The Blame Game 

If you want to destroy your excellent mood today, click over to the recent Rolling Stone feature about campus rapes at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville. It's a familiar story: A freshman girl, "Jackie," is shoved into a dark room at the "elite" fraternity house and gang-raped by seven of her fellow scholars; she tells friends, who only marginally give a shit; eventually other gang-rape victims quietly emerge from the shadows; the university pretends to care.

No one alive today is shocked to learn that people are raping each other and getting away with it on American college campuses. Nobody balks anymore when we find out that another powerful institution, whether it's a university or the Catholic Church, has opted to protect its own reputation instead of protecting victims.

What does amaze me is the continued cravenness exemplified by people whom victims make the mistake of confiding in. In the Rolling Stone story, Jackie stumbles out of the party, post-assault, bleeding, and tells three "friends" what happened. Initially, the response looks promising: One boy immediately suggests they take her to the hospital. Then there's this: "Is that such a good idea?" says a girl named Cindy. "Her reputation will be shot for the next four years. She's gonna be the girl who cried 'rape,' and we'll never be allowed into any frat party again."

Treating rape victims with pitiless disregard — and even contempt — is an old story, as is the all-too-common postgame critique to which accusers are subjected in television news studios. In an interview with Joan Tarshis — one of more than a dozen women who have accused Bill Cosby of drugging and assault — CNN anchor Don Lemon essentially asks her why she didn't just fend Cosby off by biting his penis.

Presumably this is what Lemon would have done if he'd suddenly found himself with Cosby's unwanted dick in his mouth; on the other hand, it's possible that Lemon has difficulty imagining what it's actually like to be overpowered and intimidated by someone far stronger, larger, older, richer and more famous than himself. Also, who wants a severed dick in her mouth? Being raped is traumatic enough.

News anchors and actual human beings alike need to start trying a little harder to imagine what that's actually like and responding accordingly. In a recent GQ column about the Cosby saga, the wonderful feminist writer Lindy West declared the "yeah, but what were you wearing" category of post-rape questioning — "the classic catchphrase of abusers and apologists" — to be over and done.

I am so ready for that to be true. My personal introduction to victim-blaming and second-guessing happened in college, when a story about my best friend's rape in the "elite" fraternity house was leaked to the school newspaper. Because she wasn't named in the article, nobody thought to shut the fuck up about it when she was around. "I heard he was wearing a condom, so it couldn't have been rape," people buzzed within earshot. "I know him. He would never do that."

I was bewildered by these reactions. The morning she told me what happened, it simply never crossed my mind to disbelieve her. My unquestioned instinct was to drive her to the hospital and later the police station. In light of the ugliness that followed, I've always wondered whether advising her to report the crime was the right move.

In Jackie's case, the ugliness that follows is particularly wrenching. After joining a survivors' group and speaking at campus seminars about assault awareness and peer intervention, she and a fellow survivor are harassed by strangers on more than one occasion. People call them names like "feminazi bitch" and "cunt." Someone throws a bottle at Jackie's face — and does not miss — all for the crime of confiding her secret to the world.

I can't believe it's still necessary to say this, but here we go again: STOP BEING ASSHOLES TO RAPE VICTIMS. They've been through enough. Stop asking them how much they had to drink or why they went to his apartment. Stop suggesting alternate courses of action after the fact. Stop telling them to get over it and move on.

I get it; I know what you're doing, even if you don't. Hearing these stories, especially from people you love, is painful and scary. You want to protect yourself from the awfulness of it. We all do. And you want to reassure yourself that this will never happen to you. If you can just identify the mistake the victim made and vow never to make the same one, you will be safe. That's what you tell yourself.

Let me assure you: You are not safe. Nobody is safe. Anything can happen to anyone, anytime, anywhere. Church is not safe. School is not safe. Even home is not safe. Safety is not the human condition.

Instead, try this: Next time a person you love tells you about the awful thing that happened to them, don't try to protect yourself from the awfulness of it. In fact, don't think about yourself at all — think about the person who's just confided in you. They are living the awfulness every day. All you have to say is, "I believe you. It's not your fault." If you're still confused about how this works, there's even a Tumblr for it (ibelieveyouitsnotyourfault.tumblr.com). As possible alternatives, "I'm so sorry this happened to you" and/or "Fuck those assholes!" are also strong choices.

Rearrange the words any way you like. Or don't say anything at all. Just listen, and save your blame and contempt for the people who actually fucking deserve it.