We talk often about how one out of every four undergraduate women is sexually assaulted during college. Everyone knows that statistic. And because everyone knows it, most of us are aware it is virtually impossible for someone not to know a female survivor of sexual assault.
But what about the rapists we know?
Statistically speaking, we all probably know some. I can think of seven men I know in my personal life who are known to have committed at least one sex crime. Each of them got away with it.
Mallory Challis
Some are pursuing higher education, like pharmacy school. A couple of them work in IT. Others are business owners. Some of them were investigated, but none faced criminal charges. No man had to put his life on hold because of what happened.
I’m sure if they’re reading this, they are afraid I might one day write their names.
And like the sex crime alleged by Cornell’s Jane Doe, most of these men committed their crimes in the context of a community. Other people were made aware these things happened via group chats or lunch conversations and chose to do nothing. People in positions of authority over them gave a slap on the wrist, then turned a blind eye:
- He had too much potential.
- He was too good of an asset to the school, team or community.
- She was being dramatic.
- She was a whore for getting herself into that situation.
- They believed her but didn’t think it was worth the paperwork.
For instance, I know one woman who, upon disclosing to her boyfriend experiences of abuse at a college party she’d attended the night before, was broken up with for “cheating” on him. He promptly told the rest of their friend group about the incident and everyone “chose sides.” Many of them did not choose her.
When I learned this, I remember feeling nothing but outrage.
I was outraged at the fact that everybody around her knew this had occurred. Her boyfriend, best friends, peers, teammates and even people in positions of authority knew about it. Yet everyone’s reflex was to shame her.
“Why was everyone willing to let her go through this trauma alone, without even attempting to hold anyone accountable? It’s because they benefit from it.”
Why was everyone so content with letting this hang? Why was everyone willing to let her go through this trauma alone, without even attempting to hold anyone accountable?
It’s because they benefit from it.
When we avoid truths like “________ is a rapist,” we protect the status quo. Our institution doesn’t lose popularity over bad publicity, our sports team doesn’t lose out on an athlete who scores big points, and our churches keep the tithes rolling in.
But when we tell truths like “________ is a rapist” and then take that truth seriously through holding them accountable for their actions we begin the process of reclaiming control.
Patriarchal systems, like Cornell and the Chi Phi fraternity, benefit from having control in these incidents. Their control over who gets believed, punished and held accountable allows them to curate their own world of power, influence, wealth, connections and resources in ways that benefit the people they like, often at the cost of silencing the most vulnerable.
But telling the truth strips them of this control. And it empowers us to reclaim the narrative by exposing injustices that have been noticed and noted but never addressed.
Think about it once more: What rapists do you know? And what have you done with that knowledge?
As a Baptist pastor, I am first going to pray God calls me to action when injustice is afoot, so I may proclaim truth without reservation. I pray for the courage to surrender myself and my fears to God’s sense of overwhelming justice, even when reputation, job security, tithe money or relationships are on the line.
My prayer for Cornell’s Jane Doe — and for all the other sex crime survivors out there — is that she finds the peace she needs to fully heal. I pray her abusers and liable institutions are held accountable and her litigious efforts make Cornell, Greek life and the world at large safer.
And my prayer for the rest of the world is this: May the God who survived the abuse of torture, arrest and death on the Cross give us the confidence to be active bystanders, because passivity is complicity. May we have the courage to speak up when something feels wrong, even if it risks status, norms or other things that seem important to us. And may the God who survives alongside us empower our voices, reminding us that the power of truth is bigger than all else.
Mallory Challis is a former BNG Clemons Fellow who is a recent graduate of Wake Forest University School of Divinity. She serves on the staff of a Baptist church in South Carolina.
Related:
I understand what the Tompkins County DA apparently doesn’t | Opinion by Liam Gent
As you read about the Cornell Seven, remember Tamar | Opinion by Braxton Wade
Dear men, it is time to wake the hell up | Opinion by Mark Wingfield