This column is not about my rape. It’s about the people who say they’re on my side.
This past Thursday, the entirety of West Campus became unsafe for me. Every bulletin board in the residential quads, the Bryan Center and the West Union Building was plastered with flyers quoting survivors of sexual assault. And I do mean every bulletin board. I know, because I was out flyering for my own student group, and I saw all of them. When I was in the Bryan Center, I quite literally could not turn around without seeing the flyers.
I felt as if I’d been sucker-punched. I struggled to breathe every time I saw a flyer. My hands shook. I walked like an old woman. My shoulders hunched as if to ward off violence. Everywhere I turned, I saw my own worst memories printed in big, bold font.
I wasn’t only triggered. I was furious. Who decided that it was a good idea to make the memory of rape inescapable? Who, after reading all of the pain, confusion and hurt in the words of survivors, decided it was a good idea to spring them on an unsuspecting student body?
The answer? I still don’t know. No student group was listed on the flyers. The only online reference I could find was a blog post on Develle Dish, which commended the flyers’ role in protesting the new statute of limitations. My email to the author went unanswered. I wonder if it was the same for the anonymous complaints of other survivors in response to the post.
On Friday, I avoided West Campus as much as I could. I planned out a route from the bus stop to a friend’s room so that another survivor could arrive on campus without being triggered. I heard reports of other people in pain because of the flyers. And I made my own plans to avoid campus for the weekend.
On Monday morning, I returned to campus. Given the comments on the blog post, I hoped that whoever was responsible would have taken them down. But that wasn’t the case. As of Monday, there were still flyers in the Bryan Center (specifically the post office, the ATMs, the restrooms, the pillars next to the Armadillo Grill and McDonald’s and the bulletin boards on the way to Schaefer Theater), West Union study spaces, Chik-fil-A, Alpine Bagels, the indoor entrance to the LGBT Center, the women’s locker room at Wilson Gym, the Bella Union and outside some residential areas.
There was no apology. There was no move to fix the problem. There was, simply, silence.
That Monday night, I printed my own flyers. They read TRIGGER WARNING and REPEAL THE STATUTE OF LIMITATIONS. I covered every single flyer I could find. It took three hours, more than 200 pieces of paper and two rolls of Scotch tape. It was almost certainly too late to prevent other survivors from being triggered. But I could make campus safe for myself again, and send a message to whoever had put up the flyers in the first place.
Anyone can make a mistake or underestimate the impact that their actions will have on vulnerable populations. The students who made the flyers had good intentions and were working toward a good cause. I don’t fault them for the idea. However, once any group is informed that they are doing active harm, it is their responsibility to fix the problem. Other survivors and I did our best to inform the people responsible. I still don’t know if we reached them, because no student group claims responsibility.
This lack of accountability is even more appalling when it comes to sexual assault. As a survivor, talking about what happened to me is difficult. And attempting to find a group of students that does not want to be found in order to confront them is nearly impossible. I cannot use social media to draw attention to this without outing myself as a survivor. I cannot make a complaint to any University office, because no student group claims responsibility. I’m writing an anonymous column alone in my apartment, and my hands are still shaking so much that I can barely type.
To the students involved in this campaign: If you are going to claim to be my ally, if you are going to act as if you are on my side as a survivor and a student here at Duke, act like it. Put a name on your flyers. When members of a hurt, invisible and often-silenced group come forward, listen. Don’t make survivors into collateral damage, and then shrug off the pain that you’ve caused.
I would love for you to help me. But you have to stop hurting me first.
The author of this piece has chosen to remain anonymous.
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