Why did no one warn me about conference sexual predators?

I am a career professional but also a graduate student about to receive my hard-fought-for PhD. I do not believe myself to be a naive person; if anything, I have an excessive mistrust of others. That is why what happened to me came as such a surprise.

Because of the pandemic, I did not get the opportunity to attend an academic conference until September. The fellow “on the market” grad student with whom I had been due to attend dropped out because of illness, but I was assured by my mentor, colleagues and other professors that this was a fantastic networking opportunity I simply could not miss. I also had grant to attend. So I went.

At the welcome breakfast, I made some connections. I was ecstatic to no longer be alone.

Later that day, one of the people I had met invited me for drinks with him that evening. Colleagues I was in contact with encouraged me to go, assuring me that this was all part of the networking process. So I went along to the very swanky establishment he suggested, which served champagne while we waited for a table.

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After about 90 minutes of discussing our research, he escorted me back to my hotel, which was on the way to his. I was thankful for the company since it was dark and I didn’t know the city.

The next day we exchanged texts, and I agreed to meet up again. He gave me the impression that another person from the conference would be joining us, but he arrived alone, explaining that the other person had ended up having another engagement.

I ordered my customary one drink and we talked shop again. I declined his repeated offers of further drinks, but he kept partaking. About two hours later, after what I thought was another fruitful conversation, he again escorted me back to my hotel.

When we arrived, he said he needed to come up to my room. When I firmly declined, he attempted to grab my wrist and repeated that he needed to come up to my room. I dodged his grasp and repeated that he needed to go back to his own hotel. But it was only when someone from the hotel saw him trying to accompany me through the door (which you could open only with a room key) that my now-assailant took off angrily.

The next day, I told my colleagues about the incident and was surprised at the varying responses. Some were as shocked and appalled as I was, while others dismissed it, saying this happens to all women at conferences: “This is why we don’t go alone.”

I cannot describe how angry this made me. But further conversations with both men and women confirmed that this behaviour is indeed prevalent at conferences, with some particularly notorious. This made me even angrier. Why was I not warned? Why was I encouraged to have drinks with people alone? To add insult to injury, one of my colleagues actually asked around about what I had done to encourage this man’s actions.

Like most women, I did not report the incident to the conference organisers. I was told that my complaint would not be anonymous and that it would follow me throughout my academic career. A committee would be formed, but only to sweep the incident under the rug. The only person who would suffer would be me.

To my own chagrin, I took this advice to heart.

I feel let down by some of my colleagues, who I expected to support me but instead shamed me for something I had no control over. I feel let down by my university, which does not even warn junior academics about conference predators. Indeed, I feel let down by the whole academic profession. We are educators. Our students learn from our actions, and our current actions are incredibly harmful. How are students supposed to feel safe coming forward when those who lead are doing the harassing? How can I encourage them to report incidents when I could not even bring myself to report mine?

I hope that publishing this article will start to rectify my omission. I want to send the message that victims of harassment are not alone – and we will not be silenced.

Kirsten England is an elementary school teacher and a PhD student at a US university.