I’ve thought long and hard about how to even approach an article about rape culture. How the hell do I even sum up the suffering of centuries? The truth is I can’t; suffering can’t be summed up. However, everytime my mind asks me that same question, my experiences with rape culture reply with:

“What were you wearing?”

“How many drinks did you have that night?”

“Did you go home with them?”

“Is it that deep?”

And then my blood boils all over again everytime I hear R-Kelly’s song casually played at my family’s backyard BBQ. My heart beats faster everytime I watch a silent tear run down the cheek of yet another strong survivor who trusted me with their story. But better yet, a fire re-ignites my determination to change rape culture everytime that I am reminded that people have to sit next to, fear and walk by their rapist on my college campus.

Somebody loves their rapist.

Somebody is married to their rapist.

Somebody trusted their rapist.

And somebody is discouraged from calling out their rapist.

But my voice is here today in this column, and everyday for the rest of my life to fight for “the somebodys”

“The somebodys” disregarded by our justice system.

“The somebodys” who think that no one will believe them.

Black trans women, I believe you.

Queer non-conforming folks, I believe you.

Every survivor that i have ever looked in the eye of, and saw the strength that no rapist could ever take away,

I believe you.

I love you.

And I will fight for you.

March beside me to redefine justice. March beside me to condemn rape jokes. March beside me to end the laughs of those who don’t understand a crime so awful, others have taken their lives because rape doesn’t wash off.

March beside me to:

#ChangeRapeCulture