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Content warning: rape
A few years ago, I set off for my first term at a local private university in Cyberjaya. I was uncertain what life would be like in my new home: a city that was five hours away from my hometown, Penang.
I was excited to meet new people and to study a subject I was passionate about, but nervous about meeting my new housemates and the others in my course. I was prepared for (if apprehensive about) nights out and the prospect of all-nighters to get assignments finished.
What I was not prepared for was to be sexually assaulted by someone let alone a university lecturer.
Just like that, what was meant to be the most fun and formative three years of my life turned into the most agonising period of my life.
I was out drinking with my friends when…
I accidentally bumped into someone and spilled my drink. I was embarrassed and it took me a while to realise who it actually was – a lecturer from one of the classes I had taken that semester. He apologised, got me a new glass and he stayed with us for the rest of the night with his friend.
He claimed to be “too sober”, and the rest of our group thought I was “too drunk”. Since we both wanted to leave, a friend suggested that he give me a ride back to my hostel since he drove. On the way, he suggested that we continue drinking at his place. Being the broke student I was, I happily obliged to any opportunity to have free drinks.
What actually took place was very different.
Going to his place wasn’t a cause for alarm… at the time.
I had been to random people’s houses before for afterparties, and this person wasn’t random at all – he was an employee of the establishment I studied at. What’s the worst that could happen? I was familiar with him and he was someone I thought I trusted. I felt safe.
When we arrived, I feeling lethargic from all the drinking I had done, so I told him that I just wanted to call it a night. I comfortably stumbled into his apartment and slept in his single bed. He had offered it to me, saying that he would crash in the living room. That’s the last thing I remember before falling asleep.
In the morning I woke up and realised where I was. I was still not afraid. I was mostly annoyed that I hadn’t gone straight home because I had a class. Annoyed but not alarmed.
I got up and saw his housemate working in the living room. I asked him what had happened as I was still a bit drunk. I then realised I felt a bit achy, clammy and cold between my legs. He told me that the lecturer and I had slept together.
When he said those words, I didn’t want what he was saying to be true. I started looking for my jacket and phone in preparation to leave. At some point while trying to get out, I realised that I didn’t have any underwear on and that some of the buttons on my trousers were undone.
I asked him not to tell anyone we had slept together. If his housemate knew, I can only assume how many other people he had told. I was confused by what he was alleging – that we had sex. I didn’t remember it.
“Do you think he raped you?”
That was the question I kept getting in the days that followed when I confided in my friends about what had happened.
I didn’t really know what that meant. What I understood of rape at that time was that it was something perpetrated by a stranger, not a friend – certainly not an educator. I thought it meant someone putting something in your drink, not someone taking advantage of the fact I’d consumed alcohol willingly.
Rape was the last word that I would have used at that time. I struggled to believe we had even had sex. I convinced myself that he was lying, that nothing had happened and he was just saying things for show.
But then I started hearing gossip and I asked to see him a few days later in the library to talk.
I looked through his phone only to find that he had been telling everyone about this.
I don’t know what gave me the courage to do it but I asked him to hand over his phone. I saw more chat results than I expected How he had been talking about me in the weeks that led up to the eventual assault, and how the kindest thing he had to say was “how much he wanted to f**k me”.
Even in that moment, confronted with evidence, I struggled to understand what had happened. I didn’t know what support the university could have offered me. I didn’t know where to turn.
I took some pictures of the text messages on my phone. I then asked him if he thought what he had done was fair. I asked if he would like something like this to happen to his sisters. He said no.
The conversation ended there.
After this incident I withdrew from my budding social life and my mental health began to deteriorate quickly
By that point I was only socialising with small groups of people, either at my hostel or in the home of a friend. Via a close friend, I met someone with whom I shared mutual acquaintances. We started talking.
“Oh you are the girl ****** says he raped,” my new acquaintance said. It was so weird to hear myself being talked about like this, particularly because I had never used the word ‘rape’ about the incident myself.
I filed a police report but it resulted in very little action. They arranged to speak to him about my allegation but he denied it.
I also decided to speak with the university support service, something I wasn’t aware existed when I started my course. Through the service I accessed specialist counselling for the first time.
For the most part, staff were supportive, but when it came to taking action internally within the university, I was told that I shouldn’t because student misconduct procedures would mean he would know who I was.
I now have more insight into how universities handle the reporting of sexual misconduct. Looking back, I feel like they didn’t really want it to be their problem. They discouraged me from pursuing the matter. It is only years later that I realise the injustice I faced within the system.
With my avenues exhausted, the combination of my declining mental health and discomfort on campus knowing I was in the same proximity as my rapist led to me dropping out and continuing my studies elsewhere.
The system won.
I eventually returned years later for one last fight
I continued to reflect on what had happened to me during my first term at that university. Almost five years to the day after I was assaulted, I got back in touch and asked the university to do something about it. A disciplinary hearing was scheduled.
There is still, rightly, a lot of criticism directed at the policies universities have in place for dealing with sexual assault and how they support their students.
There is no regulation for legal requirements that higher education institutions must meet. This means that individual institutions determine what they want to put in place. So the support available varies by institution and even due to an individual member of staff’s interpretation of events.
My expectations of finally getting “justice” took a blow when the man who assaulted me did not attend the disciplinary hearing. He was no longer a member of the staff as of the day it took place. Pursuing this was meaningless by that point.
Had I not been discouraged from seeking resolution at the time, my whole university experience would have been very different. But in the end, I can only wonder.
For more stories like this, read: “It Was Not Rape, But It Felt Like It”: Malaysian Women Share How Their Consent Was Violated and I Was Sexually Assaulted By My Male Friend Last Night, But Everyone Blamed Me For “Leading Him On”
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