RAPED AGAAIN

Raped Again

During the thirty-five years I worked as a university psychological counselor, I am aware of saving only one life. In the 1980s, I was a psychological counselor at the University of Michigan’s Center for Psychological Services. One of the students I saw was a Chinese graduate student in neuroanatomy—one of the first large wave of Chinese students to study in the U.S. following President Carter’s initiative. A few minutes into the session, Lin (not her actual name) told me: “Two weeks ago I was raped.”

Lin told me that she had been working late in the lab. The only other person there was an undergraduate whom she knew was struggling. She offered to help him. He turned, pushed her to the floor, held a knife to her throat, and violently raped her. He then fled the building. Stunned, afraid, and disoriented, Lin remained in the lab for over two hours.

When I first saw her, she was still stunned. She spoke of the rape as though it had happened to someone else. Initially, we talked more generally: her family, coming to the U.S., coming to Michigan. She was married and had a husband and young son in Shanghai. Her father had been a university professor. During Mao’s Cultural Revolution his university, like others, was shut down. As an “intellectual,” he was considered dangerous to the regime. Within a year, he killed himself. As Lin put it, “He felt his life was over anyway.”

Lin also felt her life was over, although I didn’t realize this immediately. One night she called me. She said she wanted to let me know how well she was doing. And how much she appreciated my help. She sounded more relaxed than I’d heard her before. It was all good news; what therapists want to hear.

Which is why it was so deceptive. When people suddenly seem much better, especially those suffering from grief or depression, it is a sign of danger. The “improvement” may mean they have decided to kill themselves. Suicide can promise liberation; an end to pain.

I called her back. I said I thought it might be good to talk more. I don’t recall the particulars. Only that I wanted to sustain the connection long enough to get a fuller sense of what had really changed. And whether she had a plan.

It was near midnight, but I suggested we meet. Looking back, I think she knew what I was thinking. Either way, she reluctantly agreed.

We both drove to a parking lot near the counseling center. We had similar cars; she sat in mine. I didn’t have to wait. Within minutes, she confirmed that she had decided to end her life and that I should not feel badly about it. Her life was over. She had a poison concoction ready. She could not go back to China. She wanted me to understand that this was the right choice. I shouldn’t try to change her mind.

Of course, I did try to change her mind. In the midst of pain, it is always hard to imagine being out of it—like severe physical agony, pain becomes the whole world. Healing takes time. All the usual things that therapists say.

She repeated that I shouldn’t try to change her mind. She even reached over and grabbed my keys from the ignition so I could not drive us anywhere. She told me I should not be another person trying to control her. She had had enough. This was supposed to be a “free country.” I should let her be free.

I could not wear her down, but I also could not let her go. When she was less guarded, I got the keys back. And I drove her to the Psychiatric Emergency Department at University Hospital.

I knew that she could have grabbed the steering wheel at any moment, regaining some control and potentially killing both of us. She said she knew that too. She didn’t do it.

At the hospital, her resistance lessened, at least superficially. She told me I had betrayed her. But she didn’t run away. And, over weeks, she regained at least a modicum of hope.

I recalled the night with Lin when I heard about the new wave of “scrutiny” of international students from China and the cancellation of potentially mass numbers of visas. The provided rationale was those who had had “contact with the Chinese Communist Party.”

Lin and her family had had “contact with the Chinese Communist Party.” That party killed her father and nearly killed her. The vicious, anti-science, anti-research cultural revolution pursued by our own current ruling party would effectively kill her now. At the very least, she would feel—rightfully—raped again.