By Emily Carr
During orientation week, we sat through two separate sessions that discussed Title IX and support for victims/survivors of sexual violence. These were mandatory sessions for all incoming graduate students, where we were told how to access support groups if we were victims of sexual violence and given scenarios in which we were asked whether the situation constituted rape or consensual sex.
We went to the services fair in Butler Library and spoke to health and safety services about the sexual health services they offered. We were shown pamphlets on Narcan training, given mini first-aid kits and fidget toys, and provided with QR codes to book appointments.
I am not saying that these talks are unimportant or that these “freebies” were not welcomed by students such as myself. What I am saying is that I believe Columbia is missing something so fundamental that it is desperately needed: sexual education and safety being taught at the start of each term in a robust, honest, realistic, and engaging way.
I am approaching this as a survivor/victim of rape. I decided to challenge the inaction of my alma mater, Cardiff University, in 2023 and then co-founded my own organization with other students called Time to Act. Through this work, we not only changed policing, legislation, and the narrative around sexual violence, but we also worked on the ground with students.
Our method was to team up with local health partners to provide free condoms, lubricant, STI testing kits, and information pamphlets to students directly in teaching sessions. We created a pledge, aptly named “Don’t Be a Sh*tty Committee,” that has been signed by 200 different sports teams and societies at the university. They agreed to take part in in-person training with us and ensure they were holding their communities accountable.
In these sessions, I talk openly and honestly about sex with the knowledge that the students sitting in that room were probably having it. We talk about STIs and how to avoid them. We talk about how to book an appointment to access abortion services or continue a pregnancy. Most of all, we talk about consent. We discuss it not through blasé, scenario-based questions, but in real terms and what consent actually looks like.
I talk about the difference between asking for consent and not asking for consent, and that difference is rape.
I talk about how my life was negatively altered because a man raped me, and how no one did anything about it when they could have stopped him.
I am imploring the young people in these sessions to understand that they could be the difference between a rapist and simply being a decent human being. I do not complicate it with theory or legislation, and I certainly do not leave it open-ended: if you are having “sex” that is not consensual, it is rape.
We get through to young people. We keep them safe, and we at least try to move toward the elimination of rape instead of simple prevention. The onus of responsibility should not be on potential victims/survivors to keep themselves protected; the responsibility should be on potential rapists not to commit these crimes.
So, I look back on our orientation week and ask this: where are the condoms? Where are the warnings to students that if they commit a sexual offence, they are not welcome at this institution? Where is the commitment not just to prevent sexual violence but to eliminate it entirely?
Columbia needs to step up to the plate on this. Every higher education institution desperately needs to. My story as a rape victim/survivor is indicative of the consequences of institutional inactivity and, I would go so far as to say, ignorance.
I believe that change is possible. Whilst my alma mater continues to have issues, I rest in the knowledge that, right now, that is okay. There is a community of young people willing to pick up the slack.
I know they are here too.