Warning: This article includes a detailed account of a sexual assault.
Google two of Australia’s most prestigious universities today and the results will give you just one message: For too many Australian women, university is not a safe place.
Over the past 24 hours, we have seen male students from Philip Baxter college at the University of New South Wales chanting a pro-rape song that includes the lyrics: “I wish that all the ladies were little red foxes and if I were a hunter I’d shoot up in their boxes.”
We’ve read male students from Melbourne University writing comments on images of female students like “Shoot me with tranquilizer right now before I go out to hunt!”.
You might be able to dismiss these incidents as “boys being boys” or some kind of youthful exuberance.
But there is something you can’t dismiss: The voice of woman who knows where this all ends.
Two years ago, we ran an letter from a student who was raped and then abandoned by her university. A woman whose friends had similar tales of sexual assault, coercion and shame.
We share her post again today. A day on which a rape survivor’s voice has never been so relevant.
To my university,
I’m writing this because you need to know how many women you’ve failed. Women who expected to attend university, go to classes and live at residential colleges on your campus without being raped. Women who tried to report it when they were raped but couldn’t find anyone who would listen. Women who are forced to see their attackers every day because on your campus, there are no consequences for raping a woman.
I’m writing this because you failed me. I was raped on your campus by a young man who got away with it because he knew he could.
It happened one Wednesday night in my second year at college, after weeks of flirting. The guy was sweet, a little bit younger than me, and extremely good-looking. I had a very real crush on him, and after a night at the little bar tucked into the basement of the college next door, we ended up kissing. We were drunk, making out up against a sandstone wall, whispering sweet little things to one another.
I can't remember if it was my idea or his, but we ended up back in my bedroom. And there, in the privacy of my tiny cupboard-sized college room, he changed from the cute guy I thought I knew, into an aggressive man who pretended not to hear me when I told him to stop. He pushed me to the ground and had such violent sex with me, I walked around with carpet burn on my feet, shins, knees and hands for weeks. He dragged me to the communal bathroom, pushed me into a shower cubicle, bent me over and continued to have sex with me despite the fact that I was barely sober enough to stand, and too shocked to object. He overpowered me physically, intimidated me verbally, and left once I was passed out naked on my bed.
Months later, a friend of mine would tell me that he did a similar thing to her. This guy was allowed to rape women repeatedly on your campus because he knew there was nothing we could do to get him. I tried to tell male friends of mine, I tried to speak to one of the student leaders at the college, I tried to get advice on what I should do. But again and again I was silenced, I was told it was my fault because I was drunk, I was ignored because I was the one who invited him to my room. I've spent years thinking I deserved to be raped that night because the location of my attack was my own room.