At Harvard—where talent and accomplishment are openly and publicly lauded—community members may not always realize the incredible emotional challenges that some students face privately. But when one woman asks herself, “Why did I convince myself that it was because of the way I danced? Why did I believe you when you said that you understood and that you were sorry?”; when a survivor warns, “He’s the one you least expect”; when yet another states, “[I] waited at the hospital in an exam room for three hours waiting for a rape kit and never got one,” the impact that incidents of sexual assault have had on these individuals is undeniable.

“Saturday Night: Untold Stories of Sexual Assault at Harvard,” an artistic and literary magazine published by the Office of Sexual Assault Prevention and Response (OSAPR), presents raw and powerful first-hand narratives of sexual assault. Through sobering, emotional, and sometimes frustratingly real accounts, the magazine serves as a forum for dialogue about sexual assault, allowing concerned students to voice their opinions regarding the issue. It also acts as a healing outlet for survivors of sexual assault and seeks to increase consciousness about the issue throughout the Harvard campus. The launch party marking the release of the third edition will take place Saturday, April 18, during Sexual Assault Awareness Month.

This year, the magazine has broadened its content. The third edition of “Saturday Night” will include a more diverse range of commentary from members of the community who have not necessarily experienced sexual assault. OSAPR sent out a survey over email lists a few weeks ago, which asked students to respond to six questions. “[The questions were like] ‘How would your life be different if sexual assault didn’t exist anymore?’ and ‘What needs to happen to end it?’” OSAPR Director Sarah A. Rankin says. “We got an enormous response, which was really impressive.” The editors of “Saturday Night” culled quotations from 20 pages of reactions, which they included in a special section of the edition.

The “Saturday Night” project, which originated at Duke University in 2003, was founded by Neagheen Homaifar ’10 at Harvard three years later. As a freshman with an older sister at Duke who worked on “Saturday Night,” Homaifar was already familiar with the publication. She approached Rankin at an organizations fair and suggested bringing the magazine here, primarily because she believed members of the Harvard community might underestimate the prevalence of sexual assault on campus due to the institution’s prestige.

According to Homaifar, because the problem of sexual assault was more prominent at Duke than at Harvard at that time, the Duke community was understandably more concerned with the issue. Homaifar was perhaps referring to an incident in 2006 when three members of the college’s lacrosse team were prosecuted for the alleged rape of a local dancer.

But Homaifar, who was surprised at the lack of discussion regarding sexual assault beyond Freshmen Week, hoped that the magazine would serve the purpose of making more visible the private struggles of ostensibly strong and capable students. “It may be difficult to recognize that many students also have these personal battles related to...sexual assault,” Homaifar says. Harvard students, she adds, may not see sexual assault as a prevalent problem within their community. “The issue is not relegated to people of a certain socioeconomic or educational background,” she says.

At Duke University, “Saturday Night” began after one anonymous victim of sexual assault decided to write about the incident in The Chronicle, the student daily. After calling for others to speak out about similar experiences, she received a variety of responses, which moved her to compile the stories into a publication she named, “Saturday Night: Untold Stories of Sexual Assault at Duke.” The founders of the magazine at Duke—Allison Brim, Lauren Jarvis, Ryan Kennedy and Monica Lemmond—write in a preface to the first Harvard edition that the Duke publication not only aimed to provide victims of sexual assault with “empowerment and healing” but also intended to “touch and inform all readers, galvanizing a moment to end sexual assault at Duke.” Never meant to be a passive reflection, the “Saturday Night” project has always intended to inspire empathy in its readers. Its Harvard sister publication remains committed to the same goal.

The personal nature and proximity of the various stories submitted to “Saturday Night” are integral to the magazine’s aims. Rankin says that first-hand accounts can take sexual assault “from the abstract to the personal,” rendering them both relatable and powerful. Narrative details offer those who feel alienated by statistics a different approach to the subject. “While some need numbers, others need a personal perspective; we’re providing that personal perspective,” Homaifar says, stressing that both types of information can be found in the magazine. Another editor, Alexandra N. Bolm ’09, adds, “The problem that I find with statistics is that a lot of people like to question them.” The personal stories in “Saturday Night” confront the undeniable emotional impact of sexual crimes. With such stark sincerity at their fingertips, readers cannot fail to acknowledge the presence of sexual assault—however indirect—in their own lives.

The most powerful impact of “Saturday Night” takes place in the minds of the contributors themselves. Survivors write anonymously and are guaranteed that their work will not be edited except for grammar and identifying details. According to Rankin, for some, “the act of writing their story is healing and cathartic in itself, and they hadn’t expected it.” While survivors are at different stages in the healing process when they begin to tell their stories, Rankin says that some contributors found motivation to seek professional counseling after writing their accounts for the magazine. In its own way, “Saturday Night” suggests the immense power of narrative; through both the creation and spread of the magazine, “Saturday Night” stands as an emblem of our faith in art not only to heal personal wounds but also to inspire community connections with regard to the most private of human trials.