April: Sexual Assault Awareness Month

Thought I would take some time reflecting on one of my favorite months. As most of you may know, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. (SAAM)

My organization, Students For Sexual Consent, planned a whole month filled with events for SAAM.

It started with a 'Survivor Panel'. This is where survivors of sexual as

sault talk about their experiences. They are strong women and I can not even imagine the courage it takes for them to do this.

The 'Survivor Panel' was well attended. Another event we put on was our annual Clothesline Project. This is a National project done through out communities and campuses in the whole country. Survivors of sexual assault make T-shirts as a healing process and each April we display them in a public place to represent the prevalence of sexual assault. I think a lot of people are amazed just how often sexual assault occurs. To find more information, check out the national network website.

Here are some photographs from our project:

The last event that I participated in was 'Denim Day.' I picked up the story off the Denim Day in LA website.

An 18-year old girl is picked up by her married 45-year old driving instructor for her very first lesson. He takes her to an isolated road, pulls her out of the car, wrestles her out of one leg of her jeans and forcefully rapes her. Threatened with death if she tells anyone, he makes her drive the car home. Later that night she tells her parents, and they help and support her to press charges. The perpetrator gets arrested and is prosecuted. He is convicted of rape and sentenced to jail.

He appeals the sentence. The case makes it’s all the way to the Italian Supreme Court. Within a matter of days the case against the driving instructor is overturned, dismissed, and the perpetrator released. In a statement by the Chief Judge, he argued, “because the victim wore very, very tight jeans, she had to help him remove them, and by removing the jeans it was no longer rape but consensual sex.”

Enraged by the verdict, within a matter of hours the women in the Italian Parliament launched into immediate action and protested by wearing jeans to work. This call to action motivated and emboldened the California Senate and Assembly to do the same, which in turn spread to Patricia Giggans, Executive Director of Peace Over Violence, and Denim Day in LA was born. The first Denim Day in LA was in April 1999, and has continued every year since.

Here are pictures of our Denim Day which was held this past Wednesday:

Overall, it was a great month and I really think this helped people see that this is an issue to pay attention to. Awareness is only the first step to stopping the problem.

Silence

[Trigger warning]

Words are powerful. But why doesn't any one ever use them?

When people die, we are not afraid to cry. We are not afraid to tell people how angry or upset we are. Some people grieve loudly, full of words and words and words.

When people are violent, we scream. We yell at the highest volume we can reach. We are not afraid of what people may think.

When people receive a diagnosis of cancer, we share our fear. We talk about the 'what if's' or the prognosis. We are not afraid.

When people are harassed or attacked sexually, we shut up. Suddenly, it's like the world is quiet. Victims are told to deal privately, to not bring it up. To not report it because the attacker is going 'though issues.' Isn't the victim going though issues? I mean, the person was attacked, harassed, wronged in more ways than you can imagine. Sometimes they change, so drastically, that everyone around them avoids them. "She's different," they say "weird."

Unless you go through an assault or an experience, you never know how scary it is to say something. And you never know how painful it is not to say anything.

You can't describe the pain you go through everyday. You lose the trust in people, in humanity. You stop believing you are real. You change so that it will never happen to you again. Sometimes, you isolate yourself, refuse to move, to socialize. Maybe you turn to harmful substances, cutting, suicide. Maybe you forget how it is to own your sexual experiences. Maybe you never even had the chance to own them in the first place.

Your closest confidants look at you differently. They treat you like a fragile glass slipper. You want to tell them to stop, to just forget that it ever happened. You want to be normal. You try so hard. You have dreams at night where you are. Where it never happened. But that's the closest you can ever get to being normal.

Sleepless nights, where the dream doesn't come, brings bags of circles under your eyes. You wonder if those nights would go away if you just told someone. You fear that you may lose the only thing that keeps alive, those dreams that keep you normal.

I encourage the survivors I meet to report it, to talk about it, and I don't even follow my own advice. I provide survivors the support I never received in hopes that they can be strong enough to face the fears of talking. I push survivors through recovery treatments, to counseling. I assume every woman I meet has had an sexual experience that was not wanted. I hate that I never tell these women that I've been though it. That it happened to me.

But I stay silent.

(Submitted by a friend)