TO THE EDITOR:
According to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center, one in five women and one in 16 men are sexually assaulted while in college. I wonder if my professor considered this statistic before leading a discussion on sexual assault and rape. I then wonder, if she had, how could she have neglected to issue trigger warnings at the beginning of class? How could she have led an entire discussion on sexual assault and failed to leave time at the end of class to debrief?
I believe that my professor had the best intentions in challenging our class to read about and discuss the serious issue of sexual assault. However, her approach to the material was problematic for several reasons. First, she should have included a trigger warning in the syllabus or communicated in some way that the topic of sexual assault would be discussed, and that if students felt uncomfortable or triggered, they could be dismissed.
By failing to communicate such a message, my professor put the responsibility on the students who have experience with sexual assault to reach out to her and ask to be excused from that class, forcing students to disclose their experiences.
Secondly, my professor should have set aside time at the end of class for students to reflect, to offer one another support and to recommend resources to people who are struggling with sexual assault. Instead, there was no trigger warning; there was no debrief; and there were microaggressions, in the form of erasure of certain sexualities and identities, heteronormative language and unintentionally judgmental comments.
I spent ten minutes sitting on the floor of the women’s bathroom, sobbing, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t to blame for my assault — nor was I responsible for the other victims my perpetrator assaulted. When I finally returned to class, I was appalled to find that we didn’t end with a debrief. No one checked on me. No one acknowledged how difficult talking about sexual assault can be. A friend of mine ended the class by informing everyone about the services offered by the Women’s Center for survivors. I gathered my books and began walking to my next class, tears silently streaking my cheeks. A friend from the class called out to me and hugged me.
“Me too,” she said.
I stood there crying on the sidewalk, in the middle of campus, because my professor didn’t know the appropriate way to approach the subject of sexual assault. I was unable to attend my next class because I could not stop crying. Assault isn’t just physical — it doesn’t stop after the act is over or fade with the bruises — once a survivor, always a survivor. I write this letter, not as an accusation, but as a critique. I am not angry at my professor nor my classmates. I wholeheartedly believe their words and actions held no malignant intent. I simply want to bring visibility to an issue. I want to challenge the way that my professors, peers and community discuss, view and understand sexual assault.
I don’t want to spend my class time sobbing on the bathroom floor. I don’t want anyone else to feel the way that I felt in my class today. I can’t change what happened to me, but I can use my experience to educate others. Ironically, if there is one thing I have learned in that same class, it is that change is best informed and advocated for by those who would benefit most from those changes: the oppressed or suffering.
