Mitchell Scholar Blogs

This week, The Huffington Post ran my article on sexual assault, written in response to an anonymous op-ed by a Harvard undergraduate, which recently enraged many people.

I felt that as a Harvard alumna and an “out” survivor of a highly-publicized rape, I had a certain duty to speak out about the appalling fact that many educational institutions — when confronted by a sexual assault between students — often prefer to sweep everything under the carpet.   If you read my article and agree with it, please do share it.  It’s time educational institutions took the issue of sexual assault and the ethics of their students seriously.  And only a public and visible dialogue will prompt any kind of improvement.

As you may know, I was raped while visiting Belfast for a Mitchell Scholar reunion in April 2008.   My assailant was a 15-year-old boy who followed me in a park one afternoon.  Since then, I’ve realized how important it is to pierce the embarrassed public silence which often hangs over the issue of rape — a crime which is shockingly frequent and often silently devastating for its victims.  So I’ve never hesitated when asked to talk about it on radio, in print, in books.

Many thanks for those of you in the US-Ireland Alliance community who have shown me support and encouragement in dealing with my own assault.  Without this kind of support, I would find it much more difficult to speak out about the issue.

As for my assailant, his story continues in interesting ways. In 2012, he had violated his parole in Northern Ireland, gone missing, been re-arrested in Dublin, and then released on bail by District Court Judge John Lindsay (despite the objections of the Garda).  And then of course, escaped again and vanished.

Last November, he was finally re-arrested after having gone missing for over a year.

This week (on the same day that my article went live on the Huffington Post), I received an email from the police informing me that he had been transferred back to Belfast after serving time in Dublin.  He has the legal right to apply for High Court bail and has been remanded in custody until next Saturday, April 12.

Coincidentally, next Saturday will also be the 6-year anniversary of the attack.  As I grow into my mid-30s, many of my friends have wedding anniversaries and increasingly, children’s birthdays to celebrate. But I think it is equally important that we take the time to commemorate those “dark days” which sometimes befall us in our lifetimes. Otherwise, we don’t really appreciate our non-dark days.

Each year, on the second Saturday of April, I walk around a park on my own — wherever in the world I happen to be.   Last year, it was Fort Canning Park in Singapore, and the year before, it was Al-Bidda Park in Doha.  This year, it’ll be somewhere in London.

At any rate, if you ask me what I’m currently doing in London, I’m enrolled in a Creative Writing MA at Goldsmiths, University of London, and hard at work on a novel inspired by the attack — both my assailant’s story and mine.

It’s called Dark Chapter.  The first draft will be finished in the next few months — but maybe some chapters in our life never really finish.

To describe the last few weeks as a “whirlwind” would be a bit of an understatement. I’m writing this blog post near Gate 22 at the Brussels South Charleroi Airport waiting on my red eye flight back to Dublin.  This has been one of my first chances to organize my thoughts, which I’ll try to do quickly before Ryanair Flight 43 leaves Belgium without me.

Two weeks ago, I made the six-hour trek to Belfast for our spring retreat. Seeing Belfast firsthand and walking past the walled interfaces has been something I’ve looked forward to since arriving in Ireland. We spent our first day exploring the city and delving into its politics and social divides. In the morning, we met with two Ministers at Stormont, the seat of the Northern Ireland Assembly and the Northern Ireland Executive. As we learned, politicians in the North always come in pairs: Unionists and Republicans. That afternoon, Dom Bryan of Queens University Belfast took us on a tour of the peace murals and divided neighborhoods of Belfast. Previously, Belfast looked to me just like any other industrial city. Yet walking past buildings and memorials exalting paramilitary units and seeing the multi-story walls designed to deter future violence drove home the point that I had found myself in a truly unique place where the wounds of the recent past have yet to completely heal.

One particular mural stood out to me as a reminder of home: a painting on a Nationalist peace wall calling for the presidential pardon of Leonard Peltier, a Native American activist serving two life sentences since 1977. Though I knew Peltier’s case had been placed on Amnesty International’s list of “Unfair Trials” and serves as a point of contention among the Indian community, I did not expect to see such a powerful tribute 4,116 miles from the Pine Ridge Reservation. To anyone who is unfamiliar with the 1975 shootout at Pine Ridge, its aftermath, or the American Indian Movement, I suggest watching this powerful overview of Peltier’s story: Incident at Ogala: The Leonard Peltier Story.

The next day consisted of a trip around the Antrim Coast to the incredible natural wonders of Northern Ireland, mainly Giant’s Causeway and Carrick a Rede Island. The wild beauty of the land and coast provided a sharp contrast to the rough industrial feel of urban Belfast. Standing on the point of the Grand Causeway watching the waves crash into the rocks and spitting out sea foam definitely served as a clear, “Woah, I’m really here” moment.

As I said earlier, I’m writing this post from an airport bench in Belgium. Belgium has long been on my European bucket list, though I must say that I never actually imagined having the opportunity to be here. Belgium plays a pretty sizable role in my life. I suppose you could say a Belgian family is why I get the chance to be here today. On October 18, 1944, my grandfather’s P-51 was struck by flak during his 64th fighter mission and he was forced to bail out over what he thought was behind enemy lines. He landed in a tree, breaking his back and leg. Luckily, my grandfather, who was only 21 years old at the time, had bailed out over Belgium, where a young girl helped him out of the tree and took him to a farmhouse in a wheelbarrow, where he remained until Allied forces discovered his location and returned him to a hospital.

I tried my best to find the exact location of the farm where my grandfather landed, but could not. Nevertheless, I have always wanted to come back to the place where Lieutenant Tom Tipps’s military career ended, and it’s been an amazing trip. I’ve not had a map since arriving, so I spent my first day exploring Brussels, a relatively young European capital, looking at the contrasting building styles of 18th century Flemish architecture and the state of the art European Parliament complex. I must say, I prefer the stone and towering golden spires of old Brussels to the glass and granite of the newer parts of town. Next, I walked the canals of Ghent, where I tried the world’s greatest dark chocolate covered waffle, and wandered through the medieval alleys of Bruges, one of the most beautiful cities I’ve had the pleasure of visiting and home to the Frietmusum. Finally, I finished my trip at Antwerp, a more upscale city, where I walked through the gallery at Rubenshuis and marveled at Gutenberg Bibles in the Museum Plantin-Moretus. Belgium had so much more to offer, but I was short on time and, sadly, missed out on visiting Bastogne, Waterloo, or one of the famed Trappist breweries.

With that, it looks like I have about three minutes to scarf down a quick breakfast and join the boarding queue for my flight. My adventures will continue next week, though I’ll be back on the American side of the Atlantic visiting Acoma Pueblo in New Mexico. I’ll miss Galway, but man, I cannot wait to feel desert sun again.