I walk with my keys in between my fingers in parking lots. I carry pepper spray in case of a serious encounter. I tend toward public places and busy streets. I scope out potential attackers in aisle 5 and guard my drink at parties like my life depends on it. The funny thing is that it does. I am a lifetime member of the buddy system and never fail to be a victim of the male gaze. I don't make eye contact, I don't smile, I take quick glances over my shoulder to make sure no one's following me. My self-security system is always on high alert, the sirens are blaring, its robotic voice is shouting "DANGER. DANGER."
This isn't new. This isn't a recent development since entering the wanna-be adult world. No, I was taught that an innate part of my womanhood was protecting myself from men. It's in the fucking handbook. There are rules here, ladies. Like: Don't wear clothes that are too tight. Don't drink too much. Boys don't like girls who are easy. You must have been asking for it.
One in five. One in five women will be sexually assaulted in her college career. I am one of five roommates. Will it be me? Am I the next victim? Will I soon join the club of resilient survivors that I know as friends and classmates?
It could very well be the man jumping from behind the bushes. It could be the man lurking the streets late at night, but it most likely won't be. It could be the guy that sits next to me in Accounting. It could be the guy flirting with me at the party. It could be my boyfriend.
"Consent is sexy." it's plastered on the walls of my campus. I see it every day. I hear snickers out of the mouths of students who think it's a funny catchphrase. Consent is more than "sexy." It is fundamentally vital to a healthy sexual experience for both parties. The absence of a "no" does not mean "yes." Consent the first time does not mean consent the next times. Consent is mandatory. Consent––most importantly the lack thereof––is what changes the lives of strong and independent women into broken but fiercely resilient survivors.
To the Saint Mary's community, the Timely Warnings we receive are not just emails. There is anguish, there is suffering, there are stories behind the lengthy emails that are sent far too often. Brock Turner isn't unique to Stanford. There are Brock Turners walking our very halls.
I am frightened to be a woman. I am not safe from being sexually assaulted because I happen to be in a consenting relationship. I am never safe. We, as women, are never safe. My college is my home. I want this campus to serve as a safe space for myself and the women (and men) at Saint Mary's and at college campuses everywhere.
A woman's clothing does not deem her worthy of sexual assault. We should not be teaching women to guard their drinks and travel in pairs; we should be teaching men not to rape. It's that simple.
"Think of your daughters, mothers, and sisters." No. You shouldn't rape because women are human beings not because you wouldn't want it to happen to the women around you. Sexual assault is more than a news report or a timely warning. It is real and I am scared. There is a reason rape is the most under-reported crime; women are victim-blamed and slut-shamed. We must support survivors and prevent the survivor community from growing any bigger. It's on us.
