During my time in medical school, I briefly volunteered at a sexual assault crisis center. Initially, I was eager to contribute positively to the community, but I quickly realized I was not equipped to handle the emotional toll of such a role. My intention was noble, but the reality of sitting with survivors of sexual violence was overwhelming.
Our training was intensive, spanning six weeks of in-depth education that included statistics, hospital visits to understand the survivor’s experience, and personal counseling to prepare for the emotional challenges ahead. After this training, I was given a pager and specific instructions for responding to calls—it was my responsibility to advocate for survivors at the hospital, providing them with support, information, or simply companionship. The first weekends would allow us to shadow more experienced advocates, which was a relief.
When I clipped that pager onto my belt for the first time, dread settled in my stomach. I felt as if I was waiting for something terrible to happen. I knew that, somewhere, someone was likely going to become a victim of sexual assault. On any college campus, the likelihood of such incidents is so high that there are entire systems designed to support survivors. I couldn’t shake the thought of someone like me heading out with friends, only to have their world shattered by someone choosing to violate their trust.
Statistics were sobering—1 in 6 women experiences attempted or completed rape in their lifetime, and in 70% of these cases, the perpetrator is someone the victim knows. This is particularly prevalent among college students.
That’s why it’s deeply concerning when figures such as NYPD Captain Mark Johnson suggest that only “random” rapes warrant serious attention. He described acquaintance rapes as “less concerning,” as if a violation by a friend or someone familiar is somehow less heinous. Rape is rape is rape, regardless of the relationship between the victim and the perpetrator. If someone violates your body, it is rape—plain and simple. The identity of the attacker does not diminish the horror of the act.
My pager did go off during my very first weekend. At 3 AM, I found myself in a cab, en route to meet a woman at the hospital who had just been assaulted. I was terrified, hoping I could provide her with the support she needed.
That night proved to be the last time I would answer a call. The experience was heartbreaking; I struggled to maintain my composure while she recounted the trauma of being assaulted by someone she trusted, a friend who crossed a line under the influence of alcohol. It was a painful reminder that assaults often occur not in dark alleys but in familiar spaces.
While the thought of being attacked by a stranger is horrifying, being betrayed by someone you know can be equally devastating. It’s crucial not to downplay the experiences of survivors based on the nature of their assault. Minimizing their trauma only perpetuates feelings of shame and isolation. Statements like those from Captain Johnson can deter victims from seeking help and support. Survivors deserve compassion and understanding, and our outrage should be directed at the perpetrators of these crimes.
We must do better. Let’s eliminate victim-blaming and stop rationalizing unacceptable behavior. The world has no need for more individuals like Brock Turner.
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In summary, rape is a pervasive issue that affects many individuals, regardless of the context in which it occurs. It is essential to provide unwavering support to survivors and to challenge societal narratives that minimize their experiences.