I am survivor of domestic violence. It has taken me many years to feel comfortable writing that. After finally finding the courage to face that truth, I now find I must face a new truth, a truth that I am still having difficulty coming to grips with, especially given my organization's focus on elevating college students.
This year, Urban Outfitters sold a "vintage" Kent State sweatshirt tastefully splattered with red paint while Donald Sterling's racial comments cost him his NBA franchise. It's been a raucous year in the public arena, expressed perfectly by a parade of PR blunders that is as impressive in scope as it is in sheer absurdity.
We should not give this kind of assault a special name and put it in a special category that ultimately belittles it, fails to protect society, and robs victims of justice. By calling it "domestic assault," as we have for so long, we put a white picket fence around it and in some weird way prettify it. Which is utterly inexcusable.
People were passing by, staring in awe at the scene that was taking place in front of them. Their heads turned sideways as they glanced back at me in horror and surprise. A few people even slowed down to watch him throw me to the ground. But not a single one of them stopped. No one came to help. I was alone.