“Why shouldn’t you park next to a parked van?” asked my father as we strolled through a store parking lot. “Use your brain and think.” I had no answer and could sense his growing agitation. “Someone could snatch you up, throw you in the back of their van and kidnap you.” Years spent working on molestation cases for the Navy legal department fostered the parental paranoia that tainted my upbringing. Every outing with him became an opportunity to incite fear.

Ultimately, my father’s warnings were not enough to shield me. A childhood best friend would later be whisked away to another school after it was discovered her stepfather was molesting her, and I would eventually encounter marital rape and physical assault. It’s hard to remember a time when my life was not touched by sexual violence.

I carried the secrets of male sexual assault survivors, too. A boyfriend that was sexually abused by distant relatives he was sent to live with, while his mother consumed drugs and his father worked abroad. A lover whose aunt performed oral sex on him during bath time when babysitting him as a child. A roommate who was raped by a man he met one night at a bar.

I have always been acutely aware sexual assault occurs to people of all genders.

When I worked at a treatment facility for juvenile sex offenders, our youngest client was admitted at the age of six. His mom had recently remarried, and he was removed from his home for raping his younger stepsister. During morning briefings, I learned horrifying details of how the incoming boys and girls were sexually abused before being referred for treatment. These kids modeled the behavior they were taught and went on to hurt other children. I chose to study mental health counseling and trauma in graduate school, hoping to work through my own sexual trauma and help others.

When Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein was outed as a sexual predator, the public took notice as more than 40 women came forward to describe how they had been victimized. In response, the #MeToo hashtag went viral, and women across the world were inspired to share their stories of sexual assault and sexual harassment online. The defamed producer has since been publicly shunned, fired by the film company he co-founded and expelled from the prestigious Producers Guild of America for life.

Now that Hollywood actor Kevin Spacey’s victims are coming forward, a dangerous pattern has emerged. Gone is the spirit of unity present in recent weeks during the #MeToo movement. Twenty-four men have accused Spacey of sexual assault, but instead of receiving public support they are openly mocked on social media. The biggest social commentary came in the form of a viral tweet by a woman insinuating Spacey’s survivors received instant justice because they are men—after he was fired from the Netflix’s House of Cards.

This could not be further from the truth.

Like Weinstein, Spacey’s alleged crimes span back more than 30 years, and he has yet to be criminally prosecuted. Like Weinstein, Spacey used his position in Hollywood to lure young Hollywood hopefuls. Like Weinstein, Spacey’s victims had their stories repressed by media sources they turned to for help and accused him of using intimidation tactics to prevent the truth from being revealed.

But, Spacey’s victims don’t fit into the narrow victim narrative we have grown accustomed to—white cisgender women—they are male.

While volunteering for the now defunct Domestic Abuse Helpline for Men and Women, I learned there are few resources available for men. Though intimate partner violence is often higher in subpopulations, volunteers were hard-pressed to find shelters and support services that catered to anyone other than cisgender women and their children. This gap in services prevents those who identify as male or transgender from receiving much-needed assistance.

Sexual assault is already grossly unreported, but men report sexual crimes far less than women due to social stigma. Though one in every 10 survivors are male, men are more likely to remain silent about their experiences. Within the ongoing military sexual assault epidemic, a statistic frequently glazed over is that only 10 percent of male survivors in the armed services will report being raped compared to 43 percent of women. Due to this underreporting, researchers concluded military male-on-male rape is actually 15 times higher than the Pentagon’s offical count.

Spacey’s accusers have gone on record to state they did not report him out of a fear of being labeled gay. They felt no one would believe their account over that of a celebrity who openly identified as heterosexual. Unwilling to fight social stigmas regarding gender and sexual identity, they were shamed into silence.

In the wake of the #MeToo movement, actor Terry Crews revealed he was sexually assaulted by a white Hollywood executive in front of his wife at party. Crews made it clear sexual assault is a pervasive problem in Hollywood, regardless of gender, and openly admitted he was afraid to report what happened out of fear of retribution. Crews recently filed a police report against William Morris Endeavor talent agent Adam Venit, who is now under investigation by the LAPD. By sharing his story, Crews is helping to change the victim narrative to one that is inclusive of male survivors, especially male survivors of color.

When male survivors come forward they do not deserve to be publicly shamed and silenced. Ridiculing male survivors does not help female survivors. It discourages other victims from seeking support. It takes away space for survivors that do not fit into societal gender norms, though transgender and nonbinary people are at greater risk of sexual violence. Ultimately, underreported sex crimes lead to a lack funding for research, underdeveloped support services, and service providers that are ill-equipped to aid sexual assault survivors. It’s a disservice to us all. In order to combat sexual violence, all survivors of all genders must be visible.