During my time as a Wildcat, I was fortunate enough to experience many greats: great friends, great professors, great achievements, great self-discoveries. The list can go on because, even in the dull campus moments, there was still something going on–December 16, 2009 was one of those types of nights.

I had spent the better part of the day trying to pack up my room in my mostly vacant HP apartment. Two of my roommates had already gone home for the break, and the other was out with friends. It was shortly after packing up the last bit of my dresser I got a phone call from a friend inviting me to a party at a friend’s house off-campus. I decided to go, figuring it would be the last time I saw some of these friends for some time, as a few were graduating or planning a semester abroad.

That night, in a house not too far from campus, after a party with people I had known, partied, and (yes) drank with for years, I was threatened with a weapon and then raped. Twice.

That night, I lost many parts of myself, and as I walked the couple blocks back to campus, after slipping out of that darkened room, I racked my brain for the next step. I did not want to go to the police at that time. I did want to get medical help, but I didn’t drive and I wasn’t sure how Campus Safety would respond, and my RA at the time was male. It was three in the morning, I was in pain, confused and staring at my disheveled appearance in the mirror, I decided to go to bed.

I would not be able to deal with what happened to me for years.

Though the rape did not occur on campus, I came back to campus that night, and the next semester, looking for guidance. In the years I’d been on campus–as a woman, as a student, and even as an RA–there was never much information given on what to do after you or someone you know is raped.

Sure, there were a few hotline phone numbers typed up on now-tattered paper and taped lazily to the backs of bathroom stall doors, and I believe we went through a very quick, and severely lacking, presentation on consent and awareness during freshman orientation; there was also a year or so when people spent time making light of posters in the residence halls touting, “Consent is sexy,” but there was nothing comprehensive or consistent when it came to continuous education on sexual assault and how we, as a campus and community, could combat the rising rate of sexual violence.

The further being raped pulled me from myself. The more I resented my time spent at Linfield. Every good, great, and terrible moment was overshadowed by one horrible, horrible night. In the years following my graduation, I would speak nothing but ill of the college; as far as I was concerned Linfield was the place I died. With each flashback, nightmare, and false sighting of my rapist, I hated Linfield more and more. I felt I had put a lot of love into a community to receive absolutely nothing in my time of need, and in the years following I would not only be diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and PTSD, I would also make two attempts to commit suicide.

As my journey of healing and recovery has progressed, I have grown stronger in advocating for myself and others when it comes to the issue of sexual violence. Mostly, I have wanted to cut ties with Linfield because the personal history I have there can be overwhelming from time to time, but if I have learned anything in the past few years, it is this: silence only ups the rate at which people commit these crimes, because it lessens the chances they will be caught and punished appropriately.

This is a tough subject but, the Linfield student body is full of spirit, drive, and compassion. This is the time to start an open and ongoing discussion of how to make the idea of a campus void of sexual violence a reality.

This is the time for students to rise from the air of obliviousness, apathy, and inaction around this crisis and start speaking out. Speak out to your friends, classmates, work study friends, lab partners, sorority sisters, and fraternity brothers. It is time to bring this cause into the light.

Sexual assault happens more often than you think and we have to stop pretending these acts are being committed by strangers in the night.

The people who are violating your peers are not monsters who hide, they are your friends who eat with you at Dillin and study with you in Nicholson. These crimes are being committed by people you have the chance to influence every day. When you begin speaking up about this, believe me, your friends hear you.

This is also the time for the Linfield College administration to do more. More panels, more speakers, more training, more awareness, more information, and all of it needs to be ongoing. There needs to be reassurance and follow-through on transparency when it comes to investigating reports. The administration has got to do as much as they can to ensure everyone who comes to Linfield has the correct attitude toward sexual violence–that it is absolutely, 100 percent unacceptable.

The motto plastered on banners around campus the year I was raped boasted to all, “This is your Linfield. Welcome home.” I know now, the banners probably brag about the “Power of small.” No matter the motto greeting students as they return to campus, I want it to be more than just a pretty sign for perspective students.

Linfield College should not only do its best to persevere in the battle against sexual violence, it should also be sure it has visible and abundant resources for all students affected by such violence.

-Jamika Scott, ‘10