My cousin got jumped when he was walking at night on his college grounds. He had his money stolen and a bruised stomach. I remember showing up there with my mom and my aunt (his mom). He was hunched over and looked hurt, but he was alive. Mind you this, is a 5’11 tall white man. I remember how furious my aunt was with the campus police because they didn’t care.
They told us, “If he didn’t walk at night, he wouldn’t get attacked.”
He didn’t ask for it. He didn’t hop up and down waving, his hands in the air.
He did not yell out, ” Come jump me, come throw your best punch!”
How could it be his fault?
I was about eleven when this happened, and now I am going into this adult world. I know that could happen to me, and it might be a lot worse since I’m a woman. Someone might want more than a couple of wads of cash. Although I know all of this, I try not to think about it. Lately, I have been keeping my mind preoccupied with searching for colleges. There were a couple I found intriguing, trying to give them the benefit of the doubt. I visited the campus of one of the colleges that were on my list. I won’t say the name of the school, so I am going to call it False-Hope University.
I was super excited to see False-Hope University; it was one of the few colleges I found that had my intended major. However, my demeanor soon fizzled out. What was once a fire was now ashes. False-Hope University lived up to its fake name. It handed out false hope like complimentary soaps and shampoos at a hotel. My mom and I sat in the cafeteria eating our complimentary half-cooked french fries.
“Ok, this school is white privilege,” my mom said.
“Yeah, and is full of trust fund babies,” I added.
“Do you just want to leave?” My mom asked.
“No, not yet. I want to give it another chance,” I said.
“Maybe, if I click with professors, I might still want to come here,” I continued.
“Alright,” she said.
After getting lost the sixth time, we finally found our destination and entered the building. A student and a Professor walked over to us to talk, and it went well! I liked the Professor because he was passionate and excited about the future. The student seemed highly stressed because of my questions about the coursework. She then said that she felt supported by her teachers, and I believed her! At this point, I was tempted to apply to False-Hope University. It would not be my top choice, but it would give me more options. As the conversation continued, another Professor walked over and introduced himself. He was the dean of the department.
When I looked at the dean, all I saw were red flags popping up. It happened so quickly, but I knew to trust it.
While this was happening, my mom turned to the student and said, “I have asked some other people, but do you feel safe here?”
“Well, um,” she stuttered.
“I do, but you know if you don’t feel safe. Like when walking back to the dorms at night, you can go into any of the buildings and find someone,” she finished.
“Ah, my daughter has been counting the Blue Lights,” my mom added.
“Yes, and we have the Blue Light System,” the dean interrupted while pointing out the window.
“Wow, there’s another one,” I said sarcastically.
The Blue Light System is similar to a fire alarm, except it contacts the campus police. I have been counting them, and the grand total is four. Two were small, and you could barely see from a distance, and the other two were tall.
Then the dean said, ” If you don’t put yourself into a dangerous place, then nothing should happen to you.”
I was in disbelief. I have never heard anyone say that in person before. Let alone when it is directed at me! I was being victim-blamed for something that had not even happened to me! The Professor changed the subject, but it did not change what the dean said. I might have enjoyed the conversation with Professor; however, I was not going to attend there, let alone apply. I can’t go to a school that would blame me for something that could happen, for something I can not control. No victim of an assault is at fault for what was done to them. It does not matter what time it was or what they were wearing. It is the attacker’s fault; they chose to do it.