Safety measures around the KCC campus are also reminders of the dangers that exist. (Photo by Geneva Mellison)

By Geneva Mellison | Staff Writer

Last year at KCC, I reported sexual misconduct. I told my story with just enough information for action, concealing details that would warrant any unwanted attention or criminal action.

I just needed him out of my class. Away from me.

The school handled it decently, but still, it dragged on for months, instilling fear into my daily routine. He was banned while the investigation went on, which he violated, and was sentenced to a two year all campus ban.

The actions committed towards me at KCC were incomparable to the violence that a recent lawsuit alleges occurred at Cornell University. A brutal assault left a bruised, horrifically traumatized person behind who dropped out of school. She had no choice but to go.

I feel lucky. I was supported by my classmates, my teachers, and the counseling staff. They believed me.

Let me say that again. I felt lucky that I was trusted. A classmate harassed, stalked, and degraded me, so I told my school, and they did something about it. They removed him from my orbit. I was violated by a classmate, and yet I am one of the lucky ones. These are the standards set by men. As they say, the bar is in hell.

These flyers in the women’s bathrooms are great, but women are already the ones who most often look out for each other. (Photo by Geneva Mellison)

I talked to my classmates today about the news of the seven assaulters at Cornell. They told me their own assault stories. It was their teacher. It was their uncle. It was their friend. 

Where are we safe? Not in our schools, not in our churches, not even in our families.

This is not a rare and shameful tale. Every woman I know has a story to carry. Like gray clouds of inevitable doom, sexual violence hangs in the air of every woman’s life. How heartbreaking. How bleak.

I wonder how many women at our campus felt unsafe today. We were all reminded how unsafe it is. I wonder if the suppressed fear resurfaced long enough to distract us from our courses and group projects, or if the haze was just in my head. I look into the faces of those around me at my school and think, will it happen again? Could he?

It doesn’t feel fair, for any of us, but it’s true. 

When will we teach men to stop hating women? We must begin by managing the violence from privilege and entitlement, instead of managing its aftermath. 

It feels like we are on the crux of revolt and despair. I am exhausted from being vigilant and pleasant to keep an illusion of safety. No matter what you wear, who you talk to, or how fast you run, no measure is foolproof to their violence. 

The next time I refresh my Instagram, the story of the Cornell rape will probably be old now. My tears are swallowed as the media moves onto the next victim.