I was a first year physics student. We spent two days a week working in a lab. The lab supervisor was watching porn in his office all day. After you had finished an experiment, you’d have to go into his office to show him your report. The office had no windows and was always dark. When the lab supervisor was not in his office, he’d be joking with the male students talking about the female students’ bodies. One classmate of mine he referred to as BBOTU, which stood for “beautiful body otherwise terribly ugly.” I don’t know how he referred to me, but I do know that he joked about me with a couple of guys who started showing up drunk at my house in the middle of the night. When I became the student representative at the university committee that oversees the teaching, I learned that the faculty knew all about this man. They said they put him in charge of the first-year lab because that meant they wouldn’t have to interact with him. Already at that age, I had internalized the sense that females don’t matter to such an extent that it never occurred to me to protest. And I wasn’t the only one. When this man retired, some 15 years after I graduated, he was made an honorary member of the physics student association. After all, he’d always helped out with events.