During my college years, I briefly volunteered at a rape crisis center. I was eager to make a difference with my time, but it quickly became clear that I wasn’t emotionally equipped for this kind of work. My friends and I had signed up together, thinking it would be a meaningful experience, yet I soon realized the weight of the role I had taken on.
The training lasted six weeks and was intense. We dove deep into statistics, learned about the hospital processes that survivors face, and participated in counseling sessions to address our own feelings about the trauma we might encounter. After completing the training, I was given a pager and detailed instructions for when it buzzed. My role was to be an advocate for survivors, providing support and information during a critical time in their lives. Initially, I was to work alongside experienced advocates, which was a relief.
However, when I clipped that pager on for the first time, an overwhelming dread settled in. I felt like I was in a dreadful waiting game, anticipating the moment when someone would need help because they had just been victimized. It’s heartbreaking to think that on any given night, someone like me could be out enjoying life, only to have it shattered by an act of violence. The statistic we learned—that 1 in 6 women will experience attempted or completed rape in their lifetime, often at the hands of someone they know—haunted me.
So, it was particularly distressing to hear someone like Captain James Carter from the local police department dismiss acquaintance rapes as “not total-abomination rapes.” This kind of rhetoric diminishes the gravity of these acts, implying that being assaulted by a friend is somehow less horrific than a random attack. Rape is rape is rape. Period. It doesn’t matter if it’s a stranger or a familiar face; the violation remains the same.
That pager did go off on my very first weekend. At 3 AM, I found myself in a cab, headed to the hospital to meet a woman who had just been assaulted. I was terrified but hoped I could offer her some comfort. Unfortunately, it was also the last call I ever took. The experience was heart-wrenching; I struggled to maintain my composure as I witnessed her pain. She had been assaulted by someone she trusted—someone she thought would never hurt her.
While being attacked by a stranger is undeniably traumatic, being violated by someone you know can cut even deeper. Dismissing the experiences of survivors based on the relationship with their assailant only perpetuates shame and fear, discouraging them from seeking help. Victims deserve empathy, not judgment. Our anger should be directed toward the individuals who commit these heinous acts.
It’s time to stop the cycle of blame and shame. We need to create a world where survivors feel safe and supported. Let’s end the excuses and advocate for change. No one should endure what survivors have faced, and we certainly don’t need more individuals like Brock Turner in our society.
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In summary, discussions surrounding the nature of rape and the victim’s experience should focus on compassion and support, regardless of the relationship with the perpetrator. Rape is a serious crime that affects many, and it’s vital to advocate for survivors without minimizing their experiences.