By Jami Ingledue

I am thankful to Dan Turner for the letter he wrote in defense of his son, Brock, who was caught sexually assaulting an unconscious woman behind a dumpster at Stanford. His letter drips with white male privilege. And I am thankful to him for peeling away our illusions of equality like his son peeled off that woman’s underwear behind the dumpster. For laying it bare for all to see.

The positive here is that this privilege is undeniable. The father’s letter has been roundly criticized from all corners. Nobody can defend that. Nobody can defend describing the event as “20 minutes of action,” and the sadness his dad feels because his son can’t enjoy steak anymore.

It has been made crystal clear that the underlying assumption here is that the bright future of a white male athlete is more important than a woman’s body. That women dare not make the mistake of getting too drunk, a mistake that white male athletes can make with impunity, a mistake they are in fact rather famous for. That we are so concerned with the future of the men who rape, and concerned only with the past of the women who are raped.

We can’t look away from this. We can’t go back. This is the moment of clarity, the small opening we have to push the arc of history towards justice. The moment we know it can’t go on like this. Guilty on all charges. Sentence: 6 months in prison, because the judge feared it would damage this bright young man’s future.

There were pine needles in her vagina. 6 months.

I’m thankful for the letter that Brock’s lifelong female friend wrote, saying he was nice, he was not a “monster.” Thank you for that clarity. That’s exactly right: rapists aren’t monsters. They’re the men we know. The overwhelming majority of sexual assaults are by men we know. Our friends, neighbors, colleagues, fathers, uncles, sons. Rapists are us. We create the rapists. We create the culture which tells men they can take what they want, that women’s bodies are there to please others.

Most of all, thank you to the amazing young woman who shared her letter in court. In a just world, the headlines would read as the Twitter post said: “Brilliant writer raped by man who took swimming lessons.” Here is a woman who will make a difference.

If our culture creates rapists, we can recreate that culture to broadcast loud and clear that we will not tolerate it. As 23 year old “Emily Doe” said in her letter, we can make the consequences so severe that even a privileged white male athlete will think twice before dragging an unconscious girl behind a dumpster. We can say what that young woman said to the rapist about her little sister: YOU DO NOT TOUCH HER. And we can say to the women: we believe you.

Every woman has a story of being groped, touched, intimidated, shouted at. All without their consent. Every woman. I was 22 and at a party with a lot of frat boys. They guy behind me in the beer line touched my butt while shouting something to his friend. I was so shocked, I could not react. And I was afraid of what would happen to me if I did anything, since his frat boy friends were all around. I moved away and avoided eye contact. That is just one of the stories.

No more. As if by doing so I can send strength back to my younger self, I refuse to let the little things go now. I will call it out. Every small act of unconscious sexism. Every little message that says to girls and women: your body is here to please others. I will point it out to my teenage daughter. I will call it out in front of my son. If we want to raise sons who respect women, we have to let them see us demanding respect for ourselves. Kids learn not from what we say, but from observing who we are, and ultimately, what we do.

My 4-year-old son loves superheroes. I will talk to him about what real superheroes look like: they look like the 4 skateboarders in Calgary, Canada who stopped a man in a suit from raping a drunk woman in a stairwell. They look like two Swedish students on bicycles who notice something doesn’t look right and call it out. I will talk to my son about being the helper, always being the helper, and having the courage to do that even when it’s hard.

And I will talk to my son often, as I already do, about how our bodies belong to us, and when someone tells him they don’t want a hug, he has to listen to that. And when he feels uncomfortable and doesn’t want to be touched, he should always, always say that out loud, because his body is his.

I am thankful that there are glimmers of progress. The young woman thanked a long list of people who were supportive and stood by her with love and understanding. Among the people she thanked is the detective in her case, who listened to her and never judged her. This is progress.

We have made some small progress. And now we have this window of clarity, this moment when all the dark corners are laid bare. We can, as Emily Doe said in her letter, be lighthouses, standing wherever we are, shining.

“And finally, to girls everywhere, I am with you. On nights when you feel alone, I am with you. When people doubt you or dismiss you, I am with you. I fought everyday for you. So never stop fighting, I believe you. Lighthouses don’t go running all over an island looking for boats to save; they just stand there shining. Although I can’t save every boat, I hope that by speaking today, you absorbed a small amount of light, a small knowing that you can’t be silenced, a small satisfaction that justice was served, a small assurance that we are getting somewhere, and a big, big knowing that you are important, unquestionably, you are untouchable, you are beautiful, you are to be valued, respected, undeniably, every minute of every day, you are powerful and nobody can take that away from you. To girls everywhere, I am with you.”