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 Stanford Lipsey Student Publications Building 420 Maynard St. Ann Arbor, MI 48109 tothedaily@michigandaily.com Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890. 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.