The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
8 — Wednesday, February 16, 2022
ANONYMOUS
CONTRIBUTOR
S T A T E M E N T
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
From stalking to
harassment:
TW: Sexual Assault, Stalking,
Sexual Harassment, Rape
Dear U-M Housing,
You called my being stalked,
threatened and sexually harrased by
my residents a “personal matter.” It is
not. It is a hazard and a direct result
of the unsafe job you hired me for.
I am “Alice” from the Daily’s
recent investigation about U-M
Housing and ResStaff safety. Here is
my full story.
***
I am truly amazed I didn’t become
another “College girl raped and
murdered” headline that year — the
year I was a 19 year old “Traditional
Resident Advisor (RA)” in a freshman
residence hall on the University of
Michigan’s Ann Arbor campus.
My entire first year as an RA, I
lived in constant fear because five of
my male residents were harassing
and stalking me. They memorized
my schedule and followed me around
campus. They threatened to break
me. They cornered and harassed
my friend. And after I reported the
incidents, it only got worse. I caught
the five men watching me while I
slept in my bedroom because U-M
Housing refused to put locks on all
doors to my room. They discussed
raping me while standing directly
outside my door. They switched into
one of my classes to continue stalking
me. And one night, I caught them
under my window taking pictures
of me. The entire time, I was ignored
by the Division of Public Safety and
Security, lied to by my Hall Director
and pushed aside by U-M Housing
administrators.
It began on the second day of
classes. I overheard my name spoken
by five of my male residents living
directly across the hall from me. They
laughed and started talking about
how excited they were to “break her.”
It took me a second to realize they
were talking about breaking me.
The air caught in my throat. What?
‘Break me’ how? I wanted to believe
that the comment was innocent but
their tone of voice said otherwise.
I tried to voice my concerns about
the comment to the other RAs, but
they didn’t think the men were being
serious about it.
The following day, the ringleader
of the five men came by my room
because he needed information from
the first floor meeting that he missed.
As his RA, I had to act like everything
was fine, totally normal. That is
always your job as an RA: provide
help for whatever the resident needs.
After all, every resident is a customer
to the University. We treated
them as such, with politeness and
unwavering hospitality.
After I filled him in on what he
missed, he started gloating about
how nervous people became around
him due to his tall, large stature. He
said he loved seeing how nervous
they were around him. He said
‘people’ but it was obvious to me that
he meant women.
I saw the group of five men
in places outside the dorm every
day, which, on a campus of almost
50,000 students, is weird. It started
innocently enough, saying ‘hi’ to
them outside Mason Hall or South
Quad.
Then, their presence became a
pattern. I noticed at least three of
them during many passing periods
when I came out of my lecture halls,
or sitting a few tables down anytime
I was eating in any of the seven main
dining halls on campus.
I became increasingly nervous
everywhere on campus and started
spending most of my time in the
dorm community center — every
residence hall’s mail and package
room — surrounded by the other
RAs. Last year, RAs stopped working
at community centers, thanks to
hiring more Community Center
Assistants (CCA). The RA contract
(the Letter of Appointment) was
updated accordingly for this school
year.
The other RAs would text me
when the five men were in the
community center looking for me,
which happened multiple times each
week.
After a few weeks, I started getting
creepy notes in messy handwriting
on my door. The notes included
poems, private details about my life
and lines professing love for me.
Some were signed by the residents,
some weren’t.
I dreaded returning to my room
because I would have to walk past the
men’s doors — if they saw me, then I
had to engage in nice conversation as
they purposely said things to make
me uncomfortable. Afterward, I
would hear them saying “fuck her,”
“nice ass,” or “oooh I’d like to tap
that.” I don’t know if they knew I
could hear them, but it stung either
way.
One evening, I was preparing to
go out with friends, doing my hair
and nails in the bathroom, when the
ringleader knocked on my door. The
loud knock startled me; I burnt my
thumb on the curling iron. After a few
moments of pause, he proceeded to
bang on the door with what seemed
like all his strength, and screamed
down the hall in his frustration. I
waited until I knew he was gone
before running to my friends at the
bus stop.
The next morning, I complained
to Eric, one of my closest RA friends,
about the previous night’s incident.
He advised me to update my boss
(our hall director) about the situation,
which I had been doing any time
something new occurred with the
five men.
A few hours later, Eric called me.
According to him, he was walking
to the bus stop when the five men
cornered him against a car in the
parking lot and interrogated him.
They would not let Eric leave until he
said where I was.
I immediately went to my boss — I
wanted to report to DPSS what was
occurring. I wanted to stop the five
men, specifically the ringleader. I
didn’t have a specific punishment in
mind, I just wanted DPSS to get the
men to stop threatening my friends
and stalking me.
I was wary of working with DPSS.
Officers had already ignored my
concerns during duty rounds, and
they had talked down to me when I
had called for help with a multiple-
resident conflict. They were also
rude — practically ignoring me and
always grumbling — any time I called
about weed odors in the hallways.
In this instance, I figured the
situation with the five men had
gotten so bad that even DPSS couldn’t
avoid helping me. I thought the
meeting would take a while — I had
emailed my professor telling him I
would miss class. I told my friends I
would be late to dinner.
An older male DPSS officer met
me and my boss (the hall director)
in the main office of the dorm. The
officer was constantly checking his
watch; it was obvious he wanted the
meeting to be over before it had even
started.
The meeting took maybe ten
minutes total, and the officer spoke
with increasing skepticism as I
shared my story and showed him
texts, video recordings of the five
men, pictures with timestamps and
the physical notes that were left on
my door.
The DPSS officer didn’t seem to
think most of my information was
relevant. At the end of the meeting,
the officer looked at me like I just
wasted his time and said, “Honey, it
sounds like they have a little crush
on you. Why don’t you just confront
[the five men]?” I found out later,
after reading a copy of the report,
that he neglected to put some of the
information I told him into the DPSS
report.
After this meeting, I shut down.
My hall director had failed to stand
up for me or try to help convince
DPSS that this was an issue. Instead,
the two of them agreed to have the
officer talk to the ringleader and ask
him to stop harassing me, because his
behavior was “scaring me.”
Months later, I found out that all
DPSS did was have a two-minute
long phone call with the ringleader.
Apparently — according to their
report — the ringleader was very
apologetic.
DPSS and my hall director
arranged for the ringleader to
apologize to me in my room. Alone. I
had done everything in my power to
avoid being alone with him again, and
now I had to let him into my private
room because “he’d changed.”
Unsurprising to me, his apology
was wholly insincere, it lasted less
than a minute and he sounded more
amused than apologetic — I felt
violated that he came into my room
again.
Later that day, I heard the five men
laughing about me being so scared
I called DPSS. Their conversation
made it clear that my decision had
validated their goal of scaring me and
they thought it was hilarious.
***
The dorm I lived in had an odd
room layout. There were two access
points in each dorm room: one door
with a keypad lock from the hallway
and one door from the bathroom
with no lock.
My dorm room and the dorm
room next to mine were connected
by a bathroom (Jack and Jill style)
but there were no locks on either
side of either bathroom door. The
resident that I shared the bathroom
with — and anyone in her room —
had full access to my room through
the bathroom.
For the privacy of the resident I
shared a bathroom with, I always
kept my door to our shared bathroom
closed. A few days after the ringleader
apologized, I woke up from a nap to
see both bathroom doors open. The
five men were hanging out in my
suitemate’s room. I got up and shut
the bathroom door as they giggled.
I spent the night on the floor of
another RA’s room.
The lack of locks was an ongoing
issue for RAs in this dorm, as many of
us have woken up to a resident in our
room or later found out that a resident
snuck into our room without our
knowledge —I know of three other
RAs that year who had this problem.
When we brought our concerns to
our hall director, we were told locks
would be a “fire hazard.” We were
asked not to bring it up again.
We went to the U-M Housing
administration and asked if they
could help. Without a pause, their
only response was, “Sorry to hear you
feel that way.”
I fashioned a lock for the bathroom
door out of pipes, a bike lock cable
and a refrigerator magnet. It looked
ridiculous but it worked. I put a
screwdriver under my pillow before
I went to bed each night. Jeans with
a belt became my pajamas. I barely
slept.
***
One night, a friend of mine texted
me, unprompted. He was at a party,
wanted to hang for a bit and get a
ride back to his place. I obliged. Once
we got back to my dorm, I went to
the bathroom and he started asking
weird questions about my dating life
and sexual history.
The questions made me nervous.
I was about to change the subject
when a noise made me freeze —
the five men were walking into my
suitemate’s room. I bolted from the
bathroom, and my guy friend took
that moment to grab me and kiss me.
It was gross. He reeked of alcohol.
I tried to push him away, but he
grabbed me and kissed me harder.
I could hear the five men laughing
with my suitemate, less than fifteen
feet from me.
I couldn’t make a sound. I hadn’t
been able to lock my bathroom door
and feared the five men entering my
room and joining if they heard what
was happening.
My friend raped me that night.
I tried to tell him to stop but he just
smirked. I stopped fighting him after
he was inside me. I gave up, I guess.
There wasn’t anything I could do.
I didn’t want him to get any
satisfaction so I closed my eyes as
they welled with tears, determined
not to let a single one fully form. I
let my mind dissolve into the pain. I
dissociated.
When he pulled up his pants,
he kissed me on my forehead and
asked for a ride home. His voice was
muffled, fuzzy. I have no idea what
else he said to me — I just got up and
drove him home.
I broke down the second I got back
to my dorm room. My chest felt like it
had collapsed as I heaved and sobbed.
Eventually I got up, took a shower
and convinced myself I was fine.
The next morning I went to CVS
for Plan B.
RAs
are
individuals
with
reporting obligations about sexual
assault. We report to the hall director
if something happens. The person
who we work with every day, live in
the same building with and who is
in charge of us is the person we are
contractually bound to report our
episodes of sexual assault to.
This is something I have never
understood. How can you make
a rule stating that after one of the
most devastating things happens to
someone, you strip them of their final
decision: who they tell?
I was fully aware that by talking to
my superior, I would lose the little bit
of power I had left over my body.
My closest friends were the RAs
in my building. They would have to
report to our boss if I told them. I
knew I couldn’t talk to my friends
until I was ready to relive that night
with my boss, who I distrusted
immensely,
and
U-M
Housing
administrators, who would get a copy
of the report my boss would write.
***
I have held too many RAs, sobbing
uncontrollably because their hall
directors, DPSS and U-M Housing
administrators won’t take their
safety seriously.
RA training modules, delivered
via Canvas, centered around keeping
the residents safe and the University
from having to assume liability.
Training pertaining to RA safety was
slim to none.
I worked with many RAs by the
end of my time in U-M Housing. The
majority of the female ones and many
male ones told me they had been
harassed or assaulted by the end
of their time on the job. Residents’
fathers flirt with you. Residents’
mothers yell at you. Residents ask you
out, turn you into an object and, in my
case, stalk and harass you.
At no point do RAs receive training
on what to do about any of this. If you
try to tell your hall director, the first
thing they say is that if you cannot
handle it, maybe the job isn’t right
for you — they constantly refer to the
waitlist of people who want to be RAs
and would happily take your spot.
RAs were able to force changes
during the Fall 2020 ResStaff strike
because there was no waitlist.
Nobody wanted to be an RA during
the pandemic. Therefore, RAs were
no longer expendable. For the first
time, ResStaff could not be dismissed.
***
When December began, my panic
attacks about the rape got worse. I
realized I needed support from my
closest friends, the RAs.
I went to the hall director’s
office and asked a few hypothetical
questions about what would happen
if I reported the sexual assault of an
RA. My boss said that I could simply
issue the report, that my name could
be left off the report, that the report
would be a hard copy and not in the
electronic system. It could be vague.
And wholly anonymous.
Because of those answers, I
decided to tell my boss about the
rape. Sitting on a folding chair in the
oddly colorful office, I felt incredibly
nauseous. I eyed the trash can.
After I finished my story, my
hall director paused, typed on the
computer,
and
turned
around.
“Oh whoops,” they said. “I made a
mistake. Actually, your name will
have to be on the report, it’ll be in the
online system and I need a bit more
information from you.”
I sat in silence for a few moments. I
felt the panic rise in my chest.
Before I could reply, my boss
said, “So, what was his name? And,
what type of rape was it? Vaginal
penetration with a penis? Or anal?
Was it just fingers?”
I couldn’t speak. I felt my eyes
getting red. I bit my tongue until I
tasted blood.
“No.” I said. “I was sexually
assaulted, that’s what you can put
in the report. I’m not telling you any
more. I’m not telling you who he
was or how. And I am not talking to
anyone else, especially DPSS.”
I walked out, my eyes welling
with tears as I grappled with the
reality that I’d just exchanged the
most vulnerable piece of information
about myself with my boss.
I don’t know who thought it was a
good idea to force RAs to report their
own sexual assaults to their bosses. It
was the most demeaning exchange
I’ve ever endured.
***
My issues with the five men only
persisted. They used nicknames to
talk about me without sounding like
they were referring to me. Many
nights when I was sleeping on my
dorm room floor, I would hear them
outside my door, commenting on my
body while looking at the pictures of
me on the bulletin board. On nights
when the boys were talking about me
and I could escape my room, I would
crash in another RA’s room. We
would watch Scooby Doo, or learn
chords on the guitar.
In the winter semester, on the
day before the University’s drop/add
course deadline, I got to one of my
classes and immediately recognized
two new faces in the room. Two of
the five men were sitting a few rows
behind my normal seat. I knew this
was no coincidence — they were
freshmen in a lecture that did not
even remotely coincide with their
majors.
I sat down and saw their faces
reflected on my laptop screen.
They were watching me. I do not
remember anything from that course
except running for the exit every
time it ended.
Midway through February, I had
just gotten back to my room and
was getting ready for bed when the
five men stomped through the back
stairwell. They were talking about
me, using a nickname inspired by an
event I had led in the dorm.
As they passed my door, the
ringleader
asked
the
others,
“Wouldn’t you want to rape [her]
if you could?” The men burst out
laughing. They walked into their
room talking about how much they
wanted to rape me.
The world became fuzzy. My
vision blacked out. I called one of the
RAs, Leroy, and he came to my room.
I couldn’t breathe. I was shaking so
hard that Leroy had to grab me so I
wouldn’t collapse. Leroy spent the
night in my room on the floor, but
even then I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t
know what to do.
Previously, I had followed the
rules and reported what happened,
just like U-M Housing told me to.
It only made things worse. I kept
debating whether I should resort
back to my hall director or DPSS.
The memory of how little the DPSS
officer had cared about my last report
was still prevalent in my mind. And
my hall director had handled me
being raped so poorly.
Instead, my main group of RA
friends decided to rotate walking me
to my room each night so I wouldn’t
be alone in my hall after dark. This
lasted until the end of the year.
***
When I think back on that year,
I remember how my teeth were
constantly chattering and my legs
were always bouncing from anxiety
— but I kept smiling. I wanted to
be the best RA possible, even with
everything happening.
Honestly, I think I did a good job.
Being an RA is demanding but I lived
up to the challenge. My residents had
problems, from depression to chronic
illnesses, and I always tried to be
there for them.
I had residents sleeping in my
room during insect infestations. I
got take-out meals for sick residents,
got groups of residents together
who were struggling and planned
outings for them, walked residents
to University Health Services or
Counseling
and
Psychological
Services,
pulled
countless
all-
nighters helping residents through
personal problems, responded to
their messages at all hours and
answered
their
questions
and
concerns.
My bulletin boards and door
decorations were praised by U-M
Housing administrators. I planned
small celebrations for residents when
they hit a big milestone: birthdays,
half-birthdays
(for
summer
birthdays), job/internship successes
and passing hard classes.
Even though I did want to do my
best for my residents, I also didn’t
have a choice. As an RA, U-M housing
can dismiss you at any moment,
beginning or middle or end of the
year, and you only have 48 hours to
clear out your room and find a new
place to live.
Design by Jennie Vang
Page Design by Sarah Chung
— My experience as a former RA