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WARNING: the stories shared on this page are real accounts of sexual violence and may be upsetting to read.

Photos from our White Ribbon Workshop to mark the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women.
This account was originally published, anonymously, here . 
Former judge Mary Jane Mowat’s recent comments about rape convictions are outrageous. (“Rape conviction statistics will not improve until women stop getting so drunk”, she said this week.) To me however, they are also personal.
In the first term of my second year at Oxford, I was raped while passed out in my bed. Yes, my unconsciousness was due to alcohol.
Desperate to learn how to play poker, I had invited some friends over to teach me, one of whom brought two companions. Poker rapidly descended into a drinking game and I, being a fatal combination of bad at poker and intolerant of alcohol, passed out. I have since learnt that I was put to bed, but I don’t remember anything. Then a guy I didn’t know had sex with me in my sleep.
I have one very clear memory which still haunts me two years later. I remember waking up during the night and seeing him on top of me, my trousers around my ankles and my shirt still on. I pulled away and heard him mutter “Oh no, it fell out” to himself, at which point I blacked out again. I assume he continued to rape me.
I told very few people at the time, but a friend came with me to the police station. The receptionist, on learning I was reporting a sex offence, insisted on me giving details in front of everybody in the waiting room before taking me somewhere private. Two officers then came to my house, where I was questioned further. One described rape as “just something that happens”, especially at university. The only advice I received was to drink less in future.
Once I explained what had happened and provided forensics, the policemen contacted a woman I was told was in charge of dealing with rape allegations around Oxfordshire. She came into the kitchen, where I had been with the two policemen and my friend, and sent him from the room insisting the conversation be private — even as I maintained I needed him for moral support and didn’t mind him being there.
She proceeded to question me rather forcefully, in a very short and matter-of-fact tone, and concluded that because I was drunk I couldn’t prove anything, informing me my evidence would not stand up in court. She said she got called to investigate a number of rape reports each day and her job involved deciding which of them it was worthwhile to pursue and which it wasn’t. In her opinion, as she made clear from the start, mine fell into the latter category.
The woman asked me to decide in that moment whether or not to press charges. I was not allowed to leave the kitchen until I had made my decision. She didn’t fail to emphasise how traumatic I would find the process or her certainty my case would not stand up in court: I would be unable to prove I was unconscious at the time or that I didn’t drunkenly consent.
In fact, the Crown Prosecution Service states “ capacity to consent may evaporate well before a complainant becomes unconscious ”. Photos and videos my friends shot of me passed out both on the floor and on my bed proved I was incapable of consenting: unable to talk or stand up, I cannot have been capable of agreeing to sex. Furthermore, the Sexual Offences Act 1956 lists “evidence that by reason of drink… the complainant was unaware of what was occurring and/or incapable of giving valid consent” as a means by which to establish rape.
The entire experience, being separated from my friend and then questioned harshly hours after my rape, was perhaps as disorientating as it could possibly have been. I was given no opportunity to seek advice or regain composure; no chance to sleep on the matter. The woman insisted on me deciding whether or not to press charges immediately. Still shaken and vulnerable, I was in no position to make such a decision on the spot, and frankly her description of the court process scared me. It was little wonder, then, that I dropped it.
The woman who came to my kitchen told me my situation was exactly what former judge Mowat calls “one person’s word against another[’s]”. Her implication is that a woman who was drunk can’t prove anything — that the whole case is a matter of he-said-she-said.
For me, it wasn’t. As it happened, I did have evidence.
Had the police cared enough they could have acquired DNA, but the woman told them to return the clothes, bedsheets and used condoms I had given them. These all provided incontrovertible evidence that the guy had sex with me. In fact, given his bragging at dinner the following day, this was never really in question. “I lost the poker,” he said, “but I did pretty well if you know what I mean. ” Just typing that today sickens me.
My Oxford college, when I spoke to its professional welfare staff, largely ignored me; the guy who raped me received a minor reprimand and no further repercussions. Despite several friends explaining on multiple occasions that his mere presence unnerved me, he seemed to devote his life to making me feel uncomfortable. On nights I was working behind the college bar, he would carefully place himself between me and the exit, sitting there all night. One time when I left a party as soon as he came in he followed me all the way out of college. I ran, and made it halfway back to my house before stopping. Whether his behaviour was intentional is irrelevant: I spent as little time in college as I could, rarely attending events there.
Despite the number of times I have contacted the welfare officers about this, they have largely ignored me except to say that if he’s around I should just leave. I have a year left at Oxford, as does he. I still don’t understand why I should be the one leaving.
“I’m not saying it’s right to rape a drunken woman,” Mary Jane Mowat told the Oxford Mail. “But [when] they’ve got a woman who says ‘I was absolutely off my head, I can’t really remember what I was doing[’] … how are they supposed to react?”
Juries should react, in those circumstances, with the understanding that a state of extreme inebriation is not one where a person can give valid consent for sex and that this in itself is evidence of rape. The CPS explicitly states as much, encouraging investigators to “consider whether supporting evidence is available to demonstrate that the complainant was so intoxicated that he/she had lost their capacity to consent”.
There would be more convictions if the police process didn’t pressure women with viable evidence to drop their reports. In 2012–13, official treatment of victims like me meant only 15 percent of rapes recorded by the police even went to court. Mowat is right in that rape conviction statistics are lower than they should be. However, the criminal justice system is to blame, not drunk women.
Before writing this submission, I counted how many men have sexually assaulted me - the number was 8. How did I feel about this number? I felt like it wasn’t very many at all. That’s how normal sexual assault has come to feel to me. It hasn’t been until very recently that I’ve really come to understand what sexual assault is, or the full idea of consent; I’ve always blamed myself to a large part. I’ve always believed that there are grey areas. The first time I fell in love, my boyfriend asked me if I wanted to have sex with him just a few days after we started dating. I said no, and I was dumped within a week. I think that’s why it’s hard for me to say no. I have had sex so many times when I didn’t want to, simply out of fear of saying no. In fact, I can’t really remember a time when I ever actually did say no. I have been raped. I have been forced into a toilet by a man who I had previously been kissing, and had no intention of going any further with; my jeans pulled down, and his penis forced inside of me for no more than two minutes - all it took for him to finish. But I didn’t say no. I just stood there. I have also woken up after nights out next to people who I had no recollection of, not knowing what college I’m even in. Woken up naked, with no idea what happened, but probably having had sex with them. Probably unprotected. Too ashamed to ask in the morning; too afraid of hurting their feelings. Not realising that if I was too drunk to remember anything, then I was probably also too drunk to really even walk, let alone consent to sex. I’ve tried to assert my boundaries with people I’m having sex with. One guy at my college who I had sex with a lot of times would always try and put his fingers up my anus. Every time, I’d tell him no, push them away, but he would try again about half a minute later. Eventually, tired of saying no, I’d just do my best to ignore it, as I didn’t want to ruin the sexual experience for him. It wasn’t until I read all the stories on this page that I identified myself as a true survivor of sexual violence. It happens here. It happens everywhere. And not everyone even knows when it is happening to them.
As a bisexual girl, it was exciting to be able to openly sleep with girls when I got to Oxford, having kept quiet about it at school. I had a group of friends through a society and we spent a lot of time together – often involving heavy drinking. I hit it off with another girl in the group early on in my first term and we slept together a few times. We were both sleeping with other people and there was no expectation at all of exclusivity. The sex had a BDSM aspect to it but she – as the dominant – was especially clear that we had to have safe-words, it seemed responsible enough even if we did get very drunk. One night she was exceedingly drunk although I wasn’t aware how much she had consumed when we saw each other. We had a discussion which concluded with us deciding not to sleep with each other any more but to remain friends. We sat down with the rest of our friends to watch a film, vaguely cuddled on the sofa in a non-sexual way. She tried to kiss my neck and I responded (in a whisper as there were other people in the room) “You don’t want to do this.” She replied “Oh but I do”. She pushed her hands up my skirt and into my vagina. I said “stop” repeatedly and even said “I’ve said stop – this is sexual assault.” I was on my period and wearing a tampon – I think that made the penetration feel more violent. She pushed her other hand into my mouth to make me be quiet and said repeatedly “You know you want it”. Her nails were so sharp they scratched my vagina. I finally managed to push her off; she was much stronger than me. I told my friends who were fairly blasé about it – she had reportedly had sex with one of our male friends when he was unconscious and their attitude was mainly “well she is pretty crazy”. Once they realised how distressed I was and that she did genuinely assault me they were very supportive. They confronted her and she very sheepishly came to talk to me – apologising profusely. I accepted her apology until she was so drunk at a party that she bit my neck and tried to bite it again even after I had pushed her away. At the time of the assault I thought I would find moving on easier if I didn’t report it – I’m not sure I made the right decision now. I’ve definitely been made to feel that the assault was less serious because she was a girl. Broken Rainbow is a great organisation and their hotline staff are excellent- if you experience abuse in a LGBT relationship, I recommend contacting them for support.
I have told my attacker that what he did to me wasn’t rape. I told him that it was, of course, totally consensual- I was just a bit drunk. Why? Because the truth was and remains uncomfortable- and terrifying when you speak it aloud. I remember vividly how he confronted me, saying he had heard that I described what happened as rape. I remember him being angry and intimidating, outraged even. And I remember panicking, telling him that the friend must have made it up, misheard me or misinterpreted what I said- all in an effort to make the anger and intimidation go away, along with the memories of what happened. I also remember how I tried to get away from him. And how he held me down, drunk, and pushed himself into me. And how I have kept silent about it since the confrontation, apart from to reassure him that no, no, of course it wasn’t rape and to please not be angry at me.
I still have to see him [my attacker] frequently and I wouldn’t think of being brave enough to confront him or go to the police, unlike others.
Does this make what happened to me truly consensual? Does this mean I would be lying now to say what he did was wrong? And moreover, would this make it alright for much of my personal information to be publicised in the press, so that I was easily identifiable and humiliated? Because I don’t think so. Survivors of sexual violence deserve respect. And belief. It happens here, so don’t act like it doesn’t.
Note: The admins have edited this to add “[my attacker]” to the fourth paragraph to clarify that this account does not necessarily relate to any other cases.
I’m only just coming to terms with what has happened to me. I experiences several years of sexual abuse form a friend. It started when I was in my mid teens. He told me what to wear. He told me the only reason people would want to spend time with me was for sex. he told me I was stupid. He used to tell me that I’d been really bad - that all of my actions ruined people’s lives, but I wasn’t a bad person. That I needed him to make me a good person. It was a horrible power dynamic, and he used it to get sex from me. The sex was horrible and it hurt, but I pretended to enjoy it so that he might stop. Rape and sexual abuse are horrible. The stigma and shame that a victim-blaming society meant that I couldn’t even begin to understand my experiences as rape until years afterwards, particularly when my abuser was still in my life. It took so much from me just getting through everyday life, I had to block out labelling what happened as rape so I didn’t have another problem in the relationship to deal with. This hasn’t been on my mind for a few months, but I’m so sick of seeing rape myths and victim blaming around in Oxford. The idea that someone who has been raped will automatically be able to speak out about it is regressive and denies the reality of sexual violence. 
A male friend who doesn’t have a Wordpress account asked me to post this for him :- It all happened one month after I had been at Oxford and I met this girl at a bar, we seemed to hit it off and after lots of drinks we went back to her place. I was sleepy but I know I didn’t want to have sex so I got into her bed and fell asleep. Only to wake up an hour later to find that she had taken all my clothes off and was masturbating me to get me hard she immediately tried to tell her to stop but she wouldn’t she then mounted me and forced me to penetrate her. I was quite drunk so motor functions were not great. In the end she held me down until she had finished….I felt so used after that. Obviously I haven’t told anyone about that as, a male there is very little support for me. Most people don’t believe you or even laugh at you, even with this countries laws they don’t class what happened to me as rape. I am sure many men experience what I have gone through. I never spoke to the oxford student again after that I avoided her.
By the end of my freshers week I had started seeing a guy - sort of. We’d admitted that we liked each other. I had never had sex sober because for me that was a big thing to be shared with someone I completely trusted. Sex after a night out has always been fun and casual. This guy wanted to have sex straight away though and convinced me that it wasn’t too soon and that being shy was stupid. We were a thing on and off for about 4 weeks, in that time we had sex drunk a few times and although we did try sober I never let him finish - I didn’t feel comfortable. One night when we were in bed we started having sex (sober), but I still didn’t feel like I really wanted to, it wasn’t fun and I didn’t feel comfortable. I told him to stop and he paused, but didn’t pull out. He reassured me that ‘it was fine’. I thought that meant he was going to stop - but he kept going. I was quite shocked so didn’t do anything and let him continue for a bit until I actually started getting angry and told him to get off. He got a bit annoyed then and defensive and pulled out. I just picked up my clothes and walked out the room. We haven’t really spoken since. I don’t really feel that affected by it. I seriously dislike him, but the main thing that aggravates me is that the people I’ve told seem to make excuses for him when I tell them why I don’t like him. I don’t see it as some big secret, frankly the more people that know the better. But I don’t want to big it up into some huge deal. I’m not sure if it even is a big deal. 
Here’s what happened to me last year: Throughout a year long relationship my ex boyfriend would sexually harass me: - This took the following forms: feeling in my pants and pressuring for sex as soon as he felt I was ‘wet’, penetrating my anus with his fingers even when I didn’t want him to. After sex, pleading to have sex again, even when I had told him that my vagina was really hurting. - This often caused a series of painful urinary tract infections, which he never expressed any concern about or apology for. - One night after a party he raped me. It is not the way you’d imagine rape to happen. We were making out in bed. He was drunk, I was not - only tired. I didn’t push him off. He pleaded for sex. Just like those many times before, I told him I didn’t want to. He had broken me, I felt utterly powerless. He didn’t notice my tears. When we were in a relationship, and even for a while after he raped me, I knew what he did was wrong, but could not bring myself to hate him. I only hated myself, and often felt guilty for not 'training’ him to be a good and loving partner. What I’ve realised since: - I am a strong woman. At the time of our relationship I was suffering from depression, which resulted in much self-neglect. I am shocked at how little self-respect I had. Why didn’t I just leave him when this abuse began? With few close friends, I clung to him. But why did I trust the one person who was so bad for me? - But the problem never was with me, it was and is with him. He is weak. A few months after it happened I confronted him. Some reflections: - The scary thing is that he genuinely did not understand what he did to me, and why it was wrong. He says that he always loved me and always wanted the utmost happiness for me. He’s either lying to himself or consciously lied to me as he’s not stupid, he goes to Oxford. - He is a genuinely likeable figure, with a close group of kind friends in college, and by no means the stereotype of a sexist 'lad’. He has female friends and generally looks harmless, does not express overtly sexist statements. He would never identify himself as a 'rapist’, and yet he was capable of sexually assaulting and raping a woman that he claimed to love. - He is not a stereotype of evil. Yet his actions were informed by the belief that in his sexual relations with me, I was not important: my body was his right and could be fought for. I don’t know the root of this view and it’s not up to me to figure it out. I just continue to move on with my life and deal with it. - I really have no idea if you can make someone care and think about the impact their sexual violence has enough to prevent it, but I hope that someone not only reads this but discusses it. It could happen to anyone you know.
Very little has changed since I went to my college for help escaping my rapist. When I first reported it, to my surprise, the college authorities were sympathetic. No one blamed me for what happened. I
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