You know, I've heard that Dartmouth is like the date rape capital of the world."
So said Karen as we walked down the hall of our all-girls high school in April of 1993.
"And where did you hear that?" I asked defensively.
I had a reason to be defensive; in the four days since I'd been accepted to Dartmouth, I'd already heard that there were no women here, that the Greek system was so big and all-powerful that if you were not a member of a sorority or a fraternity you had better resign yourself to having no friends and that there were no Catholics here. In addition, I'd heard that Dartmouth was too conservative and that it was far too liberal.
"My brother's ex-girlfriend's best friend just graduated from there and she told my brother's ex that date rape is like completely common there."
"Oh. Well, thanks for telling me," I said, putting the subject out of my mind. Because it couldn't be. Not my Dartmouth. After all, if she got her information fourth-hand, how could it possibly be credible? Besides, all the other things I'd heard about Dartmouth had been quickly and vehemently denied by the Dartmouth students I'd talked to. It was clear to me that these supposed "friends" of mine were simply jealous of my success and wanted to ruin my perfect happiness.
That was an over-reaction -- that much is clear. These were well-meaning people who wanted me to be careful in this new place and who were trying to be helpful. For the most part, though, their information was erroneous or an oversimplification of the truth. Yes, some people are very conservative and others are very liberal. This is to be expected. People here come from religious backgrounds far more diverse than the ones at good old Ursuline Academy, where my graduating class of 57 included 55 Catholics, one Protestant and one Hindu. Once again, this is to be expected, and there are in fact Catholics here, as Aquinas House at the end of frat row would prove. Frat row itself proves a problematic issue for many. But while I do get the feeling sometimes that the only option for going out on a weekend night is to visit the frats, I've never regretted my decision not to rush a sorority and I do have friends.
But maybe I should have listened a little harder to Karen. Maybe the information which I gave the least credence was the most accurate. I've never attended another college, so I don't know how common sexual assault is on other campuses. But I can speak for myself. As I mentioned, I do have friends. Not hundreds of them, but enough for a satisfying social life. And of my six closest female friends, two have been sexually assaulted. One-third. Neither of them reported it to the Committee On Standards or the campus police, and neither of them will be mentioned by name, but sure as I'm writing this, it's true.
We have a society where blaming the victim is common. It's easier that way, to blame a woman's style of dress or her flirtiness or even her promiscuity for occurrences of sexual assault committed by the men we eat with, study with and sometimes sleep with. And it's even easier to blame it on outside forces here at Dartmouth. It's the frat scene's fault. It's alcohol consumption's fault. It's institutionalized sexism's fault. That's baloney; the blame resides with the person who commits the crime.
For a long time, we've been content to let things be and to make the rumors of sexual assault into gossip and fourth-hand information. But the only way we can solve the problem is to own up to it, to admit that it is there and to commit ourselves to solving the problem. This week is Sexual Assault Awareness Week. So let's just admit it. "Our Dartmouth" has a problem. Let's stay aware of it.
