These Are The Stories You Hear in a Rape Crisis Group
How bad can it be? Read on and see for yourself
When I was at the Clarion Science Fiction Writers Workshop at Michigan State in 1984, I was still reeling from being raped shortly after my 21st birthday. I hadn’t precisely thought of it this way, but being raped by a “named chair of literature” at one of the U.S.’ most prestigious 4-year liberal arts colleges saved me from being a literary writer like Alice Sebold. I associated colleges and universities with evil because — even though I still thought my rape was a) my fault; b) an isolated, unique instance; c) a crime rather than a behavior pattern permitted and encouraged by our society and institutions — I knew there’d been no help for me at my elite “women’s college” and I knew that was wrong.
While I was at the Clarion workshop, I had a peculiarly intense and strange relationship with the well-known author Harlan Ellison. One of the reasons I always defended Harlan against false accusations of sexual harassment was that Harlan knew there was something wrong with me, and instead of exploiting or harming me, when I finally disclosed “what was wrong” (having been raped), he firmly, and in no uncertain terms, ordered me to “get help” as soon as I got home. And so I did. I called the Rape Crisis Center in San Bernardino, located in a tiny office on…
