CHAPTER 9
I was in my Survey of World Geography class when my caffeine buzz finally peaked. By the time the class was ending, I was beginning to crash. I decided to grab another coffee at the Student Union on the way back to my dorm just to ease myself down gently. I sipped the bitter swill slowly while absentmindedly perusing the What's Happening board. It was covered with a assortment of official university announcements along side hand made fliers for student sponsored events. One such flier jumped out at me. It read 'TAKE ACTION Against Sexual Assault'. The event was taking place in the large art center lecture hall, and it was scheduled to begin in only a few minutes.
I thought about the young woman from the Brass Rail. I thought about how Dee had helped her. At some level I knew that sexual assault was a real and growing problem on campus, there had even been an article about it in the student paper recently, but it hadn't really hit home for me until meeting a potential victim.
I found myself walking to the art center without even consciously deciding to go. The place was packed when I got there. Mostly women, but I noticed a few guys. I took a place standing in the back with the other late arrivals. A speaker was at the podium. She tapped on the microphone to make sure it was on, and the room began to settle down in anticipation of the event kicking off.
“Hello everyone, thank you for attending,” the speaker began, “for those who don't know me, my name is Samantha Adams. I'm the current chair of the student activities council, the sponsor of this event. Seated at my right is Rebecka Holten of Women Empowered Against Violence. Next to her is Judith, a student here at the university, and finally we have Mark Sanderson representing the Office of the Dean of Students. So with introductions out of the way, I would like to turns things over to Miss Holten.”
People clapped politely. Rebecka Holten took the stage and waited for the applause to stop, then began speaking.
“Penbrooke is a college in crisis. Reported sexual violence is nearly twice the national average given the size of our student population, and the numbers are trending upward. It is past time for the University to implement a comprehensive education and prevention program. To that end, I would like to outline the goals for such a program, describe what has been done at other campuses, and urge everyone to sign our petition instructing the Dean's office to implement a program here. But first, let's examine the magnitude of the problem.”
Rebecka brought out graphs showing national trends, with university numbers plotted next to it. She discussed the staggering statistic of nearly one if five women becoming a victim of sexual violence at some point in her life. She pointed out how the 18 to 24 year old demographic seemed to be particularly at risk. She showed bar graphs depicting Penbrooke ranked against other schools. It wasn't pretty. She started to go into a case study from some nameless east coast college and what they did to combat the problem but was interrupted by the guy from the Dean's office.
“If I could just interject for a moment,” Sanderson said as he climbed to his feet. Miss Holten seemed a bit surprised by his interruption, but after a moment simply stepped back and motioned for him to take the microphone.
“I would like to point out,” he began, “that these numbers so helpfully supplied by Rebecka show reported cases of alleged sexual violence. If our numbers seem higher than other institutions, it is only because we have worked hard to foster a supportive environment where victims feel more able to come forward. I want to assure everyone here that Penbrooke College is a safe place to live and learn. Nobody's interests are served by creating a panic about a crisis that doesn't really exist.”
An unhappy murmuring grew in reaction to Sanderson's words. He quickly sat back down. Rebecka Holten stepped back up to the podium and continued her presentation. After describing the outreach and education program successfully implemented by another college, she began to wrap up.
“So as you can see, to be truly successful, our campaign can't focus our message to only one gender. We need to stress the importance of real communication, and we need to empower individuals, male and female, people of all orientations, to speak up when they think they see something wrong. We need to say more than just 'No means No'. We need to make it clear that in the absence of 'Yes', the default is 'No'. Now I would like to turn things over to Judith, who has bravely agreed to talk from her own experience about some of the resources available to those of you who might need them.”
Judith stepped up to the microphone and quietly waited for the applause to die down. The silence hung for several long seconds after that before she spoke.
“Hello. My name is Judith, and I am a rape survivor.” Judith stared out across the silent audience for a long moment, then continued. “I look out across this audience, and I know that more than a few of you have been down the same road as me. Many of you have born the burden in silence. You don't have to. I would like to personally thank Rebecka and the other members of WEAV for all the help and support they've provided me. I encourage you to pick up some of their literature from one of the tables near the door. They can help. They can put you in touch with all sorts of help.
“I would also like to thank the college administration for their help. I would like to... but I can't. They. Did. NOTHING. In fact the Dean's office in particular treated me like the enemy. I was belittled and humiliated. They discouraged me from going to the police, and their arbitration process was a joke. My attacker is still enrolled here on campus, and they've threatened me with expulsion if I speak out about it. But I can't stay silent. I WON'T stay silent. Signing petitions to the Dean won't do a damn bit of good because THE DEAN DOESN'T CARE.”
She nearly yelled the last bit to be heard over the growing din in the lecture hall. People were riled up. Mark Sanderson seemed to be trying to argue in rebuttal, but Judith refused to give up the microphone, and he was drowned out by the crowd noise. Judith continued.
“The administration is more concerned about keeping the alumni donors happy and the enrollment numbers up than actually fixing the problem. They want to just sweep you all under the rug. They only care about...”
The microphone cut out. Sanderson had left the stage, and I wondered if he had cut her mic. Judith continued talking, but I couldn't hear much of it over the crowd noise, not from all the way in the back. The event began to break up. Some people formed into small groups and held impromptu discussions. Others filed out, some picking up WEAV literature on their way out. I began to leave, but someone tugged on my shirt before I reached the door. I turned to see the redheaded woman from the Brass Rail.
“Hey, thanks for showing up,” she said to me, “I wish more guys took this sort of thing seriously. Did your friend come with?”
“No, I don't think she's here,” I answered.
“Too bad. I would've liked to thank her in person. Hey, do you have a second? My friends and I were just discussing something... something you might be interested in.” She led me over to a group of four women and began introductions. “OK, so this is Cloe, Nikki, Jennifer, and Jean... and I just realized I don't know your name.” It took me a moment to realize she was aiming that at me.
“Barry, I'm Barry Buetrero.”
“And I'm Tilly. It's short for Matilda, but nobody calls me that. I was just telling them about how your friend came my rescue, so it was lucky timing bumping into you here.”
“I only just saw the notice at the Union,” I admitted, “so I almost didn't attend.”
“Your friend helping me out... it got us thinking. We really do need to look after each other like that. It's gotten dangerous out there. Public awareness campaigns and stacks of brochures aren't going to cut it. We've decided to form a buddy system.”
“A buddy system,” I repeated, “like swimming at summer camp.”
“Exactly,” Tilly continued, “we pair up and look out for each other, keep tabs, make sure you have a ride home if you need it... that sort of thing. Of course th
at only helps the people who decide to participate, and there are far too many who don't realize the danger or just don't take it seriously. We need to do something for those women too. We need to step in when we see strangers in trouble, like your friend did.”
“We're forming a volunteer group,” Nikki jumped in to explain, “a sort of neighborhood watch. We go to the bars and the house parties and watch for anything suspicious, then we call in the reinforcements if someone is in trouble.”
“So, you mean call campus security?” I asked.
“Oh God no,” Jennifer responded, “They won't do anything until after the fact, except maybe bust the victim for drinking. We need to stop things before they go bad. Surround the person with enough other people that the creep just gives up and leaves.”
Tilly turned back to me and said, “this is why I was really hoping your friend would show up tonight. We could really use her help with this. Her and anyone else we can get.” Tilly looked at me expectantly.
“I'll ask her,” I promised, “and if I can do anything...”
“Oh definitely,” she answered and began scribbling something on the back of a WEAV flier. She handed it to me and said, “That's a private channel I've set up on the university chat server. We're using it to coordinate things. I'll post a schedule of patrols and ask for volunteers in the next couple of days. We can definitely use your help.” She smiled and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks Barry, we need more guys like you in this world.”
I wasn't sure how I would manage it, not with all the Dee craziness piled on top of my hectic class load... but she seemed so genuinely grateful. How could I say no?