XPost: ba.politics, dc.media, soc.penpals   
   XPost: alt.burningman   
   From: smaynard@ucla.edu   
      
   The University of California, Santa Barbara was much more than   
   just a college to me. It was the place that helped save me from   
   a self-destructive lifestyle, where I learned to love myself,   
   where I made lifelong friendships. It was UCSB's incredible   
   faculty and staff that gave me an outstanding education, taught   
   me about privilege, and gave me the opportunity to be involved   
   on campus as a Resident Assistant and editor for the student-run   
   newspaper, the Daily Nexus. Sadly, UCSB is also where I learned   
   firsthand the horrors of sexual assault, and just how easy it   
   was for hate crimes to thrive in a notoriously beautiful party   
   town.   
      
   When Elliot Rodger killed six innocent UCSB students and injured   
   13 individuals, he did more than just commit heinous crimes --   
   he illuminated the fact that women everywhere live in fear. The   
   hashtag #YesAllWomen started trending, with thousands of women   
   sharing their experiences of sexual assault, harassment,   
   violence and inequality. Rodger committed a horrific hate crime,   
   driven by misogyny and feelings of entitlement. He blamed women   
   for his misery and used women as an excuse for violence. He hid   
   among thousands of people, unnoticed except by his parents and   
   psychiatrist, and plotted a disgusting and tragic event.   
      
   The streets of Isla Vista will never be the same. I remember   
   walking to I.V. Deli Mart, the same location where 20-year-old   
   Chris Martinez was shot and killed, to purchase tea before   
   heading to class or work. While students have placed flowers in   
   the bullet holes in the window, the sadness and grief may never   
   be patched.   
      
   Pardall Road, the street connecting the small town of Isla Vista   
   to the campus, was where students like myself and Chris Martinez   
   walked multiple times a day. We met with friends, picked up   
   lunch, and created memories. Sabado Tarde Road was where I   
   parked my car and spent hours laughing with my friends. Del   
   Playa Drive was where I lived my senior year of college; where I   
   woke up to the smell of the ocean, partied with friends, and   
   studied. Unfortunately, Del Playa was also where I experienced   
   sexual harassment, heard homophobic and racist hate speech, and   
   saw numerous acts of violence.   
      
   Each year, thousands of people would travel to Isla Vista to   
   party and indulge in the gorgeous scenery. With student-run Co-   
   Ops, surf and bicycle shops, regular concerts in the parks, a   
   thriving Greek community, and a plethora of student   
   organizations, Isla Vista seems like paradise on the outside.   
   But once you look past the sea of beautiful people, the organic   
   foods, and kegs lining Del Playa, you'll find a community where   
   darkness easily hides, overshadowed by dub-step and glistening   
   sunsets.   
      
   For every epic house party, there were at least 10 acts of   
   violence. I couldn't walk down the street without being   
   approached or touched by a man who thought of me as a plaything.   
   These men didn't see me as a woman with rights. I was just   
   another object they felt entitled to have. When I rejected their   
   advances, I'd be called a "bitch" or an "ugly slut." My friends   
   were raped, sometimes drugged, and left with feelings of regret,   
   filthiness, sorrow and rage. They were made to feel guilty when   
   they had done nothing wrong, because they so often heard things   
   like, "women who wear short skirts are asking for it," and "it's   
   your fault for not fighting back." My heart is heavy with   
   sadness for all of the women who were physically and emotionally   
   abused. While they are survivors, they will never be able to   
   erase the injustices they faced. Walking around safely should   
   not be a privilege; it needs to be a right.   
      
   But we don't hear these women's stories. We hear about the all-   
   night ragers and scenic views instead, which makes it easy for   
   people like Rodger to hide among the masses and harbor vicious   
   plans. Even more commonplace problems, such as the eating   
   disorder I had, so often go unnoticed. I was able to hide my   
   pain and self-loathing under a smile. I participated in school   
   events and organizations. I went out to parties and social   
   gatherings with friends. I was able to fool most people into   
   thinking I was the happiest girl on campus, blending in to the   
   crowd of fun-loving people. My story is far too common. I came   
   to know many people who were casting the same illusion while   
   deeply hurting inside. So many students are dealing with their   
   parents' divorce, a death, racism, homophobia, homesickness and   
   a myriad of other issues that they never talk about.   
      
   While UCSB has great mental health services, of which I took   
   advantage of in college, there is still such a huge stigma   
   surrounding treatment and counseling that scares students.   
   Hundreds, if not thousands, of students are choosing not to get   
   help because society has labeled people with mental health   
   conditions as "crazy" or "insane." Some students I knew didn't   
   want to utilize the resources provided because they felt their   
   problems weren't worthy. They thought, "I live in a wonderful   
   place and am given opportunities many people would love to have,   
   so it'd be selfish of me to complain."   
      
   There's nothing insane or selfish about talking to a   
   professional, no matter how small you may think your problem is.   
   You don't have to have a disorder to seek help. Sometimes just   
   talking to someone about the stresses that come with moving away   
   from home and taking tough courses can help make the transition   
   so much easier.   
      
   UCSB has a fantastic Women's Center that provides a safe space   
   for women to share their experiences or just take a break from   
   the day. But countless women were too afraid to tell their   
   stories of harassment and abuse in fear that they would be   
   labeled, further shamed, or that the perpetrator would be in   
   trouble. Some women may have even felt that their experiences   
   weren't worthy of being shared; weren't violent enough, shocking   
   enough, or as awful as other survivor experiences. I hope all   
   women can learn that their lived experiences do matter. Whether   
   they are cat-called or raped, sexual violence and harassment is   
   never acceptable. Just because you live in a beautiful place   
   doesn't mean you won't see terribly ugly behaviors. Your story   
   matters.   
      
   It's empowering to see my college community coming together to   
   grieve and celebrate the lost lives, to stand strong in   
   solidarity with one another. My heart is broken for the families   
   and friends affected by this senseless act of violence, and I   
   can only hope people all over the world will start supporting   
   each other on a more regular basis. In order to move forward, we   
   need to encourage healing and be kind. We need to look inside   
   and ask ourselves and our loved ones if things are really   
   "okay." Because something has to change, and we can't be afraid   
   to take action.   
      
   http://www.huffingtonpost.com/madison-medeiros/ucsb-community-   
   stands-in-_b_5399185.html   
      
   Let's start by painting a target on Madison and dropping her off   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)