And It Happened Because …

I live in a college town.  That means a lot of things:  Art galleries, concerts that wouldn’t have come my way in Monroe, Washington, robust political discussion, and the realization that some of the dumbest people I know have Ph.Ds.

It also means that I read a lot of newspaper articles about alcohol-inundated frat parties, drunken students, and sexual violence.  Often, the sexual violence occurs in the aftermath of alcohol-inundated frat parties to drunken young women, leading to community-wide murmuring regarding how girls these days ought to be more careful, more chaste, less intoxicated, and less trusting.  It’s clear that being careless, reckless, intoxicated, and undiscerning ups the risk of being raped — as too many young women know all too well — and I wish none of our young people engaged in the intoxication culture so prevalent in the college years.  More libraries, fewer libations, I say.

But missing in this analysis of female student safety amidst the raucous atmosphere of university life is one thing, and that one thing is the most important, and really the only, point when discussing sexual assault:

Rape happens because there’s a rapist.  Period.

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