Presentation High saved this rape victim’s life
As a 16-year-old student at Presentation High School in 2000, I was raped — off campus by someone unaffiliated with the school.
Rape is a disorienting experience and, like many victims, I was momentarily shocked into silence, incapable of processing the enormity and horror of what had happened. And so I found myself wandering the halls of school the next day with everything, shockingly, the same — except this time, the first part of my life was abruptly, violently over.
I finally physically collapsed, which is how the first person to learn of my assault was not a parent or friend but the vice principal of my high school.
One would expect an administrator charged with the education and protection of young women to react decisively and compassionately in such a circumstance. And, certainly, the administration did this. But the reason I am writing this is not because they did their jobs. It is because they did so much more.
I was immediately enveloped by a fierce and protective circle of women determined to secure not only my immediate safety and sanity, but also my legal rights and, more abstractly, my future. They fought tirelessly in pursuit of these for me, often without regard for their own best interests or personal time.
In the process, they showed me what people mean when they talk about vocation. These women were dedicated, without qualification, to the well-being of their students — and not in a philosophical sense only, but on an individual, personal level. I saw that clearly, firsthand, and I am not speaking hyperbolically when I say the administrators of my high school saved my life. I have no doubt they have saved many others.
Ultimately, like the vast majority of rape victims, I did not seek legal justice because I was terrified of the consequences of pursuing it. But the women of Presentation gave me something I now consider more valuable. They gave me confidence in the goodness of other people. They demonstrated through example what it means to refuse surrender and silence, even in the face of extreme adversity and terror.
They gave me the tools I would need to survive and, though I didn’t find the courage to use it until later, they gave me a voice.
Victims of rape and sexual assault must be heard. Perpetrators of rape and sexual assault must be given no quarter, least of all in institutions charged with the protection of children.
But the accusation, which is gaining alarming velocity in the click-bait environment of social media, that Presentation actively seeks the suppression of women’s voices is outrageous.
The empowerment of women through education is why the school exists in the first place. Indeed, what is most remarkable about my case is that it is not remarkable at all. The administration — the vast majority of which is, and always has been, comprised of women — holds the well-being of Presentation girls sacrosanct.
We are living through a period in which, rightly, many people have lost confidence in the ability of our country’s institutions to do their jobs. Presentation is not one of these. It is a place where girls, so much as they can be anywhere, are safe. It does not deserve the vast majority of the criticism it is receiving.
What’s more, the suggestion that the school would seek the suppression of girls’ voices in service to its own survival is dangerous. In a time when the peril many women face on a daily basis is gaining national attention, it should be clear that places like Presentation are a vital part of the solution, not the problem.
Jessica Ringsred lives in Milwaukee, Wis., where she directs communications for nonprofits. She is a 2001 graduate of Presentation High School in San Jose.
One would expect an administrator charged with the education and protection of young women to react decisively and compassionately in such a circumstance. And, certainly, the administration did this. But the reason I am writing this is not because they did their jobs. It is because they did so much more.