When I arrived at Connecticut College in the fall of 2014, I was terrified of speaking. I used to get a red hot face and cold, sweaty palms when I made a comment in class, which I reserved for times when I was certain my thought was dead-on and original. I’ve always been this way: one of my best friends in the world, whom I’ve known since we were five years old, once told me that when he met me in kindergarten, he thought I was completely incapable of speech. Now, he struggles to get me to shut up.
I signed up to write for The College Voice almost out of obligation. I knew that if I wanted to make friends in college—which, I admitted reluctantly, I did—I should join some clubs. I’ve never possessed talent or interest in sports or music or most other things, but I’ve always loved to read and write, so I thought a student newspaper might be the right group for me. Turns out I was right.
Before I realized just how right I was, I encountered a menacing obstacle: interviews. I signed up for my first article, a news piece about the People’s Climate March, and realized it actually required talking to people. I was terrified, but I did it, and the editors put my story on the front page. For a person who hates being the center of attention, this kind of approval was confusing: simultaneously I felt mortified and fulfilled.
Clearly I got hooked on the whole student-newspaper thing, because I went on to become a section editor (Opinions, which I loved), and then to run the paper for a year and a half—or, to resort to the cheesy joke I make too often, let it run me. I’ve gone from a quiet, anxious, unobtrusive little first-year to one of the most obnoxious people on this campus, if I do say so myself.
Although I was freaked out by all the talking, when reporting, I found solace in fact. I’m so logic-minded that four years ago, when I was leaving high school for college, people told me that I would switch from my intended English major to a STEM field, like physics or math. Instead, I discovered a field that doesn’t even exist as a major at Conn, and I cobbled together my journalistic path. The goal at the end of it has always been, and will always be, truth and accuracy.
My commitment to factuality is what makes the letter to the editor that ran in this issue so concerning to me. We’ve never, at least in my time as editor in chief, stated or implied that the resources to which Emma, McKenzie, and Teo refer don’t exist on this campus, but we have critiqued them, pointing out the many areas where the resources at Conn could use some work. I understand that the interns want to make the available resources clear, and I value that objective; but to broadly dismiss critical conversations on this campus and in these pages as “misinformation,” rather than pointing to specific factual corrections, tacitly devalues the process of critique. To conflate critique with falsification is rape culture in action.
Rape culture persists for a lot of reasons, a big one of which is the bind in which victims find themselves when they point out a problem, and people don’t believe them. While the letter cedes that “although this campus has a progressive approach towards sexual misconduct, we recognize that there is still a long way to go,” its effect is the opposite. I don’t think that the students who wrote the letter were actually trying to further a culture of silence by writing it, nor do I think Assistant Dean of Student Life Sarah Cardwell and Director of Sexual Violence Prevention and Advocacy Heidi Freeland-Trail wanted to do so by screening the article they originally submitted, (which we didn’t run, for that reason, and because it complied with neither our minimum word count nor our basic style guidelines). I think they were just trying to advocate and share information, and while I think most readers probably know about the services the letter outlines already, if anyone didn’t, and now they get the help they need, that’s good. I hope the letter can fulfill that intention. But in writing and publishing, intention matters less than effect. The intention may have been to save face, but in its tone and effect, the letter discourages students at this college from critiquing our sexual violence prevention resources. And that’s bogus, because let’s be honest: Green Dot hasn’t solved rape culture.
I get that trying to provide a good service and being told that what you’re doing is insufficient is frustrating. We face that all the time at the Voice, and though I pride myself on being able to take criticism, getting it still sucks. But being raped sucks more. This is just an opinion, but it’s one I can hold with authority, because I’ve experienced both.
Sexual assault is a topic that I like to give a wide berth, assigning its coverage to other writers and editors because for me, it’s too personal. I like to write about things about which I feel passionately but can still treat with some distance, keeping my work on the stronger, logic-focused side of my brain. Sexual assault isn’t something I’ve worked hard to uncover and understand. Sexual assault is just something shitty that’s happened to me twice—once here at Conn, once in my tiny hometown.
I don’t blame a lack of education, resources, or infrastructure for the things that have happened to me. I don’t blame drinking or hookup culture or, as one of my rapists cited as a catalyst, my “little shirts.” I don’t blame anyone but the boys who did what they did, and even to them, I’m not certain of how to properly assign blame. But I do find it pretty infuriating to be accused of printing and perpetuating misinformation just because this paper recognizes that the problem hasn’t been eradicated.
I appreciate that we have an Office of Sexual Violence Prevention and Advocacy. I think that comprehensive education about consent and trustworthy resources for victims do help us fight this problem. But I’m sorry: I don’t feel any safer when I see an athlete in a green jersey, and if I said that I did, that would be inaccurate.
Like I said at the beginning of this extra-long editorial, it’s never been easy for me to speak up. In fact, as I’m writing this now, I’m both cold and sweaty. But I also know that I wouldn’t be writing it at all if it weren’t for this paper. The College Voice has taught me so much—about everything from AP style, to tenure processes, to peer leadership—but most importantly, it’s taught me to be brave. Like Emma, McKenzie, and Teo said, there’s still a long way to go, but compared to four years ago, I think I’ve gotten pretty far.
I want to thank the whole Connecticut College community, for reading and writing, for taking photos and drawing pictures and, most importantly, for creating the news that we report every two weeks. Thank you to all the editorial and managing staff of The College Voice for your hard work, support, and tolerance for my lengthy, frantic text messages. Thank you to my best friend and unofficial roommate Eleanor, for making crosswords by hand all year and listening to me rant about the Voice constantly for the past four, as well as to any number of my other friends who have listened to any number of my rants. I owe thanks to lots of amazing professors, including Aida Heredia, who reads every issue; Blanche Boyd, who assures me that I’m doing a good job; and our adviser, Petko Ivanov, who I know is always in our corner. And I must both thank and encourage two of my favorite juniors, Dana and Max, who took the lead on this issue’s production and will run the paper like pros for the next twelve.
Over the years, this publication has come to mean more to me than I ever expected it would. Thank you for reading it. I hope you’re as excited as I am to see where it goes next.
