A False Sense of Community

Throughout my time at college I’ve become more and more attached to a particular issue—sexual assault. I find myself growing more intensely passionate and infuriated about the injustice I’ve seen surrounding sexual assault. It’s an issue of deep complexity, and no two situations are the same. This makes it incredibly difficult to address in a general way, but I strongly believe it’s all the more reason that it needs to be addressed. Over the past month or so I’ve been working hard on figuring out where I fit into this issue; I’ve decided to be a voice for the voiceless and start a campaign.

It’s both a blessing and a tragedy that I’m so emotionally attached to the issue—because as you may imagine, my attachment comes from personal experience with sexual assault. I still struggle to see myself as a victim, because I spent three years blaming myself and hating myself for what happened to me. There’s so much I didn’t know or understand at the time of the first assault, and I was isolated by my own embarrassment and fear. Unfortunately, people who are victims of abuse or assault are at a much greater risk for sexual assault—so my first experience wasn’t my last. It’s only this year that I’ve begun the healing process, and it’s been incredibly challenging and painful every day. The way I regard myself as a woman is deformed and twisted because of the self-hatred that I’ve fostered for so long. I’ve learned to define my worth by my physical appeal and value to men, and I’ve experienced dissociation from my own body. It’s poisoned relationships and affected my life in every single way. I can’t take back anything that’s happened to me, but I can choose to push forward in my personal healing and break the silence surrounding this issue so less people suffer through what I’ve experienced.

The small liberal arts college I attend faces some unique challenges regarding this issue because we are split between two campuses. It affects the party scene, and also intensifies gender stereotyping in our culture. However, in my research I’ve found that small liberal arts colleges face many of the same challenges. It’s counter-intuitive, but the risk of sexual assault is actually much higher at small liberal arts colleges. There’s a false sense of security and safety—we are too trusting. If we were in a large city, we’d likely practice much more caution in wandering around to parties while under the influence. In small St. Joseph, MN, it’s normal for students to drunkenly wander in and out of parties where they don’t know the owner of the house or many of the students at the parties. Particularly for a first-year student, this is an incredibly vulnerable situation. Additionally, the idea that Bennies and Johnnies are all trustworthy people makes it quite easy for vulnerable students to be manipulated, and potentially assaulted, whether or not alcohol is involved. Beyond that, underreporting is exacerbated at small colleges. It doesn’t matter if the report doesn’t go public—everyone will find out who the involved parties are. And disgustingly enough, reporters are at incredibly high risk for harassment and bullying after reporting the assault. In my first year at St. Ben’s I knew several women who were assaulted early on in the year, they reported the assault, and they were bullied to the point where they left the school. Victim blaming is incredibly prevalent and it is so destructive for survivors of sexual assault. I know from personal experience that I didn’t need anyone to blame me for what happened; I blamed myself more than anyone else ever could. To further complicate the issue, first-year and sophomore students are often on their own in the journey. Upperclassmen students had their experiences and learned from them the hard way, and they choose to be silent and leave it in the past, rather than shepherd and help the incoming students.

A community that remains silent on the issue of sexual assault is not a community at all.

It is not the job of the administration or faculty to solve these problems for us—it is the job of the students. It’s our community, our culture, and our college experience. It is every single student’s responsibility to take this issue seriously, because every single student at this school knows someone that’s been affected by sexual assault—whether or not they realize it. If we don’t care about each other enough to make our school safe, we aren’t a community. If we don’t validate and support those who’ve suffered—if we instead isolate, bully, accuse, and blame them, we are not a community.

Community is the buzz-word of our college, so let’s start practicing what we preach.

I’ve been working closely with a few students, along with the assistant director of health promotion, to discuss and brainstorm programs that will address this issue. Every single program we plan to implement is student-led, because this is an issue belongs first and foremost to the student body. These programs involve discussion groups for incoming students that are open, honest, and led by upperclassmen. These programs involve upperclassmen advocates on athletic teams that vow to intervene when incoming students are pressured to participate in things that make them uncomfortable, or face rejection. These programs involve critical, intentional reflection on what the college experience is truly about, and what each of us personally values most about our schools.

If you’d like more information, or would like to be involved, please e-mail me at slskelly@csbsju.edu. If not, you’ll be hearing more about this in the Fall—that’s a promise.

Starving for a Call

Where is our place in the paradox of privilege? We call ourselves Christian, we preach of a love that heals and elevates our nature— but we live luxurious lives bound up in material idolatry. I’m constantly crushed between the tension of Christ and culture— what’s right and what’s possible. I recognize my inability to love fully and the sins that limit my potential. I also see within myself a fire and a yearning like none other to live truthfully and radically. I often feel like I’m a stranger on a campus where everyone thinks about their future, because I think more about the future of the world itself. I can’t point fingers or place blame, nor do I want to. What I want, and need, is a call. A call to sell everything and follow Jesus. A call to lay down my life for the sake of another. A call to leave this place of privilege, materialism, and entitlement. A call that is so compelling and meaningful that I can’t resist following it. I’m drowning in a sea of responsibility for the injustice of my nation, my religion, my culture, my generation, and my own soul. I want to do what’s meaningful and right with my mind, my time, my talents, and my passion— but where do I find it? 

So often when I pose these questions I am met with responses that are watered down and unsatisfying— 'you can’t save the whole world, so choose one thing and do it well.' That answer paralyzes me because I have no authority to choose which thing deserves to be done above another. Even when I look to adults in my life that I admire, I’m not sure I’d be okay with the lives they’re living, because they’re still bound up in materialism and systematic injustice. Honestly, I can’t imagine a world where we aren’t all bound up in it. I don’t judge, because I feel my own limitations so fully, but I wonder if we should be doing more. If we should be aspiring to more meaningful, life-giving ends. If we should somehow find the strength the break away from a culture that worships celebrities, feeds loneliness with consumerism, trusts no one, condemns other ethnicities, sees women as objects for sexual pleasure, and believes more faithfully in the barrel of a gun than the political system in power. What scares me more than the horrific culture we’re all submerged in, is the apathy so many people have toward it. If we don’t deeply care about another human’s right to live safely and freely, regardless of their race, gender, background, religion, or nationality, what do we care about? I hope with my whole soul that I’m not alone in this questioning and struggling. I hope that I won’t ever be convinced that I care too much, no matter how often I hear it.

People often say that at the end of our lives we won’t care about how much money we made, how successful we were, or how many superficial things we crossed of our bucket lists— it’ll all be about the relationships we’ve had and ways we’ve bettered the world. I want to have that realization every single day of my life, not just the day I die. Do you?