(Warning: the following contains explicit descriptions of coercive behaviour, intimidation, not accepting a refusal to consent to sex, sexual assault, and oral rape.)

 

April 2012. It was nearing the end of my first year of university.

 

I was underage and drinking. (I felt a lot of shame, like it was my fault, for many years, because I had been drinking.)

 

At the Château, he had started dancing with me and we did start to kiss. It was very obvious that I was too drunk to consent to anything. He invited me back to his room at Beaulieu, but I was stumbling and certainly not sound of mind. I remember him almost carrying me the whole way.

 

I was already starting to feel regret and worry as we got to his room. I had never had sex before, never been in a relationship, and he knew this, I had said this. He pushed me onto the bed, kept kissing me. When I started to say I wasn’t sure anymore, he told me it would be fine and I would like it. That he wanted to take my virginity and I would thank him.

When he undressed, he initially put it in me so suddenly I didn’t know what was going on. It hurt, and I said that, and again I said that I didn’t want to do it anymore. I pushed him off and he made me feel terrible—like I was doing something wrong. Like I had asked for it at the bar because of kissing. And like I had come back to his room so this is what we had to do.

 

I asked for a condom at least—I wasn’t on any birth control and I was scared, figuring that, if he didn’t have one, it would be an excuse to get out. He had one but forced himself into my mouth before he went to get it. At this point, I was willing to do anything just for it to be over so I let it happen.

 

When he was finished, I said I needed to leave. I said I was worried about a UTI and I had to pee. He stood in front of his door and he made me promise to come back. He wouldn’t let me leave the room until I promised I’d be back tomorrow. I promised and left.

 

I avoided the caf and all public spaces for the rest of term. He was not returning the next year and I knew that.

 

This was my first sexual experience. And I wouldn’t have another for two years.

 

It felt like my fault. It felt like I had no one.

 

There was no talk, no discussion of these things happening. If anything, watching what happens at the Château, it felt like this was the norm. There was no space where I felt safe to speak out.

 

Five years later, I struggled as I realized what had really happened to me. When I did talk to someone, it felt like, because it was so long ago, there wasn’t anything they could do.

I was referred to a stranger off-campus to talk to, but I still felt alone and ashamed. So I bottled it up.

 

Fast forward to 2023 and I’ve finally been able to open up—I started going to therapy. It’s taken ten years to really realize that it wasn’t my fault.

 

And if I had had support, I could have had a lot less grief.

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I was a student who lived on campus and worked on campus. I would often have groups of men try to follow me back to my room, creepily flirt with me at work, or hit me up on social media, endlessly asking them why I would not hang out with them when I felt so uncomfortable and creeped out by them. They didn’t like hearing the word no.

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First, I would like to acknowledge the bravery of the victims telling their story.

 

My story is a cautionary tale and a close call, a case of what could have happened.

 

My first year at Université Sainte Anne was in 2013. I wanted to live on campus so that I could make friends. I remember, a few months into living on residence, I heard from a few dormmates that we should lock our doors when we went out to the washroom.

 

We were supposed to be safe in our residences. I asked why and they told me that, during the night, certain people would wait until you were in the bathroom to sneak into your unlocked room, wait in the closet until your return and, once the lights were off and you went to bed, they would take advantage of you.

 

One night, I went to the bathroom and I locked my door, as I had been warned. But I was fortunate to have two locks on my door. When I got back, I only locked the chain. In the next few minutes, a couple of guys tried to open the door, banging against it and trying to break the chain free.

 

I remember holding my phone in my hand, shaking as I dialed 911. I was prepared to call in case they were successful. After about 15 minutes, they gave up and stormed off, angry.

I often think back to that moment and how scared I felt. I couldn’t even bring myself to wonder what had happened had they gotten inside.

 

I was fortunate but so many others at Sainte Anne were not. Instead of blaming the victims, it is time to change the narrative and blame the administration. It is time for change.

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Years ago, I was really struggling with my mental health. As someone who struggles with PTSD, it is hard for me to open up to people when I am struggling. But I decided that I needed the help.

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I had an amazing support system throughout my time at my previous school, so I didn’t think there would be a difference. But there was.

 

I went to get the help from the counsellor and tried to sort through my trauma from previous sexual and physical abuse and, after just a few sessions, the counsellor said that they did not know how to help me. They made me feel like I was “too sick” and told me to “really think about if I can be a student”.

 

I had tried accessing the little support that the campus offered and I felt like I was turned away. The recommendation was for me to leave the campus because they “didn’t know what to do with me”.

 

It’s been years, and I still remember the exact words that the school said to me.

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C’est difficile de connaître plusieurs histoires des anciennes étudiantes et étudiantes actuels, sachant que peu a changer après tout ce temps. Nous avons besoin des lumières parce qu’il est des fois effrayant quand il faut marcher de château aux résidences quand il n’y a pas de lumière.

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Mon abuser a dû déménager a un autre résidence, mais était toujours là. Il était encore permit d’aller au tous les bâtiments publics du campus, comme le château. Les personnes qui ont entendu son histoire avant le mien ont dit que je ne devrais pas parler de ce qu’il a fait.

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It was frosh week. It was my last year at Université Sainte-Anne. I was excited to show new students from my old high school around. I had had three amazing years at Université Sainte-Anne and couldn’t wait to show them how great the place was.

 

We got drunk, as you do during frosh week. I stayed in the dorm where the security office was. I had friends who were members of the security team, so they hung out with us most of the night.

 

I don’t remember how the night came to an end but, the next morning, my friend told me that she woke up in a security member’s room and that she had been raped. She didn’t want to report it. She didn’t want to tell anyone.

 

Not knowing how to help her was hard. I went to the counsellor’s office and told her everything minus my friend’s name to get advice on how I could support my friend. The counsellor showed me a list of the security members who had attended a sexual assault training session and asked me if his name appeared on that list. It was not there. The counsellor now knew what had happened but, like me, was bound by the fact that my friend did not want to report the situation.

 

Attempting to support my friend through this terrible time broke me. That year I heard multiple similar stories of sexual assault by a member of security.

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I think about my last year of university a lot. It has completely erased all of the happy memories I’ve made at Sainte-Anne. I’m extremely sorry I couldn’t do more or speak louder to stop this from happening to others.

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My story thankfully doesn’t involve sexual harassment, but I would like to share a situation that happened to me walking through campus at night. The Sainte-Anne campus, as we all know, is very dark—there is barely any lighting anywhere and I personally hate walking at night anywhere on campus.

 

One day, it was almost midnight and I decided to go over to my boyfriend’s place to watch a movie. While I was walking—a three-minute walk from my residence to theirs—in front of Bretonne a car sped past me, missing me by a couple of feet. The car was driving on the grass and on the pathways meant for students to walk on, not to be driven on. It was so dark that, even with their headlights, the speed they were going at made me almost not see them. The driver of the car most likely didn’t even see me because I was wearing dark clothing. If I had been just a couple feet to the right, there is a good chance I would’ve been hit. This just goes to show that, with the limited lighting we have, and students who like to act reckless, the campus is just not as safe as it could be.

 

Many times, I’ve walked home in the dark feeling scared because of others trailing behind and the feeling of darkness surrounding me. Installing a couple more lampposts and outdoor lighting should be the least they could do to make us feel safer in a place we need to live for eight months out of the year. With certain classes finishing later in the evening, near the winter months we leave the building and it’s pitch black, and it makes getting across campus a very stressful task, knowing how much sexual violence occurs in our community.

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(Traumvertissement: agression sexuelle et tentative de suicide)

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J’étais étudiante de 2017 à 2020. Un soir, alors que j’étais en train de boire avec une amie, je suis tombée dans un corridor. Quand un gardien de la sécurité étudiante m’a vue, il m’a aidée à me relever. Sa chambre était tout juste à côté de celle de mon amie à Bozo (la résidence Beauséjour). Il m’a dit « je veux juste voir si t’es ok » et m’a amenée dans sa chambre. Comme j’étais nouvelle, que c’était ma première fin de semaine à Sainte-Anne et que je n’avais jamais bu de ma vie, je l’ai suivi naïvement. Il m’a assise sur son lit, il a verrouillé sa porte et a enlevé mon pantalon en disant qu’il voulait juste voir si j’étais ok. Même si à ce moment-là, j’ai commencé à protester, il m’a poussée dans son lit et il m’a violée. Au début je pensais que c’était ma faute, comme j’avais bu de l’alcool... mais même si j’avais bu, lui il était sobre. Et je l’ai supplié maintes fois d’arrêter et il ne s’est jamais arrêté. Quand je suis rentrée chez moi je me suis lavée comme 2 heures de temps... il était maintenant trop tard pour aller à la police. J’ai cessé d’aller à mes cours, j’ai commencé à boire à tous les jours dans ma chambre, j’ai arrêté de manger, de sortir, de tout faire. Entre un à deux mois plus tard, j’ai commencé à avertir les quelques femmes que je connaissais, je leur disais de faire attention à ce gardien étudiant, je les suppliais de ne pas lui faire confiance. Mais ma dépression et mon PTSD étaient tellement hors de contrôle qu’en 2018 j’ai fait une tentative de suicide. En 2019, je me suis pris un chien de thérapie pour m’aider avec mon PTSD qui m’a beaucoup aidée, mais l’Université n’aimait pas le fait qu’il y ait un animal de thérapie sur le campus et ils m’ont donné beaucoup de misère. À la fin j’ai ramené mon chien chez moi parce que j’étais fatiguée de me battre pour mes droits. J’ai refait une tentative de suicide au début de 2020. Quand la covid est arrivée, je suis rentrée chez moi et j’ai quitté l’Université. J’ai parlé à l’Université de ce qui m’était arrivé mais on ne m’a jamais offert le moindre soutien. J’ai travaillé longuement sur moi. J’ai obtenu mon diplôme d’un collège. Je suis maintenant mariée et j’ai deux enfants. Je ne peux pas dire que mon PTSD est guéri mais j’ai beaucoup travaillé là-dessus.

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(Traumvertissement: agression sexuelle)

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C’était ma première année sur le campus en 2008 et un employé de la sécurité étudiante m’envoyait des messages. On n’était pas amis, on ne se connaissait pas vraiment. Oui, on a eu quelques expériences ensemble mais un soir, j’avais clairement dit que je ne voulais plus qu’on se voit et ma résidence était le même bâtiment que la sécurité étudiante.

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Cette nuit, il continuait de m’envoyer des messages quand il me voyait passer la salle de la sécurité étudiante. Des messages menaçants comme « Tu devrais rester dans ta chambre. Laisse ta porte déverrouillée. » « Il faut que tu fasses aucun bruit et tu devrais coucher avec moi parce que le sexe c’est rien. Tu es stupide de penser autrement. » Les messages étaient sans cesse. Des messages de jalousie en disant qu’il pensait que j’étais évident chez d’autres hommes, pas le cas mais aussi pas le point.

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J’étais chez une amie toute la nuit quand j’arrive à ma chambre et je me prépare pour dormir. Je vais aux toilettes et je n’avais pas l’habitude de verrouiller ma porte en allant à la toilette. Quand je reviens dans ma chambre, il était là, après sa soirée de travail, et a fermé la porte en la verrouillant. Il m’a poussé vers mon lit et je lui ai dit que je ne voulais pas. Il a enlevé mes vêtements et s’est forcé à l’intérieur de moi. Il a couvert ma bouche pour empêcher mes cris. Après que c’était terminé, il est parti rapidement.

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Le pire était qu’on se voyait souvent parce qu’il était en charge de la sécurité étudiante et j’étais à l’AGÉUSA. On avait beaucoup de rencontres ensemble. Je suis allée voir la conseillère pour lui demander ce que je devrais faire parce que je ne voulais plus le voir en sécurité étudiante. Elle m’a déconseiller de porter plainte parce qu’il habitait dans la même résidence que moi alors, je le verrais quand-même. J’ai porté plainte quand-même, mais rien n’est arrivé parce que je ne pouvais pas prouver mon témoignage.

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J’ai enseigné dans le département d’études françaises à l’université Sainte-Anne de 1993 à 1996. J’ai été constamment victime de harcèlement sexuel (pas viol physique sexuel mais persécution et violence psychologique car j’étais une femme). J’étais la seule femme dans mon département et j’étais plus qualifiée que les hommes. Il n’y avait que des hommes dans l’administration et ils étaient hostiles. J’ai fait une plainte à la Commission de la personne et on m’a donné raison. Les hommes qui m’avaient fait vivre l’enfer ont dû suivre un cours pour mieux traiter les femmes (je n’ai pas vérifié s’ils l’ont suivi). Pour moi, ce fut la fin de ma carrière. Trop dégoûtée même si j’adorais enseigner et si les étudiant.e.s adoraient mes cours. Il était clair pour moi que l’environnement était toxique et je savais que je ne pouvais pas lutter contre cela.

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In my first year at Sainte-Anne, the school counsellor did a presentation in my Introduction aux études universitaires class about consent. She showed us the video that the school had been using for years about having a cup of tea, using that as an example for consent. Not even halfway through the presentation, the counsellor said that just because a female is wearing a short skirt or dress does not give you the right to pursue her without consent. This is when a large group of guys in my class began to freak out. I still remember, to this day, one of them saying that it was his right to do whatever he wanted to because he was the man. I remember looking over to my friend and saying that I couldn't believe we had to share a class with these people for the next four years. And then I found out, after talking with friends in their second, third, and fourth years, they all said the same dispute happened when they took the class. I was so frustrated that this kept happening and it never got addressed.

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I was a student for a short time. I did not experience a sexual assault, although I did experience an inappropriate encounter. My friends and I would spend time in one of our dorm rooms where we would feel safe most of the time, except for one night . . . when the resident assistant and his friend barged into my friend’s room and wouldn’t leave when told that they came in uninvited. They then proceeded with inappropriate comments and started rubbing our feet. They left after a while after being told to leave numerous times.

 

I was a student during the worst of the alleged rapes at Sainte-Anne, 2017-2020. Not once were the students informed in any way by the administration . . . you would only hear it by word of mouth. You live there 7-8 months out of each school year, it’s a second home. Sainte Anne needs to do better.

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I started university in 2017. I believe I was a target for this student security guard ​(sic; what follows suggests that the student was not yet working as a student security officer). I was followed and harassed so much that I had to leave campus. This student would come to my room all the time, at night to “see how I was”, and every time I felt unsafe, so every time I would make an excuse, or I would just pretend that I wasn’t even in my room. He would also ask me several times a week to go out drinking with him—each time I refused, knowing the possibilities if I got drunk. I knew my safety was threatened by this student, so I went to the counsellor at the time. I told her I was scared and didn’t feel safe on campus and she said “those kinds of things don’t happen here.”

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My first night, first year, in September 2022, I was informed of the rape culture on campus immediately by another student. I was also told that the administration wouldn’t do anything if I was ever assaulted. Nevertheless, one night, walking back from my friend’s residence, a student began following me very closely. I started running and so did he . . . I then turned around and began yelling at him, which scared him off. Now I never leave my room without pepper spray. I shouldn’t even have to do that in the first place—I deserve to feel safe on campus.

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(Warning: the following contains an explicit description of rape.)

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I started in the immersion program at Sainte-Anne. In the winter of the first year, I started talking to a member of the volleyball team who was also an animateur. It was our little secret to break the French-speaking rules. I was always clear that I was not ready for sex—I would announce it every time I thought things were headed that way. He assured me that that wasn’t important and that he respected my beliefs and he respected me. One time, as things were headed towards sex, I kept telling him I wasn’t ready or comfortable. He kept telling me how it would “bring us close” and eventually I just stopped saying no. I was so hurt, violated, and disgusted with myself, and I bled for three days afterwards. I left campus that weekend and decided I must’ve given him the wrong impression. I continued a relationship with this person for some time because my “boyfriend” would never violate me like that, right? Wrong. After I finally ended things with this person and wanted to create distance between us, he would not leave me alone. He would text me and come up to me in public areas of the campus. One night, during Frosh Week, he saw me out and got upset. Someone let him into my residence and, when I came back to my room, there was a huge hole just in front of my door. After confirming it was in fact him, I approached the head of residence to finally fill him in on the situation. Instead of offering any solutions or supports, he said that I should take it easy on this person—after all, he was heartbroken and had a lot going on. This person continued to text and harass me with his mental health issues for the rest of that semester until he chose to move himself off campus.

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As a frosh at Sainte-Anne, I was immensely excited to visit my family for Thanksgiving. Feeling already uneasy, with sexual comments and glares passing through my residence hall, as well as directed straight at me, I needed a break. I returned from Thanksgiving to sexual obscenities written all over my whiteboard that I had tacked to my door: “I want to fuck you”; “I love you”. When I reported it to the counsellor, she was not any help nor very concerned. This was not the first report I made that went uncared for. I took it upon myself to change residences when someone started jiggling my door handle every night.

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(Warning: the following contains a description of sexual assault.)

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I was at the Château early one night (9-10 pm) as an alumni. I got a drink at the bar and saw some old friends of mine at the half-wall by the pool tables—mostly local men and women, and some current students.

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I was standing directly across from some of my female friends, catching up. I was focused on conversation and unsuspecting. Suddenly, one of the local guys who stood diagonally across from me grabbed and jerked my free left hand to touch his crotch, out-of-the-blue, like a child pulling some prank. The back of my hand touched the crotch of his jeans before I pulled away, stunned, thinking: What just happened?

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I stood in the group of witnesses and told him to fuck off, but that was it. Nobody came to my defence. Instead, the whole group—women included—laughed, excusing his assault as one of his antics with “Oh, that’s just [his name].”

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It’s been a few years now since that happened, but I remember it well and how it still makes me feel. Defenceless, and putting the shame and anger on myself for not having done more to protect myself.

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I was working my student job (alone) on campus late at night. While closing up, a student insisted on staying and closing with me. I kept telling him no. Eventually, he left and I finished closing up. I was feeling uncomfortable and decided to call my roommate when leaving the building for the two-minute walk back to my residence. As I started walking outside, the student was waiting in the dark and did NOT intend on making his presence known (I didn’t notice at first). I thought I heard footsteps, turned around and saw that he started following me. I started picking up my pace and told my roommate to open the door for me. I did make it home safely. I’m glad I trusted my gut feeling but, because of the lack of lighting, he was able to wait and hide in the dark without my knowledge.

 

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Following vignette 20 [re: a class discussion on consent] that was shared, I was also there and vividly remember this discussion. Multiple (male) students said during this discussion that, if they were having sex with a girl, and the girl asked to stop, they “can’t stop because it feels too good”. This was met with laughter from some of the other students. I was enraged and spoke up against this.

 

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(Warning: the following contains a description of sexual assault.)

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I was hesitant to write my story, but as more and more come out I feel more comfortable sharing. In 2019, right before the lockdown, I was assaulted in the Petit Bois. The two female friends I told right after it happened told me that it was my fault for going out so late (I was a smoker) and offered no comfort despite being my two closest friends. One of them ended up using that as a way to make fun of me with others. I was lucky enough to fight the person off but, because of the dark and having my glasses knocked off, I was unable to see the face of my attacker. A teacher in the English department called the police once I told them and reassured me that it was in fact not my fault. In my mind it was my fault; everyone around me agreed and said it was the “culture” at Sainte-Anne. The police looked through one camera—one from my dorm—and, as you can imagine, they found nothing and blamed me for going out so late. After this, I started drinking every night, and after two years my drinking got so bad I had to drop out. The school never supported me or reached out to me; the students and my “friends” never supported me or reached out to me. I will forever regret going to Sainte-Anne.

 

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(Warning: the following contains a description of sexual assault.)

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When I was a student at Sainte-Anne, the university was notorious for binge drinking and a party culture, as well as for the high female-to-male student population ratio. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this led to a sinister underlying culture of sexual violence and predatory behaviour on campus.

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A 2010 Maclean’s article references Sainte-Anne’s female-dominant student population in an article titled “Odds are picking up: With more women at most schools, young men have never had so many dates”. The article begins with a 19-year-old MSVU student boasting that, "[i]f you strike out everywhere else, just come to the Mount”, which the article explains has a high female-student population, similar to Sainte-Anne, and where typically unlucky-in-love men seem to flock to get lucky. The article is playful and does not speak to issues related to campus sexual violence. However, in my experience this type of environment was a cesspool for sexual predators.

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During my time at Sainte-Anne it felt unsafe for the female students because many male students expected sex from their female counterparts and felt entitled to have their “pick of the litter”. This mentality, combined with the binge-drinking culture on campus, led to multiple instances of sexual violence and assault, which I myself fell victim to.

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During my first week on campus I had a close encounter—an older male student attempted to push his way into my dorm room where I was passed out after partaking in a night of partying. I was lucky to have female roommates who, after multiple attempts, made him leave. Another night, after a party at the campus bar, I wasn’t so lucky to have my roommates around to defend me. I woke up in the middle of the night to find an unknown man who must have stuck around after the after-party in my bed with me, with his hand down my pants. I was intoxicated and confused. I stumbled my way from my bedroom to the shared living space and passed out on the couch—which speaks to my level of intoxication and my inability to give consent. I woke up the next morning in a sickened terror, clearly remembering the event from the previous night. Thankfully the predator was gone. I confided in my friends, knowing that they too had similar encounters with men who were too pushy, forceful, and who didn’t take no for an answer. I found empathy and support in these young women, but none of us knew of any resources available to us on campus or how to properly work through an encounter of sexual violence and assault. We were left to sit in our pain and our unwarranted shame. We supported each other through these sickening encounters to the best of our ability, as young and vulnerable 20-some year-olds, but these acts of violence should have never happened to us and we should have known where to turn and how to access proper support and resources through the university.

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It breaks my heart to learn that little to nothing has changed at Sainte-Anne. The issue of sexual violence on campus is well-known and the administration has, and continues to, turn a blind eye.

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(Warning: the following contains a description of rape.)

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I went to French immersion for a few summers. Every summer I was in Bozo [Beauséjour residence] as I was under 18. Though safe sex (available condoms) was promoted, sexual activity was encouraged amongst the dorm. I was raped by my best friend’s roommate (my first time). It took me years to process since I thought it was a regular, teenage thing to do since everyone else in the dorm was doing it. French immersion should be about learning, not sexual experiences.

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(Warning: the following contains a description of rape.)

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I attended Université Sainte-Anne for French immersion during the 2016 printemps session. After only having been on campus for 6 days, I was raped. It was Friday night and my friends and I decided to participate in the themed party of the evening. We had a few drinks at Bozo 1 before heading over to the Château to have some more. I had a bit too much to drink so unfortunately I blacked out. I remember short snippets of the night but I don’t remember most of what happened.

 

While I was in an inebriated state, a man invited me to his room to smoke some weed to which I agreed. He wasn’t a student in the immersion program, rather he was a regular student of the university taking classes during the summer semester. I smoked a bit even though I was already drunk but he didn’t smoke. At this point I’m confident that he was more sober than I was. In my drunken state, I was unable to provide consent and I don’t remember consenting either. He undressed and raped me. I remember him stopping only when we heard someone scream my name outside his residence looking for me. Later I learned that a friend spotted me on my way to his residence earlier that night and decided to look for me because I didn’t show up at the Castelet at the time we agreed. She demanded that he bring me outside because she knew I was inside his residence. He did.

 

I woke up feeling very violated and sore. I believed it was my fault at the time because I had too much to drink despite knowing my limits. It took me years to recognize that it wasn’t my fault.

 

He kept messaging me for the next few days but I ignored them. I finally responded when I had enough and asked if we could meet so we can talk about what happened that night. I asked him to tell me his version and he flat out said “nothing happened in my room. You smoked some weed and then you left”. I knew he was lying so I walked away as I told him I knew it was a lie.

 

We spoke again a few days later when I finally asked him why he wouldn’t tell me the truth. He explained: “we don’t talk about what we do. We just do it”. I felt broken and used upon hearing those words so I told him to never contact me again.

 

Like many others, I wish there were resources and support for victims of sexual assault at the university. Had there been anything available then maybe I could have reported the incident. At the time I didn’t even know that I could go to the police. To this day, I regret not going to the police and reporting my rapist.