It was just after 2 a.m. on a pitch-black Friday morning when Bernadette Greene-Placentia’s life changed. The Democratic candidate for Congressional District 8 strolled across a parking lot to repair a damaged campaign sign. It was a routine she’d followed all summer. This time, she only made it a few yards.
An attacker smashed her over the head. She blacked out. She woke up to find a strange man on top of her.
Greene-Placentia struggled to open her eyes. She felt a sharp pain below her waist. The attacker was pulling his penis out of her.
She heard him mumble something like, “-ic bitch, not a very good fuck,” which her mind filled in as “Democratic bitch,” she recalled. She wasn’t sure that was exactly what he said.
One leg was out of her jean capris. She wore brand-new tennis shoes and a campaign t-shirt. Another man came over. Greene-Placentia felt his weight nudging her left leg further apart. She began swinging her foot at him. “Not even worth it,” she heard the man say as he moved away. He wore black boots and had small feet, she recalled.
The two men left Greene-Placentia face down in the parking lot. The hatch of her silver Jeep Grand Cherokee was still open. The car was still running. She heard music.
She doesn’t remember pulling up her pants or picking herself off the asphalt parking lot. She doesn’t remember closing her Jeep’s hatch and putting her foot on the gas. She doesn’t remember pulling her car into the driveway and collapsing into her bed.
“It’s just these little tiny flashes of things that I do remember,” Greene-Placentia said in an interview with Phoenix New Times. “As much as I don’t want to remember, I’ve tried very, very hard to remember more stuff. But that’s where I’m at.”
Every time rape culture comes into the line light a remember a part in college where a friend, well call her blue, was so drunk she was pants-off propositioning several people. All of us were like “Blue if you’re down tomorrow, that’s cool. But like, go to bed.”
Not Nick. Name not redacted. I went into their room and cock blocked. Straight to Nick “brother you’re way more cogent than her. This is rape, and everyone here knows it.”
Or, sorry to both sides here, but the time Jenna, name not redacted, came downstairs with a suggestive giggle and grin after we had all just helped our friend James (not his name) to bed, in his own home at his house for a graduation party. Jenna, that was rape. And I said it out loud to you in front of everyone. And you giggled like it was cute.
There’s a small percentage of humans among us that don’t respect others autonomy. They need to be outed. They need to be held accountable. We need them away from the rest of us.
Fuck you Nick. Fuck you Jenna.
Thanks for being the type of person to call that shit out in the moment.