You can if you are a Feminists, as Stacy McCain explains
The Ivy League Is Decadent and Depraved, as I reminded readers a few weeks ago, and you’ll pardon me for quoting myself, but the evidence of elite depravity keeps slapping me in the face. Adriana Miele is a senior at Yale University:
Brunch is the ideal time to do it. Dinner is usually too crowded, and lunch and breakfast are so rushed that I don’t have the time. On any given weekend, I arrive at a dining hall past noon, usually with leggings and a warm, knit sweater. I swipe my card.
Then I count the amount of rapists in the room.
She counts rapists? How does she know these men are rapists?. Well she doesn’t of course. To this twisted soul All MEN ARE RAPISTS NO DOUBT. In fact I imagine her criteria for identifying a “rapist” is simple. Do you have a penis? Are you attracted to women? RAPIST!
Girls at Columbia and Brown got in trouble for releasing lists with names of known rapists on their campuses. My friends and I have still considered doing the same, but we’re too exhausted to deal with the inevitable backlash.
Aw poor baby, how oppressed is she? I mean honestly, why can’t batshit crazy Feminists smear men as rapists without getting backlash? DAMN the Patriarchy!
I can’t speak about other campuses because I know only this one, but Yale has an epidemic. Each day, students fear for their safety as they walk across campus. Whether stepping into the library or taking a seat in a classroom, they’re reminded of some of the most traumatizing moments of their lives.
Wow, Yale is that bad? Everyone just shakes in fear constantly?
I think it’s true that you can survive Yale despite an experience of violence, sexual or otherwise. You can do it. I have endured Yale. But you shouldn’t be enduring Yale: you should be attending and enjoying Yale. Women and queer people aren’t thriving at Yale the way we should be. According to the Association of American Universities’ 2015 Campus Climate Survey on Sexual Assault, most of us here at Yale have been physically violated and intimidated. Among straight women, it’s over half; among gender-queer students, it’s over 60 percent. . . .
So, it is possible, she concludes that you can, maybe, possibly escape Yale unmolested and unvictimized. You can survive, you just have to “endure” because RAPISTS EVERYWHERE or something!
When over half of your undergraduate female population is being assaulted, you have an epidemic. . . .
I would love to see where she gets her stats from. Certainly no credible source provides her with such numbers. She more than likely gets these from her own mind because let’s face it nothing is sweeter than pretending to be a victim for a Leftist. And, for a Feminist, that victim status is especially “empowering”. Yes, for a true Feminist pretending that the evil Patriarchy has victimized you is the ultimate. And for a college Feminist, it is even better because you can pretend to be a victim of the patriarchy while attending a university that costs nearly $50,000 because VICTIMHOOD!
Since I started counting, I can’t remember a single weekend without noticing at least one rapist (that I know of) in the room. . . .
Rapists, rapists everywhere! I wonder if this lunatic ever considers how she is hurting victims of actual rape? Women who actually have been victims? I wonder if she will ever realize that she is redefining a horrific act to a point where it is meaningless? I doubt it because, as Stacy McCain pints out, she is, well, CRAZY!
Either (a) Yale is the Rape Capital of the World, or (b) Adriana Miele is in the grip of a paranoid delusion. Considering annual tuition at Yale is $47,600, and most of the boys she imagines are “rapists” are mild-mannered brainiac nerds, I rather doubt most women on campus in New Haven “fear for their safety.” Does anyone believe these geeky Yale boys, many of them National Merit Scholar finalists, are committing sexual assault on a regular basis? Is dating a Yale boy like partying with the Hell’s Angels during Bike Week in Daytona? What kind of lunatic would claim such a thing? A quick bit of research turned up an autobiographical essay Adriana Miele published last fall:
Go read it all folks.