The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
8 — Wednesday, February 2, 2022 

Content warning: This article mentions 

sexual assault.

Writer’s Note: To make it abundantly clear, 

in this space, we believe survivors of sexual 
assault, regardless of gender, class, sexual ori-
entation, age and other circumstances used to 
discredit survivors.

Sienna Mae Gomez, an online personal-

ity who first developed a following on Tik-
Tok and currently has 14 million followers, 
has been accused of sexual assault by her 
former friend and fellow Internet personal-
ity Jack Wright. It was heavily suspected 
after Wright’s friend leaked a video in early 
2021, depicting an incapacitated Wright 
being groped by Gomez coupled with a state-
ment from the friend alleging the abuse, but 

Wright had not addressed the allegations of 
the abuse for months directly. (For the sake 
of respecting Wright’s autonomy, I have cho-
sen to exclude incorporating a link to this 
leaked video.) In the past week, it has been 
alleged, through a video posted by Wright, 
that Gomez assaulted Wright over the course 
of four separate incidents — including the 
incident depicted in the leaked video — dur-
ing their relationship. Over the course of the 
17-minute testimony, Wright explains the 
circumstances of his friendship with Gomez, 
which was characterized by Gomez’s manip-
ulation, love bombing, consistent bound-
ary-crossing and many assaults. Wright’s 
incredible strength shows through as he 
gives a detailed account of the events that 
transpired. Survivors of sexual assault should 
not have to give such a detailed account on 
the internet, and they should be believed 
regardless of whether or not they choose to 
disclose the details to the public. Although, it 
is understandable why Wright would choose 
to do so. Other survivors have contacted him, 
alleging that Gomez has assaulted them as 
well. In addition, Gomez previously released 
several videos alleging that the leaked video 
was made to deplatform her, that have since 
been taken down. 

In response to the video, Gomez has gone 

on to deny Wright’s allegations through a 
Medium post. The apology follows the same 
format that celebrity apologies typically do: 
acknowledgment of the allegations, some 
element of establishing it as a supposed he-
said/she-said situation and a promise to do 
better in the future. These apologies usually 
leave the author’s (or in the most likely case 
authors’) true intention uncertain, whether it 
be a true apology or a last Hail Mary attempt 
to protect their platform. As a reader, it is 
difficult to truly know what the writer’s 
intentions are, yet Gomez mentions in the 
beginning of her post that “(her) legal team 
sent his legal team a letter threatening a law-
suit for defaming (her) character because 
that ‘is the best next step to clear your 
name.’” In this case, it is abundantly clear 
that Gomez’s intentions are not to apologize 
and is simply another celebrity’s graceless 
attempt to disavow the pain they’ve caused 
and maintain their platform. 

(From this point in the article, I want to 

make my intentions clear. In no way, shape 
or form do I want to inspire any hate toward 
Gomez. However, a large part of the news 
coverage following these allegations has 
left a sour taste in my mouth as it has large-
ly failed to address the inadequacy of her 
response and the harm it caused.) 

The post then details her version of their 

relationship, which largely resembles the 
timeline brought forward by Wright — with 
a few key differences. Gomez discusses how 
she felt that he had allegedly “disregarded 
(her) feelings for the sake of money” when 
Wright has said he wanted to maintain mys-
tery on the status of their relationship for 
brand deals. (For context, a large amount of 
Gomez’s and Wright’s content at the time 
included featuring one another in romanti-
cally themed videos.) Gomez also stated that 
the aforementioned leaked video was filmed 
months before as a “joke.” Apart from the 
timeline, Gomez minimizes her boundary-
crossing as not harmful, but simply not hav-
ing the same “love language” as Wright. 
Gomez additionally claims, “Consent isn’t 
really something that is formally taught in 
school” as a way of stating that she, at the 
time, allegedly did not understand what 
consent was. While it is true there is a lack of 
formal sex education in the United States, it 

should not act as a defense and doesn’t negate 
her responsibility to take accountability for 
her transgressions. Furthermore, Gomez 
accused Wright of allegedly trying to paint 
her “into the ‘loud’, ‘crazy’, ‘overly sexualized’ 
stereotype that people try to use on young, 
especially Latina, women,” and equates the 
accusations against her to equivalent action 
that Jack took, suggesting “(Wright alleg-
edly) did some stupid stuff too.” In summary, 
the statement is a mess. 

Despite Gomez’s emphasis on her own 

personal growth in the statement, claiming 
“(She) is grateful to have had the opportu-
nity to learn so that (she) can be a better ally 
to victims of sexual assault,” she contradicts 
herself by continuing to paint Wright in a 
negative light. She perverts concepts such 
as “love languages”, lack of sex education, 
sl*t- shaming and the monetary ties of their 
relationship in an audacious attempt to dis-

credit a sexual assault survivor. This delib-
erate misappropriation is heightened by her 
simultaneous acknowledgment that she did 
not respect boundaries, or “love languages,” 
as she put it, throughout the duration of their 
friendship, diminishing the impact of these 
violations. Gomez also attempts to justify 
this misappropriation by including details 
of the monetary aspect of their relationship, 
as content from the relationship was largely 
used to bolster both individuals’ careers 
through paid-for brand deals and even a real-
ity TV show. I cannot imagine how difficult 
it must be to grow up under this much pub-
lic interest and have monetary ties to one’s 
relationships. However, inclusions of these 
details only serve as a way to minimize her 
transgressions against Wright and invite 
further criticism against him. It also seems to 
serve as a way to allegedly justify her actions 
against Wright, which is perhaps the most 
disheartening aspect. 

A lot of news outlets have covered the 

aforementioned 
monetary 
ties 
(brand 

deals, increased viewership, etc.) of their 
relationship and Gomez’s excuses of “love 
languages” that were depicted in Gomez’s 
Medium post.While I understand the need 
for including these details in the coverage, 
I feel it undermines Wright’s experience 
and alleged assault. One in seven boys will 
experience some form of sexual violence by 
age 18. The likelihood of reporting is even 
lower for men, as opposed to the already-low 
reporting rate for women. For the most part, 
the sexual assault of men remains largely 
undiscussed and neglected. Wright’s state-
ment is a brave step forward to inspire others 
to talk about their experiences by opening 
dialogue for others to share their stories. We 
need to create a space where sexual assault 
survivors, regardless of gender, can come 
forward without fearing that every previous 
action they have taken, harmful or not, will 
be hypercriticized and put under scrutiny.

The statement also included the weap-

onization of an experience that I, and a lot of 
women that identify as Latinx, also face and 
understand well, which is the over-sexual-
ization and objectification of Latinx women. 
It’s no surprise that Gomez chose to incorpo-
rate this into her defense, as her platform has 
largely propagated stereotypes of being, in 
her own words, a “spicy latina” for her mon-
etary gain, despite rarely, if ever, speaking on 
issues that have impacted our community. I 
take issue with this, as the over-sexualiza-
tion of Latinx women personally impacts 
me. Throughout the years, I have witnessed 
the overly sexualized portrayals of Latinx 
women in the media and have been at the 
receiving end of disgusting comments as 
well. One incident in high school stands 
out to me the most when I think about the 
impact this over-sexualization has had on 
my life. It was my senior year at Saline High 
School, and we had just received our grades 
back for our quiz in AP Economics. I had 
been assigned to sit at a table where I was 
the only young woman of Color. After receiv-
ing a Starburst for performing well on the 
quiz, I came back to my desk to find a note 
passed to me by the boys at my table. It was 
a stick figure drawing of me in a sombrero 
with a crude gigantic pair of boobs. I can still 
remember the self-satisfied smirks on their 
faces as I opened the note, and the matte, 
speckled grey tiles in the bathroom where 
I cried after class was over. This stereotype 
has had painful implications for my comfort 
and relationship to my identity. 

Content warning: This arti-

cle mentions sexual abuse and 
assault.

Through it all, as students 

trudge across campus, dread-
ing those frigid expanses 
between toasty shops and 
classes and apartments, sur-
vivors of Dr. Robert Ander-
son’s abuse remain perched 
in front of the president’s 
home. 24 hours a day, seven 
days a week, they radically 
proclaim 
their 
existence 

with a strength that I can 
only describe as relentless 
beyond measure. These peo-
ple, whom disgraced former 
University President Mark 
Schlissel once referred to as 
“a group of folks in tents,” 
and the campsite that evinc-
es their message serve as a 
quiet, yet powerful, remind-
er to those walking down 
South 
University 
Avenue 

that accountability for the 
trauma of more than a thou-
sand human beings is yet to 
be had — and that there is 
no true justice for those who 
have been and continue to be 
harmed by sexual assault.

One of those courageous 

protestors is Tad Deluca, 
who, in 1975, wrote a let-
ter to his U-M wrestling 
coach and then-U-M athletic 
director detailing the abuse 
he’d endured at the hands of 
Anderson. As a consequence 
of his brave actions, he was 
kicked off the wrestling team 
and his full-ride, out-of-state 
scholarship was revoked.

This is the story he gra-

ciously shares with me when 
I chance upon him outside 
his campground on Friday; I 
have the honor of being able 
to tell Tad that I’m in awe of 
him and all he’s sacrificed to 
decry those complicit in the 
serial abuse. He graciously 
smiles, saying he can’t tell me 
how much that means to him. 
The feeling is infinitely more 
than mutual. Tad is wear-
ing glasses with skinny wire 
frames and a beanie, and his 
cheeks are raw and red from 
the harsh January wind chill. 
And with the same friendly 
nonchalance 
one 
usually 

reserves for chatting with 
a neighbor, he tells me he’s 
now retired and lives with 
his wife in Grosse Pointe, MI 
— but, of course, he’s put his 
life on hold to protest out-
side the president’s home. He 
warmly remarks that his wife 
is learning how to shovel the 
snow off their driveway in his 
absence, and that she’s proud 
of it too.

Tad also says, somewhat 

apologetically, that he would 
invite me into his tiny trailer, 
but it’s so cramped that one 

has to hunch their shoul-
ders to walk inside; he even 
has to keep his apples and 
oranges in the microwave 
due to the lack of space. The 
right-most tent from the side 
that faces the street houses 
nothing but maize T-shirts, 
emblazoned with the mantra 
“Hail to the Victims” in blue 

letters and stacked high in 
a mass of cardboard boxes. 
(“Hail to the Victims” alludes 
to the U-M mantra “Hail to 
the victors” — forcing the 
U-M community to reckon 
with its systemic abuse by 
juxtaposing it with the Uni-
versity’s culture of school 
pride and spirit.) Tad ducks 
into the tent to replenish the 
stash of shirts on the plastic 
table outside the campground 
that displays a sign reading 
“FREE HAIL TO THE VIC-
TIMS T-SHIRTS.” Next to 
the table is a maize mailbox 
labeled “815 ½ Vaughn.” 

After 
sharing 
his 
own 

Anderson story, Tad then 
tells me about another sur-
vivor who was so scarred by 
Anderson that he refused to 
seek any medical attention 
for decades after his abuse 
physically ended. The survi-
vor, Chuck Christian, is the 
first former U-M football 
player to publicly speak out 
against his abuse by Ander-
son; he told the Detroit Free 
Press in April 2020 that he 
refused to seek proper medi-
cal attention for decades 
because he “associated (doc-
tors) with fear, with pain,” 
despite having suffered from 
symptoms 
of 
serious 
ill-

ness since around 2005. And 
now, Christian is terminally 
ill, with stage four prostate 
cancer. “No matter how sick 
I was, I would never go to 
the doctor,” he said in the 
2020 Free Press interview. 
Decades after his time at the 
University, Christian’s abuse 
has directly, and irreparably, 
cost him his life.

Christian is not the only 

Anderson 
survivor 
whose 

trauma has caused trepida-
tion toward seeking proper 
medical care. According to 
a GoFundMe page update, 
on his 32nd day of protest-
ing outside the president’s 
house, 
Anderson 
survivor 

Jon Vaughn felt a lump in 

his neck. Shannon Henry, his 
friend and fellow survivor of 
sexual assault who had estab-
lished the page, urged Vaughn 
to seek medical attention. 
She writes, “But after being 
sexually assaulted by a doc-
tor, the last person you want 
to see is a doctor.” Eventually 
and thankfully, however, he 
sought medical care and was 
diagnosed: Vaughn had thy-
roid cancer. 

The day Tad talked to me, 

Jan. 21, was the day that 
Vaughn underwent surgery 
to remove the nodule in his 
thyroid. Tad says that he 
received a text earlier that 
day at around 2 p.m. inform-
ing him that Vaughn had 
about an hour of surgery left. 
And rather than get the prop-
er rest he needs at home or in 
the hospital, Vaughn, in his 
tireless commitment to hold-
ing the University account-
able for its long history of 
covering for sexual abusers, 
wanted to return to his camp-
site the next day. A GoFund-
Me page update penned on 
the day of the surgery by 
Larry Nassar survivor Trinea 
Gonczar says, “Most know 
us as these freedom fighter 
radicals that have been on the 
front lines of survival. But 
today, this, is different. Life is 
precious. I’m reminded.”

Back at the campground, 

signs rooted in snow articu-
late slogans like “Hail to the 
Victims,” and “Students + 
Survivors Equally STAND.” 
One 
simply 
inscribed 
in 

blue Sharpie catches my eye: 
“Mark — I AM STILL HERE 
-Jon.” Under it, someone has 

replied hauntingly in red 
marker: “(and you won’t be!).” 
As students of this University 
— which has actively worked 
to protect predators, time and 
time again — we have a moral 
obligation to stand with all 
survivors of sexual assault on 
this campus, like Vaughn, in 
support and solidarity. When 

I ask Tad what someone like 
me can do to help his cause, 
he tells me he would appreci-
ate receiving hand warmers 
such as those from HotHands 
which can be found at the 
Target on State Street. But, 
Tad says, the most important 
asset that students can give to 
the survivors is our support, 
through actions like wear-
ing a “Hail to the Victims” 
T-shirt, attending the future 
rallies that Tad says the sur-
vivors are currently organiz-
ing and spreading awareness 
to denounce and address the 
culture of sexual violence and 
lack of accountability that the 
University has continually 
maintained. Additionally, the 
aforementioned GoFundMe 
effort donates financial sup-
port to Vaughn’s mission “to 
ensure the safety and healing 
of those entrusted to the Uni-
versity of Michigan’s care, 
past, present, and future.” 

Tad says it has been incred-

ible 
to 
witness 
students 

approaching him and sharing 
their stories, confiding in him 
their own encounters with 
sexual abuse. And then I feel 
compelled to tell him some-
thing that not many people in 
my life know, which is that I, 
too, am a survivor of sexual 
assault. 

Tad’s brows immediately 

furrow. “Did this happen 
here?” he asks me, his tone 
somber and urgent. I answer, 
and he looks into my eyes and 
tells me, “I believe you.” It is 
my first time hearing those 
words.

On days when I open my 

eyes to the rays of sunlight 
gleaming through the window 
of my apartment bedroom, I 
get a certain sense of seren-
ity — almost like everything is 
okay. And even if it’s not now, 
it will be okay. The sunlight 
bounces off the mirrors in my 
room, making small rainbows 
in the corners where the walls 
meet the ceiling. It makes the 
hardwood floors seem a lighter 
shade of oak brown and fades 
the scuffs and scratches that 
once marked my bedroom 
walls. It makes the 16th floor 
that I live on no longer seem 
so daunting. On mornings like 
those, I feel happy. 

To me, the sun is no longer an 

objective term — a burning ball 
of fire, the center of our uni-
verse, the source of our light. It 
has become synonymous with 
happiness and a certain sense 
of nostalgia. It reminds me of 
the three-bedroom ranch home 
where I was born and raised for 
half of my life. The home where 
I learned to love chaos, noise 
and laughter. It reminds me of 
my four siblings and I piling 
up to sleep in one room despite 
the plentiful amount of space 

for all of us around the house. 
It reminds me of the trampo-
line in our backyard and the 
days when the sun made it 
warm enough for us to jump 
on it until nightfall. The tram-
poline that I slowly watched 
lost springs and nails and nets 
and eventually, its guests over 
the years. It reminds me of 
afternoons spent with my two 
older sisters; one with a flat 
iron in her hand straightening 
her bleach blonde highlighted 
hair and the other at the van-
ity in our shared room pressing 
blue glitter eyeshadow all over 
her eyelids. As Britney Spears 
played in the background off 
the sticker-adorned hot pink 
stereo, I would watch from the 
corner in awe. The sun shined 
so brightly in that home — it 
made me feel safe, it made me 
feel light and it made every-
thing feel euphoric.

And my love for the sun is 

what fuels my hatred for win-
ter. Winters have always been 
the harshest time of the year 
for me — especially Michigan 
winters. One would expect that 
I would be used to the bitter 
cold of the winter months by 
now. After all, these winters 
are the only winters I know. 
But watching my days get 
shorter and shorter, feeling my 
nose sting the moment I step 

outside and hearing the birds 
slowly stop chirping never gets 
easier, no matter how many 
times I’ve lived it. The sun 
stops showing her face as much 
this time of year. And runny 
noses, gloves and jackets have 
just never managed to become 
my forte. I only trudge through 
the winters so that I can make 
it to the time of the year when 
everything is reborn. When the 
sun comes back out and gives 
myself and the world around 
me life again. When the grass 
turns green and the flowers 
bloom and everything begins 
to sparkle. 

But me and the sun’s love is 

complicated. 

And the sun can be cruel. 
I remember the first time I 

fell asleep in the sun. For days 
after, I watched as my olive 
skin reddened and blistered. 
It stung and shriveled up and 
eventually peeled off. 

How could something I love 

so much be so bad to me?

It was sunny when I fell and 

broke my wrist in the second 
grade. It was sunny when I got 
rejected from my dream uni-
versity in high school. It was 
sunny when I experienced my 
first heartbreak. It was sunny 
as I walked home with tears 
in my eyes convinced I failed 
my accounting exam (for the 

record, I didn’t). It was sunny 
every single time I received 
news of the loss of a loved one.

It was loss that forced me to 

see the sun in a new light — a 
much bleaker light. I watched 
the sunrays bounce off the 
walls of my bedroom that 
once brought me so much love 
through sobs and teary eyes. I 
watched those same sunrays 
bounce off tombstones at the 
cemetery. The irony.

So sometimes I question how 

I can love the sun. On one hand, 
I love the sun because she rep-
resents everything good. But 
the sun has not always been 
good to me. And that makes 
me a living testament to the 
fact that we love the things that 
sometimes hurt us the most. 

I often wonder what that 

says about me. As humans, 
our love is intrinsic. Our love 
has no barriers and sometimes 
happens without us realiz-
ing it. And that’s exactly what 
happened with the Sun and I. 
When we love, we allow (and 
some may even say force) our-
selves to put down a wall and 
accept vulnerability. It’s scary, 
but in turn, we sometimes let 
that love blind us from seeing 
the bad. 

But that’s just the thing 

about the sun — sometimes it 
burns you. 

Not just TikTok drama: We 

need to reassess how we 
talk about sexual assault

Hail to the Victims: A thank-you letter to 

Anderson survivors

The sun burns

Courtesy of Jessica Kwon/MiC

Design by Priya Ganji

KATHERINA ANDRADE OZAETTA

MiC Assistant Editor

JESSICA KWON
MiC Managing Editor

REEM HASSAN

MiC Columnist

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