ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, August 5, 1996 TAG: 9608050043
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BRENDA RENEE CONNER
NOT OFTEN does a controversy reach our newspapers when an individual has personal experience with both sides of the issue; rarer still is also being acquainted with one of the major players.
I attended law school with Eileen Wagner, the attorney representing Christy Brzonkala in her lawsuit against the two Virginia Tech football players she accuses of raping her. Wagner was one of a few classmates who cared about a case's morality and who pursued her degree with aspirations of helping ordinary citizens (particularly women) find justice.
While my knowledge of Virginia Tech's disciplinary procedures is limited to what has been in the news, I am familiar with some of the relevant issues because I chaired my college's student judiciary. Having survived a violent sexual assault on the same campus where I served and studied, I understand the challenges Brzonkala faced in coping, reporting and finally leaving school.
My college, Washington College in Chestertown, Md., was one of the first in the country to transfer the handling of disciplinary matters from administrators to students. The rationale behind the change was to encourage students to take responsibility for their actions and set standards of acceptable behavior.
In my years as juror, clerk of court and chairman, I participated in the disposition of cases in which fellow students were accused of plagiarism, honor-code violations, vandalism, theft, assault and "conduct unbecoming a Washington College student."
We made no pretense of replacing or copying the community's criminal and civil courts; our goal in each case was to determine what, if anything, had happened and, if so, how to resolve the matter fairly. Our yardsticks were the school's integrity as an institution of higher learning, the needs of victims, the primacy of a safe educational environment, and the students' responsibilities for careful and respectful behavior. All noncampus criminal matters were handled by local law enforcement.
Sexual assaults, we suspected, were handled behind closed doors because, while we had heard about an attack or two, the cases were not given to me, police or prosecutors. Handling those painful experiences that way was a disservice to both the victim and the college; I can only suppose that if administrators believed the reports, they feared negative publicity more than subsequent attacks. I have often wondered if women who leave school do so because of money, poor grades, better opportunities, or rape trauma.
As chairman, I never had the opportunity (and responsibility) to decide whether the student judiciary had any role in adjudicating sexual-assault cases. Today, I wonder what I would have done. Both sides in Brzonkala's lawsuit have valid points: sexual assaults are serious crimes deserving the attention of criminal courts and their professional staffs, but those forums have no jurisdiction to affect the victim's (and the assailant's) education. Might not the possibility of a rapist's expulsion (thereby ensuring the victim will not encounter him in classes, in dorms, etc.) mean as much as - if not more than - the likelihood of a judge's slap on the wrist?
Then again, given the extremely personal nature of these crimes, can we expect students to be as thoughtful, objective and sensitive as they should be in judging them? And what about administrators? Can they be trusted to treat football players exactly the same as they would, say, business majors? Brzonkala's lawsuit suggests we cannot. Such decisions are complicated, at best.
Like any judicial system, ours struggled with the often-conflicting values of the privacy of disciplinary records and the right of students to know what was happening on campus. The Buckley Amendment cited in recent news coverage contains no clear rules to guide student judiciaries. We achieved balance by opening all hearings to students and the press; anything they heard could be reported, but written records remained closed. The public scrutiny of our decisions was difficult to bear, but it gave us credibility; we hoped, too, that our dispositions might function as deterrents.
It was ironic, then, that someone with as much experience with and faith in the campus system as I had would choose not to report her sexual assault - to anyone.
When I was assaulted, my first reaction was (as it is for many women) disbelief; for a few seconds, my brain could not register what was happening. Surely these friends of mine were playing a prank. I thought they were just going to throw me into the shower again. By the time I realized what was really happening, I was under the complete physical control of four strong men.
I cannot describe the fear I felt at that moment; to this day, I try hard not to think about it. That fear was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I nearly drowned once; this was much worse. I lost control of my car on an icy road several years ago; the knot in my stomach while I spun around did not approach my fear that night in Cullen Hall.
Unless you or someone you know has experienced it, you cannot know the impact this powerful emotion has on your life. So if a woman has not handled her trauma the way you think she should have, consider her reality before dismissing her story.
Some of the criticism I have read and heard about Christy Brzonkala is the accusation that she could not have been raped because if she had screamed, someone in the dorm would have helped her. Perhaps. But what if she did fight and scream? What if another male "friend" finally peeked to see what the commotion was about? What if Brzonkala called out for him to help her? And what if he just closed the door and walked away? It can happen; I know. There is no guarantee that anyone will help you during or after a sexual assault, no matter how much you scream or beg or fight.
Another criticism is that she did not report the attack to campus or law-enforcement officials immediately. Unfortunately, most rape victims do not. Their reasons vary, but some of the frequently cited reasons are fear of reprisals, shock, denial, self-blame, stigmatization and distrust of a legal system that favors defendants. For college students, a strong factor in the decision is the dread of their parents being notified; while many parents would want to be told and would be supportive, the risk of one's parents blaming and shaming the victim is very real.
All of these risks are measured against the pain and humiliation of a physical examination, endless questioning by often insensitive police and prosecutors, a public trial (if the case gets that far) in which the victim will be subject to vigorous cross-examination that puts her on trial, and the likely chance that her assailant will be freed or barely punished.
A woman who braves this process may later report that it is akin to being raped a second time. Yet, it is the only chance to prevent her rapist from attacking again, and seeing him go to jail is healing. A coed who opts to pursue an on-campus remedy will be relieved if she can continue her education without the pain and fear of seeing her attacker. Ideally, she should have both.
For a prosecution to be effective, the decision must be made quickly and appropriate steps taken to preserve evidence, if any. That is a great deal to ask of someone who has just been through what probably will be the most difficult moments of her life. Reporting to a college judiciary is somewhat less demanding but no less a gamble, assuming the system is equipped to handle the matter appropriately. These agonizing decisions must be left to each rape victim to decide for herself. Only she knows her circumstances, her resources, her strength, and her case. We must not presume to have better judgment than she.
Most rape victims choose not to report the crime; some regret it later and seek justice (through a campus judiciary, confrontation, lawsuit or other tool) from the men who assaulted them. To get justice, sometimes all a woman needs is to stand up, to say out loud, "This man raped me," and to be heard. To be believed.
Of course, someone must listen.
Brenda Renee Conner of Christiansburg has a law degree and provides free-lance professional services such as mediation, research and writing.
LENGTH: Long : 136 lines ILLUSTRATION: GRAPHIC: Kevin Kreneck/LA Timesby CNB