My first semester at Oberlin, I enrolled in a course called Introduction to Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies. I examined the syllabus with an excited eye. The readings were from many of my favorite authors and intellectuals like Angela Davis, Bell Hooks, and June Jordan, along with an array of authors whose work I had not been exposed to. Despite the diversity emphasized in the course readings, I attended the class and was surprised to find that I was one of a handful of students of color in attendance. 

Over time I quickly noticed the impact that the racial makeup of the class had on student-led discussions. While analyzing systems of oppression was expected in classroom discussions, many students who were not POC discussed America’s systems of oppression without race in mind. When referring to America’s power system, which subjugates Brown, Black, impoverished, and queer people, students harshly critiqued the system, rarely acknowledging their own participation and place in upholding the system they critiqued. I remember a particular white student who would often remark on the amusingly cringey things white people would do. Afterward, many other white students in the class would agree and remarked on their own experiences of “ridiculous things white people would say.” 

  I listened both enraged and stunned — why did my white peers think that they were separate from the white people they were making fun of? They too were born into privilege and were just as capable of holding unfair biases toward people of color and making tone-deaf remarks. The harm of my peers’ comments is that they separated themselves from systems of oppression; it implied that by being woke and liberal, a white individual does not have the status of “whiteness” in America. By the status of “whiteness,” I refer to the inherent racial position of power and privilege of being born white in America. Privilege does not change based on one’s personal political views. When the white students in my classes refuse to acknowledge their own place in the racial hierarchy, they are not truly interrogating the systems of oppression which they are critiquing. In addition, these students harm their peers of color. Much of the privilege that white people hold and the experiences of racism that impact people of color are normalized. The normalization of Black and Brown people’s marginalization can make it more challenging for people of color to express themselves. When white Oberlin students separate themselves from systems of oppression, they, like much of the world they critique, are creating a culture where it becomes difficult for students of color to discuss their own marginalization. There is no acknowledgement of their experiences of oppression within Oberlin’s campus, even when, at times, the oppression is enacted by the white Oberlin students themselves.  

Another aggravation I felt from my class discussions in my GSFS  was the lack of intersectionality when discussing queer issues. While many students in the class had interesting things to say about issues affecting queer people, I noticed that, when I brought up the oppressive experiences of queer people specific to people of color, there would be few students who responded or added comments. Not acknowledging the ways queer experiences differ based on class and race can make it more challenging for queer students of color to feel comfortable in these spaces. 

The lack of intersectionality in queer spaces at Oberlin is an issue I have felt beyond my GSFS class. Many of these spaces center the experiences of white students. I have found it incredibly difficult to engage in the queer community at Oberlin. I am a Black queer woman. I consider my sexuality an imperative aspect of my identity, but just as imperative, if not more so, is my racial identity. My race, gender, and sexuality are all inherently linked. When I feel I am being asked to separate these identities within a space, I do not feel comfortable.

Due to the ignorance and tone-deafness of many of my white peers, my Intro to Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies class became a very challenging space for me to be in. There is something incredibly frustrating about discussing readings and issues that directly relate to one’s own identity and not feeling heard. I felt that my peers didn’t want to actually critique systems of oppression. Instead, it seems, they would rather use it as an opportunity to showcase their separation from other white and privileged people. 

Once my class ended, I decided to shift my focus to other departments such as English, Africana Studies, and Politics in order to better engage with my own gender and racial identities. However, I truly wish that I had the opportunity to explore issues of race, gender, and sexuality within the GSFS major as I had desired upon coming to Oberlin. 

If Oberlin students wish to study gender, sexuality, and feminism, they must acknowledge their own privilege and the specific experience of people of color within these areas. Without doing so, they fail to truly understand and analyze gendered systems of power. Oberlin’s students of color deserve to feel heard and cared for, especially in spaces which are intended to center marginalized experiences.

Attending a college that had a commitment to diversity and claimed to be engaged in social issues was very important to me. Part of the reason I chose Oberlin was its history of supporting marginalized communities. Oberlin College was the first college in the United States to grant undergraduate degrees in a coeducational program and the first college to admit non-white students. In many ways, Oberlin students do have extreme commitments to social issues and marginalized communities. There are over 20 student organizations dedicated to identity and 13 student organizations dedicated to politics and activism. In addition, any Oberlin student would tell you that there are countless events each week on campus, many of which revolve around global and local politics and activism. Despite this, I know few Oberlin students who read the news and, while I have had many conversations with students revolving around issues of diversity and inclusion at Oberlin College, I have scarcely had dialogues on everyday political events. In addition I have found that we often congratulate ourselves for being socially and politically engaged when, as individuals privileged enough to gain this education, it is in no way something that makes us impressive. 

I believe there are many reasons for this lack of conversation surrounding current events among Oberlin students. The decline of local news outlets has been an issue for decades, especially among the Gen Z population. While it is false to say that younger people solely get their news from social media outlets, the American Press Institute in 2022 found that the main source of news for Gen Z and Millennials is social media. Social media in many ways can be an extremely valuable tool to spread information on politics and current events; however it can also lack in-depth analysis on opinions and global issues. The lack of young people across the globe interacting with traditional and local news outlets is surely an aspect to the problem of Oberlin students’ lack of knowledge around current issues. 

There is also the issue of the sheer amount of involvement Oberlin students have. I am a subscriber to The New York Times, The Atlantic, and The Wall Street Journal; however, with all my academics, extracurriculars, and readings, finding time to keep up with the news is extraordinarily challenging. I am in no way the only student overwhelmed by academics and extracurriculars; we are a student body who loves to be a part of an unbearable number of organizations and course overload. While this can be a fantastic thing, it also means that in our spare free time we most likely will not dedicate our time to reading the news. 

However, I think the most pressing and truthful reason Oberlin students have a lack of awareness and discussions surrounding current events is we are a population that enjoys to center ourselves in the issues most pressing in our world. Oberlin is an incredibly privileged student body: it’s predominantly white and extremely wealthy. An aspect of privilege is that it causes one to think most about one’s own position in the world. This can be incredibly true for Oberlin students. 

While, as I stated earlier, I have rarely had discussions around current events, I often have overheard and had discussions over the ways Oberlin College mistreats the student body’s marginalized communities. This is something Oberlin students too often congratulate ourselves for, when as individuals privileged enough to gain this education it is in no way something that makes us impressive. Also a problem in these discussions, is that while they are not inherently wrong or unnecessary, there is a level in which we care about these issues because we connect to them. To have a discussion around, say, the devastating floods in Libya, takes a desire to talk about political issues that may not have an impact on ourselves. In addition, it takes a desire to educate ourselves on issues that may not relate to our academics, extracurriculars, or personal identities. Lacking knowledge of political and current events unrelated to ourselves renders us unable to have a true understanding of social and political issues. In addition, we do not stay true to our values of wanting to better our society, and supporting marginalized communities. 

It is easy for students to say they defend disenfranchised communities, are anti-capitalist, and fight against systems of oppression. These are beliefs that align with the majority of the Oberlin student community’s moral compass. To have a true understanding of what it means to be disenfranchised and how the systems of oppression function we have to understand them beyond our community which unfortunately means spending even more time reading. I encourage all the students reading this article, to read another, or maybe even listen to The Daily — and try not to pat yourself on the back for doing it.

Rape culture: it’s a concept most of us have heard of and know is present in our society, but we prefer not to acknowledge it. Sexual violence is incredibly uncomfortable to speak about. It’s personal and horrendous. What’s even scarier is the amount of people who experience sexual violence and its normalization in our culture. Marshall University’s Women’s and Gender Center defines rape culture as “an environment in which rape is prevalent and in which sexual violence against women is normalized and excused.” While there has been a wider recognition of rape culture within our society, it still continues to flourish on some of our society’s biggest stages. 

The recent case of celebrities Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher defending their friend convicted of rape is a perfect example. On Sept. 7, Danny Masterson, their That ’70s Show costar, was sentenced to 30 years to life in prison for the rape of two women. The violence Masterson perpetuated toward these two women is an example of the unfortunate commonality of rape in our culture. But what has also made headlines about this case is Mila Kunis and Ashton Kutcher’s character letters. The letters, which they wrote ahead of Materson’s sentencing, urge Judge Charlaine Olmedo to lessen the sentence for Masterson and describe the kindness of his character. 

In Kunis’ letter, she describes Masterson as being “instrumental in [her] growth.” In addition, Kutcher states, “I do not believe he is an ongoing harm to society and having his daughter raised without a present father would [be] a tertiary injustice in and of itself.” What’s so upsetting about these statements is that they lessen the impact of the harm that Masterson committed. To state that Masterson getting jail time would harm his daughter also places blame on the victims; it asks the judge to empathize with him when, in truth, it is Masterson who decided to risk being separated from his daughter by committing horrific crimes. The two faced an extreme amount of backlash from these letters. While the backlash is, without a doubt, deserved, I couldn’t help feeling anger at its hypocrisy. The majority of our society upholds the same beliefs and behaviors that Kutcher and Kunis demonstrate.

The majority of liberal people, especially at a school like Oberlin College, would say they support survivors of sexual harm. Yet sexual violence and the silencing of victims, especially against women and on college campuses, is still rampant and normalized. The Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network estimates that one in six American women have experienced rape or attempted rape — and this does not include other forms of sexual violence like harassment or assault. This is particularly scary for young women. Women in college, aged 18–22, are three times more likely to experience sexual violence than women in general, according to RAINN. From experience in talking with student survivors, I know that, like at many colleges, sexual violence is a major issue at Oberlin College.

Since beginning my studies at Oberlin College, I have worked with Survivors of Sexual Harm & Allies, an Oberlin student-led group intended to promote healing, empowerment, and activism for survivors of sexual harm and their allies. Working in the survivor space at Oberlin has exposed me to the fact that countless students have experienced sexual harm on our campus. 

One of the reasons that I chose Oberlin College is that I felt a small liberal arts college would be a safer community than a larger university when it came to sexual violence. However, I quickly learned that rape culture and sexual violence were prevalent at Oberlin College, just like at other colleges across the country. What makes the issue of sexual violence and rape culture at Oberlin College particularly challenging is the way Oberlin students pride themselves on being extremely liberal and woke. It’s uncomfortable for Oberlin students, who view themselves as having more progressive and accepting beliefs than most of society, to acknowledge how they may perpetuate rape culture.

Rape culture at Oberlin is often expressed in the ways that excuse the behavior of perpetrators of sexual harm — especially when they are close friends. When an individual is accused of sexually assaulting someone in our community, I have often heard phrases from students like, “That’s not the type of guy he is,” or, “Trust me, I know him.” This rhetoric makes survivors of sexual violence feel that they will not be believed if they come out with their story and takes away blame from perpetrators of sexual harm. We like to believe that strangers we never interact with commit sexual violence, but in truth, most survivors experience sexual harm from people they know. It is challenging to reckon with the fact that our loved ones and people in our community can commit sexual violence. But if we refuse to acknowledge this, we are silencing survivors and promoting the very rape culture we denigrate.  

Many people were shocked by Kunis and Kutcher’s letters in defense of Masterson. The two are beloved figures and have worked previously in spaces to support survivors and victims of human trafficking. In truth, Oberlin College students also defend abusers. While recognizing and criticizing Kunis and Kutcher’s behavior is important, we should take this as an opportunity to think about the way their letters reflect the harmful nature of rape culture. We should take the opportunity to look inward at our own community and the ways we participate in silencing sexual harm survivors. 

Barbie is one of many examples of white feminism being popular in mainstream media. Legally Blonde, a classic chick flick and a movie focusing on female empowerment, stars — like Barbie — a beautiful, blonde, white woman. While Legally Blonde was made more than 20 years prior to Barbie, the film similarly universalizes the experiences of women and ignores racial and class hierarchies which influence women’s experiences of oppression. While Legally Blonde does showcase a woman finding her independence, the main character’s ability to do this is only possible due to her status as a white, upper-class woman. The majority of women do not have the funds to attend Harvard, and would not be able to get accepted by simply getting a high LSAT score. In addition, both Legally Blonde and Barbie center white, beautiful, skinny, cis women, showcasing that, in pop culture, white women are most acclaimed. The issue of white women being at the center of mainstream feminism is one that has been an issue in feminist movements for decades. 

During the second-wave feminist movement, many Black women advocated for the need of intersectional feminism. Intersectional feminism is the understanding that systems of oppression affect people differently based on their varying identities including class, race, gender, and sexuality. One of the most famous community organizations advocating for intersectional feminism is the Combahee River Collective, which was a Black and Brown women-led organization that emerged in the 1970s to fight against the oppressive systems that most affect Black and Brown women’s lives. In the Combahee River Collective’s “Black Feminist Statement,” they critiqued the “fractionalization that white women who are separatist demand.” In this statement the Combahee River Collective was critiquing the demands from white women arguing that they should separate from all men. For Black and Brown women, it is imperative to show solidarity toward Black men due to their shared experience of racial oppression. While Barbie and Legally Blonde do not advocate for the separation of men and women, they do depict women as the victims of the gender system and men as the perpetrators. America Ferrera states that “women have to answer for bad men’s behavior.” But, historically, many white women have weaponized their power against Black men. For example, in America’s Jim Crow era, Black men were thought to be feared by white women due to an image created by white society that Black men are hypersexual predators. This resulted in the unjust lynching of thousands of Black men. In this way, white women held power over Black men. 

 The “patriarchy” in Barbie and Legally Blonde is seen as a binary of men oppressing women when, in truth, the gender hierarchy is extremely complicated and also connected to America’s racial system. Women are not oppressed by men, rather by capitalist systems that enable a small percentage of individuals to succeed and gain wealth and the majority to live in poverty. Racism and sexism are tools of this system. Mainstream feminism promotes the idea that, if women realize their individuality and the way males’ expectations of them limit them, they will find power. However, the majority of women’s lives will not change if they realize their potential, because the majority of women do not have the privilege that the main characters Barbie and Elle Woods have. A lower class position, which often coincides with experiences of racial and gender injustice, can not change for a woman due to a shift in her mentality. Instead, overarching systemic change is critical. 

Despite this, it is important to note that lots of media that promotes white feminism has value and is simply fun. I love Greta Gerwig’s Little Women, and Legally Blonde is one of my comfort movies. However, it is important to recognize the limitations of the ideologies promoted in these films. They are simplistic versions of feminism that only apply to upper class white women. In order for women to gain liberation, feminism necessitates the understanding that every woman experiences different types of oppression based on their identities.

Take Back the Night, a worldwide protest to combat sexual and gender-based violence, was first held in 1877 in London, England. Today, college campuses around the United States continue to hold Take Back the Night in support of sexual harm survivors. 

Whenever I tell people I’m involved in SOSHA, there is a moment of silence. I can sense others’ discomfort with the simple acknowledgement that I am a survivor of sexual harm. I understand this. Sexual harm and gender-based violence is challenging to reckon with, and many people have not processed their own experiences of sexual violence. However, approximately one in three women worldwide experience some sort of physical or sexual violence in their lifetime, and women in college between the ages of 18–24 are three times more likely to experience sexual violence than women in general. It is clear that sexual violence is a massive issue, especially on college campuses. I joined SOSHA’s advocacy team to bring these issues of sexual violence to light. 

After my experience with assault on Oberlin’s campus in January, I thought further about how the Oberlin community talks about topics pertaining to sexual harm. At Oberlin, we have important and necessary conversations about practicing consent, but we don’t talk often enough about what happens after consent is violated. What do you do if you or someone you know experiences sexual harm? Take Back the Night is an event which centers survivors in the conversation of sexual harm. Its goal is to address what members of our community can do if you or someone you know experiences sexual harm. 

SOSHA’s third annual Take Back the Night in Peters Hall included a speak-out, where members from the Oberlin community spoke or sang about topics surrounding sexual harm, marched around campus, and celebrated resilience. During the speak-out and celebration, I felt so proud of all the speakers and performers for having the courage to share their stories. All the performers held so much beauty, strength, and resilience. I felt honored to share the stage with them. 

I decided to perform at Take Back the Night somewhat spontaneously. I didn’t write my speech until a few days prior to the event. I was nervous to talk about my experience of sexual assault on Oberlin’s campus: I didn’t want my time at Oberlin to be defined by my experience of sexual violence. I didn’t want to deal with the questioning that can come when you tell people that you have experienced sexual assault. Still, I decided to speak at Take Back the Night because I no longer wanted to feel ashamed of what had happened to me. I hoped sharing my story would encourage other survivors to speak out. After my speech I felt an immense sense of power. 

An element of planning Take Back the Night that was really important to me was making Take Back the Night as intersectional of an event as possible. As a Black woman, I have found that my experiences of sexual violence have been largely influenced by my race. Sometimes when talking about sexual violence, we leave out the history of sexual violence enacted against women of color in America. In order to have truthful discussions about sexual violence, we must acknowledge the variety of survivor experiences influenced by race, gender, sexuality, and class.

The most surprising aspect of the event for me was the outpouring of emotions from performers and audience members. After the speak-out, somebody came up to me in tears saying, “Your speech was amazing, I am so proud of you.” I had messages from people telling me what the speech and the event had meant to them and how it made them want to talk and process their own experiences of sexual violence more. Students talking publicly about experiences of sexual harm destigmatizes the topic of sexual assault. Sexual assault is incredibly isolating and devastating. To know that there are other people who have had similar experiences makes survivors feel less alone. In addition, we hope that people speaking about their experiences of sexual harm will force the Oberlin student body to deal with the pervasive issue of sexual violence on our campus. 

Despite attending Oberlin College for less than a year, I have already heard countless stories of individuals experiencing sexual violence on campus. Outside of the SOSHA spaces, however, I notice that, as a community, we rarely talk about sexual violence. This lack of discussion stems from the discomfort in acknowledging that people in our community are capable of committing sexual harm. But in failing to acknowledge the sexual harm on our campus we are silencing sexual harm survivors. Only when we talking about issues of sexual harm can we support survivors and help end the rape culture that perpetuates sexual violence. 

I ended my speech by addressing the allies present at the event: “To the allies here tonight, don’t take your role lightly. You can have an incredible impact with small acts of grace and support.” I say the same thing to all the readers of this article. I ask that you show support to sexual harm survivors and attend survivor visibility events. We must continue to talk about these issues and raise awareness in order to properly support sexual harm survivors.