project Hope is improving its relationships with local law enforcement and the district attorney’s office, Kirschbaum said. She remains hopeful for the future. 

“I have not seen [collaboration] to this level ever before. So that's exciting,” she said. “I think there's been little pieces of it here and there, but it’s now a full court press.”

‘In all you do, start with the end’

Life is no longer the same for the Hart family in Crawford. Jazmyn moved away, and the family lives each day with their guard up, Jessica said. None of the Hart children are allowed to call anyone “uncle,” and none of them go out without their mom or dad. 

“I hope they try harder with the next case and the next one after that, because it's never going to stop happening,” Jessica said. “... If you fight harder, what’s the worst that's going to happen? What [did] happen? That was probably the worst.”

In Gunnison, Enid passed the first of Celeste’s birthdays without her. She would have been 32. Celsete’s diary remains a testament to her vitality, and her will to create a better life for herself. Her scrawls spill over the fine edge of the page, reminders that physical pain can be soothed by the brain, that she wanted to be a generous, joyful and skilled chiropractor. 

“Dr. Celeste Hendry will be remembered for tirelessly helping the people of the Gunnison Valley to lead more complete, fulfilled and healthy lives through chiropractic,” she wrote in a journal she kept after her alleged sexual assault. “Over the years she has helped thousands if not tens of thousands … Finish strong by starting strong. In all you do, start with the end.” 

Celeste’s alleged assailant entered a not guilty plea at the end of 2023. He will face trial in Gunnison District Court the week of May 20, 2024.

Project Hope can be reached 24/7 at 970.275.1193.

(Abby Harrison can be contacted at 970.641.1414 or abby@gunnisontimes.com