I remember reading Speak. I had taken a copy out from the library and read it cover to cover. Often, I stop and shut the book when I get to the last page of the story -- but this time I did not. The very last page of the book should have been a blank page, but it was covered in writing. The girls and women who had checked the book out before me had filled it with messages: "This happened to me." "I didn't tell." "I thought he loved me." They told their stories in single sentences. Their rapists and abusers were their boyfriends. Their family members. Strangers. Someone they thought was a good guy but turned out not to be. Or the story they told was not theirs. It was their sister's or friend's. I read that page, and I was filled with sadness that this was the only place they felt safe to use their voice. I went to the internet and grabbed the number for a local sexual assault crisis line and added it to the page. It was the only way I could think of to reach out them.
Books are a mighty powerful tool and no one has the right to silence them.