The movement against on-campus assault in September and October of 2021 took the St. Lawrence University community by storm. For all but a moment, it felt as if there were a change in the wind. A protest with hundreds of students was held on the yard of the MacAllaster house as peers spanning across race, gender, and religion voiced their pain at the University’s uncanny tendency to brush the wide-spanning issue of assault under the rug. A petition for change with nearly 1,000 signatories was circulated, and comments contained outcry not only from students but professors and alumni as well. A forum where students demanded answers was held. Take Back the Night, (an evening dedicated to hearing survivors’ stories) had an overwhelming turnout.
And yet, there has been no tangible change.
Even during the movement, the sentiment of remorse for survivors was fraught with performance. It seemed as though despite being told ‘we hear you,’ most of the anguish victims expressed fell on deaf ears. Rumors circulated the campus of male-dominated organizations pre-gaming Take Back the Night. To every cry of “hold perpetrators accountable,” there was an equally harrowing response of “innocent until proven guilty.”
I ask the latter respondent this: what happens when they are proven guilty? What happens when multiple accusations exist for the same student? What happens when the Title IX rollback of the last five years makes it nearly impossible to remove guilty parties from campus without facing a federal lawsuit? The fact of the matter is this: after a month and a half of outrage, students that were sexually assaulted are still living on the same, 1.7 square mile campus as their offender.
During the earlier weeks of November, I sensed a sort of burnout in my peer’s passion for the issue – and that’s fine; a student body can only direct so much consistent energy towards such an emotionally draining subject. A coalition and I took to forming a committee dedicated to the installation of a Sexual Assault Resource Center on the St. Lawrence campus – a permanent fixture for students here that would act as a combination of existing resources with the addition of new ones, all in one location. The Center would offer connections to outside and on-campus resources for different courses of action: assistance in police report filing, acquisition of STD or pregnancy tests, and even drivers to receive rape kits at the hospital were all included in planning. Trauma counseling, a social calendar of therapeutic events for survivors and their friends, and a staff of paid, advocate trained students mixed with professionals. The list went on.
More importantly, the Center would be overseen above the administrative level by a diverse panel of students positioned in organizations devoted to inclusivity, sexual wellness, and sexual safety. Students every year would decide if the Center was performing to proper standards. This format meant that the power would be in the hands of those who the issue of sexual assault affected the most; it would be passed down year by year to be molded and adjusted to the student body’s current needs.
The idea in its early form was brought to a meeting with President Morris around this time, and after about an hour of sitting and conversing, I was told that a task force of sorts was being created within the administration to handle the issue of sexual assault on campus. To my knowledge, this panel is currently acting under the title of the “Sexual Violence Prevention and Sexual Wellness Advisory Committee.” A correspondent on this committee (who will go unnamed) has communicated to me that “they’re trying virtual focus groups for students, [are] in the process of getting two hourly staff members to join the group… it seems like they’re still in the formality side of things to me – getting approval for names and adding more members.”
Got it. But it’s been almost three months since my meeting with President Morris was held.
“I know that [student organizations] are working to collaborate and to host more events this semester about consent and substance awareness,” my correspondent said – “but it seems like students are the ones trying to move the process along faster than the administration.”
I’ll say. I understand that this is a process that is sure to take time if done properly, but students and survivors haven’t been thrown a bone from the administration since the open forum on assault was held in late November. At the pace that the St. Lawrence University Administration is moving, half of the affected student body will have graduated by the time any realistic resource for their trauma is put in place. There can be as much talk about planning within the administrative community as people please – as many focus groups, surveys, and meetings as one can cram into a schedule. But the point remains: tangible action needs to be taken for students – and for the reputation of St. Lawrence University as well.
It was two weeks ago that I visited a store I often frequent in Canton and I, as well as a local, engaged in a discussion on hookup culture at school.
“You know,” she said to me, “a woman came in here the other day with her daughter on a visit. I don’t remember the exact conversation, but she mentioned that she was nervous about her child attending because St. Lawrence has the highest rate of on-campus assault in the North Country.”
Now, I’m not sure if there’s actually validity to this claim. In fact, I’m certain that this isn’t true at all. My best bet is that this mother was referencing a report published in 2021 by the New York State Department of Education on campus assault; St. Lawrence certainly didn’t have the highest rate, but it did have a comparatively high number for its size. Either way, the point still stands: SLU has a bad rap beyond the indignation present within the student body.
If those who pull the strings at St. Lawrence won’t install permanent fixtures for change on behalf of the students that already go here – for God’s sake, do it on behalf of prospective ones. We cannot watch another generation of students come through this school, shouting until their throats are burnt for some kind of change to occur, and graduate both exhausted and disappointed.
I am a Saint at heart. I love this university with everything in me, but moments like these make my chest swell with shame. I want to keep it in good faith that those who head and operate our administrative departments care about students. I know they aren’t trying to keep us quiet, but the burnout on issues like these – issues that leave students alone in their rooms, cheeks stained with tears, resenting this college for not caring more attentively about life changing issues – makes me worry not only for my peers, but for those who will come here long after I’m gone.
As students, we need to leave this campus better than we found it; the classes to push for administrative change in the handling of sexual assault is an unmatched legacy to leave. Those legacies are what matter in the grand scheme of things – what matters isn’t necessarily being remembered. It’s simply ensuring that the plights students suffer here are not being forgotten.