Ian Tolino stands in the fraternity basement in College Park, Maryland, facing 57 Brothers. They sit in a half-oval around him, shoulders hunched, fiddling with phones. He recognizes this posture, the collective eye-roll: Why do I have to be here?
He felt the same way just three years ago, when some guy visited his fraternity to talk about rape. Like the presentation he was about to give, it was mandatory. Only one detail that day shook Tolino awake – a statistic from the Department of Justice that one in every five college women will be sexually assaulted before graduation.
Could that be true? Tolino asked around. A woman he’d known since childhood divulged a story that made him cry.
“Gentlemen,” he begins, “Listen up.”
The Brothers keep chatting. They look at the gray-tiled floor, the Bud Light banner on the wall, and the door labeled ‘Ritual Closet’ – anywhere but at this stranger, who also wears khakis and brown leather boat shoes.
Someone helps out.
“Yo, shut the f*** up!”
Everyone laughs, howling, “Ooooooh!”
Tolino introduces himself. He’s a senior at the University of Maryland, studying criminal justice. A bouncer at the Cornerstone bar (who recognizes some faces from half-price wing night). A Chi Phi Brother navigating the increasingly confusing landscape of casual hook-ups. But, on this night, he’s the Consent Bro, here to answer questions. Without judgment. In a language anyone can understand. His black t-shirt, the sole deviation from his unofficial fraternity uniform, reads: PEER EDUCATOR.
“So,” Tolino asks, “What do you guys think is consent?”
The responses vary, from “Yes” to “Sober” to “When she starts banging you.” Plenty of laughter ensues.
“The proper terminology is engages in sexual intercourse with you,” Tolino says. “And that can be a form of nonverbal consent. If she’s enthusiastic. And sober.” He scans the room. Half the audience has stopped texting.
“What if,” a Brother says, “she’s had two drinks and has been out for three hours? She can drive home, right? But she can’t give consent?”
This is a popular question. He’s heard it before, again and again. The words change. The secret worry stays the same. Tolino’s job is to teach men on campus what that means, to translate the posters and tweets and Daily Sho skits (“You’re telling me that women spend their whole day navigating an obstacle course of sexual menace?” asked comedian Jordan Klepper, playing a stereotypical College Dude). Everyone’s talking about consent. But college guys won’t internalize the national conversation until they understand it.
“Don’t assume someone is sober after two drinks — or any number of drinks,” Tolino responds. “If the thought even crosses your mind — like, I’m drunk; she’s drunk — wait until morning, man. You don’t want to roll the dice on a felony.”
In the fraternity basement, Tolino fields a stream of questions. “One at a time, guys,” he says. “There’s a lot of you.”
A half-hour into this Monday night presentation, the Brothers have warmed up. They’re leaning forward, hands clasped on knees. Red Bull cans roll under chairs.
“What if she asks to see your room?” Tolino tests them. “Is that consent?”
“No,” a Brother says. “Maybe she just wants to see your posters.”
“Okay,” another says. “What if you’ve been dating for a year — and you’ve both been drinking?”
“There is no blanket consent,” Tolino responds. “You’ve got to get it every time. I know it’s awkward. But a few seconds of awkwardness goes away like that when, well, you know…”
That applies to sex, too, he says. Get permission before you move from, say, an oral act to something else. “Maybe they want to get to know you better before taking it further.”
Twenty-two instances of forcible sex offenses were reported on Maryland’s campus between 2010 and 2012 — a lower count than many major public schools, according to a Washington Post analysis. It’s hard to say if that number is accurate, Tolino says, because rape is a notoriously underreported crime.
Three years ago, when Tolino was a freshman, someone in his fraternity was accused of raping a woman. The charge was written on a T-Shirt hanging on campus, part of an awareness installation.
Tolino couldn’t stand to see his Greek letters scrawled next to the phrase “raped me.”
An estimated 90-percent of people who report sexual assault say they know their attacker, Tolino tells his basement crowd. Rapists aren’t usually criminals hiding in bushes. They’re more likely to be chugging Natural Light at a campus party.
“A woman I care about deeply disclosed to me that she had been raped in college,” he says. “That just knocked me over. It broke my heart.”
It happens all the time, Tolino continues. “Because someone decides to rape a woman. Not because a woman ‘let herself get raped.’ No. This is something that falls on us.”
The Brothers nod.
“I mean,” he says, “do you want to do something to someone that will impact them for the rest of their lives?”
The presentation ends. The brothers clap. Almost immediately, a chapter meeting begins in the basement. Everyone returns to the bustle of college life: planning parties, delegating beer runs.
The Consent Bro wonders if his message stuck.
A Brother approaches, easing Tolino’s concern with a handshake. He asks the same question each and every one of us should be asking.
How can I get involved?
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