A Walk Home in Claradise

Santa Clara must take greater accountability for the safety of their students

Last Friday, I spent about two hours studying in Santa Clara’s learning commons. It was one of my first times in the building, so I was still struck by the vast space. I had met up with some friends who were also hard at work after a day of classes.

I peered out the window from my chair and spotted a bold wave of red and white balloons against a backdrop of a cloud-filled sky — optimal for the Class of 2020’s commencement and the grand reunion. That evening, I walked away from my study space feeling productive and refreshed for the weekend.

As I took the elevator down from the third floor, a 30-something-year-old man got in with me. I didn’t give it too much thought, because I should assume his best intentions, right? His white button-down shirt and khakis are now ingrained in my memory.

Unprompted, he began commenting on my appearance, telling me how great he thought the color of my hair was, and ended the conversation by asking for my name. Exiting the elevator, I knew this conversation was inappropriate, and was grateful to see the warm sight of my friend Julia when the doors opened.

I recounted this story and talked about plans for the weekend with her for a bit, but decided I should head home because it was almost dinner time and I had plans to meet with a friend.

Thoughtlessly putting my headphones back in my ears, I walked towards the library exit and observed the same man from the elevator loitering by the exit across from SunStream Cafe. I paid him no mind and continued on my way out of the double doors.

The exterior of the library was lively as ever, with an enormous gathering of alumni, faculty, and friends of the university. I lifted my hand to block the sun out of my eyes and saw they were surrounded by loud music, grandiose archways and red streamers. They looked pampered and taken care of, greeted and welcomed to Santa Clara.

Heading back to my residence hall, I walked with pace and again spotted many community members spread along the sidewalk, getting in and out of Ubers, excitedly embracing one another and taking photos by the Bronco Statue.

Maybe 200 yards away from home, I heard the sound of fast-paced steps on concrete behind me. I turned in time to hear “Frida!” It was him again. My stomach churned and I felt bile rise in my stomach.

Frightened and confused, I was speechless — I willed my mouth to move but could not form words. My mouth hung open as he continued to compliment my physical appearance and inquire about where I was headed. Foolishly, I told him I was headed home.

“Do you live on campus? We can walk by there together,” he pressed. I pushed myself to say something and this time I succeeded, thankfully, fabricating a lie about my current relationship status.

He did not take no for an answer, pushing me to give him my social media information. Stumbling over my words as he towered over me, I began trying to express that I did not feel comfortable giving out my information.

Looking back, the majority of the interaction unfolded in this way because I felt a need to accommodate this strange man, effectively caging me in. Women so frequently are told to view scary, drawn-out affairs like this one as casual and acceptable and take them as compliments. Harassers are not entitled to kindness or compassion.

At this moment, I was fortunately saved by a girl named Jordyn, who I did not know previously. She was the first person to walk by during this interaction and later told me that she had immediately picked up on my discomfort, leading her to follow her gut instinct to intervene.

She walked me back to Benson Memorial Center where I thanked her infinitely through teary eyes, conscious that without her help it was impossible to tell when I would have been able to escape.

Still disturbed, I called one of my male friends and asked if he could meet me for fear of encountering this man again, or much worse, inadvertently leading him to my doorstep. As soon as I walked in my dorm, I changed into new clothes and my sadness turned to anger.

How can Santa Clara claim to care so greatly about its community if its students can’t walk a quarter-mile across campus without being followed? Current Santa Clara students deserve the same level of respect and attention as alumni, no matter what the date is.

In this instance, it is evident that a rise in the number of people expected to arrive on campus for a massive event in conjunction with the recent acts of sexual violence around campus require the University to have a greater sense of vigilance.

Posted at the entrance of the learning commons is a sign that reads “The Learning Commons are currently only open to current students, faculty, and affiliates of Santa Clara University.” Meaning, this man is either an affiliate of Santa Clara, or he slipped into the building after a student, faculty or staff member entered.

Doors to the building remain locked until a student scans their access card on the coded lock on the side of the building. With a lack of other methods to enforce the no-guest policy, it’s not difficult to see how someone without an access card could slip in under the radar.

No student should have to live in fear of harassment. Not at a party, not while walking home, and certainly not while studying in their university library. There are hurdles the university faces in protecting students from sexual violence at off-campus functions. But my experience was completely avoidable. For a student to be subjected to harassment on university property in a space that is supposed to be closed to the public is completely unacceptable.