How Feminist Censorship Introduced Me To The Red Pill

Red pill awakenings take many forms. When I was in college, I wrote an article for the student newspaper about an alleged sexual assault. It was one of those situations where a woman got very drunk, had sex with a guy and woke up the next morning with either hazy memory or buyer’s remorse.

At first, she said she was raped. When university police tried to go over the details with her, she changed her tune — it had been consensual after all, she said. This was all outlined in police reports.

Cops have told me this is a common situation on campus. The girl will wake up from a night of drunken sex at a frat party with little memory of what had happened the night before. She’ll realize she had intercourse and feel violated. When the cops press her for details, her memory sometimes comes back to her. If it doesn’t, there are often multiple witnesses, male and female, that remember what happened.

As you can imagine, alcohol blackouts — the loss of memory associated with getting shit-faced drunk — make it extremely difficult to separate these cases from forcible rape. One officer told me, (off the record of course), they were hesitant to press forward with charges that are hard to prove, likely have little merit and will result in a ton of negative publicity for the accused.

But this girl was persistent. She took it to the disciplinary committee, to see if she could hit the guy that way, but the committee — headed by a woman — said there hadn’t been any rules violations besides underage drinking.

She later filed lawsuits against the university and the defendant’s fraternity.

When I wrote about it, I mentioned she had been intoxicated. Police reports said her BAC was .107 when she got tested — the morning after the party. She also told the disciplinary committee she had been drinking heavily.

I pointed out that, according to state law, women who are that drunk can’t really “consent” to sex with a man. Any sex with them is legally considered rape. The police were trying to make it seem like they didn’t have any basis for criminal charges, but technically, they did.

The mere mention of alcohol angered a campus feminist group that accused me of blaming the victim and being part of “rape culture.” Even though it was fact, they felt I shouldn’t have mentioned it.

One email in particular, from a student claiming to be an assault victim, really got to me. She said I was a part of a patriarchal society that shames rape victims, she said, and she wouldn’t be shamed. She actually praised herself for being strong and courageous in speaking out against it. She later wrote a letter to the editor in a similar tone.

I replied somewhat angrily (I was a pretty typical college liberal at the time), and few things seemed worse than being accused of sexism and support of “rape culture.” I told her she had completely missed the point. The inclusion of her BAC made the victim’s case stronger, not weaker, I said. Had she even read the article?

She forwarded my reply to other members of the group, who acted shocked that I had been so cruel to a sexual assault victim, even though she was the first to make personal attacks. She wasn’t content to say she didn’t like the framing of the article — she accused me of being a patriarchal rape supporter.

They wrote letters to the paper and took to our Facebook page to complain. The Facebook argument was pathetic, with many women buying into the narrative that the story was trying to “blame the victim.” I wondered how college students could have read the article without understanding the gist of it: police could’ve filed charges, but chose not to.

This was a shock because I was hopelessly naive about sexual assault, feminism and “rape culture” at the time. This experience showed me how illogical feminists are. Their feelings and sensibilities seemed to be more important than the facts of the case. This group was mad at me for writing the truth simply because it made the victim look bad.

The whole thing showed me a lot of the flaws I see in the feminist blogosphere every day — the lack of reading comprehension, the use of sexual assault victimhood as a shield against criticism, the lack of accountability, and a radar for anything that could be mildly construed as offensive.

As time goes on, that sphere continues to grow. It seems Slate and The Atlantic have been completely taken over by entitled, perpetually-offended females. Judging by the misandrist dreck spewed on university campuses, it’ll only get worse.

The more time passes, the more I regret my role in the article. Having sex with a drunk woman who consents to sex is not rape. The defendants in the case probably weren’t guilty of anything except sleaziness and poor judgment, at worst. He is lucky to have escaped jail, although his name was dragged through the mud.

The experience taught me some important lessons about writing about sexual assault accusations. But I took a more important life lesson away from it: feminists are full of shit.

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