I don’t drink because I’m scared of rape culture

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been drunk in my life (one finger, actually), and on that one night I chose to drink because it was the last time I was going to be out with most of my friends for over a year. I just wanted to do something different, to have some fun, and I knew that I was in a safe environment with people who I trusted to ensure nothing bad happened to me.

 

I’ve never thought much about my reasons behind not drinking. Whenever people ask why I respond with generic responses, such as “well I just don’t want to,” and they never really push the question. Sure, it’s kind of an unusual thing in college, but it’s not unheard of.

Then the Stanford rape case attracted national outrage, and everyone learned the name Brock Turner. They also learned how his defense attorney attacked his victim in court, drudging up her sexual history, her partying habits in college, and claiming that there was no way to know for sure whether or not it was, in fact, rape, because she was drunk and had no memory of the night so there was no absolute way to prove that she didn’t consent. Despite the fact that there were eyewitnesses who saw him on top of her behind a dumpster and, legally, she couldn’t consent because she was drunk.

It was then that I realized something that has always been listing about in my subconscious, ever present in almost all of my decisions even though I didn’t realize it until now.

A huge reason I choose not to drink is because I’m scared of what could happen to me. I’m scared of the people I could meet, the mixed signals I might give off, the actions I might allow to happen because of the aforementioned lowering of inhibitions… but most of all, I’m scared of the actions I may not be able to stop. The ones that would be done to me without my consent, that would always leave me wondering, “If I hadn’t gone out that night, would this have happened to me?”

And even beyond that, I’m scared of what could happen afterwards. Of the possibility that I could be blamed for what happened to me, that a defense lawyer could use my intoxication, or the way that I dressed, to claim that I may in fact have wanted it and just couldn’t remember. Of the doubts this would sew in my own subconscious, making me question whether I did consent, and if I’m therefore the one in the wrong by pressing charges. I’m scared of being told to prepare to potentially lose the trial, because I’ve grown up my whole life believing that courts are supposed to serve justice, and what justice is there in finding him not guilty? (It’s worth noting that I’m aware that Brock Turner was found guilty, but many rape trials don’t end this way). To me, that would mean that the jury believed my rapist’s testimony over mine, and that would essentially be tantamount to him violating me all over again.

Let’s look at this in another way: if someone is robbed, no one says “Oh, well were you carrying your wallet in your hand for all the world to see? Because if so, you really can’t blame someone for taking it, you were kind of asking for it.”

So why is it that it is still common to hear, “Oh, well she was drunk, right? Are we sure it’s really rape, what if she consented and then just forgot? If she’s going to choose to partake in these kinds of activities, she can’t be surprised when something like this happens.”

Sexual assault and rape happen regardless of alcohol consumption: being drunk just makes girls easier targets, and makes them less likely to object to something they would otherwise refuse. What would happen, I wonder, if instead of pushing away the boys that come up and start grinding on me without even speaking to me I welcomed them, even encouraged them? Or, what could have happened that night a boy grabbed my vagina as he walked past me (not my ass, my vagina: think about that); if I had turned around and followed him into the room into which he was heading, instead of hurriedly grabbing my friend and leaving the party as fast as possible?

I honestly don’t know, and for me that’s enough of a reason not to find out.