It takes a village

Columnist's note: "Content Warning: rape, gun violence, homophobia”

It’s been a rough week, putting it mildly. (One of) the Stanford rapist(s)—because let’s be clear: there is definitely more than one rapist at Stanford—received just six months in county jail, only three of which he’ll actually serve. Though the jury convicted him of three felonies in the rape of a woman last year, the judge, in sentencing, claimed prison would have a “severe impact” on Brock Turner as an explanation for the pathetic sentence.

A “severe impact” on the man who brutally and violently raped an unconscious woman behind a dumpster after sexually harassing other women at a party. Nurses pulled pine needles and dirt from the victim’s hair and her vagina. They bandaged the abrasions on her arms and legs.

The victim read a moving, inspirational and powerful letter at Turner’s sentencing detailing how his “20 minutes of action,” as Turner’s father described the rape, had completely and utterly shattered her life. And yet, the judge saw fit to assign only six months. As the survivor herself so eloquently stated, “A year or less in county jail is a soft time­out, a mockery of the seriousness of his assaults, an insult to me and all women.”

Barely a week later, a homophobic terrorist opened fire at Pulse nightclub, one of Orlando’s prominent gay bars, and killed 49 people. It was the worst mass shooting in American history. The shooter appeared to have dual motives, both pledging allegiance to the Islamic State as well as making known his anti-gay bigotry.

In a week of so much hate and violence, we also saw so much compassion and caring. My Facebook timeline was plastered with people sharing and re-sharing Buzzfeed’s post containing the rape survivor’s statement. People whom I had no idea registered that violence against women even existed wrote eloquent posts about how Brock Turner’s father’s callousness promotes rape culture. About how Brock Turner’s six months in jail is a total mockery. When the Washington Post wrote what many thought to be a ridiculous article lamenting Turner’s fallen swimming career, people, in swarms, ripped it apart. The outrage was wonderfully, beautifully, passionately ubiquitous.

In the wake of the Orlando massacre, people are sharing stories of the victims. Describing the joint funeral that is to replace what would have been one couple’s wedding. Retelling acts of heroism and bravery from within the nightclub as dozens were shot. Outrage toward the FDA’s ban on gay men donating blood has resurfaced, many have been emboldened to come out and the presumptive Democratic nominee for president has promised she will do all she can to protect the LGBT community (a far departure from the 2008 election, in which nominee Barack Obama was against legalizing gay marriage). Last weekend at Capital Pride in Washington D.C., the police rode with rainbow flags on their cars and Segways, past the bigots chanting that the police were coming to arrest gay revelers. There has been an outpouring of love equals love, vows to never allow this to happen again and renewed support for the queer community.

I wonder how authentic it is.

When we stare or make comments at gay couples holding hands walking across campus, when we whistle at sexually harass lesbian women kissing at Shooters, when we force trans people to use bathrooms that make them uncomfortable and endanger their safety, when we judge men wearing lipstick or women dressing butch, when we don’t speak up when we hear “faggot” or “tranny,” when we say refuse to be comfortable with gay marriage; we promote a culture that tolerates the marginalization of and, at its most extreme, execution of queer people.

It takes one person to pull the trigger. It takes a village to put that gun into their hands.

If we really want these two tragedies to mean something, to never happen again, we need to change how we operate within our own lives. It means asking ourselves some tough questions. How did you react when Duke basketball player Rasheed Sulaimon was accused of sexual assault last year? Were you one of the people scoffing at the notion that he could ever do something like that? Did you think that the victims just wanted the attention? Did you care more about basketball than a potential victim of rape?

When was the last time you stood up to defend a LGBT person? How do you feel about forcing trans people to use restrooms that don’t correspond with their gender identity? Do you whistle at or turn from queer people showing affection? Have you thought a queer person’s sexuality as being “just a phase?”

If tomorrow, your best friend was accused of sexual assault, how would you react? If your other best friend was the accuser, what would you say? If your lab partner came out as trans, how would you behave? If you saw a gay person being harassed at Shooters, or an incapacitated person being taken away, would you intervene?

Until we all know the answers to these questions, until each of us knows that we would do the right thing, we won’t learn from tragedy. We’ll only help to create another one.

Dana Raphael is a Trinity senior.