We wish to pay our respects to the Ngunnawal and Ngambri peoples, whose land on which this publication has been written and produced. We acknowledge that this land is, was, and always will be the land of First Nations peoples, and that sovereignty was never ceded.
1800RESPECT (1800 737 732): Australia’s n violence counselling service. Lifeline (13 11 14): A crisis support and suic 24/7.
Domestic Violence Crisis Service (DVCS) emergency crisis intervention 24/7, free lega groups
ANU Counselling Centre (02 6125 2442): It counselling for mental health to all ANU stud Forensic & Medical Sexual Assault Care ( Emergency Department/A CRCC worker can Conducts free forensic examinations 24/7 an following sexual assault.
Canberra Rape Crisis Centre (CRCC) (02 6247 2525): An organisation that provides medical and crisis counselling support; including a male survivor-specific service (SAMSSA) and an Indigenous Australian-specific service (Nguru Program). There is a CRCC Counsellor on ANU Campus full-time Monday to Friday.
ACT Federal Police Sexual Assault and Daisy App (Can be downloaded on your mobile App Store): A free app designed by 1800RESPECT that provides quick information about relevant support services in your local area and nationally
Reach Out Australia (ReachOut.com): Provides extensive tips, factsheets and links to support for students and young people.
Blue Knot (Blueknot.org.au): Provides support and resources for adult survivors of childhood trauma.
Relationships Australia (Relationships.org.au): A national relationship support service that assists families and communities to achieve healthy and respectful relationships.
Translation and Interpreting Service (TISnational.gov.au): Assist in immediate phone interpreting to deliver equity and access to the community.
child sexual abuse
sexual violence/trauma
institutional betrayal
discussion of mental health
rape culture
pleasure/toys
shame/blame
substance abuse
self harm
look for one of these on each page for content warnings prior to reading!
To help readers navigate this publication safely, we have included a numbered scale on every story to reflect the intensity of the content. We encourage you to use these scales to decide if or when you are able to engage with these stories in a safe manner.
low intensity
mid intensity
Founder and Director
Camille Schloeffel
Campaign Manager Lara Woolley
Treasurer Ella Hickey
Deputy Campaign Manager Madelaine Renshaw
Lead Events Coordinator
Sam Neave
Public Engagement Coordinator
Jemma Sbeghen
Team Support
Webmaster
Emma Hartley
Social Media Officer Bianca Nicotra
Content Officer
Mahalia Crawshaw
Content Officer Aline Damaj
Events Coordinator
Mekala Navaratne
Events Coordinator Clare Myers
Welcome to the second edition of The STOP Campaign ‘zine', our annual publication that aims to empower the voices of survivors and educate our community on issues pertaining to sexual violence and respectful relationships.
Our first zine entitled ‘Revealing Truths and Breaking Sigmas’ featured stories of survivors of sexual assault and sparked conversations surrounding the issue of sexual violence on Australian university campuses. The video series that accompanied the zine showcased raw, emotional readings of the zine submissions by ANU students. Both projects had wide reach in the ANU community and furthered the conversation surrounding the university’s inadequate response to the Human Rights Commission ‘Change the Course' Report, and lack of support for survivors.
Since our first zine was released, the campaign has grown immensely. At The STOP Campaign we pride ourselves on being an intersectional feminist organisation and, as such, endeavour to reach all student demographics within our work. For example, we have hosted and participated in an array of community engagement events such as the 'Revealing Truths and Breaking Stigmas' Zine Launch, ANU Trivia, ANU Market Days, ISD Wholesome Fiesta and the ‘Do Better ANU' Open Day Protest. Our members have also participated as speakers in panel events including the Women After Dark Community Event, Girls Takeover Parliament Women in Leadership Panel and the Let’s Talk About Respect Panel. This is important to us because one of our main focuses of the Campaign is to educate the university community on respectful relationships, consent, sex, sexual violence and trauma-related mental illness in survivors of sexual assault.
Indeed, to spread awareness on these issues, we have created a sizeable social media presence which continues to post regular resources and articles on various platforms.
Since founding The STOP Campaign, Camille Schloeffel has worked tirelessly to empower and advocate for survivors and rally support for ending sexual violence on university campuses. Many organisations have recognised her valiant work in the space. However, most recently Camille won the Westfield Local Hero Award and $10 000 for The STOP Campaign. We are so excited for the change that this grant will allow us to make in the future. In continuing our work, we decided to release a second edition of the zine project. This zine also gives a voice to survivors, although it has a more encompassing focus about how trauma manifests. Thus, you will find the zine has been separated into three distinct sections; ‘Sexual Violence and Trauma,’ ‘Life After’ and ‘The Road Ahead'.
The first section about sexual violence and trauma discusses different elements of sexual violence and abusive relationships, not only allowing survivors to speak their truth, but also to educate readers on such issues. The second section is distinct as we wanted to show different aspects of life after trauma and hopefully make survivors feel less alone and potentially more empowered or hopeful for change and growth. The final section is particularly special to us at The STOP Campaign as it highlights the power of activism and what every person as an individual and a collective can do in order to end sexual violence on our university campuses. And finally, we have included a sneak peak of our College Program due to launch at the beginning of 2020. It is our hope that it will provide a form of regulation of sexual education, as well as suggest more appropriate policies and procedures to put in place in response to sexual violence disclosures and reports.
With that all said we would like to take this opportunity to thank you, our readers, for engaging with our campaign. You are what makes us a movement that has the capacity to generate meaningful change. We hope that after reading this publication that you will stand with us and survivors and demand for safe and inclusive Australian university campuses for all students.
In solidarity,
Lara Woolley Campaign Manager
We publish this zine in the hope that it will remind you that you are supported, your voice will be heard, and we will always fight for change. We appreciate that the content may be triggering and encourage you to practice self-care, talk to someone you trust and take regular breaks when reading this.
The purpose of this zine is to reveal the journey that survivors embark on in their path towards healing. We would not have been able to publish this zine without the utmost courage and bravery each writer has had in being a part of this process. We recognise that you may not feel comfortable sharing your story, and we know that some survivors will never be ready. That is okay, and no matter what, we will never stop advocating for change. We will always stand with you and we will always support you.
Everyone has the right to feel safe on campus and have their boundaries respected. We want you to know that sexual violence is never your fault, that we believe you and that we care. We are proud of the steps you are taking towards healing and acknowledge how difficult it is to take that first step on your journey. However, along the way, always remember that you are loved, supported, believed, and we will listen.
We want you to know that there is support available and that you are never alone.
Written by Mahalia Crawshaw, Madelaine Renshaw and Camille Schloeffel
Everyone has a story to tell. If you walk down University Avenue, among those students you see, 1 in 10 have been sexually assaulted. 68 students who live in residential colleges across Australia are raped every week. In 2016 alone, 831 of your friends, acquaintances, residents, partners, and colleagues at the ANU were sexually assaulted on campus.
The reason we exist is because this is not okay, it should not be happening, and people need to take action. By taking a stand together, we can inspire positive change and ensure that our campuses are safe for every student.
Campaigns like this can make substantial, influential change in our community. The more that people listen, notice, and make an effort to be a part of the change, the less that sexual violence can thrive. Most activists in the space of sexual violence are survivors themselves, and it’s time for others to step up. Sexual violence is everyone’s responsibility. Some of the ways in which we can all play an important role in this shift are by educating ourselves, being an effective bystander, and good role models.
These conversations may feel uncomfortable or difficult to have. However, these experiences are happening to your friends, family, colleagues, partners; and we don’t want it to happen to anyone else if we can help it.
Content Warning: Discussions of sexual violence, institutional betrayal, college culture, alcohol consumption, rape culture
You stole my body, destroyed my autonomy and pierced my hope.
The incident occurred in my first year when I was living at a residential college on Daley Rd. I was freshly 19 years old. My college had a culture of competitive binge drinking each Thursday night This backdrop of accepted and encouraged drunkenness enabled inappropriate behaviour. Such behaviour was deemed admissible because the perpetrator was intoxicated and unaccountable for their actions This distorted semblance of Thursday college culture enabled my assaulter’s behaviour.
He was a fifth year and also living at the residential college. We were hardly acquaintances, but knew of each other’s existence within the college. It was a Thursday night, I was drunk, very drunk I was dancing in my favourite club, cube with all my friends. Somehow I lost my group of friends, but saw a vaguely familiar face from college. I decided to hang with him for a bit until I found my friends again, instead of wait on my own He worked for ANU security, I thought I’de be safe waiting with him. I trusted him. I expressed my frustration at losing my friends, but he assured me I was safe with him. After all, he worked for ANU security.
The ANU security whose job description involves “unisafe escort” and the on campus night bus These initiatives were introduced by ANU to ensure students walking around campus at night, particularly after a night out on the tow return safely home.
Instead of kindly waiting with me until I found my friends again he took advantage of me. He knew I trusted him. I did, I needed to. I was a young woman, drunk and alone in a club He knew he was stronger and more powerful than me He was I wasn’t
He walked with me back to our residential college. I felt I needed to, the alternative was walking alone That was fine Instead of parting ways after we reached the college hall, he started to assault me. My cries of “No!” were left unheard. I tried to leave, he grabbed me and would console, but continue to assault. I felt powerless. I felt as if my sense of being was floating above me in shock. I felt like an outsider looking from above down onto my naked body as it was assaulted. My cries of resistance were ignored The cocktail of shock, alcohol and adrenaline induced a sleep like stupor
I remember waking nauseous with a pounding headache. There was a stranger’s naked body and private touching me. I felt disgusting, revolting, dirty. I immediately leapt from the bed and ran. I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest, tears streaked uncontrollably down my face. As I reached for the door he grabbed me. I ran outside, it was barely 5am. I had a shower and sobbed and changed my clothes. I grabbed my bike and rode away I rode all around Canberra, to distract myself from the horrors of the night before
My body told my story I had bruised wrists and neck My whole body felt tender and fragile It felt taken
In the weeks that followed, I told glimpses of the night to close friends. I even built up the courage to report the assault to a senior resident and community coordinator. I believe the Senior Resident contacted the college admin, however I was never contacted. I do not believe he was reprimanded at all. Fortunately, he does not work for ANU security anymore.
It has been 2 and a half years since the incident and I am still in the process of reclaiming my body. I lost all trust and pride in myself. I suffered severe self loathing from the incident. Only now, am I beginning to reclaim my sense of self. I have seen countless friends go through similar horrors to mine. It is not normal, expected or ever okay. It must stop. NOW.
Written by Lisa BarnardMarch 18th, 2018. The Cube, Canberra.
"Let's call it a night, I want to go home",
"We can give you a lift",
"Thanks but it's okay, I can walk",
"We insist, come on".
March 19th, 2018. Canberra City Police Station.
"I.. think I was raped..",
"When did it happen?",
"Yesterday",
"Why do you only come today?",
"I didn't know what to do..",
Content Warning: Discussions of sexual violence, institutional betrayal, substance abuse, mental health, alcohol consumption
"Please sit down, we'll have someone from the special team to talk to you"
Canberra Hospital, Forensic and Medical Sexual Assault Care.
"Before we do the medical evidence procedure, you need to know that what happened was not your fault",
I burst into tears, "I could have avoided it".
April 2018. Belconnen Police Station.
"We couldn't proceed with the charges There was not enough evidence against these two men I'm sorry.."
July 2018.
Months passed, I found myself not giving a damn about anything anymore Mooseheads downstairs quickly comfort me with the alternative feelings to sadness with whiskey and molly. The number of men I slept with jumped from 7 to 21 in less than four months It felt like I was in control. I was living a carefree life, but I became distant from my family, I almost punched my best friend during a night out, and I failed my university courses It took me a drunken and pleasurable night of getting hit in the face and being pinned down to make me realise that I needed help. Professional help So, I called the Canberra Rape Crisis Centre in the ANU and set an appointment with the counselor.
January 2019.
I took a flight back home Talked to my mum She is now an activist against sexual assault in our home country.
September 2019.
More than a year has passed I'd like to believe that I'm a warrior, not just a survivor I listened to myself better now, I learned to trust my instincts about a person or a situation. I learned to control the noises in my head; no more night terrors from the same nightmare, no more panic attacks when I see men who resembled my perps, no more fear of walking past the places involved. I've had my healing journey, I made peace with what happened, and I've loved myself more than ever before.
Written by MiaContent Warning: Discussions of sexual violence, shaming.
We hadn't really talked before. In retrospect I see him watching me But I don’t know if that’s true. It was a celebration With tequila and bright lights Did I drink too much?
I hardly knew him He was a name and a face He’s in 3rd year. He’s cool. People like him. And he followed me home.
Too drunk to know that "I'll catch the same taxi, I live out that way" Was a lie that would turn into "Can I come up to your room? It's cold.”
“I'm tired I'm going to bed.” And he was there. ...
And in the morning I told him to go Too polite to yell but I came close My family were in town
And I went to the chemist under the guise Of picking up medication To get plan b
The morning after I was raped And wouldn't know to call it that for 5 years.
I owe a lot to Jane Doe, Stanford rape case. Anonymous and strong In her conviction to fight the fuckery of men.
Her story let light into The dark and deep crevices of June 11, 2011.
Rape. That's what you call it.
Because I had learned to be grateful for what he did. And
At least he didn't hurt me. He just followed me home.
And it’s okay because I'm not that pretty So it was a compliment.
He pissed himself when he woke up and There was blood on the sheets. I'll never know why.
And he doesn't even know He's a rapist But I do.
Written by S. E. H
Breathe in, breathe out; what things bring you joy or comfort?
Content Warning: Discussions of workplace harassment, victim blaming, self blame
I came for a trial, Stayed for longer than was fair, Wasn’t worth my while, But what was there to compare?
Curvaceous hips, Rosy cheeks, Red juicy lips, Hospo seeks,
None of them I am, But it’s all you see, I say of course ma’am, This is the real me.
He said it was all in my contract, The lips The hair The curves out for show, Can’t complain. I agreed. It’s a fact, It’s fun, he says Just go with the flow,
I can feel their gaze upon me, They’re playing a game - truth or dare, What if he’s just being friendly? This feels like my biggest nightmare
It’s not just the pay It’s not just the theft, It’s on the menu. It’s on the street, I want to walk home safe, the last one left I can hear their voices on repeat.
Written by RMI left that place, And, so did he, I needed space, I’m trapped Not free, I went for a trial, Stayed for longer than was fair, Wasn’t worth my while, But what was there to compare?
My friends say it’ll be ok I have no doubt He followed me. Or maybe I followed him. Are you listening now? Where is the good way out? He’s the manager. Just started there on a whim.
Content Warning: Graphic descriptions of sexual violence and sexual acts, toxic relationships, alcohol consumption, sexual harassment
There is a girl She is wearing a short skirt It sits a little higher than halfway up her thigh She is tipsy, and races her friend to the next club Her skirt lifts as she runs There is a flash of black, before her skirt floats back down.
-------------------------------
She sits in his room, giggly and excited
It is her first night in college
And he is on the committee
New friends are sprawled beside her
They are playing a game
A dumb game
“Ummm… I haven’t actually had it yet”
The night is dark
And so is the dance floor
Except for flashing lights flashing in her dazed eyes
He is moving closer
Hands on hips
Hands on waist
Hot breath on her neck
She is a doe, blinking, unaware
He is the gun
Cocked
Moving in
Moving in time with her
With her swaying, pulsating
He bends her over
She bends
He shoots
He scores
-------------------
Her friend is wasted
So she invites her to stay the night
Not to drive
Please don’t drive
Out of danger
Into danger
Her eyes are wide open, frozen
As she feels fingers fingering
Stroking
Stretching
“Don’t”
“Please don’t”
“Stop”
But she doesn’t get out of bed
That’s what her psychologist says
She doesn’t get out of bed
They talk about it the next day
The two girls
She apologises
She accepts
They start Hanging out
More fumbling
And yet she can’t help thinking
Can’t help feeling
She wants to stop
“Please stop”
And the other girl
She cries
Her heart
Its breaking
But mine is already broken
----------------------------
Her heart is light
It is fluffy
When he smiles
Her heart climbs into her throat
Begging to escape, to show him how much he means
To her
It is mid-afternoon
He pushes
She winces
He stops
She begs him to keep going
He slides in
Slides out
Faster and faster
They are hot and heavy
He cums
They laugh, they smile
A month later they are sitting on his floor
She is crying
He is rambling
“I just feel like I pushed you”
How dare you
How dare you take this away from me
My choice
My desire
Made yours
She is choking
He is in her mouth
In her throat
She wants to stop
She can’t breathe
She is crying
Tears flowing, like her dreams
Flowing out of her
And he does not notice
They are on the corner
Between two roads
In the open
They are drunk
She wanted more
She wanted pleasure
She wanted
Not this
Not him
Not like this
It finishes
He walks back inside
She is left
Gasping for breath
She breathes
Stands
Walks back
Sees her friend, her best friend
Runs to her
Already crying
And collapses in her arms
That same night
Still drunk
Another boy follows her Waits outside
She opens the door
He kisses her
She kisses back
And then they close the door behind them
The girl sees them And now she is crying They flood over her Flood into her She is not her
She giggles with her friends, at work, with the cute boys in the hostels
She no longer knows the number
She no longer knows the names
But she enjoys herself
She enjoys them
Enjoys her short skirts
Her heavy breaths
Her red wine
The feeling when they cum
She continues to hold herself out
Open to the world
To let them in
Even when the world does this
Does this to her
She likes sex, but this was not sex
They were not sex
They were not
And now she is a little less than who she could’ve been
And yet,
She is more in herself
She enjoys herself
She just doesn’t want dicks in her porn
Written by Alice Liddell“Are you okay? I’m here for you.”It takes enormous courage to disclose an experience of sexual violence This is why simply listening is the most important first step when someone discloses to you. It is okay if you are not sure what to say in these situations, and sitting with a bit of silence can be okay too. Allow them to take their time.
“I am so sorry this happened to you ”The shame and stigma of sexual violence makes it difficult to talk about, but having someone acknowledge what happened can help validate their experience. Acknowledge what happened, as well as their courage and strength for disclosing to you.
“Thank you for telling me. I believe you." Make it clear that you believe them and that their feelings are valid
“What happened is not your fault.”It is never anyone’s fault that they are assaulted. It is always the perpetrator/s who are at fault, regardless of the relationship between both parties. Assure them that what happened to them is not okay and that it is not their fault.
“Do you feel safe right now?”It is important to establish the physical safety of both yourself and the survivor.
“What do you want to do/what support would you like?” First responders to disclosures of sexual violence can experience vicarious trauma To ensure this is mitigated, make sure you establish a clear understanding of your boundaries, and how best to support the survivor.
“Would it be okay if we researched some professional services you may consider?”As a first responder, you are not expected to be their main source of support. If you feel as though you have the skills to refer them onto a professional, this can be significant in the survivor’s healing process. Resources are available throughout this zine that you can draw upon.
Written by Mahalia Crawshaw, Mina Khoshnevisan and Camille Schloeffel
I still talked to him. We still texted Went on dates
Laughed together Went to lectures together Went to each other’s rooms Kissed
But I can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen Because it did
It fucking did.
And I can’t excuse that I can’t keep pretending I am strong. I am beautiful. I am amazing.
I am the shit.
He hurt me
I can’t keep living in this cycle
This cycle of regret
This cycle of denial
This shitty shitty cycle. Because it’s only hurting me
Denial Acceptance
‘At least it wasn’t that bad’
‘At least you didn’t go all the way’
‘You’ll get over it’
‘It’s nothing’
‘You consented’
‘You brought it upon yourself’
‘I didn’t know’
‘Get over it’
‘That’s what you get for sleeping around’
Move on.
Fuck you.
You fucking arsehole.
SCREW YOU.
Descriptions of sexual violence, descriptions of sexual acts, rape culture FUCK YOU.
FUCK!!!
You don’t get to make the calls. I do.
I am in control. It is my body
It is my choice if I want to fucking talk to you or not
My choice Not yours
It will never be the same Despite how much we pretend
‘Hey, are you alright?’
‘Hey, I didn’t know ’
‘Hey, did you want to grab coffee after our tute tomorrow?’
‘I thought you consented’
‘Can we move past this?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me’
‘I’m a nice guy, I promise’
No You aren’t
You took away a piece of me
One that I will never be able to get back
My dignity
My pride
My bodily autonomy
Don’t stick your tongue down my throat. Don’t touch my breasts. Don’t touch my vagina.
Don’t stick your dick in places it doesn’t belong.
Kindly go screw yourself instead x
I often ask myself what you see when our eyes meet.
Written by A. A. DI often ask myself whether you remember what happened and if you think about how it impacts me.
I want to see me, through your eyes.
What do you see when our eyes meet?
Do you see a vessel, that you lusted for, that you used for your satisfaction?
Does your mind go back to four years ago when you ploughed your fingers into me?
Do you think of how I winced in pain?
Do you replay the words you said to me?
When our eyes meet, do you picture yourself?
How you invaded my safe space?
How you took away my bodily autonomy?
Do you picture me confined, pushed against your car door?
I often ask myself what you feel when you see me.
Do you feel guilty?
Do you regret hurting me?
Does your heart feel heavy?
Do your insides bunch up?
Do you feel like you are carrying the weight on your shoulders?
Do your fingers tingle?
Do your feet go numb?
Do you think about what I’m thinking?
I often ponder whether you think about what I think when our eyes meet. I think about how I regret meeting you.
I think about how I so helplessly tried to please you
I thought you would respect me. Be kind to me. Be gentle with me.
Instead, you kicked me down. You made me feel small; vulnerable; weak; unworthy
Do you think about the impact your presence had and continues to have on my body?
My heart feels heavy, constantly. Do you think about how you stole the sanctity of my mind? My mind carries the weight of my thoughts. There is a war in my head, constantly battling, trying to find answers to all my questions
I move with melancholy. The sight of you makes me sick to my stomach
There is a boulder sized pit inside me that I cannot rid myself of. When our eyes meet, my mind travels back to four years ago. I think about how your fingers scraped me raw. I picture the smug look on your face, and how unsatisfied you looked. I think about how I smiled at you afterwards.
I think about how I tried to convince myself it was my fault. I think about how your silhouette festers within me You have infected me with your touch. How do I teach my body to forget you?
I endlessly think through your eyes, in attempt to understand. Sometimes, I hope you think through my eyes and see the monster that eats away inside me.
They say that the devil is in the act itself
The warm sticky wetness trapped in the curls of someone else’s hair
Which you are touching, but trying not to feel
And the way they shiver at a touch you didn’t want to give
A hand you don’t want to be there
It’s okay, because big boys are never wrong
And little girls with nimble hands give good massages
In the dark
With no clothes on Not knowing the wrongness
But feeling it all the same.
My fingers on his body was
Slipping seven-year-old feet into size 10 bloodred pumps so you can see over the top of the big table
And talk to the big boys and big girls
Who are never wrong
They might smile at you.
No, the devil is not in the act
But in the power he still holds over me
Of waking up in the middle of the night and realisation gnawing through your heart of what you did
And the metallic tang of self-loathing
And watching him turn into a fine young man
Yes a fine young man not like all those other teenagers
More brains than Einstein and look how responsible
And don’t you know he always stops to help me
Carry the groceries in such a lovely boy they must be so proud
Of the way that he can polish the car so perfectly
Much more easily than he can polish the stain off a human being’s memory
And watch his eyes as they surely forget
And plunge into the deep abyss of knowing: I don’t have that luxury.
Written by Y. A. S. W. IWhen I was eight, I learnt that sometimes your body is not yours.
He told me his dad told him to touch me while we played hide and seek.
I think it only happened twice.
I never thought about it again, until now. I remember the guilt I had.
I prayed to God every day to forgive me for what happened.
When I was nine, I learnt that love does not look like the Nicholas Sparks movies I fantasize about. Love looks like dad hurting mum after a long day of work
Now, I struggle with the terrifying thought that I will be with someone who will hurt me the same way.
I have a skewed image of what love and respect looks like.
It is a blurry line when you do not know any better
When I was 18, I said no. I pulled away. He told me I would enjoy it anyway.
I am 21 now and only recently begun to think about the above events.
This year has opened up a jar of trauma. It has unfurled itself upon a series of triggers that I am not entirely sure I should deal with. They do not tell you about the temperamental nature of trauma.
Sometimes, it arises when you least expect it and it feels like you’re drowning trying to keep up with the thoughts that constantly cloud your mind. It festers in the back of your mind, on repeat, and it takes over every thought and feeling in your body
It is a lonely feeling not to trust your own memory of a traumatic event.
Content Warning: Descriptions of sexual violence, domestic violence, child sexual abuse.
It is gut-wrenching when you disclose to someone, and all they can say is, ‘you let it happen’, confirming the exact thoughts that already infect your mind, constantly. Sometimes, I find myself comparing my story to others, and thinking it’s not that bad, so why am I still struggling.I constantly try to replay it, so I can believe myself.It scares me that I don’t know how to trust someone else.
I am angry. I expected the words I yelled to have meaning. I expected respect. I expected to be heard
When I look in the mirror, I try my best to see a body that is mine and only mine; not as an object that is merely used for someone else’s pleasure or satisfaction.
This year has been a learning curve
I am not perfect. I still find myself succumbing to dangerous habits, but I am learning to be better, for myself.
Now, when I feel as if I do not own my body, I remind myself that I am whole. I am loved. I am enough. I am learning to nurture and care for myself. This will not define me.
Content Warning: Sexual violence, abuse, self-harm, mental health
This piece is dedicated to all those who have lived through or are currently in an abusive relationship You are not alone Everyone deserves to have bodily autonomy, to have the right to give informed consent and to be respected
I am a law student at the Australian National University I am an intersectional feminist And I was in an abusive intimate relationship for three years. I hope by sharing my story I can show that anyone, regardless of their gender, education, culture, religion, socio-economic background etc. can find themselves in an abusive relationship. More importantly, I hope to impart how essential it is to show compassion and ongoing support to those who are in an abusive relationship, especially when they are not ready or able to recognise their situation.
My relationship did not have the conventional romantic beginnings. One night I decided to lose my virginity, and so I did It was for all intents and purposes meant to be a one-time thing However, the intimacy, vulnerability and sensuality of sleeping with him destined me to fall from the start But there was one problem, the benevolent bliss I experienced while with him, would quickly dissipate once I left his room When I was outside of that room, he would ignore me, flirt with girls in front of me and publicly deny our involvement At first, I thought my discontent was unreasonable He had always been forthcoming about not wanting a committed relationship But for some reason I would forget this after hours of talking to him or falling asleep in his warm embrace But then one night he came to my room after having spent the weekend interstate It was only once I was naked, in his arms, that he told me that he had kissed a girl on the weekend Little did I know at the time, he had actually had sex with his expartner. The news made me go numb but knew from his facial expression that there were tears streaming down my hot, embarrassed checks. My throat seemed to be getting tighter, and it grew harder to breathe. I felt betrayed, but he reminded as he left that it wasn’t like he had cheated. After all, we weren’t together.
Sure enough, several days later, I slept with him.
Months went past and we had become exclusive, despite his various sexual exploits I was ignorant to. I found that I could overlook the fact that he slut shamed me, or that he accused me of cheating, or that his verbal insults would drive me to crumble into a crying heap I thought it was just love, the crazy kind But someone who loves you will not call you a “disgusting human being that is incapable of being loved ” It was after he said that exact insult that I broke it off for good, almost eight months after I lost my virginity to him The next morning, I woke to find videos he had sent to me of him kissing other girls I remember torturing myself by replaying them over and over again Maybe I thought if I watched them enough times that I would not go back to him
But like every other time, I found my way back to him This time we were exclusive, public, and the kind of dating where you go on family holidays together. I was at the beach with him and his family when I saw messages from his ex-girlfriend on his phone. It felt as though the world had come crashing down on me, crushing the air out of my body. I discovered that he had been emotionally and physically cheating on me...again.
The last three years have been filled with manipulation, lies and cheating It would take longer each time for me to forgive him, but he always managed to build up my trust just enough to hurt me all over again I would date him, only to find out he was simultaneously in a relationship with someone else. I would have sex with him, only to find out afterwards that he had a chronic sexually transmitted disease which he had neglected to tell me about. I talked to him from the intensive care unit of a psychiatric hospital, only to have him to drive me to self-harm with insults that tore at my self-worth. With every blow to my self-worth, the more vodka I would drink, the harder I would scrub my body ‘clean’, and the less I would eat. Even when I got strong enough to only see him once every month or so, I failed to wholly free myself of him.
One early morning, he came to my house without invitation. He was slurring his words as he aggressively bashed on the back door, demanding to be let in. A part of me wanted to call the police I felt that my home was being invaded I started to panic You see, this was not the first time he had done this The last time he had violently grabbed me and threatened to hit me Despite my resurfacing trauma, I found myself incapable of calling for help Instead, I let him in, thinking that it could be an over reaction on my part
As he lurched past me, I caught a stench of alcohol that made me dry wrench I began shaking uncontrollably, unable to stop the spiralling thoughts that fed on my loss of control He stumbled drunkenly toward me, looking for a hug but finding only air as I had evaded his careless advance He looked at me with a confused expression, “why won’t you let me touch you?” I froze and managed to squeak, “you can sleep on the couch if you need somewhere safe to stay, but I do not consent to you touching me.” He didn’t take it well. He lunged towards my bedroom, ripping his clothes off and casting them on the floor.
He turned to face me and spat on the ground. He then demanded that I get in bed with him, and when I refused, he got in anyway. Thinking he had given up, I retired to the couch to get some rest. I must have drifted to sleep because the next thing I remember is waking up as his heavy, strong arms wrapped around my body and his hands aggressively pushed under my nightshirt to caress my breasts. Before he could shove them down my trousers, I managed to yelp, “I do not consent to you touching me ” I was shaking It took what seemed like countless further verbal refusals to get him to release me I realised for the first time in a long time that this man was not someone I could be in love with A man capable of making me fear being sexually assaulted could not be someone I loved
Written by Aline Damaj, Mina Khoshnevisan and Ailsa Schreurs
We hope that our campaign and our zine inspires you to be a part of the wider movement aiming to ensure that everyone is safe on campus.
We are not here to deter prospective students from attending university, but to create an environment where you feel safe and supported on campus. ANU is an incredible university and we encourage you to immerse yourself in university culture. However, sexual violence on campus is a worldwide problem that we are striving to end. We are fighting for tangible change and for every individual’s right to feel respected, empowered and to be heard.
Strong support systems and community-based movements play an important role in survivors’ lives after sexual assault. We hope that through these stories, you are inspired to be part of the change. Your active support reminds survivors that they are not alone, they are believed and people are fighting for the right to be free from sexual violence.
As you begin your university life, either on campus or off, we aim to have a long-lasting positive impact on your lives. With support from incoming students such as yourselves, our campaign has the ability to create and grow networks from the beginning. We hope that you will help us continue to spark courage and determination, ultimately building a community of changemakers.
After that morning, I finally realised two things The first was that I had been in an abusive relationship. The second was that the only thing holding me back from speaking up about the abuse, was the shame. The shame of staying with a partner who made me feel like I was not enough The shame of staying with a partner who rendered me powerless The shame of staying with a partner that abused me.
It took a lot of strength to open up and tell my story for the first time But as soon as I told my truth, he lost his power over me. I was no longer alone. I was no longer trapped. I was finally, free. All it took was telling one person who I trusted and felt safe with. Indeed, if it were not for the ongoing patience, support and compassion from that person and others who followed, I don’t think I would have been able to escape the situation I was in. Instead, I discovered the more I told my story, the less shame I felt because others would constantly affirm that it wasn’t my fault. It was not my fault that I was emotionally abused for years. It was not my fault that I was conditioned to become untrusting, ashamed, and insecure It was not my fault that I did not receive the respect that every human deserves.
It has been months since I last saw my ex-partner and I can finally say for the first time since I met him, I feel truly empowered. I feel I have bodily autonomy. I feel sexually liberated I feel I can now enjoy safe, consensual sex, free from guilt and shamesomething I thought a year ago that I would never be able to say. I am now educated on what a healthy, respectful relationship looks like and I do not hesitate to say ‘no’. But most importantly, I have the strength to be true to my values I am proud to say that I continue to be vulnerable, honest and respectful in my relationships.
Speaking up about my abusive relationship was the hardest step to take, but I truly believe it was what saved me. I will continue to tell my story and to speak about issues such as sexual violence and abusive relationships. I hope that in doing so I can encourage survivors to seek support, destigmatise these issues and change the cultural norms that allow for such issues to exist.
In love and solidarity always,
Luna Woods
Content Warning: Sexual assault, self-pleasure, sex toys
I find that one of the things people don’t really talk about in terms of self-care after being a survivor of sexual violence is the aspect of masturbation and self-pleasure. It is still taboo, especially in relation to women’s bodies, and sex toys even more so! I wanted to gather together and review some of the toys that I have used since my assault that have helped me to get back to loving myself in this way, with the hope that maybe they could help someone else too.
Firstly, the Satisfyer Pro. This toy is small enough to fit comfortably in your hand, and is focussed on external stimulation, particularly the clitoris. I chose the penguin one when I went for it because It was the least intimidating and actually quite cute! It feels like someone sucking and blowing, which I much preferred to something internal. This was my first toy I bought after my sexual assault, and it helped me to take back my own pleasure. It is quite intense, so I wouldn’t recommend it as a first sex toy unless you are very confident in this kind of pleasure. Placing my pleasure in the hands of a cute little penguin brought some fun back to self-pleasure, and allowed me to relax!
For something less intense, Taurus from Honey Birdette is a vibrating wand with heaps of different patterns and intensities. This is also not very intimidating, and doesn’t have that phallic appearance that I desperately wanted to avoid in my sex toys. It is external, but I found this to be a good in between toy as the other end can help with exploration back into internal play in a small sense (it’s waterproof, you are all good!) The ladies at Honey Birdette were so beyond nice too, I felt listened to and looked after and was so happy with my customer experience.
When I wanted to get back into internal pleasure and internal toys, I was very scared due to my experience. This turned me right away from anything that looks phallic in nature, and I instead went for something that was completely different. I chose a rabbit vibrator, which is just a vibrator with a cute little rabbit that sits externally. I made absolutely sure that the internal part was flexible, as I am quite curved and I didn’t want any kind of trouble or pain that could potentially trigger me. This toy sat to the side for a very long time until I felt ready to explore further and get fully back to where I used to be, and I am so glad I picked something that wasn’t super thick or super long. It did take a long time to get comfortable, but this toy truly helped me to get my own power back when it comes to self-pleasure.
I want to stress: make sure you buy something that is BODY SAFE! Body-safe silicone and ABS plastic are the ones to go for, as they aren’t porous and easy to clean! Also make sure to clean your toys after use! I hope these little reviews help someone out, but feel free to take your time and find something that works for you. There is no rush, and you absolutely deserve the power back when it comes to your own pleasure.
It’s okay to open up. You were not made to bottle up the wrath of your emotions.
It’s okay to tell him you were once hurt. Tell him you felt unsafe. Tell him that you were scared and now it’s difficult to trust him.
It’s okay to ask him to take his time with you. It’s okay to tell him when you are uncomfortable. If he is worthy of you, he will understand. He will be patient, kind and gentle.
It’s okay to feel lost. Helpless. Alone. Exhausted. Strained.
It’s okay to ask for help.
It’s okay to speak to someone.
It’s okay to be honest with yourself. You do not have to mask your emotions and struggles.
You do not have to pretend that you can handle the weight of the world on your delicate shoulders.
And, it’s okay to cry.
It’s okay to cry yourself to sleep.
It’s okay to walk around with puffy, red cheeks. Own it.
Own your struggles.
Own your growth.
Own your healing.
It’s okay not to hide behind a facade.
It’s okay to cry; and, it’s okay to wake up the next morning and hide behind a facade. Correct your blotched, red cheeks with perfectly painted strokes of foundation; Conceal the puffiness under your eyes. Apply a coat of mascara that makes your eyes look more alive; seem less wretched and tired. It’s okay to pretend that you did not cry yourself to sleep.
It’s okay to love; and, it’s okay to become all consumed by that love.
You deserve to hear words as sweet as vanilla. You deserve to feel a love that can lift mountains.
You deserve to be touched by someone who fills your hollowness with warmth and safety.
It’s okay to be touched; and it’s okay to take your time.
It’s okay to learn how to love yourself slowly. It’s okay to learn what you like.
It’s okay to stop when it triggers pain throughout your body, and you feel like it is consuming your body again. Do not feel like you have to regain control over yourself faster in order to fix yourself. You do not need to be fixed. Be patient and kind with yourself.
It’s okay to hurt; and, it’s okay to scream at the top of your lungs.
But it’s okay to silence your hurt; it’s okay to take your time and process your thoughts. Ask for space. Heal.
Written by A. A
Taking back my own pleasure and giving that power back to myself wasn’t of high importance for quite a long time to me. I didn’t feel like I would ever get back to how I used to be, masturbating regularly for stress relief and getting to know my body more. I felt like my power had been taken away from me, and like I may never be able to touch myself again without triggering myself.
I went one day with a friend to a sex shop, because I felt like there was enough space and separation between a real person and a sex toy, so I wouldn’t find it triggering She was so confident, walking right up to what she wanted and comparing all the specifications on the back of multiple vibrators boxes.
She had decided on a wand that was bright purple, and I found it quite pretty. It inspired me to start looking at sex toys as a way to get back into sex and pleasure without involving someone else, and also without involving my own hands directly. I felt safer exploring this as a toy feels very different to a person
I walked to the counter that displayed at least 20 different types of vibrators, and picked up the first one that caught my eye. It looked exactly like a penguin and even had a cute little pink bow around its neck! This wasn’t intimidating at all, and it also was an external toy, which I felt much more comfortable with than something internal. It was soft and easy to use, and I felt like that really helped in providing this starting point to getting my own pleasure back.
I brought my little penguin friend home, but he stayed in his box for quite a few weeks. Whenever I opened by cupboard, I would see him sitting on top of my drawers and give it a thought of trying, but I didn’t feel ready Eventually, a couple months had passed I was getting better at washing myself in the shower without something between my hand and my skin, and finally felt like I was ready to attempt things.
I chose to make a night of it I washed my hair with my favourite shampoo, I used some lavender soap on my body, had new sheets and new pyjamas on. I turned my lights off and a lamp on to create a softer atmosphere, and then pulled out my little penguin friend out of his box. It was as cute as I had remembered, and I played around with the buttons before lying down and trying it on myself.
I spent a lot of time just getting used to the feel of the toy against my body. So much so, that when I was finally getting somewhere with myself, the toy died. When it did, I laughed. Actually out loud. I knew I was going to be okay then.
I was going to get my own pleasure back, and it would be one of the most powerful things I had ever done for myself.
To anyone reading this that is currently struggling-it takes time. Don’t rush yourself.
You haven’t lost anything, it’s just hiding for a while until you are ready to find it again. You pleasure is completely your own, and you don’t need anyone else for that.
Written by Venus Artwork by Adriana Rajic
I stared at this blank document for approximately 35 minutes, typing, re-typing and backspacing starters to a poem that I thought could beautifully embody how I experienced trauma and healing. I thought about how I could use white doves to symbolise how my innocence was taken away from me in a split second or use rotting tulip petals to depict the vehement redness of pain. I pondered ancient myths about wisdom and rejuvenation. I considered comparing my journey to the seasons or the process of snakes shedding their skin, to romanticise the temperamental nature of trauma. However, amid all my thoughts, I could not quite shake the fact that I had run out of ways to compare my own experiences with a mere metaphor, or how I could possibly limit my unravelling to a one-page document.
I read through my old poetry, seeking to find inspiration and a way to make this one stand out from the rest, maybe even a way to bid this part of my life farewell with some sort of a reflective poem, perhaps. But this time was different to everything else. It wasn’t going to be confined to the safety of my $7 brown journal. It was to be published. I thought about how I could make you, the readers, grasp the process of undoing something that tainted every inch of my body. After pondering ways to write something worthy, nothing came to me – more so because I don’t think there is a metaphor or a short sweet poem that can make the process of renewing yourself sound beautiful.
I recall it being a normal Monday morning. I lathered myself in my favourite coconut moisturiser, chucked on my black tights and my jumper. But, after stupidly agreeing to meet him, my normal day turned into a nightmare. I was cooped up into the corner of a car, with someone I thought I could trust, being told I would enjoy it, that it would not hurt. His fingers gutted me. I froze. With every plough, a part of me disappeared until there was nothing left inside me but corroded structures and emotions that I never properly digested. I don’t even remember what ran through my mind. I remember that I stayed still. That I felt a rush of pain inside me that aggressively erupted through me, sending chills up my spine. I wish I told him it hurt. I stayed silent. He smirked. He took my hand to touch him afterwards. Told me it would only work if my hands were wet, that I should spit on it. Till this day, the only thing I do not question my memory about is the pain I felt.
I no longer smelt like coconut, my black tights were not my own, my body was not my own.
I remember soaking myself in a boiling bath of hot water in attempt to rid myself of his smell. I soaked myself until my skin was numb. I pinched every inch of my wretched skin, starting from my legs slowly making my way up to my cheeks. I needed to assure myself that my body was my home and that I was okay; that I was whole. But that night, my body was not the humble abode I was comfortable in.
Someone invaded it. He took away my solace. His silhouette festered within me, my mind infected by the sound of his voice. I remember writing about it a month after.I tried to retrace the events, see where I went wrong or how I could have stopped it. I remember writing in red because I thought that accurately depicted the fire inside me. I questioned myself and for a very long time blamed myself. I remember tears flooded my journal every time I tried to write about it. But with every word and recount, I suddenly found that I could not recognise myself. I let this encounter define me.
In the months following, I became detached I could not trust myself and questioned whether it even happened. I thought I knew the extent of confusion until I second guessed my own memory. My mind was incessantly at war with soldiers battling trying to resist the emotions and memories that festered within me I moved with heaviness I had a boulder sized cloud of darkness follow me around My body did not feel like my own I could not let someone in without my insides churning. I tried to give him up, but I aimlessly tried to find a better version of him in everyone else.
After months of carrying the weight of melancholy over my delicate shoulders, I realised that I was not responsible for my own pain or for my own guilt. I started to learn my triggers, how to help myself in a healthy way. I took care of myself and I only did what I was comfortable with. I still have days were the thought of him pulls me into darkness. When I see him around, I still feel weak and small But now I know it’s not my fault I trust myself I trust that it will keep getting better, even in the face of bad days.
Self-healing and growth is not something that I achieved in a week, not even six months. I have watched myself grow from a vessel who became more bone than skin, to a strong woman, able to withstand life’s hurdles Just like the seasons, I found myself as dull and dismal as winter one moment but as radiant and colourful as autumn the next. My emotions once clustered like decaying tulips in the winter, but with every pang of anguish I felt, I removed the rotten petals, until there was nothing left but the mere silhouette of his memory Every year since, I have shed my tainted and wretched skin I have grown into a more nurturing and protective home, one with more skin than bone. A home that I can now call my own.
Written by Anonymous Artwork by Maddy McCusker
Hearing stories about sexual violence and trauma can be triggering, and can lead to re-traumatisation for survivors or vicarious trauma for supporters. We would like to reiterate the importance of putting yourself first, and engaging in self-care practice, whatever that may look like for you. Methods of self-care can span from aspects of your daily routine to indulging in something new if you have the time. Whilst self care is important, we would also like to draw attention to the importance of community care and looking out for each other. Drawing on strong connections with people to do something fun to distract yourself or talk about how you are feeling, can be just as important as taking time out for yourself.
Please touch me. Not with your body.
Not with your lips don't move your hip over mine
Please.
I am a fragile man made so by some who were not gentle
Please touch me like you love me but not like you want me touch me as if I were paper like I am your husband, but old and tired.
Please touch me take your hand and raise it to my cheek remind me there are kind women because I'm afraid
Written by Fuchsia
Of all the things that frighten me you are the worst You can unmake me reduce me consume me Just with your touch
I want to feel safe in your arms again so cup my face let me shiver let me shudder squeal and scream let me grow soft and lax
For someone so in love
I am a paltry love. a broken love but I'll be alright You'll stay, yes? see me shapen? my face just a brush just a breath Ah, thank you my dear.
Coming back to your body after having shared it, consensually or not, is tough. Everyone’s self-pleasure journey is a different one, with multiple stages, forward and backward steps. There is no pressure to engage in this if you are not ready The process of healing and reaching a state of comfort within oneself can be a long and tiring, but it is within reach.
Driving to Fyshwick with friends to buy our first vibrators together in first year was LIBERATING. It opened up a whole new conversation about something that was pretty taboo, especially since we hadn’t been friends for years at that point. It’s one thing to talk about self pleasure and regaining that control with your girlfriends, but with a new intimate partner it is a whole new ball game (pun intended). It can be scary, intimidating, and vulnerable. It can also be fun, exciting, and a comfort Having these conversations is an important part of the healing process, and it is perfectly fine to experience a range of emotions in various situations. Try to not be too hard on yourself when this happens.
For me, one of the most important steps of this process was being able to make art about masturbation, with a vibrator as the tool. This was so important to me, as I hadn’t seen it done before in the art world, and people seem to get a bit weird when you talk about vibrators Especially the men in my life
Turning on the vibrator, letting it move around piles of glitter, creating colourful drawings, was such a fun exploratory process. Having my work accepted in The Stop Campaign postcard art competition, and later placing the IAC Art Show, was so empowering.
It helped me to understand that there are people out there who are more than happy to engage in the conversation, and it is my hope that sharing it here helps you too. The piece, titled ‘Party in your pants’, aims to present pleasure as a personal experience, one that is out-of-thisworld, explosive, and individually personal.
Written by Ailsa
I shouldn’t have to make up excuses for your actions I shouldn’t have to justify to myself why you did it I shouldn’t have to convince myself that I wasn’t to blame.
As young girls we are taught to protect our bodies
Our bodies are sacred. Our bodies are a temple. Our bodies are ours. We are told to be careful.
We are told to not walk home at night without someone else with us
We are told to not dress provocatively because it affects how others perceive us.
We are told to not sleep around unless we want to be viewed as sluts
We are told to not do so many things are women
Why
Since a young age, we are conditioned to follow these rules These rules are ingrained in us and influence our life choices whether we realise it or not We have become so complacent to these unwritten rules that we must follow in order to stay safe.
Out of harms way
To stop us from getting into danger
Rape.
Sexual assault.
Harassment
I shouldn’t have to hold my keys between my fingers when I walk home at night. I shouldn’t have to constantly stay on the phone to someone if I’m walking home in the dark I shouldn’t have to worry about how short my skirt is when going out I shouldn’t have to worry about any of this.
WE need to change the status quo
WE need to take back charge
WE need to stand up and reclaim our right to feel safe.
And this starts with education We need to educate young men and women from a young age that we are all equal. We need to educate young children that everyone has the right to bodily integrity. We need to stop excusing behaviour on the playground, in the classroom and in the workplace, that promotes gender-based discrimination We need to stop allowing gender stereotypes to permeate every facet of society
Women are not weak.
Women are not meek
Women are not pieces of meat
Men are not emotionless
Men are not always the sole breadwinners
Boys will not be just boys.
We should be able to do whatever we want
Otherwise what is the point of living?
Written by A disillusioned Pisces
Your lack of action regarding sexual violence on campus is not good enough The issue of sexual violence needs to be a priority. Your lack of action in responding to NOUS Review Recommendations within the suggested timelines is deeply disappointing Moreover, abdicating your responsibility to already overburdened student leaders, is not the ‘leadership’ we deserve The halls of residence are not meeting student expectations for welfare and safety. Do Better ANU.
Section 11 of the ANU’s Code of Conduct stipulates that it is the university’s responsibility to “protect the health and welfare of its people by providing an environment which is safe and free from discrimination and harassment ” You have failed as an institution to adhere to your own standards
Your student leaders are experiencing high rates of burnout and vicarious trauma because of the lack of leadership the ANU Administration has taken It is not the responsibility of students to resolve the rape crisis on campus - it’s yours Neither is it the Respectful Relationships Unit’s sole responsibility We need adequate senior staff models across the university. The most appropriate model would include a triplicate staff member policy to be able to deal with sexual violence disclosures and reports We need adequate training for student leaders We need a dedicated full-time staff member at every college who can safely respond to disclosures, reports, and critical incidents. We need a process whereby students and student leaders can provide feedback about staff and hold them accountable for their inaction Do Better ANU
Students need to be educated about sexual health and respectful relationships. Consent culture needs to be normalised Students need to be empowered to share and report their experiences safely The stigma surrounding reporting, sexual violence, sexual health, and what constitutes abuse, needs to change Students need more than a ‘Consent Matters’ module on Wattle. The education that you provide on these issues must be ongoing, intersectional, as well as culturally and linguistically appropriate Do Better ANU
You need to prove that you care about preventing sexual violence on campus, and that you are committed to addressing it by including us in the process The STOP Campaign is a nationally-accredited not for profit willing to assist in ANU’s development for the betterment of student welfare, and the institution as a whole Implement the free College Program that we have developed. Do Better ANU.
This is not the first letter you have received, it is one of many We do not want to hear that you, “appreciate our concerns.” The students of ANU deserve action. Do Better ANU.
Sincerely,
The STOP Campaign
Note: ‘Do Better ANU’ is a slogan coined by the IHC and ANUSA
Written by Camille Schloeffel, Mahalia Crawshaw and Mina Khoshnevisan Artwork by Tara O CleirighAgain and again we are labelled as victims … helpless ... hopeless ... Those who need saving.
Survivors of sexual violence are not victims. We are survivors. Why? Because we have not succumbed to our experiences. We are not deceased. We are alive, and living. Living a life beyond our experiences of sexual violence. When I hear the words, ‘I have helped my victim friend after she was assaulted’ I stand still. Are we really reducing our friends to victims? Those who need saving? When I think of a victim of sexual violence, I think of our lost ones. The beautiful lives that we lost at the hands of a perpetrator.
People are at different places in their lives, and I understand that. It’s a learning curve to see what the impact of language can do to someone – in reinforcing the stigma or breaking it down to reveal a new truth: brave, bold survivors who are NOT defined by their assault. Nobody chooses to be assaulted. Nobody chooses to be harassed. Nobody ‘brings it upon themselves’ as I tend to hear quite often. Sometimes I sit in shock when somebody comes to me to talk about victims. I do acknowledge that some people prefer to refer to themselves as victims, and that is okay. But this choice is a personal one, not one that should be made to address others.
A word that originally meant 'sacrificed animal' in Latin. This term may be legally relevant, but it evokes a sense of finality, that both the survivor and the impact of their assault are now behind them. When this term becomes a label that is placed upon a survivor by the people closest to them, it can irreparably damage their healing journey and permanently tie their identity to the trauma inflicted upon them by the perpetrator/s. When used repeatedly, the term dehumanises the violent and personal nature of the assault/s, and reduces their experience to a single statistic. Because we have become a victim to a crime, does that mean we are automatically labelled a ‘victim’ as if that is our sole identity? Not that we might be a person who has goals, passions, hobbies, values, joys, friends, loved ones, a life?
Written by Mina Khoshnevisan and Camille Schloeffel
I am not a statistic. I am not a victim. I am a survivor.
There is a woman She is standing in front of the bathroom mirror with her friend, ranting about that guy who grabbed her arse on the dancefloor About that man who started grinding on her because she accidentally caught his eye across the room About someone whispering not-so-sweet-nothings in her ear. Her friend turns to her and says, ‘But... I mean, look at what you’re wearing!” ...
Slut-shaming is incredibly prevalent in today’s society. There is the double standard of the fuckboys and the hoes, the paradox of the frigid girl and the slut. This culture has lasting effects, not only on the people it targets, but on society as a whole. The snide comments about the length of a woman’s skirt, on how her cleavage was on display, about the way her hand lingered on his arm, on how she was leaning too far forward at the bar, ALL have consequences. They reduce a woman to just her parts, nothing more than a body to be lusted after.
These comments, combined with blunt questions about how many tequila shots one might have had, are echoed in the newspapers, courtrooms, police stations, and the living rooms of too many Australian households The constant questioning of women’s behaviours in all aspects of their lives, has evolved into a culture of shame and silence
It is never the fault of the victim-survivor for the trauma inflicted upon them, no matter the outfit, appearance, behaviour, or relationship to their perpetrator/s Comments such as “look at what you’re wearing” or “how much did you drink?” are NEVER okay and always inflict harm While the damage that these words can do might not be immediately visible, they are responsible for continuing to foster rape culture, and can have a profound impact on victim-survivors long after they are said.
There are a lot of things that every woman has a story about. Unfortunately, it seems to come with the territory. One of these things is every woman’s story of being called a bitch. Being labelled a bitch for refusing to accept catcalls as compliments. Being called a bitch by other women, an unapologetic violation of the somewhat unspoken sisterhood that most women have with each other. It is amazing how much hurt, violence and ugliness that five-letter word can incite.
The word’s original pejorative use began in the 15th Century when bitch was used to refer to a woman with high sexual desire, likening her to a female dog in heat. Charming, no? However, women are sick of putting up with people’s shit (for lack of a more eloquent and ladylike way of saying it). We’ve seen the triumphs of the #metoo movement sweeping the globe, we’ve been vindicated by the Change the Course review, and we’ve stood up for the Aya Maasarwe’s, the Eurydice Dixon’s, and the countless other women’s names that we will never hear. As a generation, we are rising up to have our voices heard, and what we’re saying is that the treatment we receive in so many facets of our lives isn’t good enough.
There is something to be said for the power that can be gained by an oppressed minority reappropriating a word that has been used for centuries to put them down. There are already movements in this direction taking place, with the label of ‘bad bitch’ becoming positive. However, it does beg the question; is there potential for a movement such as this to go the opposite way? You have to wonder whether some of the means of reclaiming the word bitch fall too far into the realm of normalising the use of the word against us. Have we just put ourselves in the same situation we started with?
The truth is, a definitive answer to this problem isn’t easy. But I like to think that the brilliance of that fact is that we can try and generate open, honest and respectful conversations about how we can march towards a future where we as women have the respect we deserve And maybe, that future starts with a word
Written by Liv Blucher
Content Warning: Sexual violence, stigma, institutional betrayal, rape culture.
Shame, sexual violence, flashbacks, reclaiming, triggers
I don’t want to talk about the details of my story I never have I came to Canberra because I was suffocated where I lived Flashbacks, shame, disgust, fear, panic attacks, self-hate and destruction All because of what someone else did to me while I was asleep, in my own home, in my own bed
It wasn’t home anymore, and I knew that I decided I wouldn’t think about it, would just pretend it didn’t happen, and move on I would leave my family, my friends, the things I really did love, to feel a little less suffocated and in control Canberra helped, for a little while at least The air seemed lighter, I could breathe a little better, and I was happy.
I created a new home in my residential hall. I filled my room with all my things, reclaimed the space, reclaimed my bed, and finally felt comfortable. I slept better at night, my door finally having a lock on it, far away from my perpetrator. I didn’t see myself as a survivor though, because I was trying to force myself to forget, simply by running away. I didn’t want to think about it.
That’s when I saw the STOP campaign It started in my hall in my first year, I was walking through the kitchens and I would see these posters. They were about standing with survivors, being believed, moving forward. They made me feel sick. I thought it was inappropriate talking about these things so openly, it was inappropriate even thinking about them. I felt attacked. The place I was beginning to call home was now somewhere I started to hate, all because of the campaign. It forced me to remember. It forced me to think about it. It forced me to have these feelings bubble over, and I had my first panic attack in over a year. I now hated it here. I spiralled, and stopped leaving my room. Being locked away seemed to be the only way I could stay safe.
I understand now why I resented the STOP campaign and those who started it I felt like they were strong, reclaiming themselves and their past, and I was weak. I ran away, where as they were facing it head on, trying to help others as well as themselves. The STOP campaigning tarnished the first few months of my university experience, but what I was doing was unhealthy. I was holding this shame and resentment, pretending that what happened to me never actually happened. But I realised the STOP campaign was the thing I needed in order to get better.
Slowly I came back out of my room, slowly I looked at the signs and the messages of the campaign with hope. Slowly the panic attacks stopped, slowly I started acting more like myself, someone I hadn’t seen in three years. I know it’s hard to face reminders, I still get triggered to this day. But reclaiming myself, my space and my future has changed everything for me I’m not scared of going back home anymore
Starting 2020, i’ll be on the campaign officially, fighting for others to embrace the power and positivity that it shares We all process things different, and that’s okay No way is better than another, and you have to do what is right for you I know that running and bottling things up wasn’t healthy for me, I was lying to myself
Resenting the campaign, that I now believe has changed my life, is my biggest regret. They helped me face myself, they encouraged me to speak out and talk to someone...
I'm a survivor and I am strong now.
It’s been a year since I sat down, typed out my story, and pressed “submit”. A couple of months later, I re-told my story on camera, shaking nervously, pretending none of this was real. Earlier this year, that video went out onto the Internet.
The video and subsequent events have forced me to confront my issues with a lot of issues that I had previously swept under the rug. My mental health deteriorated until I could no longer deny that I required help from anti-depressants. I had a flashback, after drinking too much one night, that was so severe I begged to be hospitalised. My violent dreams have worsened, and combined with the side effects of my medication, have made it difficult to sleep. Sexual violence in the context of relationships can be difficult to navigate as well. When everyone knows that you’re a survivor and an activist in the space, it can make dating quite awkward. There are generally three options:
1. you get ghosted because you need to take things incredibly slow,
2. you see that look of pity in their eyes when you tell them and it makes you never want to see them again, or,
3. the worst option – there’s that one man that gets a little too excited about my story and wants to hear the details. None are particularly uplifting experiences.
Friendships and platonic relationships can become constrained as well. When you’re a survivor, rape culture and unsafe behaviour become something you notice a lot more of within your own community. As an activist and a criminology student, discussions about sexual violence take up a good deal of my time and day, which can make you feel as though I’m the pessimistic, negative friend that no one wants to be around. Throw in not having a dating life or being able to drink alcohol, and wow, some of your “friends” start to disappear quickly.
The last couple of months, since that video was released, have been absolutely insane, but they have also been filled with incredibly positive periods and experiences. The campaign that gave me my voice has become an official not-for-profit organisation. I found the courage to sit on my first panel on women’s safety.
The woman that supported me throughout the entire process is about to be one of my roommates. My family and I are in the best place of understanding that we could possibly be in. Some casual acquaintances have blossomed into the best of friendships, with an extra layer of depth and support to them now. Telling the world my story, using my own face and my own voice, was one of the hardest things I have ever done, but the best decision I have ever made.
All it takes is one voice, one survivor, one story, to inspire a movement. Thirteen years ago, Tarana Burke used the phrase, “Me Too”, to promote the empowerment of survivors. It may have taken a decade, but her story instigated a movement that has taken the world by storm.
Similarly, in 2018, Camille Schloeffel started a petition to take steps towards ending sexual violence within her college. A year and a half later, The STOP Campaign is a not-for-profit organisation, with a team ready to help her fight for our vision of stopping sexual violence on campus.
Both movements reinforce how one voice can be enough to remind survivors that their stories will always be believed and instil a sense of solidarity. Within our university community, we recognise that survivors may not be ready to share their story, but knowing that there are students dedicating their time to end sexual violence on campus, may be enough to inspire survivors.
The response to experiences of sexual violence is a key motivation for activism. As some of the stories in this zine demonstrate, the responses to a survivor’s story may be discouraging and silence survivors
It may be difficult for survivors to be inspired when they feel that they will not be believed and blame themselves. However, positive responses can create a safe and supportive environment for survivors to disclose their stories
Written by Aline Damaj and Mina Khoshnevisan Artwork by Bianca Nicotra
Sometimes, all it takes is one person to remind you that you will always be believed, you will always be supported, and it is never your fault.
What’s a girl to do? Once sweet and innocent Then damaged and hurt
What does one do when their life turns to shreds before she turns 13?
What’s a girl to do when she’s out every night taking anything she can to forget and to cope Anything to numb More Give me more This isn’t working It’s not enough Ice, just once Anything to just let them do what they want Over and over again And again And again
“Take this sweetie, it will help ease the pain”, they said I don’t want your pity I don’t want your sorrow I just want you to Stop. Touching. Me.
Don’t touch me with your cock Don’t touch me with your hands Don’t touch me with your eyes Just leave me to be Lonely Cold Alone Safe? I don’t know
“Leave her for dead”, they said. She’ll be fine.
I don’t know if I would be here without that final hospital visit The people I met inside The ones I love and trust As well as the ones who hurt me again
Why are you doing this?
Give me one reason you did it One reason to violate someone One reason to knock them cold One reason to leave them on the streets One reason to hope she dies To hope the cocktail of drugs is enough to shut her up “ssshhh hun, you’ll be alright”, they said
My story doesn’t end here.
University. She thrives. She succumbs. She drinks. She smokes. She takes drugs. Is she back in this world? She stops
“Don’t touch me”, she says “Haha. Weird” , they said.
My story doesn’t end here
She fights She advocates She screams She starts a campaign
“STOP”, she yells “The Stop Campaign”, she thinks “The STOP Campaign, that’s it!”
My story doesn’t end here.
It doesn’t stop with the stop campaign
It doesn’t stop with the trauma
It doesn’t stop with graduation
In fact, I have never felt more ready to hold universities accountable for their lack in action regarding sexual violence. I’m here, thriving, surviving, advocating, FIGHTING
What’s a girl to do? Once sweet and innocent Then, damaged and hurt Now thriving and surviving
“Stop”, she says.
The STOP Campaign is here, we’re ready Are you?
Written by C. I. S Artwork by Ella Myer
There are several goals for The Stop Campaign following its establishment of a nationally accredited not-for-profit including to build up a presence within the Australian National University community through awareness and community engagement. In pursuit of this particular goal we have written ‘The College Program.’ ‘The College Program’ is intended to be an inclusive and comprehensive document that remedies the issues of sexual violence outlined in the Australian Human Rights Commission’s ‘Change the Course’ Report, as well as the NOUS Review reports pertaining to residential halls at the Australian National University We hope ‘The College Program’ will advocate for institution wide regulation of policy and practice in regard to sexual violence and sex education.
The program is designed to allow for different levels of engagement with the campaign, as we would like to encourage institutions to have a relationship with the campaign and utilise the services we provide Lower level engagement includes the provision of resources including trauma informed language guides, posters, The STOP Campaign zines Higher level engagement opportunities will include training modules for residential hall pastoral care facilitators, sex education and respectful relationships syllabuses and recommendations on how administration can best respond to disclosures of sexual harassment and assault. Controversially, the program will also make suggestions of how to ensure the immediate and ongoing safety of survivors of sexual violence, as well as the rehabilitation and re-education of accused perpetrators
Ultimately, this program will be one that seeks to ensure residential halls have trauma informed, intersectional, culturally and linguistically appropriate policy and practice that is inclusive of all students.
We will be ready to pilot the program in residential halls by induction month of 2020. We are so excited to work with interested institutions on any level in order to make Australian university campuses places free from sexual violence.
In solidarity, The STOP Campaign
We especially acknowledge all of the survivors who shared their stories, as well as those survivors who are not ready to share. .
Camille Schloeffel
Abigail Border
Ailsa Schreurs
Aline Damaj
Maddie Chia
Mina Khoshnevisan
Mahalia Crawshaw
Lara Woolley
Bianca Nicotra
Tara O Cleirigh
Charli Buckland
Kevin Tanaya
Sarah Nicotra
Vivien Wang
Adriana Rajic
Emma Warburton
Liv Blucher
Ella Myer
Adriana Rajic
Sachini Poogoda
Ana Isaacs
Olivia Klinger
Sydney Farey
Chloe Wenxin Zeng
Maddy McCusker
Georgia Kamvissis
Gabriella Pirintji
Katherine Tindal Clarke
Madelaine Renshaw
Shiuh Foong
Lisa Barnard
Mia
S.E.H
RM
Alice Liddell
A moment of realisation for a Pisces
A disillusioned Pisces
I'm Abigail, and I study art history and curatorship with a hopeful honours thesis in erotic art and pleasure. My feminist icon is Florence Given because she's influenced me to put myself first and give my energy to those who deserve it! This zine is important to me for that reason, because we should be loving ourselves, putting ourselves first, and taking the time to make sure that we are taking care of our own gardens before spending that time on someone else's.
I'm Ailsa, and I study a double degree in Development Studies and Visual Arts, hoping to work on the Great Barrier Reef when I graduate. Like Abbey, my feminist icon is also Florence Given, who I cannot thank enough for the confidence to be myself and never settle for less. I believe this zine is incredibly important for creating worthwhile change and giving survivors a great platform. We hope it gives you what you need.
Ailsa Schreurs
e, and I've recently graduated from the ANU n development studies and human rights. I g to put more energy into growing the this year, as well as providing support to the m. My feminist icon is Mariska Hargitay for her e as Detective Olivia Benson in Law & Order: well as her compassion and work with sexual urvivors in the real world This zine is so to me because when survivors are ready to ey deserve to be heard!
