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book review

Stacey May Fowles

In the early hours of Sept. 25, 2010, Allison Huguet was raped by a man she had known and trusted since the age of 5. After falling asleep alone after a party on his couch, the university student awoke to find that her jeans and underwear had been pulled down. Beau Donaldson, an admired football player on an athletic scholarship at the University of Montana, was on top of her. He was a 230-pound fullback and linebacker for an NCAA Division I team, and, terrified by his size and strength, Huguet lay face down, motionless, pretending to sleep, waiting for it to be over. When Donaldson was finally finished, he pulled up Huguet's jeans, threw a blanket over her and walked out of the room without saying a word.

Huguet's harrowing story and its aftermath make up the primary narrative thread in Missoula: Rape and the Justice System in a College Town. Through meticulous research, Jon Krakauer follows a number of sexual-assault cases that occurred between 2010 and 2012, primarily connected to the University of Montana and its beloved Grizzlies football team. Krakauer, best known for Into the Wild, came to the subject in the way male writers often do – after learning of a female friend's history of sexual assault. Feeling that he didn't truly grasp the scope and severity of the problem, Krakauer's need for understanding prompted him to examine the crime from the perspective of a single town. Missoula, Mont., was an obvious choice. In 2012, the U.S. Department of Justice began an investigation into how the town's university and local authorities handled sexual-assault cases.

Though this crisis on campuses has been filling our news feeds lately, to say the book's release is timely would be disingenuous – the underreported rape culture that permeates universities is in no way a recent phenomenon. What Huguet endured that night is disturbingly similar to something I went through as a McGill student more than 15 years ago. Like her, I woke up to find someone I trusted assaulting me, a confusing and painful moment of betrayal that took years to process and understand. Huguet's words on the incident ring true to my own at the time. "I wasn't consciously thinking, 'This guy raped me,'" she says. "At the time, I didn't understand that if you don't consent to have sex, it's rape. I just knew something wasn't right." Huguet suffered in relative silence for 15 months before deciding to go to the police – something I never did, and never felt like I could do.

Missoula is a stark catalogue of an acquaintance-rape victim's worst fears – mine included – when it comes to engaging with justice. It's a visceral answer to that question we constantly face: "Why didn't you report?" Throughout, the women are central, conveying the vicious reality of the victim's plight; invasive medical exams, unsympathetic police detectives, flawed university procedures, rumour and harassment, accusations of lying and "sexual regret," and the long tail of trauma's private destruction.

Krakauer's often detached reporting style makes Missoula an excruciating experience (a warning is necessary), rarely giving the reader a break from the horrifying reality of the epidemic at hand. Young men use drugs and alcohol to facilitate rape. The word "no" is ignored, the concept of consent is misunderstood or not understood at all and there's a pervasive tone of male sexual entitlement. Victims, their families and friends, and even sympathetic reporters, are disbelieved and intimidated by their community. At one point during Donaldson's sentencing hearing, Huguet watches as her former high school's sexual-education teacher refuses to say Donaldson should be punished – even after he has confessed to the crime – because he's been "trustworthy" and "respectful." In another passage, Krakauer transcribes a horrifying interview with "Frank," a frat brother and rapist: "I just kept leaning on her, pulling off her clothes, and at some point she stopped squirming. I don't know, maybe she passed out."

"We're disinclined to believe that someone who is an attentive student or a congenial athlete could also be a serial rapist," writes Krakauer. "But Frank and his ilk are sexual predators who do incalculable harm to their victims, and it's crucial for police officers, prosecutors and campus administrators to regard them as such."

Huguet's decision to report her assault was not driven by a desire for retribution, but a fear that Donaldson might rape someone else. Even with the knowledge that "Grizz Nation" will seek to destroy their reputations, the women stand up for themselves and support each other, with no real solace gained from a flawed, hostile process. So many survivors will see themselves in their self-doubt and anxiety, in their suffering and their strength.

Missoula is a myth-shattering documentation of how the system so often misunderstands, fails, betrays and re-traumatizes the survivors it endeavours to serve. It underscores the free passes and leniency afforded to promising young athletes, and the judgment and shame heaped upon their victims. Though it shouldn't take the words of a male observer to finally enlighten us on the topic of campus rape culture, the hope is that by laying out the harsh reality of the reporting process, this book can spur change on campuses far beyond Missoula's.

While it is never the obligation of a victim to report her assault, it is our collective obligation to make that process as safe and comfortable as possible. Krakauer's efforts, and more importantly the efforts of women like Huguet, bring us a little closer to making the choice to come forward possible – a choice so few of us ever felt like we had.

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