I am an anonymous rape victim. You pass me on the quads, see me in the dining hall and observe me at Mass, always blending in, one of a sea of smiling Notre Dame faces.

I am not a rape victim in the conventional sense. There was no brutality, no late night walk in the woods. It happened here, not far from the shelter of campus. Blurred by alcohol, the night comes back to me in frantic images and phrases. I don't remember the bar we stumbled into after the dance and the walk off-campus to his house escapes me. But it happened — and I have never again been the trusting person I once was.

Lacking the courage to confront him in person, afraid of backlash from his many friends and frightened by the emotional repercussions of pressing charges, this letter and a few select confidantes have been my only outlets. My parents don't know. After weeks of going through the motions, tears finally broke loose the other night.

The University must address the culture of silence that conceals my story and the hundreds of others just like it. Producing "The Vagina Monologues," a play that simultaneously explores the stifled, everyday violence perpetrated against women, while uplifting female sexuality, is a step in the right direction. However frank and potentially shocking the language used may be, I can assure you that repression is a far worse offense. Freedom of speech is a glorious thing. This is one subject that we need to talk about.

Anonymous

February 25, 2002

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