Content warning: This article contains 
descriptions of sexual assault.
Editor’s note: The name Morgan is a 
pseudonym. 
F
or two years now, I have watched 
with pride as women and men 
victimized by systems of abuse 
brought their stories to the forefront 
and forced the western world to 
confront some of the incommodious 
yet defining underpinnings of our 
institutions. 
As a Black man, I’ve written about 
the visceral emotions surrounding 
my 
community’s 
inequities. 
As 
an activist, I’ve spoken at protests 
and worked on campaigns. As an 
American, I’ve written about the 
duality of loving this country while 
hating much of our broken political 
infrastructure 
and 
entrenched 
classism. However, as a survivor, I 
have stayed silent.
See, my story is not one of 
institutional abuse. It is not the 
culmination of a steady stream of 
harassment. It was not kept secret by 
some cadre of powerful individuals 
who conspired to silence me.
My story is mine, but it isn’t 
unfamiliar on this campus. In fact, 
it’s all too common.
W
inter semester, 2020.
I was at a party hosted 
by one of my housemates. I didn’t 
even think she’d show up; I wasn’t 
sure that I wanted her to. I was still 
reeling from a breakup but on Tinder 
to pass the time. We had been talking 
on-and-off for a couple of weeks, 
mostly just vapid texts to pass the 
time, really nothing but flirtation, so 
I asked her to come to the party.
I was no saint. I was just bored and 
wanted to get to know someone new.
An hour into the party, I was 
casually sipping on a mixed drink, 
helping my housemates set up a game 
of stack cup when I heard the front 
door burst open. I looked over to see 
her visibly drunk, stumbling into my 
house. 
Her friend held her hand as 
Morgan walked over to me and 
immediately grabbed my arm for 
support. She asked me to make her 
a drink and, when I told her that 
I thought she should take a break, 
began drinking from my cup. She 
kept taking the drink from my hand, 
despite my insistence that she stop. 
Her friend went into the kitchen to 
grab Morgan a beer.
I followed them into the kitchen, 
worried about Morgan’s safety, 
something for which her friend 
clearly had little concern. While I 
was turned away, talking to a friend, 
she poured three shots behind my 
back. Morgan handed me one, and 
the three of us downed the vodka. 
Then, as she began pouring another 
round, I protested, saying things 
like, “I don’t really want to get 
drunk. I just want to talk. I’m really 
uncomfortable with this.” However, 
taunting me, calling me a “pussy,” 
Morgan kept the drinks flowing 
until I was so drunk I could barely 
navigate my own house.
Then, she and her friend began 
whispering. As my vision was 
blurred, I couldn’t make out what 
they were saying, but it seemed as 
though the two were agreeing on 
some sort of plan. Morgan came over 
and, clearly attempting to flirt with 
me, started stroking my arm. I leaned 
away, not wanting to be touched 
so publicly by a near stranger. Not 
taking the hint, she leaned against 
me more aggressively, asking if I had 
weed.

Even in my drunken state, I knew 
that I shouldn’t give her any, but she 
badgered me, saying that it was the 
only way to keep her from throwing 
up, so I relented and took the two 
into my bedroom. As I rummaged 
around trying to find the brownie, I 
vaguely heard the two whispering 
again. Moments later, after I found 
it, her friend said, “I’ll leave you two 
alone,” leaving the room to play beer 
pong mere feet from my first-floor 
bedroom.
Immediately, 
Morgan 
began 
forcefully kissing me as I backed 
away, trying to ground myself and 
avoid doing something I’d regret. I 
asked her to stop, but she took that 
to mean that she should be more 
aggressive, grabbing my shirt and 
exploring my body with her hands.
I recoiled, which distracted her 
enough to remember the brownie. 
When she went for the brownie, I 
thought that the situation was over.
Just one bad kiss, I thought to 
myself. That was all. It’s going to be 
alright.
However, I was wrong. She broke 
the brownie in half, consuming 
more weed at once than I had eaten 
in the last two months. Then, she 
stuck the other half in my mouth, 
watching me intensely until I ate it. 
I didn’t want to, but at some level, 
I think I knew what was going 
to happen would happen either 
way, and, honestly, I didn’t want to 
remember it.
After swallowing the brownie, 
I made one last attempt, saying, “I 
think we should go back to the party.”
She turned away from me to 
lock my bedroom door, “I think we 
shouldn’t.”
She grabbed a condom from my 
desk drawer, pulling my pants down. 
My brain desperately tried to say 
no, to refuse, but it was no longer in 
control of my body. The intense fear 
combined with the harsh effects 
of intoxication immobilized me. In 
other words, I had no control. I was 
too scared, too alone.
I don’t remember much after that 
except neon pink jungle juice spilled 
on my sheets, the almost cruel smile 
on her face and the blaring music 
outside.
I
n the weeks after, I tried to get back 
together with my ex-girlfriend 
— in a feeble attempt to cope with 
something about which I still have 
tremendous guilt. Then, when the 
pandemic took over my life and the 
frankly 
embarrassing 
rekindling 
with my ex went up in flames, I 
moved back in with my parents. 
There, it was easy to retreat from the 
world, so I did.
My family heard from me about 
once a day when I needed to walk 
upstairs for meals. My friends heard 
less, if anything. Most days, I just sat 
in my bedroom, sleeping 15 hours a 
day and wishing I was dead for the 
other nine. Things got better in May 
when I tried to stop thinking about it, 
choosing to delve into my three jobs. 
However, as my 60-hour work weeks 
wore on into June, I could not stop 
thinking about that night.
For months, I had vivid dreams, 
replaying it, and sometimes, I still 
do wake up in a cold sweat with only 
Morgan on my mind. It especially 
didn’t help when I returned to Ann 
Arbor and had to sleep in the room 
where it happened, inches away 
from the pink stain that is ingrained 
in my mattress topper. The room felt 
haunted, but honestly, so did I.
As an ally, it felt impossible that 
amid the #MeToo movement, I had 
been sexually assaulted by a woman. 
Further, as a 6-foot-2 Black man, I 
have been perceived as a danger for 

my entire life. It sounded asinine 
that a pretty, 5-foot-nothing white 
girl had done anything to me. When 
I told friends that I felt scared, I 
saw that look of incredulity that 
implicitly invalidates every aspect of 
the story.
I mean, they’d met Morgan, 
they saw me that night. Maybe I 
had made the entire thing up in 
my mind. I already felt crazy, but 
my friends not believing me — 
even without using the four-letter 
r-word — sent me over the edge. I 
stopped telling people, preferring to 
spend my nights swiping on Tinder 
and going on meaningless dates. 
However, every time a date turned 
sexual, I went physically numb, 
frozen, verging on a panic attack, 
haunted by Morgan.
In most cases, though, dating 
proved to be a good distraction, 
even if it was just that. A distraction. 
Nothing was solved. I just smiled 
outwardly for a couple more hours 
a day while fortifying my inner 
walls.
T
hen, 
my 
current 
girlfriend 
broke down my walls, and, last 
November, told me candidly that 
I had been sexually assaulted and 
was in denial. Thrown back, I cried 
for an hour, realizing how right she 
was. Since that day, I have struggled 
with finding a way to tell this story. 
I realize that there is no perfect way 
to do it, but I hope that this has been 
sufficient.
Now, I want to be very clear. I 
have no animus toward the brave 
women who have brought down 
abusers during the ongoing #MeToo 
movement. In fact, I feel allied 
with these women. I currently am 
walking on the road they paved, so I 
appreciate them immensely.
However, the sexual assault 
of 
men 
is 
downplayed 
and 
undercovered. In the rare event that 
it is discussed, it is too often either a 
whataboutism deployed by abuser-
sympathizers or the punchline to a 
crass prison joke.
That is unacceptable.
This issue is real and prevalent. 
According to the National Crime 
Victimization Survey, 38% of sexual 
violence victims are men. And, while 
much of this does occur in the prison 
system, men in college are five times 
more likely to experience sexual 
violence than men their age who are 
not in college.
See, the magic of movements like 
#MeToo and Black Lives Matter 
is that they sparked nationwide 
conversations 
about 
horrifically 
underrecognized 
issues. 
These 
movements have afforded us the 
opportunity to learn about systemic 
injustices so we can understand one 
another better. Yet, there are still 
dialogues left to be had, and I hope 
this article provokes one.
I hope we grow to be more 
conscious of our behavior. I hope 
we become more respectful of one 
another. But, most importantly, I 
hope we learn to listen to others and 
expand our own worldviews. The 
simple fact is that not all men are 
allies much like how not all women 
are assaulters, but we all have the 
capacity to learn.
We learn through statistics and 
data just like we learn from our 
consumed media, but the most 
impactful learning is from one 
another. I hope that this story is a 
powerful step in the right direction 
that provokes a broader conversation 
on this campus and in our world. I am 
grateful to the women who walked 
before me, and I am hopeful for the 
people of all genders who walk beside 
me.

Opinion

BRITTANY BOWMAN
Managing Editor

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CLAIRE HAO
Editor in Chief
ELIZABETH COOK 
AND JOEL WEINER
Editorial Page Editors

Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of The Daily’s Editorial Board. 
All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

Julian Barnard
Zack Blumberg
Brittany Bowman
Elizabeth Cook
Brandon Cowit

Jess D’Agostino
Andrew Gerace
Shubhum Giroti
Krystal Hur
Jessie Mitchell

Gabrijela Skoko
Evan Stern
Elayna Swift
Jack Tumpowsky
Joel Weiner

While delineating the variety 
of stressors students are facing 
is important, it is also critical to 
analyze resources the University 
of Michigan provides and pressure 
the University to adequately support 
students who are struggling with 
stress and mental illness.
The University offers Counseling 
and Psychological Services (CAPS) 
for students dealing with mental 
health crises, but the program is 
limited. There is not a solidified 
framework for long-term help, as 
CAPS has a goal of ‘graduating’ 
students in 4 to 8 weeks. What’s 
more, the CAPS waiting list usually 
grows during high-stress times, 
meaning students can’t access help 
when they need it most. Since so 
many of students’ stressors stem from 
issues related to the University, the 
University has both the responsibility 
and the capability — with a $17 
billion endowment — to establish an 
adequate support system.
Some 
students 
don’t 
have 
healthcare 
access 
outside 
of 
University Health Services, so they 
cannot receive therapy outside of 
the University. Other students have 
to consider leaving their regular 
therapists if they can no longer afford 
a copay for each session, but currently 
CAPS cannot substitute the depth 
and breadth involved in longer-
term therapy programs offered by 
professionals. 
While 
short-term 
care is beneficial for some students, 
many students have chronic stress 
that cannot be resolved in 4 to 8 
weeks. The University has not 
responded to this specific reality in 
a comprehensive and effective way. 
As of now, CAPS best serves as an 
intermediary step toward longer-
term help. 
However, for some students, 
having a longer-term relationship 
with CAPS could be beneficial; 
specifically, CAPS counselors have 
extensive experience with student 
issues and are accessible due to their 
on-campus location. Therefore, the 
University should explore programs 
that would allow students with the 
most need to continue to see CAPS 
counselors for a longer period of 
time. 
University 
spokesperson 
Kim 
Broekhuizen discussed the status 
of CAPS and other mental health 

resources in an email to The 
Michigan Daily.
“CAPS 
has 
been 
adding 
counselors and other resources to 
their service offerings for several 
years now,” Broekhuizen wrote. 
“All of CAPS services are free to any 
student enrolled at U-M. The same is 
true for Wellness Coaching.” 
She also shared data on the rates 
of individual counseling sessions. Of 
students who came to CAPS seeking 
counseling, 81.1% of students only 
received one to five sessions. Only 
18.9% of cases received additional 
counseling, with only 0.7% of cases 
receiving over 21 sessions. 
According to Broekhuizen, these 
0.7% of cases often include students 
who “do not have any insurance or 
are underinsured or insurance is not 
provided in the state of Michigan 
… do not have transportation or 
schedules that allow for off campus 
referrals.” This small fraction of cases 
represents that, while some students 
are receiving long-term support, 
there should likely be an expansion of 
access for these types of cases.
Giving 31,000 students access 
to 
counselors 
certainly 
poses 
a challenge, but the University 
need 
not 
provide 
all 
31,000 
students 
comprehensive 
access. 
The 
University 
could 
provide 
special 
programs 
for 
students 
with demonstrated needs, such as 
financial or transportation-based 
needs. Additionally, funding longer-
term mental health care for students 
could reduce the current strain on 
CAPS for acute mental health crises. 
There 
are 
many 
ways 
the 
University could address these issues 
and make services more accessible 
to students. For instance, accessing 
health insurance is very difficult 
for many low-income students. 
An annual health insurance plan 
for domestic students through the 
University is $1,929, which is cost-
prohibitive for many. Based on the 
University’s 
financial 
resources, 
there should be a strong system in 
place to ensure students who cannot 
afford health insurance are given 
the same access to care, whether 
that care includes three counseling 
sessions or thirty. 
On Aug. 30, 2021, the University 
announced 
it 
is 
“launching 
comprehensive action to transform 

how 
the 
health 
and 
well-
being needs of students can be 
holistically addressed.” The efforts 
recommended by the Student Mental 
Health 
Innovative 
Approaches 
Review committee includes creating 
a 
“comprehensive 
infrastructure 
of faculty, staff and students” to 
address the needs of all students, 
“strengthening the continuum of 
care” and ensuring resources are 
accessible and visible. While it is 
unclear when the recommendations 
suggested in the announcement 
will be implemented, it is a step in 
a positive direction. In addition to 
implementing these suggestions, the 
University could begin emphasizing 
physical health and wellbeing more. 
Upon arriving at college for the 
first time, many are met with brand 
new levels of independence. For 
some, important day-to-day tasks 
such as cooking, cleaning or taking 
care of oneself in other ways may be 
unfamiliar. Additionally, some may 
come to campus already dealing with 
body image issues and unhealthy 
relationships with food. 
That said, one step toward 
improving mental and physical 
health of students could include the 
University 
expanding 
programs 
aimed at helping students afford 
food. Increasing awareness of the 
Maize and Blue Cupboard would 
help students experiencing food 
insecurity. 
Financial 
instability, 
as well as many other factors, can 
exacerbate mental health issues, 
so the University’s approach must 
consider them in mental health 
services and policy. Taking these 
proactive steps toward increasing 
access and awareness to services, 
whether it be programs to aid basic 
needs or support mental health 
issues, will improve and benefit 
students and the campus as a whole.
Ultimately, 
students 
at 
the 
University 
of 
Michigan 
are 
struggling with a variety of issues 
related to the institution itself, 
COVID-19, worsening mental health 
and financial burdens. To better 
support students, the University’s 
administration must form a longer-
term care infrastructure within 
CAPS, as well as additional support 
for students regarding nutrition 
education, food insecurity, financial 
instability and general wellness.

As a man, ally and survivor: #MeToo

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
8 — Wednesday, November 3, 2021 

KEITH JOHNSTONE
Opinion Columnist

Music and memory

RUSHABH SHAH
Opinion Columnist

It happened when I was sitting in a 
café on South University Avenue. Four 
days before my EECS 281 midterm, 
three friends at the table, two slices of 
grilled cheese and one turmeric latte 
that painfully reminded me of home 
and my mother. That’s when, as I 
began working on this piece, the music 
system at the café played a familiar 
tune. The sound of the xylophone, 
followed by the subtle strumming of 
the guitar and finally a flourish of the 
drums took over my senses and filled 
the air around me. I braced myself as 
the first words of the song approached 
and I pulled out the memory of Zach 
Sobiech from the depths of my brain. 
Stories are what fuel me. Real 
stories about real people. I don’t just 
enjoy them; I actively seek them out 
because they are what make most 
experiences worthwhile for me. 
“Clouds” by Zach Sobiech is one 
such song, a song incomplete without 

its story. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a 
perfectly fine song on its own, but my 
connection to it goes all the way back 
to my seventh grade English teacher, 
Ms. Radha — the person who told me 
about Zach Sobiech’s story. I often find 
myself relating songs to people I’ve 
known. Sometimes it’s expected and 
sometimes it comes out of nowhere, 
like today. I hadn’t thought about Ms. 
Radha for years, and as I approached 
two months in Ann Arbor, it felt good 
reminiscing about home. And when I 
reminisce, I usually do it to music.
The impact music has on our 
emotions and actions is very well 
documented and many researchers 
cite its positive effects. Music therapy 
is a common practice, not only to deal 
with excess stress, depression and 
other mental health issues, but even 
disorders relating to memory loss. Few 
would argue against music’s ability to 
influence our thoughts and actions. I, 
for one, have never underestimated its 
ability to perfectly match my mental 
energy in any situation. Sometimes 
it’s before a soccer game to pump me 

up, and sometimes it’s after a long 
day of work and being around people 
when I just want a moment to myself. 
I always considered these personal 
moments as crucial, but only recently, 
as I moved away from the place I grew 
up and the people I grew up with, did 
I realize that they weren’t personal 
moments at all. What I remember 
most about them is the people that 
were around me at the time. It’s not 
rocket science, I know. You listen to 
a song with a cousin all night during 
your family trip and it becomes your 
ringtone, or a classmate introduces 
you to a song and it becomes both of 
your newest obsession, or you go to 
a concert with a friend and that one 
moment when everyone’s got their 
flashlights on remains etched in your 
memory forever. It happens all the 
time and it is a very special feeling. 
But at this point, if you’re wondering, 
“What’s the big deal?” I wouldn’t 
blame you. I’m not claiming that I’ve 
made an extraordinary discovery — 
strong memories associated with a 
song and the people you heard it with 

is a common phenomenon, but when 
“Clouds” played on the speaker in that 
café, it felt different. It wasn’t just me 
recalling an old memory, it felt more 
significant than that. So let’s get into it. 
Songs and people can each make 
us feel something and, sometimes, 
those two lines can intersect. Songs 
are relatable and sentimental, and 
sometimes they’re pretty good at 
being memorable — not unlike people. 
I’ve always been a big advocate of 
the idea that I am a product of the 
experiences I have shared with 
countless people across the world, 
and, regardless of whether I see them 
every day or have only met them 
once, my story is made up of the tiny 
bits that each and every one of them 
left behind. How amazing would it 
be if those tiny bits, the things people 
made us feel, aren’t moments that 
only exist in the past, but are moments 
that can be relived? I am here to tell 
you that it’s possible. All you need is 
the right song. “Clouds’” is one such 
song. I always thought I connected 
it to Ms. Radha simply because she 

told me about it, but maybe it’s more 
than that. “Clouds” is a song about 
finding light in dark times. It’s a song 
about hope. Tomorrow might not go 
as we planned or expected, but what 
everybody needs is hope and there 
will always be somebody who can give 
us that. Ms. Radha gave me the hope 
that I could be a better person at a time 
when I needed it. There is not a sliver 
of doubt in my head that I would not 
be who I am today without her and 
although she only taught me for one 
year, she made me a stronger person. 
It made me feel more powerful and 
more confident. It’s not just the lyrics 
that make me feel empowered. It’s 
Zach Sobiech’s story, Ms. Radha and 
the memory of this song that lives on, 
reinforced twofold every time I hear 
it, especially when it plays out of the 
blue in the basement of a café.
What I realized while sitting in 
that café is that music isn’t about 
glorifying the past, it’s about recreating 
an emotion you once felt and bringing 
it back to the present so that you can 
feel it again. As much as science might 

have you believe otherwise, the past 
can be revisited, and music is as good a 
time machine as any. Yes, very often we 
relate songs to people because we share 
a memory with them, but reliving 
the emotions that memory evokes is 
what enables us to keep that memory 
alive. So, when a song reminds me of 
the time we kayaked in the freezing 
waters of North India or the time we 
stayed up all night in that one hotel in 
Beijing or the time we sang that very 
song while doing karaoke for the first 
time, I’ll savor those moments. We 
might never have heard it before or we 
might’ve played it on loop every day. 
The song might have no connection 
to us or it might be the song we sang 
together every day — it doesn’t matter. 
All I know is that it makes me feel like 
you’re around, and sometimes, in that 
very moment, that’s all I need. 
You know when people sometimes 
say, “I wish I could experience 
something for the first time again?” 
You can. I’ve been doing it all my life. 
I just needed some grilled cheese and 
an old song to realize it.

From The Daily: UMich should expand 
long-term counseling through CAPS
A

s we collectively face midterms, it has become increasingly clear that 
many students are experiencing burnout, pandemic fatigue and an 
increase in mental health issues. These issues can easily be compounded 
by the growing exposure of sexual misconduct spanning decades on campus, 
tension over COVID-19 policies and recurrent issues with landlords.

