To The Girls Who Cry Rape, Think About What You're Doing

To The Girls Who Cry Rape, Think About What You're Doing

As a woman, it is embarrassing to see other women using something as serious as rape to get revenge.

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In the old fable, the more the boy lies about the wolves the less validity he has. Similarly, with every woman that is caught lying the less valid each woman becomes after that. Because of the women who lie about sexual assault, the women who have actually been assaulted might never get the justice they deserve.

The 2006 Duke Lacross team scandal, the UVA "gang rape" in 2012, or more recently the former Baylor football player Shawn Oakman; all these cases involve women lying about sexual abuse. These women get up on the stand under oath and lie about who sexually assaulted them and sometimes lie about being assaulted altogether. When these women lie about something as serious as rape it has ample consequences.

What they either don't realize or chose to ignore, is the fact that lying will significantly affect the way REAL sexual assault cases are handled.

Courts are going to want to see more and more evidence in order to convict people which could lead to actual offenders being let off solely because juries or judges are second-guessing themselves. On top of that, it is just flat out cruel to real victims. When they see these cases on TV that are so similar to their own, they relate to the "victim" and in turn believe everything they say; and when these cases come out as fake it can be devastating to the real victims.

Lying about sexual assault not only affects the victims but can ruin the accused person's life.

When a man is accused of sexual assault they are, without question, guilty to most people. People tend to jump to conclusions and more often than not they chose to believe the "victim" even when there is no evidence to support her claim.

"Oh, but look how upset she is he has to be guilty"

"You can't fake those tears"

Don't underestimate the lengths people will go to, to get what they want.

They were probably crying because they are committing a federal offense that they could be thrown in prison for. In my opinion, they should be thrown in prison. They are knowingly committing perjury (lying under oath) and possibly ruining someone's life. In some cases, the accused were in prison for years until the truth finally came out but at that point, it was too late. These men were already labeled rapists, they lost their jobs, they didn't get to finish school. These men, some of who had their whole career ahead of them, are now left with nothing but their "freedom" and the women who accused them are not only just as free but still have their lives intact.

The women who falsely accuse men of sexual assault should receive some of the same jail time and/or consequences that the men they accuse.

As a sister, the thought of some girl falsely accusing my brother of sexual assault is terrifying. Young men are living in a constant state of fear when it comes to interacting with women. I have heard some of them joke about how they are going to start carrying around contracts and cameras every time they talk to a girl, but the fact they even have to joke about that is ridiculous. Women these days are frustrated that men don't make the first move, but it's because literally anything they do could be considered assault and even if they don't do anything the girl could lie and say they did.

If a woman is caught lying about who assaulted her, the magnitude of the assault, or if she was assaulted at all; there should be serious consequences because the consequences that the person she accused received/could receive are life-altering.

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An Open Letter To My Rapist

It's about time that my voice is heard too. Trigger warning: Sexual assault
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I’ve read the poems. I’ve heard the first-hand accounts. Listened to people being labeled as accusers, liars, victims, survivors. For the most part, I’ve stayed away from the conversation. Mostly because I don’t think that anyone who does something like this should be glorified by mentioning their name on social media. Partly because I have been scared to speak up. But for the last few weeks I have realized that my story has slowly but surely been scratching its way past my throat to the tip of my tongue, begging to be heard. Needing to be part of the narrative.

To the man who raped me.

I don’t know how well you remember me.

Smoke pushing through your mouth and into mine.

I don’t know if you wake up in the middle of the night screaming,

Probably not.

I doubt that anything about the night when you pulled me away from the bar and into the back alley drunk stumbling,

noodle legs collapsing even when you bent me over.

I doubt

that it makes your insides feel like they’ve been excavated with a butcher knife

but it should.

You hid us from sight behind an electrical box

I said no.

And you

Distorted my “n” into a “y”

Manipulated my “o” into an “e”

Pretended my drunken stupor was an “s”

Yes.

You forced me to swallow my words, disregard my pride, throw away my body.

My womanhood no longer mine.

No longer me.

Because of you, I completely detached from the physical.

No emotions

No heartbeat

No, I won’t let you feel my pulse

But somehow I am no longer in control

You have forced involuntary reactions and called them natural

unwillingly

When I hear you mentioned, my stomach drops

When I think of that place, my pulse quickens

When I smell smoke my lungs begin to close

Blocking out every memory

Consuming itself with the illusion that I am safe


I am not safe.


I was not safe.


No woman will ever be safe around you.

I will forever be a body for sale to the highest bidder

And by highest bidder, I mean whoever believes that my body is up-for-grabs and happens to be able to pin me down when I am slightly intoxicated

YOU

Were my highest bidder.

You broke me.

down

In half.

Yanked me back up when the flash of headlights revealed you

Do you ever think of me?

Do you ever think back on that night?

You know,

I do.

You laid claims on me like I was a piece of land that only needed to be stuck with a flag to be conquered

But I am more than just a stretch of landscape

I am

The woman that you will never know.

I am strong, powerful, and you better believe that I have eyes that pierce like daggers, a tongue that will whip anyone who gets too close into submission, nails that next time won’t forget to scratch you to collect your DNA.

You taught me that.

So come back.

Let’s see how thick your blood is when it seeps onto the pavement.

Cover Image Credit: Dorri Mang

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I Will Ask 'What's My Name'

A simple phrase that could save my life

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Recently, a USC student, Samantha Josephson, lost her life after getting into a car that she had thought was her Uber. Her friends were worried when they realized she never made it home and they couldn't get a hold of her. Her body was soon found. As a college student myself, and an avid Uber user, this story absolutely terrified me and has been running around my mind since I read the news story and watched the clips of her getting into the car.

Think of how often you call an Uber or a Lyft, whether it's in broad daylight because you are heading to get groceries or late at night heading home from a bar. Often, I try my best not to Uber alone, but sometimes that isn't the case if I am going back to my own apartment after a night out with my boyfriend (who always walks me to my Uber and calls me on the way so he knows I make it back safe). But unfortunately, not everyone has that luxury. And yes, unfortunately, just that one small thing he does is a luxury.

Uber has been around for a few years now but does not do enough to ensure the safety of both the driver and the passenger. Background checks are not extensive, or non-existent. Too many people are attacked, abducted, raped, or murdered by using a simple service to get to their personal destination. And being a woman especially, makes me, and others, that much more likely to experience this fate.

I am so deeply upset and terrified for Samantha, other victims, and myself. For when I step in an Uber, I put myself at risk. I keep going back to what I imagine she must have been thinking when she realized what would happen. The fear that must have consumed her wholly from the minute she knew things were wrong. The things she would have wanted to tell her loved ones. The way her life should have played out.

Watching the video of her stepping into what she thought was her Uber still give me chills and make me want to throw up. At that moment, her fate was sealed. I am so utterly heartbroken.

So from here on out, I will share my ride with my friends. I will sit in the backseat. I will stay on the phone with friends when I get in the ride. I will not ride drunk. I will not Uber alone. I will check the license plate of the car. I will be aware of my surroundings. I will avoid Ubers at all cost if possible.

I will ask "who are you picking up?" instead of saying "is this for Katie?".

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