I am a twenty-four–year–old special education teacher at a charter high school in Boston, Massachusetts. This piece was written about my first year as a teacher in a live school setting due to the Covid-19 pandemic. In college I had been active in protests and student-led discussions about social issues, and I have always been open to hearing people’s stories about gendered violence. I was my students’ age—a mere fourteen years old—when I was first sexually assaulted. The story that is about to unfold impacted me ten years later more than I could imagine. This is the story of a survivor’s non-linear healing process.
We received an email at eight a.m. titled “Altercation Yesterday.” It detailed a bathroom brawl in which a group of various grade-level male students ganged up on one senior boy, resulting in bloody injuries. The motivation? This senior boy had allegedly been sending unsolicited sexual messages to and making advances at young female students. The fight was filmed and circulating on social media. The school administration acknowledged that students would be talking about this and instructed us to direct them to the Dean’s office if they were not concentrating on school work. Around noon, another email came through, saying that female students had come to the Deans and the school principal to say “enough is enough” and demanded a discussion space to reveal the patterns of sexual harrassment and violence that had been happening in the school. I was incredibly proud of and impressed by the resilience and bravery of those students. When I was fourteen, I didn’t really know what sexual harrassment and violence was. At the same age, they were demanding systemic change at their school. By the end of the day, students had decided that a demonstration was needed to spark this change. They chose a peaceful, walk-out style protest that would occur at the very end of the last period of the day. Only female-identifying and non-binary students and staff were invited to participate in the protest. As a female teacher and survivor, of course I would be walking out with my students.
The next day, students were on edge, whispering about the protest that was about to ensue. Some male students expressed confusion, frustration, and defiance leading up to the protest. Their sentiments included mocking the female and non-binary students, misinterpreting the walk-out as a reason to go home early, and simply not understanding the gravity of sexual harrassment. Trying to explain this gravity was incredibly difficult—it’s been my experience since I was a little girl. Although we were told to direct students with questions and opposition to the Deans’ office, I still felt an obligation as an educator and a survivor to help them understand that their mocking and joking actually made this a bigger problem.
The protest itself was powerful. Students created poignant posters with red handprints and phrases like “No means No,” “Our Body Should Not be Sexualized,” and “Consent Matters.” Since it was all student-driven, there was expected disorganization and the cohesion of the demonstration itself was not clear. Regardless, it was a beautiful display of students and staff who care so much about making a difference and raising awareness about sexual violence. I was immensely proud.
The formation of the demonstration did bring up an issue that I personally still have conflicting feelings about. The student leaders guided us to line up on both sides of the sidewalk, thus forcing the male students to walk through us as they were dismissed from school. It could be seen from two different viewpoints. The first: male students could visibly see the number of non-male students and staff at our school and conceptualize our value and presence. The second: male students had to experience a “walk of shame,” which could be interpreted as a form of blaming or finger-pointing. We can never say that men are the only perpetrators of sexual violence. People who speak and do things without another person’s consent are perpetrators of sexual violence. In our society, gender does play a significant role in power dynamics and women are disproportionately affected by sexual violence. At the same time, however, men also experience sexual violence and harassment, and pointing fingers at an entire group of students is not the answer. We cannot and should not have excluded the male students from the protest and discussion about sexual violence. Sexual education, consent training, and open dialogue about gender, sexuality, and respect should involve all students.
There were numerous mandatory staff meetings after and before school as these events were unfolding. There were no content warnings or processing spaces to ensure the safety of the staff. Even though the sexual harrassment was happening amongst students and not staff, it doesn’t mean that these conversations do not impact us. Being a survivor isn’t something you can visibly know about a person, and thus it is essential to preview and ask for the consent of people to participate in a discussion before it begins. A staff member had to request a processing space for employees, displaying the impact that this was having on myself and others.
When we came in from the walk-out, there were two boards covered with student accounts of catcalling, harassment, and experiences of sexual violence. At the time, these notes were incredibly powerful and vulnerable. They displayed the range of experiences that students have had. It was interesting to witness the other staff members and some older students who stuck around to read them. They were sometimes shocked, and sometimes nodded their heads as it resonated, and sometimes shook their heads in disappointment. It definitely opened my eyes to see that my students, the precious people whom I am caring for and raising in a way, experience this sexual violence too. It broke my heart and simultaneously helped me see that I am not alone in my experience. I thought the boards were a very important and moving aspect of the demonstration.
Yet the boards were not removed after the demonstration was done. They remained in the main foyer for two full weeks after the event. Every day at work, I was triggered again and again from the explicit nature of the notes hung up. I fell into a bout of panic, discomfort, and worry. One afternoon after work, I cried uncontrollably and couldn’t figure out what was wrong. After getting support from my partner and my friends, I realized how much the boards and the constant reminders of my own experiences were impacting me. I advocated for the boards to be removed; it took a total of ten days for the administration to take them down. My manager at first recommended that I take an alternate route to my classroom so I wouldn’t have to see them. I felt so invalidated in my experience. I told her that I could not possibly be the only person experiencing these intense emotions, and that something needs to happen about it. She proceeded to ask me what I would recommend we do with the messages. They were relying on my own emotional labor to figure out the best way to support students. It felt disrespectful and very inconsiderate of the immense work I do to heal from my sexual violence experiences. When the boards finally came down, my manager and I walked by, and she remarked, “Oh! The boards are down!” with a big smile on her face. I couldn’t really say anything. It was too late. The lack of understanding and compassion for survivors when discussing sexual violence was too much to bear.
I did provide a detailed amount of feedback to the administration of the school in the hope that they will handle future situations and events that could trigger their staff and students differently. My first recommendation was to preview content of meetings with an option to not attend if it is a topic that may be unsafe to engage with. By previewing this information, people are better able to make informed decisions about their involvement and to take steps to care for themselves. Next, they should never display explicit and possibly triggering content in a main area of a school for more than the length of an actual event. From a social justice and impact standpoint, the purpose of displaying difficult images and sentiments is to inform and open minds. When this content is displayed for a longer amount of time, the impact begins to morph into a normalizing and often triggering one that moves away from a learning moment. Lastly, they need to check in with staff more consistently and compassionately during the time of the event and not after. We are not only teachers—we are complex human beings with emotions and experiences that do impact our quality of life and work. By checking in with each individual in the school (even via text or email), people can get the resources and time they need to process these difficult situations.
There’s a lot to learn from this experience. For me, I’ve learned that my triggers are complex and lifelong. I’ve also learned that I am far from alone in my experience, and although this scares me, it also gives me hope. For my school and workplace, I hope that they recognize the importance of being meticulous in their decision-making and approach to talking about difficult topics. The ways in which we talk about, teach, and guide young people in regard to healthy and consensual relationships will have an impact forever.
Julia Kopala
My name is Julia, and I am currently working in Boston as a special education teacher. I joined Survivors to Superheroes because I am a survivor myself who did not have any support or resources to understand the gravity of the situation I was in. I want my writing to empower and validate the diversity of experiences and identities that survivors hold, amplifying the idea that healing is possible. Outside of the organization, I find joy in hiking, reading, and mentoring students!
