Editor’s Note: This column mentions sexual assault and harrassment.
If you can relate to any of this, I am deeply sorry.
I never thought I would end up writing a column about this, but here we are. It has been a while since you last heard from me, and I wish I was coming back with a salacious new story about my sexcapades. But I thought, since Cornell won’t provide us a space to heal as a community, I can at least attempt to start a conversation.
To get to the point of why I decided to reappear from my writer’s block, I am sure you are all aware of the recent sexual assault at a fraternity. This is a horrific act in all accounts, and it has shaken me to my core. I wish I could say the problem is only a small subset of the student body conformed by bigoted, over-privileged humans. The reality is that it is a more prevalent issue in our community — yes, including the queer community — with deeper roots than we want to admit to ourselves.
I was raped.
It happened before I came to Cornell, and before anyone should become sexually active. What happened — which I rather keep to myself — fundamentally changed my relationship with sex. I used to, and sometimes still do, use sex as a form of self-harm. Having unprotected sex, sex with multiple partners, allowing certain people to have access to my body despite them not respecting me for who I am, all became normal practice for me.
At the time, my body count increased tenfold — and it only continued to go up from there. I thought I could, in a way, fuck my way out of my pain. Truth be told I could not. And the emotional baggage followed me all the way to Cornell. I had heard stories from friends, and knew sexual assault was also prevalent here. I did not tell any of my friends about what happened to me, to this day only two to three people know about it. But I became painfully aware of the risk I took when I would go out with my friends to frats.
I assumed that was the only place on campus where that could happen. That if I made sure my friends and I were safe and always together we would be fine. I was wrong. But I did experience the same bone-chilling sensation once again, this time in my dorm room.
I was not assaulted, but the best I can describe the situation is borderline coerced and harassed. As soon as I was alone again I cried myself to sleep. Ever since I feel a sense of helplessness and vulnerability every time I find myself walking alone outside on campus. I hate feeling like this. I did not feel this way on campus before the incident.
Sexual assault is still prevalent outside of a frat context, I have heard stories from acquaintances and friends about individuals and even social groups that perpetuate sexual violence on campus. These alleged welcoming spaces where many students find a sense of security and community are also tainted by this social evil.
It is not my place to tell these stories, but I am sure every student group and affinity coalition on campus could look into their own practices and find that there are instances where they overlook, condone or — the worst offenders — promote sexual misconduct.
As a man I know I also hold a privileged position in this situation, while I might walk terrified at night, my own silhouette could generate those feelings on someone else. I still can’t shake off that feeling of deep anxiety and near panic if I notice a guy walking at a similar pace to mine in the same direction a couple feet away.
One time I even broke down crying when I got home because of a guy who also happened to be walking to my same building. I hated myself for being so paranoid and weak.
That is what sexual assault can do to a person. And this week painfully reminded me that many people have more traumatic experiences that I would not know how to deal with.
As a community we must do better, to support, defend and protect students — and most importantly — prevent sexual misconduct to continue to go unpunished.
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