In the stellar poem ""Blue Blanket,"" Andrea Gibson describes her reaction to a friend confiding in her about sexual assault:
a name and a face i'd forever erase from her mind if i could just like she would for me or you
Although talking with students about sexual assault, sexually transmitted infections, sex toys, etc. paid my rent for many years, I still sometimes get suckered into the myths I'm supposed to be debunking.
One of the most naggingly persistent ones says that sexual assault is something that happens to ""other"" people in ""other"" places. It doesn't happen to the people we know and love. It wouldn't be committed by nice people like our friends. It couldn't happen here on our beautiful campus.
A couple of weeks ago, my blithe subscription to that myth came to a grinding halt.
i remember the way love
used to glow on my skin
before he made his way in
now every touch feels like a sin
I stared at the floor. I couldn't think, I couldn't process. I fought hard to find the right thing to say, to find anything to say, but I couldn't. ""Thank her for telling you,"" my training droned in my ear, but it sounded so pathetic and insufficient.
and i'm thinking
what the hell would you tell your daughter
your someday daughter
when you'd have to hold her beautiful face
to the beat-up face of this place
that hasn't learned the meaning of
stop
I felt ashamed. Not just for not knowing what to say—sometimes, listening is better, anyway. But as I listened, as I felt her trust me, I hoped she couldn't tell that I was being sharply jostled from the privilege of being able to push the cold reality of sexual assault out of my life.
and how much closer to free would any of us be if even a few of us forgot
what too many in this world cannot
It's easier to cling to the otherness of sexual assault. When we believe in the otherness, we don't have to confront the fact that it happens here. To people we love. To us.
bruises on her knees from praying to forget
she's heard stories of vietnam vets
who can still feel the tingling of their amputated limbs
she's wondering how many women are walking around this world
feeling the tingling of their amputated wings
When we excuse or dismiss sexual assault by placing the blame for it on the shoulders of the survivor—""she should have, he must have, I never would have""—we build up the otherness so as not to confront the fact that it happens here. To people we love. To us.
already you're choking for your breath
listening for the broken record of the defense
answer the question answer the question answer the question miss
why am i on trial for this
would you talk to your daughter
your sister your mother like this
Today marks the fourth day of Sexual Assault Awareness Month, and I'd like to issue a challenge. While sexual assault remains a vastly underreported crime, it is still not a rarity. If and when you are confronted with it, take a step back and analyze your reaction. How do you feel? What parts of the story seem most important? Do you feel differently about this story than about the one you saw yesterday? Why?
""I just really don't want to overburden anyone,"" my friend confessed. But responding to and eradicating sexual assault is a burden we all must share. ""Awareness"" is not enough—we must condemn, deconstruct and transform. Sexual assault does not just happen. It is perpetrated deliberately, and it is permitted to continue because too many have forgot what too many in this world cannot.
she was whole before that night
believed in heaven before that night
and she's not the only one
she knows she won't be the only one
she's not asking what you're gonna tell your daughter
she's asking what you're gonna teach
your son
E-mail sex@dailycardinal.com with comments and questions.
