UNLEASHING MY MIND: THOUGHTS ON HUNTING GROUND

For years I’ve known there was nothing particularly unique about my sexual assault. As a freshman in college, I was raped in a fraternity house after a St. Patrick’s Day party. It’s a story that’s become so common, it’s almost sickly cliché. The grief, depression and PTSD I battled for several years after the attack are the common side effects of surviving such a barbaric act. I knew I was not alone in that either. With love, support and therapy, I scratched and crawled my way out of victimhood and joined a survivor status. It took time. It was not a “club” I particularly wanted to be a part of, but it beats being a victim. I was no longer a statistic in a war against women, but an empowered member of unfortunate fighters. In many ways, knowing I was not alone, knowing my story was common, was something of a relief. Sexual assault can be so isolating, humiliating and private.  But I always thought there was one aspect that was different about my story compared to others; the element of injustice.

I reported my assault in 2008, well within my statute of limitations. My attacker had three charges against him: rape, sexual assault and sodomy. He was from Tuscaloosa, where the assault happened, and his father was a lawyer. I always thought that was the reason my “case” if you could call it that, was brushed under the rug. My investigator quit, my DA didn’t show up for grand jury, and I ended up being represented by a girl my attacker went to high school with. In case you’ve never been, Tuscaloosa is a small town. Needless to say, my case never made it past the grand jury. When I tried to file for lesser chargers, my case was “lost”, only to magically reappear after my statute of limitations had expired. For me, the second assault was becoming a victim of the justice system. And this—this is what I had hoped and prayed was unique about my story. It’s not.

I went to UTC last night to watch Hunting Ground. “It’s heavy” they said. “There are counselors here if you need to talk. This may be a triggering.” I disregarded every warning as I normally do. After eight years, I’m not easily, if ever, “triggered”. I’ve told my story thousands of times, locally and internationally. I’ve heard countless, explicit stories from friends and strangers who have been assaulted. It physically breaks my heart, but it doesn’t “trigger” symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or many times even tears. I’m thankful for that. It would be very difficult to do the work I’m so passionate about doing if every victim’s story emotionally brought me to my knees.  It’s been five years since I can remember crying over thoughts of my assault. Until last night.

My husband and I left the theater and I, never short on words, was silent.  He filled the cool October air with words like, “I love you” and “I’m proud of the woman you are-- the woman you’ve become.” It was hard for him too. I shook my head to thank him, and affirm I was proud of myself. Where I’ve been and where I am today, and I am.  But last night, I was numb and raw all at once. My head swirled. Tears rolled.

The film opens with unedited videos of high school seniors the moment they find out they’ve been accepted to the college of their choice. The uninhibited excitement as they opened envelopes and emails while holding their breath. The release and flood of tears as they dance around the kitchen with their moms and dads. I was taken back to how excited I was to be accepted to the University of Alabama. An only child, my parents and I put a sticker on the back window of my small SUV. I danced, and even accidentally rear-ended my friend’s car once when “Sweet Home Alabama” came on the radio. I hadn’t grown up an Alabama fan, but I was excited to become one. Watching as these soon-to-be college freshman rejoiced over the adventure they were embarking on hit me like a ton of bricks. I remember being just like them- oblivious to the fact one in four of us would be sexually assaulted.

As someone highlighted in the film last night, ‘parents would never send their kids to college if universities told them one in four students would be the victim of a drive by shooting.’ Who would go? And that poignant truth has long been at the heart of my personal mission to raise awareness about date rape. Not knowing I was in danger prevented me from knowing what to do about it. I took self-defense classes. I didn’t walk alone at night. I thought I was safe. I didn’t know a rapist would most likely first become a “friend.” After it happened, I didn’t know I needed to go to the hospital to get a rape kit. I had no injuries- at least not visible ones. What was a rape kit? What was rape? The lack of education and awareness still angers me, but it’s not what left me in tears last night.  

What put my stomach in knots is that, unlike me, these women and men didknow what to do- and they made the bold, terrifying decisions to do it. They filed the police reports, got the forensic examinations, collected evidence, had written and verbal admissions of guilt by their attacker- yet still saw no justice. Statistics flashed across the screen as major, respected universities revealed the hundreds of students they had suspended for breaking the “honor code”, but not ONE student suspended after being found guilty of sexual assault. I watched as Erica Kinsman cried recalling the countless death threats she received from students and strangers claiming she was trying to “ruin Florida State football”. I sat crying, wrestling with the overwhelming realization that justice doesn’t come easy for many rape survivors.

I didn’t sleep much last night and woke up a little groggy. I took the dogs out, got dressed, grabbed a power bar and was off to work. It was Wednesday as usual. But while driving in today, what had just hours ago been overpowering emotions of anger, sadness and bitterness, began to be replaced by feelings of empowerment, motivation and hope. I remembered where I was going, the Partnership, and what I would have to drive past to get there, UTC. What an honor it is to be a member of the team working to change sexual violence in our community. That we have the ability to partner with schools like UTC who are striving to set a precedent in the community, state and country for how to handle sexual assault accusations and crimes on campus. How, together we can stop allowing victims to be easily dismissed. I thought about the Partnership’s SART (Sexual Assault Response Team) program- a team of District Attorneys, investigators, victim’s advocates and rape crisis nurses who work around the clock to not let cases fall through the cracks. I think about how the Partnership is the only rape crisis center in our area. These women give their all to every victim who comes through their door; broken and at their weakest. They’re met with compassion, counseling, strength, and the safety that comes from knowing they are finally out of harm’s way.  And so, while films like Hunting Ground remind me of just how much work is left to be done, organizations like Partnership affirm to me that our community is busy doing it.

As an employee, advocate and survivor, I want to thank you. Thank you for spending countless hours volunteering your time. For generously donating old belongings and cash to help support our mission. But most of all, thank you for allowing us to serve the victims of sexual abuse in our community, and for believing in our collective capability to change the world we share.