Taking back the night

On April 13, I took back the night. It wasn’t how I had planned to spend my Friday night, to be honest. I was interested in SHARE’s Take Back the Night event but it was less than warm, I had a movie waiting in my Netflix queue and as usual I was much too lazy to leave Rockefeller College. Nonetheless, I felt inclined to show a little support, so I pulled on a sweatshirt and made my way to the Butler Amphitheater with a friend.

I hadn’t known what to expect. As SHARE is Princeton’s premiere resource for fostering a community of consent and ending sexual assault and violence, I assumed that the event would be dedicated to something along those lines. But, as I quickly learned, the event was not meant to talk “along the lines” of rape, to say things vaguely or to talk unambiguously about the issue at hand. Take Back the Night was a night to break the silence surrounding sexual and relationship violence. It was a night to teach and learn. As the SHARE peers each read a horrifying fact having to do with sexual violence, it became irrefutably clear that this topic — so often brushed under the rug, ignored and downplayed — was in the open, full-fledged and brutally exposed, and there would be no shying away from it.

The night progressed with heart-wrenching stories from victims of sexual harassment and assault read by the SHARE peers. We turned on the battery-powered candles we’d been given in support of the struggles and strength of these victims. The main speaker for the night, River Huston, opened with lighthearted jokes and eased the weight of such a painful subject. And then slowly her story became one of hardship like I’ve never heard before, and I wondered how a woman with such life, such compassion for people, could have experienced all the horrors that she described. Her story is not mine to tell, but I will say her words were truly inspiring. There is something indescribable in hearing someone speak of their journey and seeing with your own eyes that their words are true and that there is real hope even in broken lives. I didn’t cry out of pity for Huston. In fact, she commented that there was nothing worse than pity. I cried for her strength and her inspiration and for the simple fact that she was here and she was all right, despite everything she had been through. I cried because, even in the face of the pain and suffering, she was beautiful.

When Huston finished, the floor was opened up to anyone who felt they had something to share. We sat in silence for a few drawn out moments and, though I was certain that the people around me must have been as touched as I, I was equally certain that those quiet moments were bound to extend into much longer dead-silent minutes. Rape is not an easy topic to discuss, and I couldn’t imagine there would be anyone brave enough to try.

Then there was an unexpected rustling and a girl walked, shaking perhaps from the cold or perhaps from the very weight of the words she was about to say, to the podium. And following her there was another student, and after her another, and then another. Both guys and girls, survivors and supporters, stood in front of the group and shared their stories, hopes and triumphs. Many started their stories with “I’ve never told anyone this before,” or “I wasn’t sure I was going to come up here,” but in the end they all did.

That night I was truly inspired by the people that told their stories. The bravery of those survivors in sharing their personal lives is a bravery I can only hope to one day possess in other aspects of my life. But even in my admiration for these people, there is heartbreak. There shouldn’t be that many people getting up with horrific stories or tales of friends and family members who have endured such tragedy. One story is one too many. We often live in idealistic ignorance in which rape is a foreign notion, relationship violence something that happens outside of our Orange Bubble. I know that these things exist, but I don’t like to imagine that they could happen here, to people that I see everyday. When these topics are swept under the rug, when victims and supporters alike remain silent, these horrors are all too easily pushed to the recesses of thought and replaced with worries of paper deadlines and quiz dates.

Take Back the Night did just as it set out to do — it broke the silence. There can be no shying away from the truth when it is displayed so powerfully by so many wonderful people. Sexual violence and relationship violence exist right here in our seemingly perfect world. As Take Back the Night proved, it should not and cannot go unnoticed any longer. Take Back the Night was only one evening, but it is my hope and indeed my plea that we will not let its message stop there.

Chelsea Jones is a freshman from Ridgefield, Conn. She can be reached at chelseaj@princeton.edu.