I sat slouched, bouncing my leg, thumbnail between my teeth, my eyes flicking between my professor and the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until 2:20pm. Finally, my professor wrapped up and dismissed us and I swung my bag up and onto one shoulder and bee-lined it to the door. I wasn’t particularly fond of that class, nor my peers who accompanied me there. I skipped down the steps, turned to my right, and swung open the door to exit the building. I crossed the few feet of concrete between the building and the parking garage I used next door. The elevator slowly lifted to the third floor and groaned as the old doors slid open. I already pulled my keys out and unlocked my car by the time I walked over to it. I threw my bag in the back and started the car, putting on my favorite album as I allowed the engine to warm up.

I finally pulled out and began the tedious descent down the three floors. I dodged late students who were driving too fast to pause at turns, and others not even bothering to look as they backed out. I made it about halfway down, when a particularly crazy car came at me, swerving back and forth and driving much faster than they should have been going down the thin strip between parked cars. They honked their horn for me to pull up to the side of them. I recognized two boys from the class I had just left and took a shaky breath. Stereotypical jocks, the type I wanted nothing to do with. The all too confident, arrogant athletes were now motioning for me to roll down my window. My hands shook as I pressed the button to comply while my mind was running through every possible scenario of how this could play out, my odds of being able to drive my car past theirs without scraping either of them, planning my escape route. But I willed my face into polite confusion and looked at them questioningly, yet warily.

The driver—the more confident of the two—leaned over with a lazy grin and said, “Sup, baby girl, you wanna give us your number so we can take you out sometime?” I felt a grimace of annoyance rise in me at the hubris and immaturity of the boys but also relief at the mild approach. I prepared myself for something more aggressive given my past experiences. Not to mention what had happened to my best friend in a parking garage alone with a few men. I conceded to give them my snapchat instead of my number. I didn’t dare say no outright. Not when I had seen how some men react to the word “no.”

This was a tame encounter, and I feel lucky that it was nothing more than slight cat calling and overconfident males trying their luck. I know plenty of women who have not been so lucky in their encounters with men, including verbal, psychological and even physical abuse. When I was in high school, my friends and I were harassed verbally by grown men for simply walking down the street.

“Hey, girls, come on over here and make my day,” they would shout, or whistle, then follow up with a smug remark about what they would do if they could get their hands on us. We simply had to cluster closer together and walk faster without glancing at them to avoid more of their offensive language. I am not yet part of the larger group of women who have been sexually assaulted. I am only 19 years old. I still have plenty of time to be forced into that group. The several friends of mine who are already a part of that group are traumatized by their assault, and they experience long lasting, negative effects.

Catcalling and unwanted advances just seem part of dating and college culture, a kind of “necessary evil.”  But does it have to be? Is the male brain so under-developed that we must make allowances for immature and rude behavior? Or do boys simply get away with behavior that they absolutely should not get away with simply because “boys will be boys,”? What an overused and complacent phrase. Our culture and media shape how men act. Movies and T.V shows constantly portray the confident and handsome young athlete who has nothing but sex and videogames on his mind as this gorgeous specimen that all the girls “ooh” and “ahh” at. Usually by the end of these typical tropes, the brainless guy convinces the girl to go out with him, and she becomes his trophy. What exactly he did to earn this trophy remains relatively unanswered, beyond being the star athlete. These examples set for young boys encourage them to have a too-confident mindset about themselves. It worked for the main character in that movie, so why not them?

Another set of “role models” that boys look up to are celebrities, especially those in the music industry. Rappers such as Kanye West, 50 Cent, Eminem, and Drake are notorious for writing and performing lyrics that depict women in a horrible light. The disgusting and brutal treatment of women earned them a type of “respect” in their music genre. These songs, matched with their catchy rhythm and beat, often reach the top of the music charts, and I can’t help but wonder if these influence the violence and hatred towards women. Does this mindset stem from the constant repetition by these wildly successful men that women are nothing more than sex objects to be played with and harmed? Are boys conditioned to become rapists?

I am in no way excusing individual men from their own actions and consequences. Let’s make that clear. Regardless of whether society can be blamed for rape culture, each person still makes their own decisions about how they act and treat others. However, we need to inspect our culture carefully and determine if this treatment of women has become so popularized because of who we allow to be front and center in the media.

We also need to ask ourselves why we are so much more likely to believe a man over a woman in a rape allegation. Imagine you go to the police station to report a mugging.

“Officer, please find this man. He held me at gunpoint and demanded I give him all my money.”

“Did you?”

“Well, yes, I cooperated.”

“So, you willingly gave the man your money without fighting back, calling for help or trying to escape?”

“Well, yes, but I was terrified. I thought he was going to kill me!”

“Mmm. But you did cooperate. And you also have a history of philanthropy and donating to charity.”

“Yes, but—”

“You seem to like giving money away normally. You also knowingly walked down 31st street when everyone knows you have a habit of donating money. It sounds like you gave this man money and you’re now having post-donation regret. Do you really want to ruin this man’s life because of your mistake?”

You would think there is no way this conversation could ever occur. But now I want you to replace the idea of mugging with rape. Suddenly, the conversation sounds much more familiar. Why is rape the one crime in which the victim must defend themselves and their actions? People reason that these men’s lives could be ruined over something they may or may not have done, which is a valid argument. Obviously, no one wants innocent people punished for something they didn’t do. But when it does happen, we should acknowledge that an assaulted woman has already had her life ruined. The question is whether we are willing to risk allowing a rapist to walk free and attack another woman in the same way. A woman who could be our best friend, our sister, or our mother. Is the criminal’s life worth more than these women’s lives?

It is time that society starts asking the hard questions and starts standing up for women around the world. The “Me Too” movement is a step in the right direction, as women are feeling empowered to call out their abusers. Still, many women remain silent, or their voices are ignored. We must decide if we want girls and women alike to fear being approached by men. If we want a world where girls don’t have to carry pepper spray and rape whistles to school, then we need to start setting better examples for boys in our society and teach men that women are more than sex objects. We need to show them that their actions have consequences and that women will no longer remain silent.