Hamilton suggested I was out to "get" New College by writing about this matter. He said the last article I wrote about the school, in which I criticized the school's lack of response to recent revelations that it was founded during the 1970s by an alleged sexual predator, had caused him significant personal trauma.
The college president, wearing light washed jeans, a solid flannel shirt with fishing flies embroidered over the pocket, and a grizzled two-day shadow on his face, questioned the motives of the former teacher who tipped me off to this situation, noting that she herself had had a sexual affair with Laxton. [The teacher acknowledged the affair.]
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Hamilton noted that the alleged rape incident took place off campus. He also explained that he faces a constant battle to raise money sufficient to keep the school afloat. And he said he's struggled intellectually with the alleged victim's request that the school enact a formal policy curtailing employee-student sexual relationships.
He acknowledged that he, too, has dated a student, but that the affair had ended some time ago.
As for the school's fraternization policy, "it's an evolving document, and it doesn't say there was to be no relationship, but there shouldn't be a supervisor's conflict of interest," said Hamilton.
There's certainly merit to New College's nontraditional way of running a university — as long as the matter at hand isn't alleged sexual assault.
During a visit there last week, I chatted for a while with gay-rights pioneer and New College professor Harry Britt. He described his experience of helping to shape students with few prospects, the ones who might not fit into a more formal university setting. These students became prospects for graduate school. Perhaps there's even a positive side to the place's apparently free-spirited social atmosphere, in which employees and students study together, work together, hang out in bars together, and sometimes date each other.
But when this ferment results in allegations of sexual abuse, as it tends to from time to time in universities all over America, the responsible, ethical response happens to be formal and strict. It's imperative for school representatives to apprise the student of her right to call the police, inform her of the availability of independent rape advocacy services in and outside the university, and conduct an earnest investigation into the allegations, then follow up in a way that makes students know they have a right to feel safe from predators — even if that means disciplining a valued employee.
"You want to be fairly efficient about it," notes Doris Ng, supervising clinical attorney at the Golden Gate University School of Law Women's Employment Rights Clinic.
That's in part because a young woman who believes she's been raped is not in a good position to efficiently stand up for herself.
"A lot of people don't know their rights, or have access to people who can advocate for them," says Julie Patino, an attorney with Equal Rights Advocates.
"There might have been a different outcome if people could do advocacy for her from outside the college. I'm guessing that the student was feeling like, 'What do I do?'" says White, the S.F. Women Against Rape director.
Judging from my discussion with Martin Hamilton, a similar feeling permeated the school administration when a rape allegation surfaced against one of their members several months ago. My hope is that in future cases the administration is less confused about its responsibilities and responds in an efficient, ethical, and, yes, highly formal way.
Last week's column, which described efforts by siblings of murder victim Victor Bach to try and help solve the 2003 killing themselves, drew attention at the Hall of Justice.
Bach's brother and sister lambasted San Francisco's infamous lack of success in finding and convicting alleged murderers, and I accompanied their criticisms with information compiled by the Board of Supervisors' Legislative Analyst, which said that of 166 murders committed since 2004, there's been only one conviction.
The office of District Attorney Kamala Harris took issue with the report.
The real number, district attorney spokeswoman Debbie Mesloh said in a statement, is five such convictions.
Moreover, Mesloh states in her bosses' defense, "25 other homicide cases that occurred since 2004 are either currently in trial or scheduled for trial within the next three months."
And because of delays due to scarce courtroom space, Mesloh adds, "it is not uncommon for a homicide case to take one to two years before a trial."
So be forewarned, killers: The district attorney's office says the ratio of 2004 S.F. murderers to 2004 murderer-convictions is not 166 to one. It's 33 to one.
