Canadian journalist Natalie Karneef, one of the four victims of the so-called “cheese pie rapist,” speaks to Proto Thema about the traumatic experience that shaped her life. She expresses her outrage at the fact that the perpetrator was defended by a woman—Zoe Konstantopoulou—and raises questions about the dysfunctions of the Greek judicial system and the societal tolerance of violence. Last year, she had shared her personal story publicly in a powerful post on The Sun blog, recounting in detail the nightmarish journey from that terrifying night to her long path of survival and healing.
The Confrontation

This is a story that hasn’t been forgotten, even after nearly two decades. The case of the “cheese pie rapist” returned to public attention recently due to a parliamentary clash between Giorgos Floridis and Zoe Konstantopoulou.

The rapist, who drugged unsuspecting female tourists with food and drinks laced with Stilnox—a strong sedative known as Zolpidem or Ambien—was convicted in 2012 for raping at least four women. However, in 2015, he was released early under the Paraskevopoulos Law, sparking political outrage, as his defense attorney was then Speaker of Parliament, Zoe Konstantopoulou.

The perpetrator would usually approach potential victims in tourist areas of Athens, pretending to be a tour guide or a pilot. He tricked them with a cheese pie, a drink, a smile. Then, once they lost consciousness, he would sexually assault them. When they woke up, they had no clear memory of what had happened—only fragmented recollections, a body that reacted instinctively, and a terrifying sense that something irreversible had occurred. One of the women who endured this nightmare was Canadian journalist Natalie Karneef.

Twenty years later, the case is back in the spotlight—and with it, the pain. Not only because the man who assaulted her is now free. But also because, as she tells Proto Thema, “even today, society still places the blame on women.” Referring to Zoe Konstantopoulou’s decision to defend the accused, Karneef expresses confusion and anger at a system that, as she says, continues to support perpetrators and disregard victims. She sees the reemergence of the case in public discourse not as an opportunity for personal attacks, but for deeper, systemic questioning.

“My question is: why are we focusing on my personal reaction, instead of the broader issue—what within the Greek system allows these things to happen? Why does society allow Konstantopoulou to found this political party, and for this party to exist?” “Yes, he did what he did. And yes, Konstantopoulou did what she did. But why is this happening? If we keep personalizing the problem, I think we end up at a dead end. This is the result of an extremely individualistic society that has moved far away from collective values.” Karneef emphasizes that overcoming such trauma is not an individual endeavor: “Healing happens collectively. At least, that’s how it happened in my case.”

The Nightmare of Rape

As previously mentioned, Karneef detailed her story in a post on her blog The Sun last year. In that article, she described in vivid detail how she met the man who posed as a tour guide at the Acropolis, his “kindness,” the food he offered, the drink with the distinctive bitter aftertaste, and the sudden blackout. She woke up disoriented, her clothes disheveled, her body bearing evidence her mind refused to accept.

In that narrative, she also mentioned Zoe Konstantopoulou’s decision to defend the accused.

“Almost unbelievably, the rapist’s defense attorney was a woman just 14 months older than me. We had both entered the legal profession within a few years of each other. As a lawyer, I know that both sides must be passionately represented for justice to be served. Still, I can’t help but wonder what led her to defend this man. How, I wonder, did she explain in court the fact that four women from different corners of the world met the same man, in the same city, heard the same story, and were drugged the same way? I wonder if she ever thinks of the victims—if she ever wonders whether there were more. Maybe she feels me somewhere in the world as something she can’t quite explain—a dark shadow in her vision, faint but real.”

The Confession

Natalie shared her thoughts and deepest fears in a shocking 12,000-word piece. In it, she unfolds in raw, deeply personal language the experience of her rape, how it affected every aspect of her life, and her relentless efforts to rebuild her identity.

Her account traces the journey of a woman trapped in a nightmare that began that night in Athens in 2004. She described the moment she met the older Greek man, who presented himself as a lover of history and art. His apparent politeness, his offer to show her around the city, his friendly demeanor—none of it raised suspicions. She was on vacation in a foreign country, looking to live an experience. That night they had dinner. They drank wine. And then everything began to fade.

She described suddenly feeling exhausted, her eyelids heavy, her thoughts foggy, her body unresponsive. When she woke up, she was in his room. Naked from the waist down. The bed was wet. He was gone. She remembered almost nothing. She didn’t know what had happened, or why she felt a confusing mix of shame, fear, and numbness. There were no screams, no movie-style violence—just the certainty that something had happened, against her will.

At first, she tried to suppress the experience. She thought maybe she had misunderstood the situation, that perhaps it was her fault for ending up there. She returned to Canada and told no one. She tried to go on with her life as if nothing had happened.

She became a mother. She lost one of the twin babies she gave birth to. She mourned. She buried her father. She got married, divorced. She became a lawyer. Took back control of her life. But the pain of that night never faded. It showed up in nightmares, panic attacks, unexplained sobbing at the gynecologist’s office. Every time she heard Greek, she froze. And the longer time passed, the harder it was to explain what had happened to her. She wasn’t even sure herself. In therapy, she realized that this doubt is exactly what perpetrators rely on. Her therapist asked her to recount the story as if she were presenting it in a courtroom. Then asked: “If you knew you were going to be raped that night, would you have stayed?” The answer came immediately: “No.” And that’s when she realized—it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t naïve. She didn’t lose control. She was the victim of someone who knew exactly what he was doing—who had planned every move. Who had likely done it to others too.

Later, she visited Rome and stood before the statue of the Rape of Persephone. In that moment, she says, she finally understood what had happened to her. She saw it in the marble face’s terror, in the tension of the female body. That was when she began to accept the truth. She later met other women with similar experiences—one of them, also assaulted in Athens, became her friend. She traveled to see her. They spent time together. Talked. Cried. Laughed. And they realized: pain doesn’t vanish. But when shared, it stops consuming you.

Natalie now lives in Turkey. She’s not seeking justice or punishment—just truth. Recognition. Not to stigmatize her rapist, but to lift the burden from the shoulders of victims.

It was Natalie who led the charge to bring the case to court and eventually secure the rapist’s conviction.

In March 2015, the Second Mixed Jury Court of Appeals of Athens sentenced him to 10 years in prison—two years less than the original sentence—for the rape of Natalie. Other victims included Australian Dana Marie Sade, who attended the trial, another Australian woman, and a tourist from Denmark.
The Letter

During the long delays in the legal process, Natalie sent an open letter to Zoe Konstantopoulou, then a SYRIZA MP and defense attorney for the accused. In her public statement, she demanded the process be expedited and expressed bewilderment at Konstantopoulou’s choice to stand by the accused. Natalie had been forced to travel repeatedly to Greece over the years to follow the case and voiced her frustration that a woman politician—who presented herself as progressive and a champion of rights—had sided with the perpetrator, not the victim.

“Imagine being in a country where you know no one and don’t speak the language. Imagine waking up in a dark room on your first day there, realizing you’re unconscious because someone drugged you with sedatives and forcibly penetrated you. Imagine how terrified and alone you’d feel, and how much you’d pray for someone to help you. Ms. Konstantopoulou, you are a woman of power and a significant political voice in your country. You could have helped all of us women who were raped. Instead, you did the opposite. I will never understand that. I challenge you to publicly defend your actions. Do you have the courage?”

According to Natalie, she never received a response.