An Open Letter to Leslie Rasmussen

Subject: An Open Letter to Leslie Rasmussen
Date: 9 Jun 2016

Dear Leslie,

You don’t know me, but based on what you’ve decided to say publically about your dear friend Brock Turner makes me believe I know you quite well.

I’m sure you’re a nice woman; a very headstrong, no bullshit, badass woman. A woman who, I would assume, would fight back if an attacker came at you in a parking lot or at a party… because you’re a fighter, Leslie.

I’m a fighter, too.

I would beat the shit out of anyone if they tried to rape me. There’s no way anyone could rape me because I monitor how much I drink and I always walk with another person at night. I’m a very careful person, Leslie.

If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it… did it make a sound?

I’ve always loved that question.
I’d love to hear your answer, Leslie. Feel free to write me back.

To help you out, here’s a similar scenario:
If a person is unconscious during sex, is it rape?

I believe, based on what you’ve said, we would disagree.

So think about this one, Leslie-

You have some prescription sedatives in your bag because your band has a gig somewhere far away and you’re afraid of flying. Let’s say you bring 10 and only take one. That’s 9 left. Are you following me, Leslie? You decide to stay at an old friend’s; a friend who’s definitely ‘not a monster’ and is ‘always the sweetest to everyone’… much like how you described your good friend Brock in your letter. You’re catching up on the couch, laughing, having a good time- he even offered to cook dinner! But strange enough he wasn’t very hungry and said ‘you eat up, don’t worry about me’. A short time later, Leslie, you can’t remember how you got there but you find yourself on the ground trying to crawl away from your ‘sweetest to everyone’ good friend who is lying on top of you ripping your clothes off with his hand down your pants. Eventually you succumb to your black out and when you awake, you’re oddly positioned back on the couch with the pockets of your jeans inside out and bruises on your knees, thighs, and underarms. You’re sore. You smell. You panic, so you reach for your prescription sedatives to calm down… there are only 3 pills left, Leslie. Where did the other 6 go if you had only taken 1 on the flight there? Why did your good friend offer to cook you dinner and then decline to eat anything that night? Why can’t you remember what happened from 9:47 pm to 8:16 am the next morning?

Well, now we know a little bit more about each other, Leslie, because I just described to you my personal rape experience.

It’s funny, Leslie, because I would have described my rapist as ‘always the sweetest to everyone’ and a ‘dear friend’ before that night. So weird how things end up sometimes.

As I said before, I’m a fighter, Leslie. I’m going to fight to regain my dignity and positive self-image. I’m going to fight the negative thoughts that flood in my head and the flashbacks and the whispers of that night- the worst night of my life. And I’m going to fight for justice for the woman that your monster, Brock, raped while she as well was unconscious.

Just one more thing, Leslie- if it was you who was raped while you were unconscious… I don’t think it’d matter if that tree were pushed by the wind, hit by lightening, drank too much, or was drugged… I’m pretty sure you’d think that tree made a sound when it fell.