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Alyssa Pajarillo, editor
NEWS
May 25, 2018 — Vol. 61, Issue 6
Tel: (619) 482-6368 email: news@theswcsun.com
SIOBHAN EAGEN This is an apology to my body for all the men who’ve taken advantage of its incredible landscape. This is an apology to myself for taking the blame for their lawlessness.
SIOBHAN EAGEN
To accept my apology, I am ripping shame from my vocabulary Age 12
Victoria Sanchez/Staff
A man behind the counter of a sandwich shop licked his lips at me when my father turned his back – girlhood is not safe Girlhood is too much like boot camp Like war Girlhood is too much like learning our best camouflage does not hide developing breasts
RAMONA LOPEZ
Age 14 Victoria Sanchez/Staff
RAMONA LOPEZ I have used Tinder in the past to meet up with guys for oral sex. Nothing more. I wasn’t interested in romance or dating—definitely not penetrative sex. I’m not in any hurry to lose my virginity. Guys didn’t like that. I told them I didn’t want to have sex from the beginning. Responses would vary. Most were convinced they could change my mind. One paid no attention to what I wanted. “There’s nothing you can do about it if I have your hands tied up and fuck you anyways,” he said. Reading that on my dimly lit phone screen sent chills down my spine. That’s something a rapist would say. My heart sank into my stomach. I blocked him with a few clicks, but a feeling of discomfort lingered in me. I didn’t have the safety of distance the next time I heard this. A guy was on top of me, pinning my arm down as he pleaded with me to fuck him. We had meet ups before and he was fine with us only going down on each other. This time he wanted more and he wasn’t taking no for an answer. I was crying, struggling. Constantly saying no. He was insistent and frustrated. “I’m just gonna put my dick in you,” he said. “You’ll like it, it’ll feel good. Trust me.” He was getting ready to put his dick inside me. I was frozen with fear. Tears continued to stream down my face as I begged him to stop. “I’m going to get raped tonight,” I remember thinking. He was a player on Southwestern College’s football team. He constantly went to the gym and had an athletic build. He was strong and could easily stop my efforts. Before he grabbed my other arm I used my hand to block his penis. “You’re just scared because you’re a virgin,” he said. I made him leave and spent the rest of the night crying in my bed. The sheets still smelled like him. It was a sleepless night of imagining what could have happened if he got hold of my other arm. I wanted to tell someone what happened, but didn’t because nobody knew I was meeting up with guys. I felt I’d be seen as a dumb slut. I invited a guy I met through Tinder to my house to eat me out, what did I expect? If my legs were open for his mouth that means they were also open for his dick. I put myself in that situation. I thought I deserved it. I suppressed the memory and moved on. Tried to at least. After a break from Tinder I returned just to be traumatized by another guy. This time a new guy I matched with lied to my face. We were making out and it got more intense. Each time he wanted to do more he would ask and wait for the okay from me. He was fingering me, but suddenly it felt different. It was no longer pleasurable, but uncomfortable and painful. I asked him what he was doing. I questioned if he was still fingering me or trying to have sex.
“Nah, it’s just my fingers,” he said. “Just because you’re really tight, it hurts.” It wasn’t adding up. I put my hands down there and felt his dick. Anxiety struck me. I couldn’t believe that he lied to me. He seemed so considerate. I kicked him out and was angry. Not at him, but at myself. A million questions raced through my mind. Was I so stupid that I was almost raped and didn’t know it? Was that rape? How far did he go? I wish I could answer these questions, but I can’t. I caught him in the middle of a huge lie, but what if I was too late? He swears he didn’t do anything. I could take his word for it, but he had already proved himself to be a liar. I tell myself that he didn’t rape me. In reality, all I can do is hope he didn’t. I’m forever haunted with that small sense of doubt in the back of my mind. Again, I wanted to confide in someone, but couldn’t. I was upset at myself for getting in a dangerous situation more than once. I thought anyone hearing my story would think I’m in the wrong and wonder how I can let that happen multiple times. I deleted the Tinder app and kept everything that happened to myself. I felt violated, alone and suicidal. Before I used Tinder I was plagued with trust issues after my first break up. My ex broke up with me with a text message right after we had oral sex for the first time. He was very touchy from the beginning of the relationship and tried to rush things. I was more interested in the relationship emotionally and he solely cared about it from a physical perspective. The timing and means of the break up made me feel worthless and made me lose trust in everybody. Everyone leaves. It’s just a matter of time. My depression hit me hard. I wanted to take emotion out of the equation and just focus on attraction to avoid getting hurt again. I didn’t want to mislead anyone like my ex did to me, however. I explicitly stated what I was looking for. I thought I could rely on men respecting my wishes, but these occurrences proved me wrong. Tinder gave me a different type of trust issue. I struggled with depression after the breakup. Adding the fact that I didn’t know if I was raped or not made my depression much worse and made me suicidal. I hated myself for what I allowed to happen to me. These instances of sexual assault took away my value and sense of self. Dating app culture implies the idea that matching with someone automatically guarantees a hookup. If a person says they do not want to have sex, they listen. Do not try to convince them. Respect one another’s decision. People have a right to do as they please on dating apps. Date. Hook up. Whatever. What is not tolerable is trying to persuade the other to go farther. Either listen to them or find someone else to meet. It is not fair to sexually assault someone and leave them feeling damaged. u
A classmate groped me without permission I was punished for being a distraction Girlhood is too much “baby, baby, dear” deer blood runs red in this meat market Age 20 An abusive partner pimped me out to his best friend, knowing I’d feel pressured I was easy pimped me out to take his friend’s virginity so he would win a bet over a pack of cigarettes
JAHAZIEL VALENCIA Victoria Sanchez/Staff
ELIZABETH JUAREZ When you go to a psychologist, you typically think things will get better from there on out. If any of you lucky people have never been to a psychologist, visits are usually there to help you progress in your life. First time visits are typically the psychologist getting to know you, and asking basic questions about your history. They ask if you have addiction problems, trauma issues, disorders and things of that nature but most importantly they try to understand why you are there and what they can do to help the situation that needs to be fixed. I have had around 5-6 psychologists since the age of 16, and upon meeting the newest one, I was left scarred. My last psychologist sexually harassed me. I haven’t been able to go to a psychologist since then. The visit was nerve racking as the first visits always are for me, I have undergone childhood trauma and abuse and currently have an eating disorder, an anxiety disorder and a depression disorder. With so much on my plate, it is often hard for me to even schedule an appointment even when it is clear to me I need it more than anything. I finally had built up the courage to go to a psychologist again and I haven’t gone to one since. I arrived to the psychologist office in Eastlake named Psycare. I filled out my paperwork since it was my first visit with this psychologist and waited to be called in. I was finally called in and walked into his office where I could feel his eyes burning on my skin. I tried to reassure myself, to tell myself I was being paranoid and conceited. The visit started off normal, I told him my background and my disorders. I told him the reason I was there was because of my issues with commitment and because I had a lot of distrust from my parents and other relatives who abused or lied to me and I wanted to be able to function healthily in relationships as I currently find myself with extreme paranoia in relationships. It was if he disregarded everything I had said. He instead focused primarily on my eating disorder even though at the time I specifically told him that wasn’t currently an issue or not
the issue I had wanted to focus on. He told me to stand up in front of him. I was wearing a crop top and high waisted leggings. He asked me to lower my leggings a little to reveal my stomach then asked if that had made me uncomfortable, I told him it did. I was so flabbergasted at what was happening but I thought to myself, “he’s a professional he wouldn’t abuse his power.” I was wrong. He asked me to lower my pants more and more until my hip bones were showing and I did as he asked. I had strictly told him my insecurities were mainly with my stomach and yet he asked if I wanted to lower my pants some more which would expose me in my underwear. I declined to his request. I raised my pants and he asked me why I did so, he claimed that I was insecure of myself and that’s why I raised them. I didn’t want to argue I wanted to go home. He then asked if I had scheduled a follow up appointment and I had (which I was now planning to cancelled) and told him it was two weeks from now. He was very enthusiastic about loving to have me as a client and kept reassuring me to come back, he also told me two weeks was far too long and he wanted to see me weekly. I told him there were no available appointments and so he walked me to the receptionist office and opened up a time specifically for me. This wasn’t him being nice, this was creepy. Out of all the psychologists I have had this has never happened to me, not once. I made it clear at the time I wasn’t suicidal, there was no reason for me to immediately be seen in a week. I left the office confused at everything that had happened, and broke out into tears. I had realized I had been taken advantage of. A couple days later I reported this psychologist and I was assured this situation would have action taken immediately. I of course cancelled the now two appointments that were scheduled. Since the incident I have a constant fear of psychologists, and it has greatly triggered my eating, anxiety, and depression disorder. Sexual harassment is real and it’s insane that even in places that are supposed to make us feel safe, people can still come out feeling exploited. u
Girlhood is too much barter and trade Girlhood is too much woman, too much woman weighed out by the pound, and sold for packaged deals - wreckage in bulk Age 21 I was interested in him “I don’t want to have sex tonight, it doesn’t feel right, this hasn’t worked for me before” but I was backed into his bed he broke my resistance and entered with enough kisses Girlhood is too little Girlhood is too little protected Girlhood is too little of our time never truly belonging to us Age 21 “I can’t breathe” I choked while he adjusted his position “Just tap me next time” As if a tap could communicate better than my entire strength, my forearms pushing his pelvis away from my face as he brutalized my throat with his penis The boy rapes me to his own mixtape I leave crying he texts me before I am home He wants to see me again Girlhood is gone like something only ever intended to lease not rent-to-own a contractual loss. Yes, this girlhood is gone. But I am a woman of deconstruction and disarming. Rape culture, fear the footsteps you don’t hear coming. u
A N AT I O N A L PA C E M A K E R AWA R D N E W S PA P E R
theswcsun.com
Special Edition
ONE SEXUAL ASSAULT AT SOUTHWESTERN COLLEGE
SMALL STEP S
May 2018
Volume 61/Special Edition
Sexual assault remains an issue at Southwestern College, though the institution made baby steps toward progress last year. Very small baby steps. An upgrade in the office of the dean of student affairs is an improvement, and the temporary (but part-time) re-staffing of the Title IX office is at least an acknowledgement that the college needs a competent person in that position. Our incompetent former police chief was shown the door, but much too late to prevent considerable damage he did to this college and its students. This year’s sexual assault grade is a D+. Better than complete failure, but still not even average. We need to do better.
Lack of Data and Documentation rhetoric vs. action insufficient resources part-time title ix all-male police #metoo what’s next?
After years of denial and counter-productive behavior from leadership, Southwestern College began to slowly move in a better direction in 2017-18. Considerable work remains to be done to make this campus safe and just.
ix years into Southwestern College’s sexual assault crisis, student awareness has improved considerably, governing board members campaigned against it, administrative action has improved slightly, options for students to report
assault remain insufficient and campus police accountability has gone backwards. (see story on Pg A-1) There was a meaningful breakthrough when college leadership finally acknowledged that sexual assault is a problem on our campus, but the politically-correct rhetoric has outstripped meaningful action. America’s #MeToo movement has nudged some slumbering administrators into the anti-sexual assault column, but meaningful change at Southwestern College is proceeding at a glacial pace. There were disturbing allegations of sexual assault and misconduct within the police department, in athletic facilities and a faculty office. Much work remains.
PROTEST RALLY 2017 JoseLuis Baylon/Staff
DAWN OF A NEW ERA — Some visionary young women at Southwestern College started to speak up and take leadership roles in the fight against campus sexual assault, misconduct and misogyny even before the #MeToo Movement sprung to life. Former Southwestern College Sun Editor-in-Chief Bianca Quilantan, a rape victim during her freshman year at SDSU, led the first Sexual Assault Special Edition, and convinced 13 men and women to put their names to their stories, breaking a centuries old taboo. Former ASO President Mona Dibas and her sister Nada used their considerable leadership talent to advance the cause, alongside former Sun Editor-in-Chief Mirella Lopez. Their 2017 sexual assault rally was one of the largest on campus in years. ASO representatives and college administrators openly condemned sexual assault during Opening Day speeches, another first. Baby steps, but steps in the right direction.
The Southwestern College Sun
NEWS
May 25, 2018 — Vol. 61, Issue 6
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MATTHEW LEKSELL MATTHEW LEKSELL
Victoria Sanchez/Staff
college still not compliant with crime records
H
as the sexual assault problem at Southwestern College improved, worsened or stayed the same? Who knows? Our college doesn’t, and neither do we. That is a big problem. In April, The Sun requested public records regarding sexual assaults and Title IX violations. After much wrangling, not one single record has been provided. Zero. Nada. Cero. Nula. Nul. Taya’. Aber. In any language, no records. President Dr. Kindred Murillo and the SWC administers have said they have made marvelous improvements to the campus climate regarding sexual assault. In an email to The Sun, Dr. Murillo seemed pleased about some of the major improvements. “Even though the federal government has pulled back on Title IX regulations, Title IX compliance has been one of my priorities since becoming Superintendent/President and is a priority of the Governing Board because it is about doing the right thing,” she wrote, “The Southwestern College administration and Governing Board have demonstrated a dedicated and comprehensive response to Title IX complaints. We support and appreciate the SWC Police Department’s efforts to strengthen our collection and logging of sexual assault data under the Clery Act. They have been diligent. We have set clear response guidelines and followed up appropriately.” We believe Dr. Murillo means what she says and has good intentions. We also believe some of her staff has demonstrated terrible incompetence and has left her holding the bag. We tried to be nice, but that did not work. We asked politely, in person, face-to-face for information from the PD and several collage offices. Some asked for a California Public Records
Act letter, some just make excuses. Under the California Public Records Act, The Sun requested records from the SWCPD and the Title IX office to look at this year’s progress. We requested the college Clery Act report for 2017, which the school is obligated by federal law to post yearly and make easily accessible to the public. We received nothing – except for pushback, veiled threats, condescension and excuses. Lame excuses. When The Sun sat down with Murillo two days before deadline, she offered The Sun the first five months of crime reports for 2018, but not the 2017 Clery Act reports. Dr. Murillo told us the records we requested were unavailable due to a “data migration” between SWC’s current and new website. She said there was only one person on campus capable of performing the migration and that person was on vacation. Dr. Murillo said that the police chief posts monthly crime reports and that she received weekly crime logs from the chief. Unfortunately, no one else can see them, even though they are required public records. When The Sun asked to have access to the monthly logs, she again blamed the data migration. When The Sun asked to have access to her weekly crime logs emailed from the police chief, she said she could not provide those because they would be a mix of all crime reports, not just sexual assault and Title IX investigations. We get that. That is why our original public records specifically asked that all private and identifiable information be redacted from the documents. Four days later, no logs. Southwestern College has been hammered on this issue by accreditors, the state and federal government, FIRE, the ACLU and a U.S. Congressmen, not to mention CNN, NBC, CBS, ABC, The San Diego Union-Tribune and other
news media. Not providing the press and public with access that they are legally entitled to is a very serious problem. Any citizen should be able to walk into the SWCPD, request crime logs and have copies within minutes. That is state and federal law. The Sun requested 10 years of crime logs and sexual assault data from the college in an attempt to determine a statistical baseline. We genuinely want to know if things are getting better or not. Despite its pious protestations to the contrary, SWCPD has not come even close to keeping and sharing accurate crime and sexual assault records. No need to take our word for that. SWCPD has been severely criticized by the U.S. Department of Education for exactly the same issue. After speaking to SWCPD and the Title IX office, it is becoming apparent that the data may not even exist. Dr. Murillo agreed. In Spring 2017 students rallied in front of the SWCPD and college president’s office demanding transparency and accountability. There is none. That bears repeating. There. Is. None. There are no records to provide a baseline on the campus climate, there are no more resources available than there were last year. SWC’s “changing climate” rhetoric is not consistant with its actions. Dr. Murillo claims the SWCPD has been diligent keeping records and logs, but there is nothing to show for it. No one on campus can produce even one. Other colleges can produce theirs in minutes. There are only two possible explanations, neither is flattering: 1. Incompetence 2. Intentional deceit. It is time to end the excuses and fix this problem before someone else does. And believe us, someone will, possibly with a sledgehammer.
I did not realize I was sexually harassed because I am a man. I recognize that it is more common in women, but as a male, it took me off guard. It actually took a while for me to realize that I had been harassed. I met my harasser in a SWC class. Early Tuesdays and Thursdays were usually concluded with iced coffee before I returned home to complete schoolwork. I did not make many friends in that class, aside from the few people that sat around me. Still, a man who sat across the room always had his eyes locked on me. I didn’t think much of it; I assumed it was an awkward eye contact situation where you catch another’s gaze in passing, followed by a quick aversion to look in the opposite direction. Towards the latter half of the semester, as I, and a lot of the class were feeling the pressure to do well academically, I would take any invitation for a study group. So when my classmate nearly chased me after fleeing class, I was optimistic that someone would be willing to study with me. I had my headphones popped in, as we walked to the ‘E’ parking lot on campus, where I normally parked. He told me he struggled with the class, mostly in part by not owning the book. Being a nice person, I took on his offer to study with a genuine smile on my face that would ultimately be ripped away. He took my smile when he went to kiss me on the neck. Granted, I would have said no had he asked. It was mind-boggling to me. I was just 20 years old and still coming into my sexuality. I had never had anyone do that to me. It was my first kiss. I remember being frozen. I don’t remember hearing anything else for a few moments. Everything went slow motion as he walked away with a smirk on his face. I tried to speak. I could not get anything out. People walked by like nothing happened. I thought I made it clear that this advance was unwarranted. “Know What I Want,” by Kali Uchis was still playing from my phone through my headphones, and to this day, still I associate it with this moment. Confusion was the main thing on my mind. I sat in my car unable to comprehend why this happened to me. I messaged my friends to confide in them. I was met with laughs and disbelief. I found the humor in it, too, but I knew it was no laughing matter. Honestly, I was not aware of the fact that I had been sexually assaulted. Once I fully realized that it happened to me, everything started to make sense. He was staring at me for weeks, he tried to get my number and he kissed me without asking. Maybe there were signs, but you never really expect it to happen to you. As a gay man, I struggle with my image and how ‘out’ I can be. I began to ask myself, “was it because I am openly gay?” There is no way to hide my true self from coming out. I feared this would happen in the future if I continued to live my truth. I knew that my sexuality was a factor in why he did it, or it at least contributed to his bravery. I knew that if I were straight or even straight passing, he would not have tried it on me. I was the target to act on whatever fantasies he had because of the way I looked. He texted me and I blocked his number before I had saved it. By the next class, I did not look in his direction and I stormed out of the room. I’m not even sure if he stayed in the class until the end of the semester, but I didn’t see him for remaining weeks of the semester. I’ve learned a lot from the experience, especially from being a male victim of assault. It does happen to men too, and it’s just as mentally damaging. Due to how society views gender, hypermasculinity stands in the way of most male survivors from coming out. Since society expects men to always be “manly,” coming forward to talk about experiences that take them to a vulnerable place goes against what society shapes men to be. Some victims that speak out may even be met with denial, much like I was. I am in a place now, where I can talk about it comfortably, but before, I don’t think I would have been able to give my story. I can only hope that the story inspires more people to speak out and for others to take any claim seriously, no matter how minor it may seem. u
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JAHAZIEL VALENCIA Etiquette starts at home. Parents teach us how to act and behave around others. The way our parents behave influences the way we live, whether we choose to admit it or not. My parents taught me to treat others with the same respect they gave me. As a child, I believed that my grandparents must have taught them that, too. Secret internal family struggles split my family apart from my grandparents. I grew up not knowing them, only remembering what they looked like and how they treated me. That was 10 years ago. Only recently have they tried to reconnect with us and form some sort of bond. I was not sure what to expect from my grandparents when they came back into my life. My few existing memories were pleasant. I had memories of being treated kindly. They were a little strict, but fair. From getting to know them more, I recognized similar behaviors between my grandfather and my father. He always asked his wife to make food, where the food was and when the food would be ready. I was not surprised. My grandfather was raised with the belief that men are superior to women. I did not like it, but tolerated
KATY STEGALL Fat women are not allowed to be victims of sexual violence. I learned this after I was sexually assaulted at a bar last year. Women my size are not seen beyond the physical space they take up in a hallway. I am the center of attention in the most humiliating ways, the big blonde elephant in the room. I am not seen for my academic success or my soft heart. I am definitely not seen as attractive. Which is why, as my mother would say, I should be thankful when boys like me. When they grab at me. When they force me against a wall and kiss me when I’m drunk and struggling to get away. I remember his teeth digging tighter into my bottom lip the more I struggled against him. Bite marks were still embedded in my flesh when I washed off the rest of my makeup that night. I had cried most of it off on the drunken drive home. Every aspect of my experience was invalidated before I spoke a word. I went alone to a bar that night, so naturally, I was asking for it. It was dehumanizing to hear a close friend of mine who had also been raped laugh and spout off this ideology less than a week after the assault. This was not a foreign bar. I frequent this place. Almost every bartender knows me—or at least my drink order. I felt comfortable there. I had no reason to doubt my safety. The bartender and two of her friends sat with me as I cried after the incident. She had found me outside with my attacker as she was making rounds to tell everyone it was closing time. I remember my hand reaching out to her as I mumbled something, his teeth still clenched around my lip. He let go when she approached. “He’s a little persistent,” one of the bartender’s friends said. “You’re not the first one he’s done this to.” Then why the fuck was he allowed back, I thought to myself. He was waiting in the shadows of the parking lot when they walked me to my car. He was only two vehicles away. I think about what would have happened had I not had an escort that night, or if the bartender had not come outside. I thought that would be the last time I saw him. It was all I thought about for days after. I felt naked constantly. No amount of clothing or blankets made me feel less exposed. All thought, no words. I didn’t have the courage to tell anyone what had happened. I blamed myself and tried to rewrite history. He was cute. I should have taken it as a compliment, I kept telling myself. It was easier to downgrade what happened versus opening up to a friend and admitting I was at a bar alone when I was attacked. People were curious about why I suddenly had no interest in going to my favorite bar. Telling the truth was not an option for me. I made cheap excuses for fear of having to come clean about what happened that night and the shame I felt. It was my friend’s birthday. At least five months had passed. A few buddies wanted to go to our watering hole to celebrate with him and they chose the bar. I hadn’t been back since the night of the assault. I thought there was no way he would be there. The paranoia I
Alyssa Pajarillo, editor
NEWS
May 25, 2018 — Vol. 61, Issue 6
because I understood the cultural mindset. His lack of respect for women became apparent when my mother told me that of my grandfather sexually harassed my aunts (his niece and daughter-in-law) during family reunions. He would drink to the point of intoxication and when others were not around he harassed, groped or made sexual advances towards them. My aunts eventually told my grandparents’ family what he did. My grandfather denied he did anything. My aunts were “excommunicated” from the family. My family pretended they did not exist. They were seen as liars who wanted to just start problems. My family’s eagerness to believe my grandfather’s every word and banish my aunts showed me what kind of people they are. Many survivors of assault don’t speak up because they are soon seen as liars or problem causers. I am not the naïve child I once was and I’m appalled at what my grandfather has done. His actions allow me to understand that this happens everywhere at jobs, on campuses and in families. Ignorance is bliss for my grandfather’s family because members can continue to live in the bubble they call their life. u was feeling had to be unjustified. The look of terror in his eyes when I walked in proved to me that I wasn’t crazy. He knew exactly what he had done to me that night. I couldn’t breathe. My head was spinning. I couldn’t look at him, but I felt the weight of his body against me all over again. He was across the room, but my body was shutting down the same way it had that night. All I knew was that I needed to get out of that bar immediately without causing a scene. I lied and said karaoke sounded fun. Which meant we needed to go to another bar. We fled and I began chugging rum with hopes of leaving my trauma behind at The Manhattan. This was not the last time I would see him. Seven months passed. I had frequented The Manhattan a few times with friends, even went on a couple of dates there. I hadn’t seen him and assumed he was finally going to be a fixture of my past. I had not gone alone since the night of the assault. I thought I was over what had happened and I had resolved the trauma. It took seeing him a third time to realize I had not moved on. More importantly, I was not the disgusting waste of space I had been saying I was for these last few months. It was him. I was sitting at the bar with live music playing behind me and a fresh rum ‘n coke in front of me. I was easing into my peaceful night alone. An amazing drum solo caught my attention, so I turned around to watch. I was being watched. By him. He was less than two feet away from me, staring at me with the same fear in his eyes that he’d held the last time I saw him. Except I didn’t have friends planked on either side of me. I had no one. I immediately turned around, insecure and terrified once more. The bar wasn’t sardine-packed, but he came up behind me and rubbed himself against my back as he scooted in to flirt with the girl sitting beside me. He turned around and looked at me as he was flirting with her. He had a villainous look in his eyes. I had felt some sort of gratification in his fearful eyes last time, as if he had felt guilt. As if he knew I held the power in being able to report him. This thought process was bullshit. He would have never given up his dominance over the situation. His power grew every time he saw the terror on my face. He knew it when he touched me again. He knew it when he toyed with another potential victim. I left the bar, sober this time. I called my friend on the drive home. I wish I could have called my mom. The logical side of me wanted to believe she would empathize and give advice that mothers are known for. Unfortunately, I know her “words of wisdom” would have inflicted more damage, not cauterized the wound. She has a way of making me feel like a faceless pile of fat. In the past, she has encouraged me to settle down in abusive relationships because, “who else is going to deal with your fat?” Abuse and sexual assault matter. Mothers do not always know best, even though mine taught me to accept whatever shitty behavior is thrown at me by any jerkoff so long as they find me attractive. u
TURNING POINTS Fall 2013 SWC journalism student sexually harassed and threatened with bodily harm. Despite reports to dean and SWCPD, no action is taken. Harassment continues, she drops out. No viable crime or Clery Act data on file, a violation of federal law. 2014 Another student reports sexual assault to Dean Mia McClellan and SWCPD. Promised escorts are no shows. Unguarded woman is nearly beaten to death. After weeks in the hospital, she drops out. 2015 Multiple sexual assaults reported to student affairs and SWCPD. No assistance. No records of reports. A rape victim pounded on
Tel: (619) 482-6368 email: news@theswcsun.com
SWCPD doors after evening class, but people inside shouted “we’re closed!” College dean and police chief openly mock SWC Sun article about sexual assault at an administrators meeting, saying quotes from anonymous victims were “made up.” 2016 First SWC Sun Special Edition on Campus Sexual Assault includes testimonies of rape victims with their names. Following publication, newspaper advisor has a disciplinary letter placed in his personnel file by VPAA. Year-long reporting by The Sun on SWCPD crime logs and Clery Act reports show the college is “seriously out of compliance.” Records are in shambles. U.S. Dept of Ed issues report severely criticizes college which “violated multiple provisions of Clery Act” and failing to share data.
Pres. Melinda Nish forced out. Board unhappy with campus climate and cover ups of serious problems. Sexual Assault issue named Best Collegiate Special Edition published in North America. It won the same honor in 2017. The issue sparks similar publications across the U.S. 2017 Former student worker files lawsuit against SWCPD for alleged sexual assault in HQ. Crime reports and Clery Act records still non-compliant. 2018 College and ASO host Sexual Assault Awareness Week. Crime reports and Clery Act records still non-compliant. President blames new software.
KATY STEGALL
Victoria Sanchez/Staff
AIDE VALDEZ Being a woman and attending school it is very difficult when living in the rural areas of Mexico. When I was in “3rd. grade of secundaria “ in Tijuana, Mexico (US 9th grade). I experienced one of the most frightening experiences anyone could live at fifteen years old. I was on my way home after school and because I was attending afternoon session and it was fall, by the time the school bell ringed (6:45pm). There was no more daylight at the bus stop. Most of the kids lived closed by even my cousin that was on my same classroom but didn’t have a good relationship; therefore I did not approach to her when I realized I had to ask money borrowed for the bus. I knew the last bus departed at 7:00pm so it was a matter of minutes to get the $4.00 pesos the student pass cost. My family was struggling the worst economic situation ever and, I used to do what I could to not stress my mom even more so, I used to told her to not worried about my bus pass that I would figure it out or that I had somehow saved for my week transportation, which very often was a lie. When I was out school looking to borrow the money one of the street “cholo’ guys that usually surround the school tried to talk to me. I was always nice to everyone and even with them because I taught it was better to be their “friends” than reject them like everybody else so we had a short indirect conversation and I left. That day I could not found anybody to borrow me the money so I began walking, I was not the only one on the road of farms, ranches and pretty much a rural poor area.
I started filing alone in the walk and eve though no one accompany me. I could see some small groups letting me behind and vanished in the dark of the night. All of the sudden, I begun to feel the presence of another nightwalker behind me but because it was too dark I could not see anyone only a silluette in the far. A feeling of afraid covered my mind and instantly my body. I began walking fast and slow to confirm if the person was following me. I even walk “almost run” in zig zag to make sure, mean while I remember this TV show where a guy was showing last minute emergency resource to self defense. This expert detective mentioned many ways and things that we can use to try to defend our selves in case of kidnap or attempt rape. One of the things that catched my attention because as a student I always carried with it is the pen stab. Mean while I ran in zigzag I began to held from my back pack as I could breath and move my utensils box. I first got a pencil than I recalled it would broke and I might hurt my self or worst case it would not work. Instantly, I grab a pen and when I could not more run or scream because of the fear I had to abruptly stop. The person was even closer than what I felt. By the time I finished to turn he was grabbing by backpack and even touch my neck. I stabbed the guy in the upper belly, than I twisted the pen like the TV guy said so the injury go deep and bleed more. I remember the guy scream and the warm of his body along with the
texture of his shirt that by the smell most be wore for a week in a row. I run as faster as I could till I got to the lights of the first illuminated house I saw. No one opened the door so I kept running without looking back. It was that dark that I never saw the face of the person. Finally when I got to the first bus road the streetlights let me see my hands paint with the blood of this person. I got shocked and keep running till I got home about six more blocks and again since I did not wanted to scare my mother I keep quite. The next day I show up to school and while in recess I told my friends about what happened, in the alley next to the school there was a group of six houses where I saw this guy with who I spoke outside school, the “cholo” looking straight at me without t-shirt being help by an old women who I think it was his mom helping him to get on a cab. This guy had gauze on her upper belly with a stain of blood and looked at me straight and afraid. I kept this till I was older enough to not live there and afford my own place out of that danger place. Aftermath I began looking for any information and tips to how to avoid or prevent a sexual assault. I found that statistically more women’s with ponytails, small bags are more vulnerable and also that if a woman wares a big bag/purse, high hills, and umbrella or is using her phone is less likely to be attacked. Tips like this are everywhere and, still our decision if one wants to follow them or not. As I did, a single item that I always carried with me knowing how to use it as a double purpose in an emergency saved my life. u