can i write about sexual assault in my college essay

Sexual Abuse - Application Essay

<p>I’m going to try to keep this short…</p>

<p>I am a high school senior applying to a few colleges and I need help with my application essays. The most important question I have is, “Is it okay/should I write about the sexual abuse I encountered as a child in any of my applications, or would it only hinder my chances of appealing to any of these colleges?” Some of you may be concerned with the fact that sexual abuse is a legal issue, but it has already gone through court and my offender is serving his time. That being said, if I do decide to write on this topic, how should I go about doing so? </p>

<p>Please Help!</p>

<p>Hmm… That’s very sensitive topic but it might cause the college admissions officer to react in more leniently to your application. I’d so go for it. Just make sure to focus on your personal development as you write the essay. Good luck!</p>

<p>Honestly, would you feel the need to clarify it was sexual abuse? I was physically abused as a child, but I did not focus on it in my college essay. However, the person was not charged so I probably could not write about it.</p>

<p>From my point of view, the college adcoms are strangers that you are just meeting through your essay. If you would feel okay to tell (well-meaning) strangers your story, I don’t see a problem using that topic for an essay.</p>

<p>Are you sure that colleges must keep essays confidential? I know of essays being published “anonymously” but details might identify you…</p>

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AGNI is publishing this essay as part of The Ferrante Project.

“What would happen,” the poet Muriel Rukeyser asks in her oft-quoted poem “Käthe Kollwitz,” “if one woman told the truth about / her life? / The world would split open.” Over the past few years, I’ve begun to question the truth of that statement, especially as it relates to telling the truth about sexual violence. What is the purpose and function of writing about rape? More to the point, what to me is the purpose and function of writing when writing about my rape?

These questions grew more painful to consider after I published my first book, which examined the long-term effects of violence and survival, and more painful still when I learned this book had ended up on the reading lists of various feminist tastemakers on Twitter, one of whom noted that she was using the book as a writing prompt for her students’ exploration of violence. Thus my personal experience was to become a jumping-off point for others’ creativity, my descriptions of my assault disseminated and refracted through the exercises of strangers so they could understand the effects of such violence themselves. My assault would thus become both symbol and trope, something that could be parsed and imitated until all the rage and humanness drained out of it.  I had always known, of course, that this one of the possible outcomes of publishing such a book, especially one that ended up in the maw of social media. But actually reading this student’s response to my essay, in which my assault was reimagined and repeated back to me in her language, made me feel both sickened and small.

Speak truth to power, writers and non-writers alike declaim, and now I’ve seen this phrase trickle through the feeds of people on Facebook and Twitter. The aim is to tell the truth of our lives as we see it, as directly and with as little remorse as possible. Such an outpouring of personal testimony has indeed cracked open the world, in part by reminding participants in social media that the things most American institutions want to forget about our nation—its violence against people of color, its killing of LGBTQ people, its seemingly implacable hatred of women and their bodies—stubbornly persist. There is indeed a power and value to truth-telling. But truth-telling relies on narrative, and narrative telling—even supposedly artless, immediate telling—is in fact crafted. It wants a particular response, and nothing crafts language so effectively as a Web format that requires you to express yourself in 280 characters or less, and sells these truth-telling nuggets in a stream of visual media, making it impossible for the audience to focus on any but the most extreme, compelling, and direct language.

Social media and truth-telling both encourage the reader, primarily, to emote. And having emoted, having felt all the things and thought all the thoughts the writer has asked us to think and feel within that limited format, we can walk away from the engagement satisfied with the blunt, brute fact of our feelings. Social media offers a veneer of authenticity that claims the authority of survivorship and thus makes autobiography and resilience satisfactory political goals.

A memoir about sexual assault guarantees a certain amount of attention, because it is sensational and because writing about violence encourages a kind of voyeurism. But while this may be one possible response, it is not this writer’s desire to make the reader participate in the imagined reconstruction of violence. And reconstructing another person’s trauma is not what we teach other budding writers about the purpose of testimonies of violence, in particular the testimonies of violence that women might produce. If anything, we argue, women’s testimonies should inspire not empathy (or not only empathy) but political outrage, in large part because women’s autobiographical writing has been so effectively suppressed over centuries. Women’s writing about violence serves as a public novelty, one which, if it does not always receive the social stamp of high art, at least promises an authentic expression of rage, of grief, of endurance and survival, and—most powerfully—of hope.

But I’m not actually that interested in resilience. I want jail time for offenders. I want politicians tossed out of office, priests defrocked, federal judges fired and replaced. I want a country that doesn’t treat violence against women as sexual entertainment.

Over the past year, I’ve begun to hate the book I published. The more I read from and talk about it, the more politically and aesthetically suspicious my own writing appears to me. Who had I written it for? Who did I really imagine as its audience? The project started, in part, as a reaction to the 2009 Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act, which got me thinking about the ways in which sex discrimination has shaped my working life, which got me thinking about the sexual assault I experienced as a twenty-year-old woman at a coat factory where I worked one summer as a down stuffer along with several itinerant workers, one of whom attacked me. The book was finally published around the time that our current president, then a presidential candidate, admitted to grabbing women “by the pussy,” which made the #MeToo hashtag started by Tarana Burke in 2006 erupt into a firestorm. Into this storm my book was tossed, and while I was happy at first to add my voice to the movement, over time I began to feel that the book sounded less like me than an automated reply. Using the same language that has characterized the experience of so many other women certainly brings me into community with them, but that shared language also makes the stories of survivors feel depressingly interchangeable and flat.

Perhaps this flattening is created in part by our social expectations about female psychology and women’s writing, in particular our assumption that women’s writing is primarily or only autobiographical, not imaginative, and that it stems from an institutionally disadvantaged position that we equate with pain. This, too, enrages me. It feels as though, because I am female, I was born into this language and psychology; as a woman and a writer, I am a grievance waiting to be heard and endured. At times it feels that the best I can do is pay close attention to that grievance, to give it a slightly different shape and coloration. By writing about my assault, I confirm the most inarguably authentic position of the not-male, and also the not-white: the pained, the wounded, the helpless, the small .

To speak about one’s assault in a way that feels actually authentic is to thread the needle through an incredibly slender eye, made ever more narrow: by the pressure of therapeutic services, which argue that such narratives are not only good, but necessary for psychic healing; political and social institutions, where truth-telling makes for good rallying cries and possible legislation; and by social media, which argues for ever more devastating expressions of the self to be streamed and consumed and disseminated.

Effective writing about violence shares many of the aesthetic traits of political language, which is to say its directness resists excessive or subtle interpretation. It compresses time and context in order to focus on the moment at hand. Writing about violence authenticates itself through the performance of immediacy and vivid feeling. This is what suggests truth—and it is surprisingly, distressingly easy to duplicate.

The social media performances of grief, selfhood, and outrage I daily read feel suspiciously like masquerades. In my feeds, writers try to outshine and outthink the politicians and abusers inspiring our outrage, using language whose nuance rarely rises above theirs. In this way, we are shackled to victimizing doubles. As much as I despise the self-help books, the prayer circles, the thin whine of grief on Twitter and its overuse of the word trauma , the only identity that seems unable to be challenged or shamed is that of the victim. Thus I and others willingly write into and about how we have been diminished or shamed, to stop ourselves from being attacked by those claiming to be more morally progressive online, because the only way to keep yourself safe within that group, it seems, is to become the witting accomplice to your own self-objectification.

Refracting and repeating narratives of violence also risk downplaying or even ignoring matters of race and class in favor of the sensational act itself, even as race and class make violence a more or less likely experience for a person to have. It is not lost on me, for example, that I come from a middle-class family and was attacked by someone skirting the poverty line, that what brought us together was a coat factory that relied on both our labor to exist: me, the mixed-race college student earning money for her next year’s tuition; my attacker, a white man who moved from job to job, city to city, aimless and resentful of the opportunities I would have in a world he imagined pandered to minorities. It is not lost on my either that the stories we repeat most often online are those told by and about middle and upper middle class white women. Our retweeting and sharing of these stories replicates the culture’s co-opting of Tarana Burke’s #MeToo hashtag into the world of (largely) white and (largely) middle-class feminism.

The young student, consciously or unconsciously, performed this co-option when she imitated my writing. She understood that some part of writing about and against violence, especially the violence that women experience, is imitative and coercive. One does not have to be a victim of violence to render that violence believably or powerfully. The actual experience of an assault may be private, it may reveal the world to be artless and cruel, but the sharing of it depends entirely on creative skills, detailed images, and ideas of identities that can be appropriated.

 Even as I write this, it strikes me that perhaps I’m wrong to think we’ve become numb to, or jaded about, female narratives of pain. I think back to that look on Arizona senator Jeff Flake’s face in the elevator as he fled the Kavanaugh hearings, the moment when a protester pried apart the elevator doors to demand he hear about the assault she’d survived. I see again the pain twist across his face. Perhaps the reason the #MeToo movement hasn’t achieved more substantial victories for women is not that its language has started to feel formulaic, but that it really is too painful for people to witness. It’s too painful because it asks those who have not suffered to imagine the limits of their physical invulnerability—to realize, if only empathetically, that their sense of self-protection is a fantasy. We turn away from the language of violence not because it has become anodyne, but because we see how easily each of us can be made a victim.

“Perhaps writers like us really can change the world,” one young woman wrote to me recently in a private Twitter message. “Your book inspired me to tell my own story. You can check out my feed.” I thumbed down the screen to read it, the words of this stranger who, like me, was humiliated and hurt, raw and furious, her own terrible story wedged now between video grabs from a Trump rally and a trailer for John Wick 3 . I stopped reading and her story flickered past. I wrote privately to thank her, added a few glib notes of praise, and told her I hoped she’d continue writing. Then I deleted her message.

The Ferrante Project: The freedom of anonymity brings together sixteen women writers of color (alongside sixteen visual artists in a linked project with the Warhol Museum) who anonymously contributed new works in response to, or critique of, the cult of personality, posturing, and preemptive celebrity of writers at the expense—sometimes—of the quality and provocation of the work itself. This is a collaboration between Aster(ix) and CAAPP: Center of African American Poetry and Poetics.

Contributors include Angie Cruz, Sarah Gambito, Dawn Lundy Martin, Khadijah Queen, Ru Freeman, Ayana Mathis, Vi khi nao, Cristina García  Cathy Linh Che, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Deborah Paredez, Emily Raboteau, Paisley Rekdal, Natalie Díaz, Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon, and Jamey Hatley.

This page collects the works of anonymous writers published by  AGNI.

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Unsubstantiated: An Essay of Sexual Violence

Susan straight on what it really means to believe women.

There is no documentation for these narratives. Call them what you wish. This cannot be fact checked. There are no police reports/medical examinations/official statements/newspaper stories. No proof in the way that you want proof. No paper trail. Only story. That’s what women have had forever. How can we ascertain whether any of this is true? Where did your friend/cousin/sister/teammate tell you this? She told me in the bleachers/near the lockers/in the gym/in my car/in the dorm room/with the candles lit/in the driveway/on the train/in the parking lot.

This is not he said/she said, because we said these things only to each other. Every day, in the southern California city where I was born and still live, I drive past the places where we were attacked. Passing the parking lots where my friends and I were in cars, I remember the silver mushrooms of the door locks. We took rides home from football games and house parties. Gas, grass or ass—no one rides for free. I remember the bumper sticker on vans, cars, trucks. Does this hurt? Does this hurt ? What about that? Not murmured in apology, but in anticipation. We were 14. We did not ride for free. We were told if we walked home, worse could happen to us.

I drive past the bleachers at the park where my brothers played Little League. I worked the snack bar because girls didn’t play baseball. We sold snacks. In the dark storage room behind the bleachers. I was 12. The two boys only a year older. First base and you can go . Do boys still use that term now?

I write this because women asked me to. Last year, I finally put into narrative form some stories of my life and my friends, cousins, relatives. I was told the essays could not be published because they could not be fact checked, and the phrase I learned as a college journalist, even as men were groping and attacking me then, came back like a finger poked against my spine. The details we remember? Insignificant. The events themselves, if we told someone, if we asked for help, would have been deemed insignificant, because we were insignificant as girls, and then women. Now years have passed, so the details cannot be verified. But we told each other. What we remember is rooted in the body and the senses: Dr. Christine Blasey Ford remembering her bathing suit, E. Jean Carroll remembering the lace of the underwear she was holding, the young women remembering the exact painting on the wall of the “massage room” of Jeffrey Epstein, and now that he is dead, there is no he said/she said . There is only the bravery that they told someone what happened.

I am 58 years old. Weekly I drive past the parking lot where at a broken cement stop, my 15-year-old friend and I sat side by side, our knees before us in our shorts, as it was summer, while she told me about the boy who’d raped her the night before. He was two years older than we were. He knew exactly what he was doing. He gained her trust over weeks. He talked more than any other boy we knew. She put her forearms on her knees and put her face into that cradle and I remember the back of her neck. That was 1976. I believed rape inevitable, and I didn’t want to have a baby by someone who attacked me, so I went to Planned Parenthood.

In their testified memories, Dr. Christine Blasey Ford was 15, and Judge Brett Kavanaugh 17. They spoke quite separately, their sentences braiding together in vividly different threads. They grew up in the same place. They have friends and acquaintances who brought forth their own memories. It seems undeniable that something happened, on that night. The only written record was a calendar kept by a high school boy. Often, men confronted with the memories of sexual violence recalled by women deny them altogether, as if we fabricated not only the hurt but the entire night or series of weeks or months or years. That never happened. I was never there. She is mistaken. Her very existence is called into question. It’s as if two cars collided, both were damaged, but one driver insists he and his vehicle were never even at the scene, though the other car is smashed and dented and sometimes, completely totaled.

What were you wearing/drinking/thinking/expecting/when you went to the party? What did you say to make him think that’s what you wanted/what was he led to believe? We were in the wrong place of our own accord: meaning we entered a structure while alive and expecting nothing. I remember strange details about one house party. New Year’s Eve, 1977. My future husband and I were high school seniors. The house in a neighborhood wealthier than ours, abutting the foothills of our southern California city, more than a hundred people, dancing inside, moving through the kitchen, congregating to drink in the front yard.

A man staggering across the street toward us, maybe 25, older, with black hair in long wings down his face and neck, bellbottom jeans, blood covering his right hand, dripping from a cut. I was the kind of girl who corralled him quickly before he could get in trouble with the athletes, including my boyfriend. We were black, white, Mexican-American, Japanese-American. He was olive skinned, delirious, mumbling. I steered him inside the house, into the bathroom. I remember the beautiful gilt-edged mirror, so 1970s. I propelled him by the elbow toward the sink, and quickly he turned, locked the door, and grabbed my breasts, covering the front of my white sweater, featuring thin gold-thread horizontal stripes, with bloody handprints. (My first thought: Damn, I paid $17.98 for this sweater! Most of my paycheck for the week!) (My second thought: He’s going to rape and kill me.) He broke a perfume bottle on the sink and stood there, daring me to move. I don’t remember what he said, because I didn’t look at his mouth, only at the blood dripping on the white shag rug and the jagged glass thrust toward me.

I remember this distinctly: the music was so loud no one would have heard me scream. After what seemed like hours, the hand holding the glass slanting back and forth like a cobra’s head, boy pounded on the door shouting, “Who the fuck is in there? We gotta drain the lizard! Are you girls in there putting your fuckin makeup on? Open the door!” Then they broke it open with their shoulders. Baseball players. I still see the face of the first baseball player, golden brown, and his curly natural; I still see him now and then in my city. He saved me. They punched the man, dragged him outside and called the police. But none of the officers asked me anything. They took him away without speaking to me. My future husband was angry that I’d been so stupid. Someone gave me a letterman jacket to cover the blood on my breasts, because he said it made him feel sick. But I had to give it back before my future husband took me home. If we were in a car or workplace accident, or military battle, or natural disaster, we would be “in shock.” My teeth chattered in the silence. At home, I washed my sweater that night. Dried blood is hard to get out, but I had three brothers. I was good at bloodstained laundry. I wore that sweater for years.

I remember the places. Sewer pipe on the elementary school playground/back seat of a car/front seat of a car/stairwell in college/dorm room/office of a teaching assistant/lab of a chemical engineer at work. I remember the college-educated chemist 30 years older than me, as I was 20, held the back of my bra as if it were a harness and I a small horse merely trying to get across the room to do my work. He was out to prove I couldn’t leave until he allowed me to. He said, every time, that he was merely checking to make sure I was wearing a bra. That reminded me so vividly of sixth grade I didn’t even know how to react, and then I just refused to go into that workspace and was disciplined. I do not remember the dates, or the floor of the building. I remember the beakers on the counter.

What room of the house/seat of the car/kind of carpet/part of the couch/area of the yard/end of the pool/section of the bleachers/corner of the store/row of the theater/where the alleged assault took place? Was it a twin bed/queen/king? What was the day/week/year/time? What was the make and model of the car/truck/van/camper? The address of the house? Which bedroom? How many bedrooms were there? (Did we girls ask that question the minute we arrived at the party? Did someone give us a tour, so we could identify the master bedroom, the bedspread, the bathroom? Should that be standard?) How many people were there? (Guest lists, also standard?) What time were you taken/forced/carried/or did you voluntarily go into the bedroom/bathroom/garden shed/kitchen/basement/closet/office/laboratory? Who saw you enter that place? Who saw you leave? If you were hurt, how were you able to walk?

Every time I hear the song “Sexual Healing,” by Marvin Gaye, and it is played often, I remember another high school friend in my car, angry and then weeping. The song was new. She reacted violently, telling me to turn it off. She said the lyrics were disgusting. She whispered the words that made her cry. You’re my medicine/Open up and let me in. An adult in her family had forced his way into the place where she slept, and raped her. She was so shaken hearing those words, and I was so shaken when she told me, that I turn the song off, even now.

Every time I enter my kitchen, I remember a woman sitting at the maple table my mother bought when I was three. Eight years ago, both of us grown, she told me how her mother had been assaulted repeatedly by an adult man when she was a girl. Ten years old. Her mother told no one, until one morning the girl couldn’t walk to school. She had advanced syphilis. The woman said, “They never told us who he was! And later same thing happened to me. But I told! I told them!” She told only her mother and grandmother.

Why didn’t you report this? I did. Who did you report it to? My sister/mother/aunt/grandmother/cousin/friend. What did that person do? She listened/cried/hit me/hugged me/washed me/cried/combed my hair/washed sewed dyed dried burned my clothes/cried/shook her head/said she knew/said that couldn’t be true/said she’d kill him/said he’d kill me/said get in the car/said we’ll never tell anyone/said I love you.

We could tell you: the smell/gum/whiskers/one finger/two fingers/three/fingernails/rings/song/engine/bedspread/the smell/carpet like stiff worms/carpet like cement/burns on our shoulders/above our hipbones/our tailbones/astroturf/leather / vinyl/Naugahyde/grooved metal bleachers/asphalt/jeans/zippers/metal teeth drawing blood/human teeth drawing blood/braces/bracelets/dog tags/Irish Spring/cologne/four fingers a solid gate over our mouths/French fries/hot sauce/motor oil/there is no name for the inside of a knuckle pressed hard on our lips.

Last month, I sat with a cousin in the dim light of her living room, 100 degrees outside, security screen door letting in the noise of the street. We talked about house parties. She told me about the night when she was 12, at a house party a few blocks from where we were, and an older boy, maybe 19, bumped and bumped against her while they danced until she was in a hallway and then in a bedroom. Having been raised in Los Angeles during the Black Panther movement, she talked him out of assault by bringing up unity, the violence already done to her school and family by police, and his responsibilities to her as a young black man she called brother. That was 1970.

I told her about the 1977 house party and the sweater. We laughed about the sweater. I told her about the dorm room two years later, where a large athlete lay on top of me, threatening rape, and that I invoked our male cousin, who had an Uzi, and would arrive in the morning to shoot off the athlete’s testicles. If I told. I didn’t tell anyone, because the man removed his forearm from my throat and got up, and I left.

Then I told her about the doctor. He might have been 50. Sixty. I was 13. I remember only: glasses shining like small lakes in the bright reflection of the high-powered light. Does that hurt? Does that? What about that? I am lying on a table. No clothes. Shivering uncontrollably in the frigid air. A tube. He stands in the doorway watching. Maybe he was filming, I realize now. Maybe just watching. My mother is in a waiting room far away. She thinks I have a bladder infection. The bare metal table is swimming with my tears, running into my hair and down my neck. He tortures me for a long time, or for half an hour. Was I restrained—by equipment, or by obedience? I have no details for that.

This is what my cousin did not say. Let’s review/Let’s make sure you have your story straight/Let’s go over this again/Let’s assume you’re not exaggerating/misremembering/dreaming/telling tale tales/being dramatic because you were a teenaged girl/menstruating/hysterical/looking for attention.

I had never told anyone, not my mother or anyone else. But this year, writing about my childhood, I remembered. I have always been afraid to go to doctors, or to the hospital. But at an appointment with a nurse/practitioner, for a possible minor surgery, the first time we’d ever met, I told her why I was afraid of even minor procedures, why I had never spent the night in a hospital since my third daughter was born, in 1995. I had that child 17 minutes after arriving in labor and delivery because I didn’t want to go inside.

I avoided doctors for so long that I got severe anemia, detached retinas, and other illnesses. We sat two feet from each other, our knees companionable. She told me that when she was four, in the rural place where she was raised, a boy had threatened her with a knife and told her to pull down her pants. She told me that when she was 12, in a field across from her house, a man pulled up in a car and asked for directions, opened the door and said things so shocking and dirty that she ran into the fields to hide. She told me that when she was a young nurse, a physician had casually affixed a sticker to her uniformed breast. She protested vehemently. Though she saw him pull other nurses onto his lap, and affix stickers to them, he never approached her again. I cried, just a little, with this woman I had known for 20 minutes. She tended to my physical ailment. I went home, grateful. That night, I picked apricots from my tree and took them to my cousin, and we sat in the heated dark room on her couch for three hours. We told stories of our aunts, our grandmothers, of razors slashing clothes, of guns pulled from coats, of girls who survived and told only each other. We might never tell anyone else. We told someone. We told a woman. We are alive. It is documented in our mouths.

———————————————

Susan Straight’s memoir,  In the Country of Women   is now available from Catapult. 

Susan Straight

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Thoughts about sexual assault on college campuses

Subscribe to the center for economic security and opportunity newsletter, martha nussbaum martha nussbaum ernst freund distinguished service professor of law and ethics - the university of chicago.

October 21, 2021

• 22 min read

This interlude is from Martha Nussbaum’s book, Citadels of Pride: Sexual Abuse, Accountability, and Reconciliation , published by W. W. Norton & Company in May 2021.

So far we have traced the evolution of legal standards for sexual assault and sexual harassment, and their current defects and challenges. There is, however, a significant area of our national discussion that is not fully covered by these discussions, because it involves a complex and uneasy mixture of federal law (Title IX, discussed in Chapter 5) and informal tribunals: sexual assault and harassment on college campuses. Because my previous discussions have covered the most salient issues in each area of law, I need not devote a full chapter to this case, nor do I wish such a disproportionate focus to suggest that women who attend college deserve more attention than women who do not. Unequal access to higher education is already a major problem of justice in our society, compounding other disadvantages based on race and class. There is no reason to perpetuate the injustice by paying more attention to the problems of those women who have managed to arrive at a college or university. One of the great strengths of the traditions I have described is the fact that working-class and minority women (for example Cheryl Araujo, Mechelle Vinson, Mary Carr) have been among their salient plaintiffs.

Yet, because the institutional structures are different, the topic of campus assault requires separate treatment, albeit briefly. Nobody knows exactly how large a problem this is, but one recent survey by the Association of American Universities found that around 20 percent of female undergraduates are victims of sexual assault or sexual misconduct at some point during their college life. 1 Other studies have found frequent sexual abuse of males as well, amounting to 6 to 8 percent. Although there are disputes over methodology and definition, there’s no doubt about the severity of the issue. It would appear, however, that attending college does not make a woman more likely to suffer sexual assault. 2

Sexual harassment and sexual assault have long included abuses of power between faculty and students, but on the whole, these cases have been understood as workplace abuses of power, and are dealt with under clear public rules, in much the manner of other workplaces. Thus, Chapter 5 has already basically dealt with these cases. In this Interlude I focus on student-student assault and harassment.

The literature on this topic is vast and controversies are heated, in part because the Obama administration guidelines have now been replaced by different guidelines developed by the Department of Education under the aegis of Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos. However, the controversies cross political lines. Thus the group of Harvard Law School professors who protested against the Obama guidelines as unfair to accused men, anticipating the DeVos critique (I’ll describe their intervention as Stage Two below) included some conservatives, but also faculty from the left and even extreme left of the faculty.

I’ll cover the salient issues briefly, without discussing all the ins and outs of all the controversies. Thus the intention of this brief discussion is to indicate, in a general way, how my overall view in this book’s detailed chapters would approach campus cases, rather than to construct a comprehensive argument. 3

A large proportion of sexual assaults and alleged sexual assaults occur when one party, or usually both parties, have been drinking heavily. Heavy drinking makes memory gappy and adjudication very difficult. In general campuses need to do much better with alcohol education and treatment. But one recommendation that most college administrators would support is: lower the drinking age. This approach seems counterintuitive, but it is really sensible. Right now, if adults are present where there is under-age drinking (and most students are under twenty-one), they can be charged with contributing to the delinquency of a minor. So they refrain from providing badly needed supervision, including help for students who have passed out. If the drinking age were reduced to eighteen, adults could attend parties and be prepared to give assistance.

Another alcohol-related issue that needs addressing, in both education and adjudication: sex with a person who has passed out or is close to that point is an assault. This is a species of my point about affirmative consent, but it needs to be repeated again and again. The standard, however, is far from clear in application. Many cases before campus tribunals concern the thorny and as yet unresolved question of how impaired a person must be in order not to be capable of decision-making. Since the evidence comes, typically, from two impaired individuals, it is hard for them to remember how impaired they were. Third-party evidence is usually helpful, but is not always available.

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Campus Tribunals

There is considerable confusion in the public mind over why campuses do not simply turn accusations over to the police. So it’s important to point out that campuses have membership conditions, usually spelled out in the admissions contract, that go beyond the letter of the law and that need to be enforced by the campus itself. Plagiarism, not attending class, cheating on exams–all of these things are likely to be punished, sometimes with suspension or expulsion, even though they are not crimes. Similarly campuses may adopt sexual requirements that go beyond the law. Some of these are extreme: honor codes at some religious schools penalize all non-marital sexual conduct. I think such restrictions are counterproductive, creating cultures of silence (if a woman discloses that she has been raped, she can be penalized for engaging in sex). But there are also some reasonable requirements, such as affirmative consent, that are not necessarily the law of the land.

Moreover, the criminal justice system takes a long time, and victims need swift justice in order to deal with the trauma and go forward as students.

Finally, if a perpetrator is convicted in the criminal justice system, that record is ruinous for future life and employment. Campus convictions come in degrees, and many involve mandatory counseling and other lesser penalties. For this reason, having the criminal justice system as the only option, would deter reporting and bringing charges, since victims often hesitate before ruining the perpetrator’s life, and yet they seek some measure of recognition. They want the wrong done to them to be acknowledged—both that it happened and that it was wrong—and they want accountability for the perpetrator; but typically they are not seeking maximal revenge. Nor do they want lengthy involvement with the formal criminal justice system.

These are reasons why campus tribunals are not replaceable by the criminal justice system. However, it must also be said that these tribunals often do their job poorly. Faculty and administrators who serve on them are rarely well trained, and they do not always understand the quasi-legal issues with clarity. Procedures are often poorly defined, and the accused, who typically lack legal representation, are at a disadvantage.

Procedural Issues for Tribunals

How, then, can these tribunals be made to work better?

In this section I’ll refer to several key stages in the debate. Stage One was the “Dear Colleague” letter issued by the Obama administration, laying out standards to which all universities must conform to receive federal money. 4 Stage Two involved a series of objections to these standards, some issued by Betsy DeVos once she became secretary of education, 5 but similar objections were raised earlier by legal professionals—most famously by a group of twenty-eight Harvard Law School professors, drawn from both the left and the right, in a letter published initially in the Boston Globe but widely reprinted. 6 Next, in Stage Three, came the new Department of Education draft rule, which, like all administrative rules was subject to “notice and comment,” 7 and received over 124,000 comments. 8 Finally, in Stage Four (May 2020), the Department of Education issued its Final Rule, which is now legally binding on all colleges and universities that receive federal money. 9 I’ll proceed issue by issue.

First, all involved need to get clear about the best burden of proof. This issue has been one of the largest political disputes. Three standards are currently in use in our legal system. The most stringent, used throughout the United States in the criminal justice system, is proof beyond a reasonable doubt. Many countries do not use this standard for criminal trials, but our tradition has judged that convicting an innocent person is more heinous and more to be avoided than letting a guilty person go free. Together with this exacting standard, our criminal justice system gives the accused a constitutional right to the “effective” and cost-free assistance of legal counsel, although great disparities still exist between public defenders provided free of charge and the sort of lawyer that a more affluent defendant typically would engage—not always because of quality, but because public defenders are overworked and usually don’t have enough time to devote to each client. But at least there is cost-free representation. Furthermore, our Constitution’s “confrontation clause” gives accused parties the right to confront witnesses testifying to their guilt. Over time other rights have been inferred from constitutional guarantees, the most famous being the Miranda warnings that must be read to defendants on arrest, warning them of their right to counsel and their right to remain silent. So our system is protective of defendants in multiple ways.

In civil trials, the standard, instead, is “preponderance of the evidence,” which means anything over 50 percent. Obviously this is a much weaker standard. Nor are free lawyers always provided in civil cases (some states do, most don’t). Still, the civil litigation system has firm procedural structures that safeguard the parties—especially a lengthy period of “discovery,” which gives both sides a chance to examine the other side’s evidence. Without such structural safeguards, and without legal counsel assisting the parties, many people feel that the “preponderance” standard is likely to lead to error.

A third intermediate standard is “clear and convincing evidence,” which is used in ways specified by the relevant state laws, often in areas such as paternity and child custody. This standard is typically thought to mean that it is about 75 percent likely that the person did what is alleged.

Before the “Dear Colleague” letter issued by the Obama administration, 10 most universities used “clear and convincing evidence” as the standard in sexual assault tribunals. The Obama administration insisted, instead, on the civil “preponderance of the evidence” standard. The Harvard Law School faculty letter, and DeVos in her own remarks, held that this standard was not protective enough of the accused. So far, it seems that nobody favors the “reasonable doubt” standard, which would be very difficult to apply in the informal and evidentially challenged situation of a tribunal. So the choice is between the other two standards, and in the end the Department of Education’s Final Rule gives every college that choice.

It’s important to be clear that a college tribunal will not take away a defendant’s liberty. That dire consequence is our legal system’s primary reason for choosing reasonable doubt. Courts, however, have repeatedly held that educational opportunities are economic or property interests, not matters of freedom. So it seems that there is nothing at all odd about using either the civil justice standard of preponderance, or the tougher standard of clear and convincing evidence. This is where the debate occurs.

In real life, both sides have merit. Preponderance defenders believe, rightly, that in the typical alcohol-fueled interaction any stronger standard will be very difficult to meet. However, it is also true that education, albeit a property interest, is one of special defining importance in our society. So it’s important to be protective of the accused. And the civil standard is probably a bad idea in a setting that lacks the procedural safeguards that are usually present in civil trials. Clear and convincing makes more sense, I believe; but if a school should opt for preponderance—as I said, the Final Rule ultimately, and rather surprisingly, gives institutions a choice between these two—a careful tribunal would probably think in terms of a kind of preponderance plus, not necessarily convicting someone where the evidence suggests a mere 50.5 percent likelihood of guilt. The 50.5 approach would really not be protective enough of the accused. Many preponderance-based tribunals actually interpret the standards somewhat more strongly. Whatever the standard, members of tribunals need better training about the whole issue of evidence and the burden of proof.

A second issue of great importance is the definition of sexual harassment. The campus process typically runs together the two things our legal system has carefully kept apart—namely sexual assault or abuse, and (workplace) sexual harassment. There is no harm in this combination so long as sub-definitions are clearly drawn. Sexual assault is typically defined as a single act, not a pattern of actions: you only need to rape a woman once to be guilty of rape! Sexual harassment, by contrast, has two forms. If there is a quid pro quo, a single act suffices. But in “hostile environment” harassment, the plaintiff needs to show a pattern of actions that are sufficiently “serious” and “pervasive,” as well as “unwelcome.” One demeaning comment or gross overture will not suffice. This distinction seems correct.

In terms of this legal background, the Dear Colleague letter was far from adequate. It defined sexual harassment as “unwelcome conduct of a sexual nature,” including “unwelcome sexual advances, requests for sexual favors, and other verbal, non-verbal, or physical conduct of a sexual nature.” This meant in practice that one gross or demeaning comment, with no prior evidence of its unwelcomeness, would be actionable. The Department of Education’s Final Rule, by contrast (Stage Four), hews closely to legal standards accepted elsewhere in our legal system. There are three categories of sexual harassment: (1) “any instance of quid pro quo harassment by a school’s employee,” (2) “any unwelcome conduct that a reasonable person would find so severe, pervasive, and objectively offensive that it denies a person equal educational access”; and (3) “any instance of sexual assault as defined in the Clery Act [a federal statute dealing with campus security], dating violence, domestic violence, or stalking, as defined in the Violence Against Women Act.” In other words, a single unannounced act can still be sexual assault or a quid pro quo, but verbal harassment must form a pattern that meets the Supreme Court standard of pervasiveness and severity, as determined from the point of view of a reasonable observer. The Final Rule protects someone who makes a deeply offensive remark without advance notice of its unwelcomeness and who does not persist.

On most grounds the Department of Education’s Final Rule is an advance over the Obama administration’s rule, and also over the Department of Education’s first rule (Stage Three), under DeVos, which did not include dating violence, domestic violence, or stalking. The Final Rule is perhaps too narrow in its requirement that the accuser show that the harassment is not just severe, pervasive, and objectively offensive, but that it also has a deleterious effect on the person’s equal educational access. Campuses are academic organizations, but they are also social organizations. Social harassment does not always affect someone’s ability to study, and why should that need to be shown? Why isn’t the poisoning of the person’s campus social life sufficient? There are other issues that have been raised, but on balance the “notice and comment” process seems to have worked pretty well.

I shall not go into the details of the various discussions of the questioning and confrontation process in the old and new rules. What I want to focus on, instead, is what I consider to be one of the largest problems with campus tribunals, which has not been addressed by any of these rules: the lack of access to free legal counsel for the accused. Most institutions not only do not provide a lawyer for the accused party; they actively discourage the hiring of lawyers. Typically the accused is permitted to have one supporter or advisor, but when the accused asks if this person can be a lawyer, they are usually discouraged. This is wrong. “Advisors” are typically faculty or administrators who have no legal training and who cannot do an energetic job of defending their client’s rights. And it is also wrong to require people to hire their own lawyers. Free legal assistance would go a long way to dispelling the worries of the twenty-eight Harvard Law School faculty members (Stage Two) about the system’s unfairness. Columbia University does provide free legal counsel for the accused, and so, now, does Harvard Law School (though not the rest of Harvard). My own university has recently begun to implement a policy offering free legal counsel to both defendants and plaintiffs. I have not been able to find out how many other institutions do this. And some federal grant money is available to support accused students at state universities. But the linchpin of our justice system is legal representation. Perhaps this requirement could be waived for minor offenses for which the likely penalty is alcohol counseling, for example; but in cases where the accused faces expulsion it should be mandatory, no matter what it costs. Colleges and universities have many doctors, nurses, and psychologists on their payrolls. And they do have a staff of lawyers, only not for this purpose. They should enlarge their legal departments to include lawyers at the service of students, for just this sort of problem.

I’ve said that tribunals are often poorly trained. The best solution to this problem, since membership of tribunals rotates, is mandatory sexual assault and sexual harassment training for all faculty and administrators. Such training is now required in most universities, as it is in most businesses. At the University of Chicago, each administrator and faculty member must complete the course online every year. It is not perfect, but it does supply a uniform level of awareness.

The Title IX Process

A welcome element of experienced professionalism is now supplied by the presence of Title IX offices on campuses. Typically they do face-to-face training as well as online training, though not as often. But they also play a crucial role through a strong norm of mandatory reporting, which is helping to close the information gap. If a student discloses sexual harassment or assault to any faculty member or administrator, that person is required immediately to inform the Title IX coordinator, giving the complainant’s name. The coordinator will then contact the complainant, typically promising her complete confidentiality and anonymity if she requests it. The complainant usually also has decisional autonomy: nothing will be done, and the alleged perpetrator will not be contacted, unless the complainant gives a go-ahead. Meanwhile the coordinator can advise the complainant about how the process works.

Mandatory reporting is controversial. Many have feared that it will discourage disclosures: the minute you open up to someone you trust, the information also goes to someone else you don’t know. But on the whole mandatory reporting seems wise. The Title IX staff, in my experience, behave with restraint and professionalism, protecting confidentiality. Once faculty and administrators have experience with the coordinators, my experience is that they do come to trust them. And faculty (and others) are relieved of a huge burden of dealing with the whole of a traumatized person’s subsequent life and choices. Faculty usually are not equipped to shoulder this burden, however well-intentioned they are.

The letter by the twenty-eight Harvard Law School professors objected to too much centralized power being vested in the Title IX office, in the scheme at first proposed by Harvard Law School in its attempt to institutionalize the Obama administration standards. The main problem they identified was that the Title IX office did both investigation and adjudication. Their letter was surely correct to say that this setup is very unfair and unwise. Harvard Law School quickly heeded their criticism, separating the two functions. The primary function of the Title IX office should be—and by now for the most part is—investigative and advisory. The tribunals themselves typically consist of faculty, and sometimes administrators, and are constituted according to procedures subject to faculty autonomy and faculty governance. They have many defects, but they are not an alien bureaucracy invading the campus, as the Harvard letter had feared.

We now need to address the gaps in the process that remain, particularly in the area of legal representation.

We have all learned a great deal from these somewhat painful debates. And progress has been made. Although in some ways DeVos has been a polarizing figure, the Final Rule adopted by the Department of Education under her aegis, thanks to the notice-and-comment process, is debatable but still arguably fair. It seems distinctly superior both to the draft rule and to the standards articulated by the Obama administration. We now need to address the gaps in the process that remain, particularly in the area of legal representation.

• Nick Anderson, Susan Svrluga, and Scott Clement, “Survey: More than 1 in 5 Female Undergrads at Top Schools Suffer Sexual Attacks,” Washington Post, September 21, 2015, https://www​.washingtonpost​.com/local/education/survey​-more​-than​-1​-in​-5​-female​-undergrads​-at​-top​-schools​-suffer​-sexual​-attacks/2015/09/19/c6c80be2​-5e29​-11e5​-b38e​-06883aacba64_story​.html​.
• Charlene L. Muehlenhard et al., “Evaluating the One-​in-​Five Statistic: Women’s Risk of Sexual Assault While in College,” Journal of Sex Research 54, no. 4 (May 16, 2017): 565, https://doi​.org/10​.1080/00224499​.2017​.1295014​. As discussed there, evidence does not support the assumption that college students experience more sexual assault than nonstudents.
• In this area, my two research assistants did such superb and meticulous work on this topic, which naturally interested them greatly, that their work is worthy of note in itself and is on file with me: Sarah Hough, “Legal Approaches toward On-​Campus Sexual Violence in the US: A Brief Overview,” unpublished paper, July 1, 2019; and Jared I. Mayer, “Memo on De Vos’s Changes to Campus Title IX Proceedings,” unpublished paper, May 20, 2020.
• National Sexual Violence Resource Center, “Dear Colleague Letter: Sexual Violence” (US Department of Education, Office of Civil Rights, 2011), https://www​.nsvrc​.org/publications/dear​-colleague​-letter​-sexual​-violence​. The NSVRC website also contains much helpful background information.
• See “Department of Education Issues New Interim Guidance on Campus Sexual Misconduct,” US Department of Education, September 22, 2017, https://www​.ed​.gov/news/press​-releases/department​-education​-issues​-new​-interim​-guidance​-campus​-sexual​-misconduct​.
• “Rethink Harvard’s Sexual Harassment Policy” (Opinion), Boston Globe, October 14, 2014, https://www​.bostonglobe​.com/opinion/2014/10/14/rethink​-harvard​-sexual​-harassment​-policy/HFDDiZN7nU2UwuUuWMnqbM/story​.html​.
• For an overview of the notice-​and-​comment system of regulation making, see “A Guide to the Rulemaking Process,” Office of the Federal Register, January 2011, https://www​.federalregister​.gov/uploads/2011/01/the_rulemaking_process​.pdf​.
• “Nondiscrimination on the Basis of Sex in Education Programs or Activities Receiving Federal Financial Assistance,” Federal Register, November 29, 2018, https://www​.federalregister​.gov/documents/2018/11/29/2018​-25314/nondiscrimination​-on​-the​-basis​-of​-sex​-in​-education​-programs​-or​-activities​-receiving​-federal​.
• See 20 U.S.C. § 1681(a) (2018). A helpful memo clarifying the content of the Final Rule is Apalla U. Chopra et al., “Analysis of Key Provisions of the Department of Education’s New Title IX Regulations,” O’Melveny & Myers LLP, May 15, 2020, https://www​.omm​.com/resources/alerts​-and​-publications/alerts/analysis​-of​-key​-provisions​-of​-doe​.
• National Sexual Violence Resource Center, “Dear Colleague Letter.”

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Is There a Smarter Way to Think About Sexual Assault on Campus?

By Jia Tolentino

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If I were asked by a survey to describe my experience with sexual assault in college, I would pinpoint two incidents, both of which occurred at or after parties in my freshman year. In the first case, the guy went after me with sniper accuracy, magnanimously giving me a drink he’d poured upstairs. In the second case, I’m sure the guy had no idea that he was doing something wrong. I had joined a sorority, and all my social circles were as sloppy, intense, and tribal as the Greek system—the groups that made these incidents possible are the same ones that made my life at the time so good. In college, everything is Janus-faced: what you interpret as refuge can lead to danger, and vice versa. One of the most highly valorized social activities, blacking out and hooking up, holds the potential for trauma within it like a seed.

I got to thinking about this—and picturing my college self as a sort of avatar in an extended risk simulation—after talking with Jennifer Hirsch and Claude Ann Mellins, at Columbia University’s Mailman School of Public Health, in Washington Heights, on a biting, windy day last December. Hirsch, an anthropologist, and Mellins, a clinical psychologist, are Columbia professors. Both women are in their fifties, have shoulder-length brown hair, and grew up in Jewish families in Manhattan. They share a sharp, maternal pragmatism—between them, they have five sons, ranging in age from fifteen to twenty-three. For the past three years, they have been leading a $2.2-million research project on the sexual behavior of Columbia undergraduates. The project is called SHIFT , which stands for the Sexual Health Initiative to Foster Transformation.

The problem of campus sexual assault can seem unfathomable and intractable. We generally think of it as a matter of individual misbehavior, which, various studies have shown, most prevention programs do little to change. But Hirsch and Mellins think about sexual assault socio-ecologically: as a matter of how people act within a particular environment. They are doggedly optimistic that there is, if not a single fix, a series of new solutions.

Watch “The Backstory”: Jia Tolentino discusses reporting on campus sexual assault.

A four-year residential college is what sociologists call a total institution: it controls the conditions under which students eat, sleep, work, and party. “You can just imagine all these contextual dimensions in college that could be tinkered with to create a less stressful, less hard-drinking, more respectful environment,” Hirsch said. The assumption is that some college students are committing sexual assault when they don’t intend to, and that many are more vulnerable to sexual harm than they ought to be. Either idea can be controversial, and focussing on contributing factors, such as drinking, rather than just on the bad acts of perpetrators, can seem beside the point. But Hirsch and Mellins insist that their approach to prevention does not ignore personal responsibility; rather, it aims to nudge students toward responsible behavior on a collective scale. The first time we met, on Columbia’s main campus, Hirsch put it to me more plainly: “We have to stop working one penis at a time!”

SHIFT was born out of a crisis. In the past several years, as students all over the country became more vocal about the problem of rape in college, the press seized on a series of dramatic incidents, including one at Columbia. A rare combination of academic talent and initiative was then unleashed by the university, which may have felt the need to demonstrate its commitment to the cause, and this produced, after two years of sunup-to-sundown effort, the most rigorous, nuanced, and wide-ranging examination of the problem that has ever been carried out on a college campus. “It’s better for universities if sexual assault is positioned as a matter of sexual health, rather than as a scary threat,” the journalist Vanessa Grigoriadis, who published a book last year, “Blurred Lines,” about sexual assault on campus, told me. She added, “We’re in a new phase of the movement.”

You can trace that movement back at least four decades, to 1977, when a senior at Yale named Ann Olivarius—along with another student, three graduates, and a male professor—sued the school, citing quid-pro-quo sexual harassment by professors, a hostile environment, and a lack of reporting procedures. The plaintiffs, advised by a recent Yale Law graduate named Catharine MacKinnon, argued that this was a violation of Title IX—the federal statute, passed five years before, that prohibits gender discrimination in educational institutions. The women lost the case, but the district court ruled that it was “perfectly reasonable to maintain that academic advancement conditioned upon submission to sexual demands constitutes sex discrimination in education.” Two years later, MacKinnon published her landmark book, “Sexual Harassment of Working Women,” which argued that “economic power is to sexual harassment as physical force is to rape.”

The proper scope of Title IX was argued in court over and over in the years that followed; rulings narrowed its application, then expanded it again. Meanwhile, anti-rape activism progressed on campuses across the country. Take Back the Night marches, which had begun in the seventies, became a feature of college life in the eighties; Columbia’s first Take Back the Night march was held, in front of the Barnard gates, in 1988. The Columbia University Senate passed the first school-wide sexual-assault policy in 1995—it required that complaints be handled through an alternative form of the school’s standard disciplinary procedure. Student activists weren’t satisfied: they wanted the deans who handled sexual-assault cases to receive additional training, and they wanted to know how many incidents were being reported. They staged a prolonged campaign that culminated, in 1999, in a twenty-three-hour vigil, during which hundreds of students marched through campus shouting, “Red tape can’t cover up rape!”

Seven years ago, the Office of Civil Rights, under President Obama, issued a “Dear Colleague” letter, reasserting that sexual violence on campus was a violation of Title IX, and pushing universities to handle sexual-assault cases in a timely, transparent, accuser-friendly manner. A year later, the Department of Justice expanded its definition of rape to include male victims and multiple types of violations. (The previous definition—“the carnal knowledge of a female, forcibly and against her will”—had been in place since 1927.) Today, the D.O.J. defines sexual assault as unwanted sexual contact, which means that groping counts, as does attempted assault. The crime hinges on intention, and there are often no witnesses, which makes it uniquely difficult to adjudicate in any legal system, let alone one made up of college administrators. Campus judiciary systems don’t have a criminal court’s investigative powers or evidentiary procedures, but they do have many of a criminal court’s responsibilities. To complicate matters further, everyone involved in the process—accuser, accused, administrator—essentially works under the same roof. Betsy DeVos, Trump’s Secretary of Education, has called the current approach a “failed system,” and said that she would seek to replace it.

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It might seem simpler to let the criminal-justice system handle things, but universities have a responsibility to insure that women have equal access to education. And, in addition, many students prefer to address these matters outside that system—they don’t necessarily want to send their assaulters to prison, and they may not be able to prove their cases beyond a reasonable doubt. Columbia now has twenty-three staffers with Title IX responsibilities, including case managers, investigators, and administrators, and provides free legal services to accusers and accused. The school’s gender-based misconduct policy is thirty-one pages long.

Freshman year at Columbia, as at any college, can be overwhelming: awkward encounters at parties in the “social dorm,” where the long wooden doors can be taken down to serve as beer-pong tables; a rush to find a home base in extracurriculars and clubs. Juliana Kaplan, a Barnard junior, told me, “On the one hand, you have kids at Columbia who come from kings of Wall Street—you have a secret society based completely on wealth. On the other, you have a demographic of first-generation, low-income students of color. People come in through very different contexts.” When I asked her about the tenor of student conversation on sexual assault, she told me, “I try to remember that some people have been super aware of these issues for their whole life, due to any number of factors, and then there are some people, such as men, who have to actively learn about it while they’re here.”

Five years ago, a Columbia sophomore named Emma Sulkowicz filed a complaint with the university, accusing another student of rape. (Sulkowicz, who has been working as an artist since graduation, identifies as non-binary, and uses the gender-neutral pronouns “they” and “them.”) A consensual encounter on the first day of the school year had turned violent, Sulkowicz alleged: in the midst of sex, the student anally penetrated and choked them while they struggled and told him to stop. (He has consistently maintained that the entire encounter was consensual.) Sulkowicz decided to report the incident after another student said that she’d had a similar experience with the same man. Columbia held a series of hearings and found the man “not responsible,” and Sulkowicz was subsequently denied an appeal. The following April, twenty-three students and alumni, each with a story of assault, filed a hundred-page federal complaint against the university. Student activists formed a group called No Red Tape, evoking the protests of the nineties. When the fall semester began, Sulkowicz, an art major, started carrying a fifty-pound, twin XL mattress around campus. It was a performance project: they would stop carrying it, they said, when the student who had raped them was expelled. (Sulkowicz carried it until graduation; the man they accused later sued Columbia, arguing that the university’s support of the project, for which Sulkowicz had received academic credit, constituted gender discrimination, negligence, and intentional infliction of emotional distress. The university settled with him out of court.) Soon after Sulkowicz began carrying the mattress, dozens of other Columbia students brought mattresses to the steps of Low Library and told their own stories of sexual assault.

It was around this time that Jennifer Hirsch attended a meeting of Columbia’s Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies Council, where faculty members gathered in a conference room and picked over a catered breakfast. She sat next to Suzanne Goldberg, who at the time was a special adviser to Columbia’s president, Lee Bollinger, on the subject of sexual-assault prevention and response. The debates concerning rape on campus and what to do about it have been waged primarily between students and administrators, with professors off to the side. Hirsch had become frustrated by the focus, in those debates, on adjudication and punishment, rather than on the ways in which the environment of college makes students vulnerable. As the meeting ended, and people began collecting their things, Hirsch turned to Goldberg and spontaneously proposed conducting an ethnography: she would interview students, learn the everyday context of their sex lives, document the stories that the university couldn’t see. Goldberg said that sounded terrific, and told Hirsch to write up a few pages pitching the project.

A couple of weeks later, Hirsch popped into Mellins’s office, two floors down from hers in the Mailman building. The two professors have been friends since 2005, when Hirsch, who teaches in the sociomedical-sciences department, began doing work at the H.I.V. center at Columbia, which Mellins co-directs. Hirsch handed Mellins the paper she’d drafted, and began peppering her with questions. Mellins was the lead author of a 2011 study into the mental health, drug use, and sexual behavior of adolescents who had been infected with H.I.V. in the womb or as infants. She knew something about discussing uncomfortable matters with young people, and quantifying those conversations for research purposes. She answered Hirsch’s questions, and started asking her own.

Hirsch looked at her closely. “Do you want to do this with me?” she asked.

They spent the next few weeks brainstorming—on the phone, over e-mail, in each other’s offices, on whiteboards. They thought about the relevant expertise of their colleagues. Who really knew about interpersonal violence? Who really knew about epidemiology? Statistics? Trauma in young adults? As the fall turned crisp, they tracked down the faculty members whose help they wanted, and asked them if they would join SHIFT . In November, 2014, they submitted their proposal, and Goldberg quickly secured the university’s approval.

Goldberg, who is in her mid-fifties and speaks with a flat, equanimous affect, became Columbia’s first executive vice-president for university life in 2015. She has a long career of progressive advocacy—she was a co-counsel for the defendants in Lawrence v. Texas, which nullified Texas’s sodomy law. She leads Columbia Law School’s Center for Gender and Sexuality Law, and she was integral to the development of SHIFT . (“We had many breakfasts,” Hirsch explained.) But she has become a maligned figure among student activists. Amelia Roskin-Frazee, a senior involved with No Red Tape, spoke to me dismissively about the Sexual Respect Initiative, a consent-education requirement, instituted by Goldberg in 2014, that included an arts option: students could write a poem, submit a drawing, or perform a dance. When I asked Goldberg about this criticism, she said, “The initiative meets students where they are.”

Roskin-Frazee is a queer activist who, at fourteen, founded a nonprofit that provides schools and shelters with L.G.B.T.Q.-themed books. She is currently suing Columbia. She says that, two months after arriving on campus, she was violently raped in her dorm room by a stranger, and that, a few months later, she was raped again, by an assailant she suspects to be the same person. (She told me more than once that she knew this was not a typical campus assault; last year, she wrote a piece for HuffPost criticizing the notion that “true stranger rapes” are any more serious than those committed by people who know their victims.) She asked to move out of her dorm room, and alleges that Columbia violated Title IX by requiring her to do so within twenty-four hours, and telling her it would cost five hundred dollars. Columbia has moved to dismiss Roskin-Frazee’s lawsuit, arguing that she obstructed her own investigation by waiting months to file an official report. In October of last year, with a group of protesters, Roskin-Frazee barged into one of Goldberg’s law classes to publicly accuse her of endangering student survivors.

The creation of SHIFT was announced to the university at the end of February, 2015, in an e-mail from President Bollinger. Hirsch and Mellins began soliciting applications for a paid undergraduate advisory board, ultimately selecting a dozen or so students, including members of the Greek system, student-government leaders, a ballerina in Columbia’s General Studies program, anti-sexual-assault activists, a sex educator, a Barnard student, and an R.A. For the next two years, when school was in session, the group met over bagels at 8 A . M . every Monday. The board created a typology of Columbia students—the hyper-involved, the completely disinterested, the kids who find their thing and stick to it—and corrected the researchers in their sometimes fumbling attempts to classify student identities. (Each time they pointed out such a mistake, one student-board member told me, the researchers’ eyes would pop in surprise, and then they’d come back the next week saying, “We had seventeen meetings since the last time we saw you, and we’re going to do what you say.”) The students planned promotional events, setting up SHIFT tables outside the dining hall and the gym. They brought the researchers, who answered questions for students, and made sure they always had snacks. “Snacks, we learned, were a really big thing,” Hirsch said.

Meanwhile, Hirsch and the Columbia sociologist Shamus Khan prepared a team of ethnographers—current and recent grad students, who were close to their subjects in age—to talk with undergraduates about intimate subjects. These interviews would be the first big component of SHIFT ’s information-gathering. The ethnographers began, that fall, with “participant observation”—i.e., hanging around football games and drinking club soda at student bars. Shortly afterward, a story appeared in the student newspaper the Daily Spectator , in which an unnamed sophomore said that Khan had been spotted taking notes at 1020, a popular bar near campus. (The plans for the ethnographic research had been announced in the Daily Spectator months before.) The story was picked up by the Post , which reported that “Columbia University researchers are spying on the school’s students at bars and campus parties as part of a new study about sexual health and violence—and the students say it’s creeping them out.”

In fact, by all accounts, the process went pretty smoothly. Some students, after talking to the researchers for a while, invited them to parties, or to kick it in dorm rooms. Many university employees are required to report sexual assault to the Title IX coördinator, but the researchers received a waiver so that they could promise students confidentiality while engaged in SHIFT research. Alexander Wamboldt, an affable, bearded Princeton Ph.D. who worked as a SHIFT ethnographer, told me that it was important, in these encounters, to “model good, consensual research behavior”—he announced his name and his purpose, along with a disclaimer about confidentiality, before entering a conversation. He and the other researchers conducted one-on-one interviews with a hundred and fifty-one students about their sex lives and their experiences at Columbia. (Students were paid for the time they spent in these interviews.) Hirsch and Khan sorted through the data and adjusted their approach when they weren’t getting all the information they needed. Wamboldt was hired to focus on so-called high-status men, such as those involved in athletics and fraternities, a group of students who hadn’t, up to that point, spoken much with the ethnographers, perhaps wary of the possibility that they’d be portrayed badly in whatever the researchers wrote up.

The interviews were bracing. Talking about sex brings a lot to the surface—students discussed loss, family, trauma, hardship, fear. Some of the men Wamboldt spoke to cracked offhand jokes about having been raped. The members of the ethnography team soon decided that they needed to do a mental-health check-in at their weekly meetings: they would go around the room, and everyone would relate how he or she was coping with the work.

In one advisory-board meeting, Mellins and Hirsch shared preliminary observations, and Mellins brought up affirmative consent—the practice of actively, mutually soliciting enthusiasm throughout a sexual encounter, which is now the legal standard for universities in New York and California. Most college students learn about it in orientation seminars or from online modules that they are required to complete. Mellins told the administrators that affirmative consent rarely factored into the experiences that students were describing.

“One of our institutional advisers pretty much fell off her chair,” Mellins told me. “She said, ‘How can it not be a thing? We’re working so hard to teach them.’ And our point was: there’s a really broad disjuncture between what students learn and what they actually practice.” The researchers found that the practice is much simpler to understand than its detractors, who tend to picture a stack of paperwork accompanying every make-out session, seem to think—and also less common than its proponents would like to believe. ( SHIFT plans to publish a paper on affirmative consent later this year.)

Hirsch and Mellins launched the second phase of the study, an enormous daily-diary project, in October. Four hundred and twelve students were asked to fill out a short online questionnaire every day for sixty days. (The student board convinced the researchers that the only way to maintain subject participation through midterms was to pay: diarists got a dollar an entry.) The idea was that researchers would be able to quickly scan each twenty-four-hour period for mood, sleep, sexual activity, substance use, and unusual experiences. The pool of data could then be parsed for patterns and fine-grained interactions. Researchers might find, for example, that unwanted sexual contact is more likely to occur in the midst of other crises, or after a person has experienced unwanted sexual attention in another setting.

In January, 2016, the SHIFT team recruited students for Part 3: a sweeping, onetime survey. The student board roped in peers with the promise of gift cards, and by talking to them about how important the project was, how it could show that Columbia took sexual assault more seriously than other universities, and how, if they participated, they’d get snacks. (Students who took the survey in SHIFT ’s temporary office got fruit, candy, pizza, and chips.)

The survey contains hundreds of questions, many of them startlingly intimate. It seems likely that no previous survey has so accurately reflected how sexual assault actually occurs in college—as an event embedded within the fabric of everyday life, which both perpetrator and victim understand based on their background, their habits, their state of mind. The survey asks students about sleep, exercise, eating habits, mental health, where they get alcohol, what sort of dorm room they live in, where they party and how. It asks about money, family, friends, their sexual experiences before college, their sense of agency and of self-worth. It asks about gender identity and attraction, about the moments just before an incident—who was around, what was happening—and what followed, immediately and in the long term. It asks about consent: if students expect their partners to ask, if they think it’s a matter of body language, if they think that asking once at the beginning of a hookup is fine. It asks about attitudes regarding sex and gender, sussing out common cultural biases: To what degree do they think that women lie to get ahead? Do they think that men should reveal vulnerability? Do they believe that it can’t be rape if both people are drunk? Are they not at all sure, a little sure, somewhat sure, pretty sure, or very sure that they could say no to having sex with someone if they want to date that person? What if they want the person to fall in love with them, or if the person won’t use a condom? What if they’ve had sex with the person before?

Twenty-five hundred Columbia and Barnard undergraduates were invited to participate in SHIFT ’s survey, and sixty-seven per cent of them did so. I took the survey myself one day at the end of December—answering in the present, as a twenty-nine-year-old, and thinking about how I would have answered at eighteen. In the course of a half hour, I felt nauseated, and then oddly comforted, by how well the questions were outlining my life. A detailed constellation emerged of all the things that had protected me in college: a chemically stable disposition, satisfying relationships, a sense of control over my experience at school, a lack of confusion about what I wanted sex to be. My vulnerabilities—a certain recklessness, a freshman-year social life that depended on spaces and substances provided by men—were just as clear. I could see the desires and the habits, sexual and otherwise, that traced the path between then and now. I started to wonder if the research that SHIFT is producing might start closing the gap between two seemingly contradictory realities. Sexual assault on campus is frequently portrayed as lurid and dark and complex. But the experiences that live in our heads are often obvious and ordinary, sometimes heartbreakingly so. SHIFT is, in a sense, a reporting project of unprecedented scale, a map that genuinely reflects the size of the territory. It could be one of the first endeavors to show the magnitude and the texture of the problem at the same time.

S HIFT ’s research concluded in the fall of 2017. Since then, the team has been analyzing the data and preparing to publish a slew of papers about the results in peer-reviewed journals. (In December, Hirsch and Khan sold a book about SHIFT , tentatively titled “The Sexual Project,” to Norton, to be published in 2019.) The first paper, which appeared in the open-access online journal PLOS ONE in November, laid out what the team learned about the frequency of sexual assault at Columbia. Sexual-assault research is notoriously contested and spotty—many regularly cited statistics come from studies with big design flaws, such as small sample sizes, or loose definitions of “college student.” The record-setting response rate for the SHIFT survey makes its data unusually comprehensive and reliable. In certain important respects, its numbers are in keeping with previous findings: a little more than one in five respondents said they had experienced sexual assault since starting college—twenty-eight per cent of women, twelve per cent of men, and nearly forty per cent of gender-nonconforming students. (The survey did not use the term “sexual assault”; it asked about “unwanted sexual contact.”) But there were also surprises. It’s long been established that women and L.G.B.T.Q. students are especially vulnerable to assault; SHIFT found that students who are struggling to pay for basic necessities are, too. Men in fraternities are, in fact, more likely than other male students to be perpetrators; SHIFT found that they were more likely than other men to be victims as well. A culture that doesn’t teach men to ask for consent often doesn’t teach them that they can withhold it, either.

Hirsch and Mellins avoid the term “rape culture” when discussing their work. I’ve never liked that phrase, not because it doesn’t name something real but because it emphasizes the way that the world is already prepared to hurt me, rather than emphasizing my personal, and not entirely predictable, relationship to the world. (As Jennifer Doyle, an English professor at the University of California, Riverside, puts it in her book “Campus Sex, Campus Security,” the term distances sexual violence from “the force of the ordinary.”) Hirsch and Mellins often talk about “sexual citizenship,” which they define as a “person’s understanding of his or her right, and other people’s equivalent right, to sexual self-determination.” In the conference room at the Mailman building, Hirsch told me, “Part of what I see our work doing is disrupting these scripts that women give consent and men secure it—that men are sexual agents and women are gatekeepers, which is affirmed by consent education that frames men exclusively as potential perpetrators.”

“Of course, you don’t want to minimize the fact that women are still holding the burden on this, in terms of absolute numbers,” Mellins said. She hesitated. “But you want to work in a way where there isn’t a single story.” A trans student who is assaulted at a party is experiencing something different from a freshman girl whose hookup is ignoring her protests in a dorm room. Both of them are experiencing something different from a boy who has never imagined that he would ever give or receive a no. Mellins pointed to an article about a Brown University student who’d been assaulted in a bathroom by another man, and then, later that day, attended a standard prevention workshop, where he felt entirely alone. “If you don’t give someone permission to be at risk, then they can’t seek help,” Mellins said.

The researchers discussed their findings with the student board—they’re all still in a group chat together—and also with administrators. Certain fixes, they’ve realized, are impossible to implement. All college students would benefit from drinking alcohol in a gentler manner: often with food, rarely in basements. But colleges can’t encourage that among underage students without breaking federal law. When I was talking with Hirsch and Mellins, I thought about my own experience with the Greek system. The National Panhellenic Conference, which adheres to rather antiquated gender norms, forbids sororities from holding parties where alcohol is served, which means that, at many schools, the most accessible parties for freshmen take place on fraternity terms, and on fraternity turf.

Every school’s environment is different—where students drink, how they get home from parties, the geographies and the conditions of their vulnerability—and the nudges and interventions have to vary accordingly. But Hirsch and Mellins hope that their research can serve as the beginning of a network of innovative cross-campus studies. In the meantime, they’re talking to administrators about the interrelationship of mental health, substance abuse, and sexual assault, and about how different types of incidents and different types of students require different types of prevention and response. Many of these conversations have echoed long-standing conclusions in public-health research, and also what some students are already asking for: more crisis support, more consideration for specific populations, more access to spaces on campus that feel like their own. “I’m grateful the SHIFT team chose to do this,” Roskin-Frazee told me. “I hope they are persuasive to administrators who are not easily persuaded.”

One night in January, I called Emma Sulkowicz to talk about Hirsch and Mellins’s project. Sulkowicz was disarming and philosophical, despite having spent five hours in the dentist’s chair earlier that day. Sulkowicz had not heard about SHIFT before, and was politely resistant to the idea: “My view in this whole thing is that, the more that Columbia can retreat behind ‘Here’s a program, here’s a study, here’s a process,’ the less that any human that finds themselves in this machine will ever be incentivized to act based on their moral compass.”

What if, I asked, the idea behind the study was tinkering with the machine, figuring out how to reorient that moral compass?

“That makes me think of asking someone to wash the dishes, and they tell you, ‘I’ll try,’ ” Sulkowicz said. “I think that’s the difference between spending two million dollars to try to understand the conditions that create a community that’s conducive to sexual assault versus just doing the right thing—expelling people who sexually assault other students.”

Sulkowicz wants to change behavior, too, but thinks that punishment is more efficacious than tweaks to campus life. When Columbia settled the lawsuit filed by the man Sulkowicz accused of rape, it put out a statement, noting that his “remaining time at Columbia became very difficult for him and not what Columbia would want any of its students to experience.” But Sulkowicz believes that what he went through had a salutary effect. “He’s been scared shitless,” they said. (The man’s lawyer called this statement “preposterous,” and said that he had done nothing wrong.)

Sulkowicz also said something that I kept hearing from Columbia students: “It’s about finding a way to make your institution, and the people who run it, more human.” Earlier that week, I’d spoken to a former SHIFT student-board member named Morgan Hughes, a laid-back twenty-three-year-old hip-hop musician. She called me from a coffee shop in Cleveland, where she’d moved after graduation. She had been a disengaged student, by her own account, mainly focussed on her music. Her friends at school, most of whom were people of color, had found it difficult to secure space and permission from Columbia to hold their own events, she told me. “Everything is so regulated, so limited, everything’s super uptight,” she said. “Columbia always says they’re listening, taking students into account, and then they turn around and make a decision that doesn’t acknowledge any of that conversation. But SHIFT did listen. They changed their agenda based on what we talked about. It didn’t feel like we were just wasting our breath.”

Would SHIFT make things different at Columbia? “Every four years, there’s a new student body, and I think Columbia is used to just waiting it out,” she said. “But this time there are professors involved. Shamus Khan is going to be there, Jennifer Hirsch is going to be there. It’s up to Columbia if they want to shoot themselves in the foot and ignore it, but people are actually paying attention to this.” She paused, and coffee-shop noises tinkled in the background. “I mean, Columbia, you should want to solve the problem, so you don’t keep having to solve the problem , you know what I mean?”

The question now is whether Columbia values SHIFT as a flagship research project or as a practical guide to institutional change. I asked Goldberg, over the phone, whether she thought Columbia would change after SHIFT . She had spoken carefully throughout our conversation, seeming to calibrate every word against the various, sometimes competing interests that she’s expected to balance. “I think,” she said, “that SHIFT ’s research is profoundly important to the work we are doing here.” It will be difficult, under Title IX, for people who live or work on campus to entirely separate sex from bureaucracy. When I asked Mellins what she hopes to ultimately accomplish with SHIFT , she said, “I’m a clinician. I’ve come to feel that, if the work we do makes the lives of even a small amount of students better, that’s what we want. We want to eradicate sexual assault, but, short of that, I think we just want to make a difference.”

The SHIFT approach, for all its rigor and scope, is in some ways remarkably modest: the idea is that small structural adjustments to student life could change how students interact with one another—help them find their moral compass more easily, feel more at home on campus, have some obstacles cleared out of their path. These humble expectations can seem deflating. But SHIFT makes a powerful argument that sexual-violence prevention must embrace the ordinary and the particular. Its programming suggestions may matter less than its potential to transform how people think about the problem. At one point in my conversation with Hirsch, she brought up an optimistic analogy. Forty years ago, alcohol played a role in more than sixty per cent of traffic deaths. Since then, a comprehensive, multilevel campaign against drunk driving has cut that number in half. This required institutional change, in the form of new laws, and social change, as school and community programs taught people to designate a driver and to intervene when a wobbly friend grabbed his car keys. It also involved changes to the physical environment: cities established police checkpoints, and offenders were required to install Breathalyzer locks on their cars. Citizens lobbied for better street lights, more speed bumps.

A version of this thinking applies to life in college: there are checkpoints and speed bumps that could decrease the likelihood of harm. Picture the freshman who’s depressed but doesn’t realize it, or can’t get an appointment at the counselling office, or doesn’t trust the counsellors. It’s easier to just drink twenty beers each weekend. On one of those weekends, he goes to a party and meets a girl who hasn’t slept in two days and is subsisting on cereal; she didn’t want to come to this party, but her roommates gave her an iced-tea bottle full of Fireball and dragged her out. The boy and the girl start talking. Their friends cheer when they make out. At 2 A.M. , when the party begins to clear, one of them says they should get a bite, but no place on campus is open. They go to her bedroom, but there’s nowhere comfortable to sit except the bed. What happens next is a blur of mismatched fears and assumptions. The girl panics, freezes, thinks the guy will hurt her if she yells at him, starts making horrible calculations of futility: anyone who hears this story will think it’s her fault for inviting him in. The guy, having half-deliberately drunk himself beyond conscious decision-making, ignores her stiffness and whatever she’s mumbling; he thinks he’s doing exactly what college students are supposed to do. There are at least a dozen small changes beyond their control that might have led to a different outcome. There will always be people, mostly men, who experience a power differential as license to do what they want. But SHIFT proposes that it is possible to protect potential victims and potential perpetrators simultaneously, and that we are, at this moment, less eager to hurt one another than we seem to be. ♦

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Expert Commentary

Sexual assault and rape on U.S. college campuses: Research roundup

2014 review of government reports and scholarship on the issue of sexual assault and rape on campus, as well as prevention, risks and related cultural dynamics.

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License .

by Kristina Mastropasqua, The Journalist's Resource September 22, 2015

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Institutions of higher learning across the United States have been rocked by reports of rape and sexual assault . Federal, state and local officials have become involved , as schools work to revise their policies and procedures to prevent further incidents. A survey commissioned by the Association of American Universities, the results of which were released in September 2015 , found that more than 27% of female college seniors reported having experienced some form of unwanted sexual contact since entering college. Meanwhile, two high-profile lawsuits have kept the topic of college sexual assault in the national spotlight. In 2015, a former Florida State University student filed a lawsuit against the school for its handling of her sexual assault report and another against former Florida State football star  Jameis Winston, who she has accused of raping her in 2012 .

The research on many facets of these problems is incomplete, but new reports and data-rich studies can help deepen perspective. In December 2014, the federal Bureau of Justice Statistics released a report focusing on nearly 20 years of data related to rape and sexual assault among women ages 18 to 24. In 2014, President Obama appointed the White House Task Force to Protect Students from Sexual Assaults. During the research phase, the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN) provided the White House with an extensive list of recommendations urging “the task force to remain focused on the true cause of the problem,” pointing out that rape is “not caused by cultural factors but by the conscious decisions of a small percentage of the community to commit a violent crime.” In fact, RAINN points out that research suggests 90% of rapes at colleges are perpetrated by 3% of college men — indicating a real issue of repeat offenders.

Part of RAINN’s recommendations includes a three-tiered approach to prevention: (1) Bystander intervention education: empowering community members to act in response to acts of sexual violence; (2) Risk-reduction messaging: empowering members of the community to take steps to increase their personal safety; and (3), General education to promote understanding of the law, particularly as it relates to the ability to consent.

Similarly, researchers with the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and the Department of Justice prepared a report, “ Preventing Sexual Violence on College Campuses: Lessons from Research and Practice ,” for use by the White House Task Force. The report cites the proven effectiveness of high-school sexual violence prevention programs, which might be effectively translated into college campaigns. One of the report’s authors, Sarah DeGue, cites a 2013 study — a systematic qualitative review of risk and protective factors for sexual violence perpetration — that finds a high correlation between sexual assault and alcohol use. Therefore, college campuses that can curb the number of nearby liquor stores and instances of binge drinking could potentially reduce the number of assaults.

Although there are thousands of colleges and universities in the United States, the CDC reports that just “over 125 college and university campuses across the U.S. have affiliations with CDC’s Rape Prevention and Education program to facilitate the implementation of sexual violence prevention strategies and activities.” While much more research is needed in order to determine meaningful methodologies in preventing rape and sexual assault on campuses, the report suggests, some significant first steps would be for universities to work to build trust between administrators and the student body and to implement routine anonymous surveys for students to safely express their experiences with sexual (mis)conduct on campus.

After conducting thousands of interviews with various stakeholders, the White House released its final report in April 2014: “ Not Alone: The First Report of the White House Task Force to Protect Students From Sexual Assault .” By increasing awareness and researching new methods for prevention, the project’s goal is to dramatically reduce the number of students — primarily female — who are sexually assaulted on campus, which stands at one in five, according to the federal Campus Sexual Assault (CSA) Study of 2006. A 2014 report from the National Crime Victimization Survey suggests a lower rate among college students, and journalists have noted that there is now a “dueling data” quality to these conflicting reports. (The 2006 CSA Study found that 6.1% of college males were victims of either attempted or completed sexual assault.)

The “Not Alone” report makes a series of key recommendations that begin with gauging the scope of the crisis through routine, anonymous, campus-wide surveys. From there, the Task Force encourages universities to engage their male students and encourage them to step in when someone is in trouble and become part of the solution. In addition the government has created a new website, NotAlone.gov , which provides more transparency on the issue by providing information and pathways for reporting problems.

The report also encourages universities to work to clarify what is — and what is not — consent. This is a major debate that both Time magazine and Philadelphia Magazine have covered recently. A 2013 study explores variables, such as violence, intoxication, and prior romantic relationships, that can impact acknowledged versus unacknowledged sexual assault among college women. Research has found that incoming first-year college students subscribe to a wide variety of “myths” about rape.

Below is a selection of further studies that explore the general issue of sexual assault and rape on campus, as well as prevention, risks and related cultural dynamics:

“Sexual Assault on the College Campus: Fraternity Affiliation, Male Peer Support, and Low Self-Control” Franklin, Courtney A.; Bouffard, Leana Allen; Pratt, Travis C. Criminal Justice and Behavior , 2012, Vol. 39, 1457, doi: 10.1177/0093854812456527.

Abstract: “Research on college sexual assault has focused on offender behavior to understand why men perpetrate sexual violence. Dominant theories have incorporated forms of male peer support paying particular attention to the impact of rape-supportive social relationships on woman abuse. In contrast, Gottfredson and Hirschi’s general theory of crime proposes that low self-control predicts crime and other related life outcomes – including the kinds of antisocial peer relationships that the male peer support model contends causes sexual violence. The exclusion of measures of self-control on sexual assault may result in a misspecified peer support model. Accordingly, the current research empirically tests Schwartz and DeKeseredy’s male peer support model and examines the role of self-control in the larger male peer support model of sexual assault. Implications for theory and research are discussed.”

“A Randomized Controlled Trial Targeting Alcohol Use and Sexual Assault Risk among College Women at High Risk for Victimization” Gilmore, Amanda K.; Lewis, Melissa A.; George, William. Behaviour Research and Therapy , August 2015. doi: 10.1016/j.brat.2015.08.007.

Abstract: “Current sexual assault risk reduction programs do not target alcohol use despite the widespread knowledge that alcohol use is a risk factor for being victimized. The current study assessed the effectiveness of a web-based combined sexual assault risk and alcohol use reduction program using a randomized control trial. A total of 207 college women between the ages of 18 and 20 who engaged in heavy episodic drinking were randomized to one of five conditions: full assessment only control condition, sexual assault risk reduction condition, alcohol use reduction condition, combined sexual assault risk and alcohol use reduction condition, and a minimal assessment only condition. Participants completed a 3-month follow-up survey on alcohol-related sexual assault outcomes, sexual assault outcomes, and alcohol use outcomes. Significant interactions revealed that women with higher incidence and severity of sexual assault at baseline experienced less incapacitated attempted or completed rapes, less incidence/severity of sexual assaults, and engaged in less heavy episodic drinking compared to the control condition at the 3-month follow-up. Web-based risk reduction programs targeting both sexual assault and alcohol use may be the most effective way to target the highest risk sample of college students for sexual assault: those with a sexual assault history and those who engage in heavy episodic drinking.”

“Correlates of Rape while Intoxicated in a National Sample of College Women” Mohler, Meichun; Dowdall, George W.; Koss, Mary P.; Wechsler, Henry. Journal of Studies on Alcohol , January 2004, Vol. 65, 37-45.

Abstract: “ Objective: Heavy alcohol use is widespread among college students, particularly in those social situations where the risk of rape rises. Few studies have provided information on rapes of college women that occur when they are intoxicated. The purpose of the present study was to present prevalence data for rape under the condition of intoxication when the victim is unable to consent and to identify college and individual-level risk factors associated with that condition. Method: The study utilizes data from 119 schools participating in three Harvard School of Public Health College Alcohol Study surveys. The analytic sample of randomly selected students includes 8,567 women in the 1997 survey, 8,425 in the 1999 survey, and 6,988 in the 2001 survey. Results : Roughly one in 20 (4.7%) women reported being raped. Nearly three quarters (72%) of the victims experienced rape while intoxicated. Women who were under 21, were white, resided in a sorority house, used illicit drugs, drank heavily in high school and attended colleges with high rates of heavy episodic drinking were at higher risk of rape while intoxicated. Conclusions : The high proportion of rapes found to occur when women were intoxicated indicates the need for alcohol prevention programs on campuses that address sexual assault, both to educate men about what constitutes rape and to advise women of risky situations. The findings that some campus environments are associated with higher levels of both drinking and rape will help target rape prevention programs at colleges.”

“ Women’s Risk Perception and Sexual Victimization: A Review of the Literature ” Gidycz, Christine A.; McNamara, John R.; Edwards, Katie M. Aggression and Violent Behavior, September-October 2012, Vol. 11, Issue 5, 441-456, doi: 10.1016/j.avb.2006.01.004.

Abstract: “This article reviews empirical and theoretical studies that examined the relationship between risk perception and sexual victimization in women. Studies examining women’s general perceptions of risk for sexual assault as well as their ability to identify and respond to threat in specific situations are reviewed. Theoretical discussions of the optimistic bias and cognitive–ecological models of risk recognition are discussed in order to account for findings in the literature. Implications for interventions with women as well as recommendations for future research are provided.”

“Bystander Education Training for Campus Sexual Assault Prevention: An Initial Meta-analysis” Katz, J.; Moore, J. Violence and Victims , 2013, Vol. 28, Issue 6, 1054-1067.

Abstract: “The present meta-analysis evaluated the effectiveness of bystander education programs for preventing sexual assault in college communities. Undergraduates trained in bystander education for sexual assault were expected to report more favorable attitudes, behavioral proclivities, and actual behaviors relative to untrained controls. Data from 12 studies of college students (N = 2,926) were used to calculate 32 effect sizes. Results suggested moderate effects of bystander education on both bystander efficacy and intentions to help others at risk. Smaller but significant effects were observed regarding self-reported bystander helping behaviors, (lower) rape-supportive attitudes, and (lower) rape proclivity, but not perpetration. These results provide initial support for the effectiveness of in-person bystander education training. Nonetheless, future longitudinal research evaluating behavioral outcomes and sexual assault incidence is needed.”

“Fear of Rape among College Women: A Social Psychological Analysis” Pryor, D.W.; Hughes, M.R. Violence Vict. , 2013, Vol. 28, Issue 3, 443-465.

Abstract: “This article examines social psychological underpinnings of fear of rape among college women. We analyze data from a survey of 1,905 female undergraduates to test the influence of 5 subjective perceptions about vulnerability and harm: unique invulnerability, gender risk, defensibility, anticipatory shame, and attribution of injury. We include 3 sources of crime exposure in our models: past sexual victimization, past noncontact violent victimization, and structural risk measured by age, parent’s income, and race. Separate measures of fear of stranger and acquaintance rape are modeled, including variables tapping current versus anticipatory fear, fear on campus versus everywhere, and fear anytime versus at night. The data show that fear of rape among college women appears more grounded in constructed perceptions of harm and danger than in past violent experiences.”

“Necessary But Not Sufficient: Sexual Assault Information on College and University Websites” Lund, Emily M.; Thomas, Katie B. Psychology of Women Quarterly , August 2015. doi: 10.1177/0361684315598286.

Abstract: “The objective of our study was to investigate the availability, location, and content of sexual assault information presented on college and university websites. A random sample of 102 accredited, non-profit, bachelors-granting U.S. colleges and universities was selected for webcoding. Websites were coded for the availability and location of sexual assault information, including what resources and information were provided and whether topics such as date rape, consent, and victim blaming were addressed. Ninety (88.2%) of the 102 colleges and universities in our sample had sexual assault information available in their domains. University policy (83.3%) and contact information for law enforcement (72.2%) and other resources (56.7–82.2%) were often included, but most websites failed to provide information on issues related to sexual assault, such as discouraging victim blaming (35.6%) and encouraging affirmative consent (30.0%). Colleges and universities should consider updating the sexual assault information on their websites with the assistance of local, expert practitioners in order to provide more comprehensive, organized, useful, and user-friendly information on sexual assault prevention and intervention.”

“The Role of University Health Centers in Intervention and Prevention of Campus Sexual Assault” Buchholz, Laura. Journal of the American Medical Association , August 2015, Vol. 314. doi: 10.1001/jama.2015.8213.

Summary: This article offers insight into the role that university health centers play in preventing campus sexual assault and providing support to assault victims through programs in areas such as counseling, medical care and survivor advocacy.

“To Whom Do College Women Confide Following Sexual Assault? A Prospective Study of Predictors of Sexual Assault Disclosure and Social Reactions” Orchowski, Lindsay M., Gidycz, Christine A. Violence Against Women, March 2012, Vol. 18, No. 3, 264-288, doi: 10.1177/1077801212442917.

Abstract: “A prospective methodology was used to explore predictors of sexual assault disclosure among college women, identify who women tell about sexual victimization, and examine the responses of informal support providers (N = 374). Women most often confided in a female peer. Increased coping via seeking emotional support, strong attachments, and high tendency to disclose stressful information predicted adolescent sexual assault disclosure and disclosure over the 7-month interim. Less acquaintance with the perpetrator predicted disclosure over the follow-up, including experiences of revictimization. Victim and perpetrator alcohol use at the time of the assault also predicted disclosure over the follow-up. Implications are presented.”

“Community Responsibility for Preventing Sexual Violence: A Pilot Study with Campus Greeks and Intercollegiate Athletes” Moynihan, Mary M., Banyard, Victoria L. Journal of Prevention & Intervention in the Community, October 2008, Vol. 36, Issue 1-2, 23-38, doi:10.1080/10852350802022274.

Summary: “Previous research has noted higher incidences of sexual violence on campus among members of campus Greeks and athletes and the need to do prevention programs with them. This article presents the results of an exploratory pilot study of a sexual violence prevention program with members of one fraternity, sorority, men’s and women’s intercollegiate athletic team. The program, experimentally evaluated and found to be effective with a general sample of undergraduates, was used to determine its efficacy specifically with Greeks and athletes. The model on which the program is based calls for prevention efforts that take a wider community approach rather than simply targeting individuals as potential perpetrators or victims. Results from repeated-measures analysis of variance indicate that the program worked overall. Future directions are discussed.”

Keywords: crime, higher education, sex crimes

About The Author

Kristina Mastropasqua

On Writing as a Survivor

• March 23, 2022

Every survivor has a story. Telling that story can help them celebrate their voice, their creativity, bring awareness to the issues, or even advocate for prevention. Although not for everyone, writing has long been celebrated for its healing capabilities . While online spaces of writing, poetry corners , books , and blogs can play a positive influence in the lives of those healing from trauma, they can also constitute spaces of abuse and harassment. When writers put their experiences, thoughts, feelings, or narratives online, they can become targets for criticism , victim blaming or trolling.

If survivors face harassment for their work or writings online, it creates a whole second wave of trauma. Online harassment can create emotional, mental, and psychological harm that is just as impactful as trauma that occurs offline. Research shows that cyberbullying causes acute mental health issues in victims which are no less severe simply because they take place online. In fact, one study shows that more than one-third of cyber victims (35%) had “clinically significant” post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) symptoms.

When we consider the impacts of trauma on a person, we want to be aware of the layering aspect of it. That is, trauma is not one single thing that one acquires and then gets rid of; people may encounter new traumatic experiences as they heal from previous ones. Perhaps they are not yet healed from those previous traumas, and new crises unfold. When someone who is already working through trauma faces harassment or bullying, it compounds negative emotions in a way that can be immensely harmful. This is very much the case when those who write about their experiences encounter online abuse as a result of telling their story.

Many survivors are aware of these risks and, as a result, limit themselves and the actions they want to take to reclaim their power. Telling their story can also be difficult for survivors when speaking through someone else or being interviewed by someone else — that is, when other writers or journalists “cover” their story or focus on their life or experiences for a piece. Survivors should always have control of their own voices and stories. It’s extremely important that journalists and members of the media understand how to be trauma-informed and understand the sacrifices survivors make when telling their story. For example, although interviewers themselves may be well informed in how to talk about sexual violence, the piece they ultimately publish may garner negative comments online which may be harmful. Telling victims to “just ignore it” does little to mitigate the impact.

Yet, research shows that journalists are no strangers to harassment themselves. Data has indicated that journalists who identify as women face disproportionate rates of harassment and further expectations to accept it as an aspect of their profession. According to a study done by The Center for Media Engagement, women in journalism often “felt strong pressure to engage online as part of their job and often felt they had no choice but to face the harassment.” The nature of the harassment did not always revolve around the content of their writing, but it focused on their gender, aspects of their appearance, or their sexuality. Those who actively chose to refrain from social media felt it hurt their career and visibility as a result.

This all showcases the ways in which patriarchy pervades the virtual world. As such, it is vital for survivors to have access to resources and support, and for the media to be trauma-informed in its coverage and collaborations with survivors. The following materials may prove useful for survivors, journalists, or other  members of the media writing about sexual assault.

For Survivors Writing

My Story, My Terms

The goal of this workbook from Women’s Justice NOW is to guide individuals through the healing power of storytelling and help those who are considering sharing their stories make an informed decision about doing so.

 Speaking Out From Within: Speaking Publicly About Sexual Assault 

This pamphlet from PCAR was written for survivors who are thinking they want to do public speaking around their experience.

Survivors Write: Writing practice for personal and community transformation

This free e-book from Jen Cross of Writing Ourselves Whole describes resources for those interested in writing in groups with others (or alone), including a sample eight-week syllabus, additional writing prompts, writing guidelines, and a bibliography.

How Writing Letters to My Body Helps Me Heal From Sexual Assault In this piece published in them ., Lexie Bean explains how writing can be a tool to rebuild, to question, and to validate survivors’ own experiences.

Writing About Surviving and Being an Expert on Sexual Assault

In this piece, Katie Guest Pryal gives guidance on writing about tough topics, like sexual assault, when you identify as a survivor.

For Writers Facing Harassment

Online trolling: You are not alone! 

The page from the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ ) is a hub for relevant publications on the topic of gendered abuse against journalists.

Journalists and Online Harassment 

The piece by Slaughter & Newman from the Dart Center covers what online harassment against journalists is, how prevalent it is, and how journalists can effectively respond.

Practical and legal tools to protect the safety of journalists

The Thomson Reuters Foundation has partnered with UNESCO , IWMF and INSI to develop a range of practical and legal tools for journalists, media managers, and newsrooms to strengthen responses to online and offline harassment and to protect free and independent media.

For the Media

Reporting on Sexual Violence This resource page of the National Sexual Violence Resource Center (NSVRC )  provides guidance and tips for journalists reporting on sexual violence.

Guide for Journalists

Know Your IX has assembled this guide for reporters and editors who are covering gender-based violence, particularly on college campuses.

If You're Writing About Assault

Amelia Roskin-Frazee covers six tips for writing about sexual assault.

Reporting Sexual Assault: A Guide for Journalists 

The purpose of the guide by the Michigan Coalition Against Domestic and Sexual Violence   is to provide insight into new trends and assist journalists in developing strategies to accurately frame the public discussion on sexual assault, as well as encourage an accurate and compassionate approach to reporting on this issue and facilitate relationship building between journalists and local sexual assault experts.

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Sexual assault incidents among college undergraduates: Prevalence and factors associated with risk

Claude a. mellins.

1 Division of Gender, Sexuality and Health, Departments of Psychiatry and Sociomedical Sciences, New York State Psychiatric Institute and Columbia University Medical Center, New York, New York, United States of America

2 Ferkauf Graduate School of Psychology, Yeshiva University, New York, New York, United States of America

3 Department of Epidemiology, Mailman School of Public Health, Columbia University, New York, New York, United States of America

Aaron L. Sarvet

4 Division of Biostatistics, Department of Psychiatry, New York State Psychiatric Institute and Columbia University Medical Center, New York, New York, United States of America

Melanie Wall

5 Department of Biostatistics, Mailman School of Public Health, Columbia University, New York, New York, United States of America

Louisa Gilbert

6 Social Intervention Group, School of Social Work, Columbia University, New York, New York, United States of America

John S. Santelli

7 Heilbrunn Department of Population and Family Health, Mailman School of Public Health, Columbia University, New York, New York, United States of America

Martie Thompson

8 Department of Youth, Family, and Community Studies, Clemson University, Clemson, South Carolina, United States of America

Patrick A. Wilson

9 Department of Sociomedical Sciences, Mailman School of Public Health, Columbia University, New York, New York, United States of America

Shamus Khan

10 Department of Sociology, Columbia University, New York, New York, United States of America

Stephanie Benson

Karimata bah, kathy a. kaufman, leigh reardon, jennifer s. hirsch, associated data.

The data underlying the study cannot be made available, beyond the aggregated data that are included in the paper, because of concerns related to participant confidentiality. Sharing the individual-level survey data would violate the terms of our agreement with research participants, and the Columbia University Medical Center IRB has confirmed that the potential for deductive identification and the risk of loss of confidentiality is too great to share the data, even if de-identified.

Sexual assault on college campuses is a public health issue. However varying research methodologies (e.g., different sexual assault definitions, measures, assessment timeframes) and low response rates hamper efforts to define the scope of the problem. To illuminate the complexity of campus sexual assault, we collected survey data from a large population-based random sample of undergraduate students from Columbia University and Barnard College in New York City, using evidence based methods to maximize response rates and sample representativeness, and behaviorally specific measures of sexual assault to accurately capture victimization rates. This paper focuses on student experiences of different types of sexual assault victimization, as well as sociodemographic, social, and risk environment correlates. Descriptive statistics, chi-square tests, and logistic regression were used to estimate prevalences and test associations. Since college entry, 22% of students reported experiencing at least one incident of sexual assault (defined as sexualized touching, attempted penetration [oral, anal, vaginal, other], or completed penetration). Women and gender nonconforming students reported the highest rates (28% and 38%, respectively), although men also reported sexual assault (12.5%). Across types of assault and gender groups, incapacitation due to alcohol and drug use and/or other factors was the perpetration method reported most frequently (> 50%); physical force (particularly for completed penetration in women) and verbal coercion were also commonly reported. Factors associated with increased risk for sexual assault included non-heterosexual identity, difficulty paying for basic necessities, fraternity/sorority membership, participation in more casual sexual encounters (“hook ups”) vs. exclusive/monogamous or no sexual relationships, binge drinking, and experiencing sexual assault before college. High rates of re-victimization during college were reported across gender groups. Our study is consistent with prevalence findings previously reported. Variation in types of assault and methods of perpetration experienced across gender groups highlight the need to develop prevention strategies tailored to specific risk groups.

Introduction

Recent estimates of sexual assault victimization among college students in the United States (US) are as high as 20–25% [ 1 – 3 ], prompting universities to enhance or develop policies and programs to prevent sexual assault. However, a 2016 review [ 4 ] highlights the variation in sexual assault prevalence estimates (1.8% to 34%) which likely can be attributed to methodological differences across studies, including varying sexual assault definitions, sampling methods, assessment timeframes, and target populations [ 4 ]. Such differences can hamper efforts to understand the scope of the problem. Moreover, while accurate estimates of prevalence are crucial for calling attention to the population-health burden of sexual assault, knowing more about risk factors is critical for determining resource allocation and developing effective programs and policies for prevention.

Reasons for the variation in prevalence estimates include different definitions of sexual assault and assessment methods. Under the rubric of sexual assault, researchers have investigated experiences ranging from sexual harassment at school or work, to unwanted touching, including fondling on the street or dance floor, to either unwanted/non-consensual attempts at oral, anal or vaginal sexual intercourse (attempted penetrative sex), or completed penetrative sex [ 3 , 5 – 7 ]. Some studies have focused on a composite variable of multiple forms of unwanted/non-consensual sexual contact [ 8 , 9 ] while others focus on a single behavior, such as completed rape [ 10 ]. Some studies focus on acts perpetrated by a single method (e.g. incapacitation due to alcohol and drug use or other factors) [ 11 ], while others include a range of methods (e.g., physical force, verbal coercion, and incapacitation) [ 12 – 15 ]. In general, studies that ask about a wide range of acts and use behaviorally specific questions about types of sexual assault and methods of perpetration have yielded more accurate estimates [ 16 ]. Behavioral specificity avoids the pitfall of participants using their own sexual assault definitions and does not require the respondent to identify as a victim or survivor, which may lead to underreporting [ 10 , 17 – 19 ].

Although an increasing number of studies have used behaviorally specific methods and examined prevalence and predictors of sexual assault [ 20 , 21 ], they typically have used convenience samples. Only a few published studies have used population-based surveys and achieved response rates sufficient to mitigate some of the concerns of sample response bias [ 4 ]. US federal agencies have urged universities to implement standardized “campus climate surveys” to assess the prevalence and reporting of sexual violence [ 22 ]. Although these surveys have emphasized behavioral specificity, many have yielded low response rates (e.g., 25%) [ 23 ], particularly among men [ 24 ], creating potential for response bias in the obtained data. Population-based probability samples with behavioral specificity, good response rates, sufficiently large samples to examine risk for specific subgroups (e.g., sexual minority students), and detailed information on personal, social, or contextual risk factors (e.g., alcohol use) [ 22 , 23 ] are needed to more accurately define prevalence and inform evidence-based sexual assault prevention programs.

Existing evidence suggests that most sexual assault incidents are perpetrated against women [ 25 ]; however, few studies have examined college men as survivors of assault [ 26 – 28 ]. Furthermore, our understanding of how sexual orientation and gender identity relate to risk for sexual assault is limited, despite indications that lesbian, gay, bisexual (LGB), and gender non-conforming (GNC) students are at high risk [ 29 – 31 ]. It is unclear if these groups are at higher risk for all types of sexual assault or if prevention programming should be tailored to address particular types of assault within these groups. Also, although women appear to be at highest risk for assault during freshman year [ 32 , 33 ], the dearth of studies with men or GNC students have limited conclusions about whether freshman year is also a risky period for them.

Additional factors associated with experiencing sexual assault in college students include being a racial/ethnic minority student (although there are mixed findings on race/ethnicity) [ 34 , 35 ], low financial status, and prior history of sexual assault [ 3 , 33 , 36 ]. Other risk factors include variables related to student social life, including being a freshman [ 24 ], participating in fraternities and sororities [ 19 , 37 , 38 ], binge drinking [ 1 , 39 ] and participating in “hook-up” culture [ 40 – 42 ]. Whether sexual assault is happening in the context of more casual, typically non-committal sexual relationships (“hook-ups”) [ 40 ] vs. steady intimate or monogamous relationships has important implications for prevention efforts.

To fill some of these knowledge gaps, we examined survey data collected from a large population-based random sample of undergraduate women, men, and GNC students at Columbia University (CU) and Barnard College (BC). The aims of this paper are to:

• Estimate the prevalence of types of sexual assault incidents involving a) sexualized touching, b) attempted penetrative (oral, anal or vaginal) sex, and c) completed penetrative sex since starting at CU/BC;
• Describe the methods of perpetration (e.g., incapacitation, physical force, verbal coercion) used; and
• Examine associations between key sociodemographic, social and romantic/sexual relationship factors and different types of sexual assault victimization, and how these associations differ by gender.

Materials and methods

This study used data from a population-representative survey that formed one component of the Sexual Health Initiative to Foster Transformation (SHIFT) study. SHIFT used mixed methods to examine risk and protective factors affecting sexual health and sexual violence among college undergraduates from two inter-related institutions, CU’s undergraduate schools (co-educational) and BC (women only), both located in New York City. SHIFT featured ethnographic research, the survey, and a daily diary study. Additionally, SHIFT focused on internal policy-translation work to inform institutionally-appropriate, multi-level approaches to prevention.

Participants

Survey participants were selected via stratified random sampling from the March 2016 population of 9,616 CU/BC undergraduate students ages 18–29 years. We utilized evidence-based methods to enhance response rates and sample representativeness [ 22 , 43 ]. Using administrative records of enrolled students, 2,500 students (2,000 from CU and 500 from BC) were invited via email to participate in a web-based survey. Of these 2,500 students, 1,671 (67%) consented to participate (see Procedures). Among those who consented to participate, 80.5% were from CU and 19.5% were from BC (see Table 1 below for demographic data on the CU/BC student population, the random sample of students contacted, the survey responders, and the current analytic sample).

a Cramer’s V is a measure of effect size for the difference between the demographic distributions in the responders (n = 1671) vs the full sample (n = 2500). Cohen (1988) recommends that when Cramer’s V <0.10 this indicates small effects suggesting no practical difference between samples.

b Senior responders included (n = 9) students who self-reported their year in school as fifth or more (undergrad only).

SHIFT employed multiple procedures to assure protection of students involved in our study; these procedures also improve scientific rigor. The study was approved by the Columbia University Medical Center Institutional Review Board and we obtained a federal Certificate of Confidentiality to legally protect our data from subpoena. SHIFT also obtained a University waiver from reporting on individual sexual assaults, as reporting would obviate student privacy and willingness to participate. Students were offered information about referrals to health and mental health resources during the consent process and at the end of the survey, and such information was available from SHIFT via other communication channels. Finally, in reporting data we suppressed data from tables where there were less than 3 subjects in any cell to avoid the possibility of deductive identification of an individual student [ 44 ].

SHIFT used principles of Community Based Participatory Research regarding ongoing dialogue with University stakeholders on study development and implementation to maximize the quality of data and impact of research findings [ 45 ]. This included weekly meetings between SHIFT investigators and an Undergraduate Advisory Board, consisting of 13–18 students, reflecting the undergraduate student body’s diversity in terms of gender, race/ethnicity, sexual orientation, year in school, and activities (e.g., fraternity/sorority membership). It also included regular meetings with an Institutional Advisory Board comprised of senior administrators, including CU’s Office of General Counsel, facilities, sexual violence response, student conduct, officials involved in gender-based misconduct concerns, athletics, a chaplain, mental health and counseling, residential life, student health, and student life.

Following both the Undergraduate Advisory Board’s recommendations and Dillman’s Tailored Design Method for maximizing survey response rates [ 43 ], multiple methods were used to advertise and recruit students. These included: a) email messages, both to generate interest and remind students who had been selected to participate, crafted to resonate with diverse student motives for participation (e.g., interest in sexual assault, compensation, community spirit, and achieving higher response rates than surveys at peer institutions), b) posting flyers, c) holding “study breaks,” in which students were given snacks and drinks, and d) tabling in public areas on campus.

Participants used a unique link to access the survey either at our on-campus research office where computers and snacks were provided (16% of participants) or at a location of their choosing (84% of participants) from March-May, 2016. Before beginning the survey, participants were asked to provide informed consent on an electronic form describing the study, confidentiality, compensation for time and effort, data handling procedures, and the right to refuse to answer any question. Students who completed the survey received $40 in compensation, given in cash to those who completed the survey in our on-campus research office or as an electronic gift card if completed elsewhere. Students were also entered into a lottery to win additional $200 electronic gift cards. This compensation was established based on feedback from student and institutional advisors and reviewed by our Institutional Review Board. It was judged to be sufficient to promote participation, and help ensure that we captured a representative sample, including students who might otherwise have to choose between paid opportunities and participating in our survey, but not great enough to feel coercive for low resource students. This amount of compensation is in line with other similar studies [ 46 ]. On average, the survey took 35–40 minutes to complete.

The SHIFT survey included behaviorally-specific measures of different types of sexual assault, perpetrated by different methods, as well as measures of key sociodemographic, social and sexual relationship factors, and risk environment characteristics. The majority of instruments had been validated previously with college- age students. The survey was administered in English using Qualtrics ( www.qualtrics.com ), providing a secure platform for online data collection.

Sexual assault

Sexual assault was assessed with a slightly modified version of the revised Sexual Experiences Survey [ 16 ], the most widely used measure of sexual assault victimization with very good psychometric properties including internal consistency and validity previously published [ 17 , 47 ]. The Sexual Experiences Survey employs behaviorally specific questions to improve accuracy [ 18 ]. The scale includes questions on type of assault, including sexualized touching without penetration (touching, kissing, fondling, grabbing in a sexual way), attempted but not completed penetrative assault (oral, vaginal, anal or other type of penetration; herein referred to as attempted penetrative assault) and completed penetrative assault (herein referred to as penetrative assault). We used most of the Sexual Experiences Survey as is. However, with strong urging from our Undergraduate Advisory Board, we made a modification, combining the questions about different types of penetration (oral, vaginal, etc.) rather than asking about each kind separately. In the Sexual Experiences Survey, for each type of assault there are six methods of perpetration. Two of the types reflect verbal coercion: 1) “Telling lies, threatening to end the relationship, threatening to spread rumors about me, making promises I knew were untrue, or continually verbally pressuring me after I said I didn’t want to” (herein referred to as “lying/threats”), and 2) “Showing displeasure, criticizing my sexuality or attractiveness, getting angry but not using physical force, after I said I didn’t want to” (herein referred to as “criticism”). The remaining types included use of physical force, threats of physical harm, or incapacitation (“Taking advantage when I couldn’t say no because I was either too drunk, passed out, asleep or otherwise incapacitated”), and other. For each incident of sexual assault, participants could endorse multiple methods of perpetration. Participants were also asked to report whether these experiences occurred: a) during the current academic year (this was a second modification to the Sexual Experiences Survey) and/or b) since enrollment but prior to the current academic year. For this paper, data for the two time periods were combined, reflecting the entire period since starting CU/BC. See Fig 1 for a replica of the questionnaire.

Demographics

Demographics included gender identity (male, female, trans-male/trans-female, gender queer/gender-non-conforming, other) [ 48 ], year in school (e.g., freshman, sophomore, junior, senior), age, US born (yes/no), lived in US less than five years (yes/no; proxy for recent international student status), transfer student (yes/no), low socioeconomic status (receipt of Pell grant-yes/no [need-based grants for low-income students, with eligibility dependent on family income]); how often participant has trouble paying for basic necessities (never, rarely, sometimes, often, all of the time), and race/ethnicity (non-Hispanic white, non-Hispanic-Asian, non-Hispanic black, Hispanic/Latin-x, other [other included: American Indian or Alaska Native, Native Hawaiian or Pacific Islander, More than one Race/Ethnicity, Other]). Gender was categorized as follows: female, male and GNC (students who responded to gender identity question as anything other than male or female).

Fraternity/Sorority

Fraternity/sorority membership (ever participated) was assessed with one question from a school activities checklist (yes/no). We report on Greek life participation here to engage with the substantial attention this has received as a risk factor.

Problematic drinking

Problematic drinking during the last year was assessed with the Alcohol Use Disorders Identification Test (AUDIT) [ 49 ], a widely used, well-validated standardized 10-item screening tool developed by the World Health Organization. Psychometrics have been established in numerous studies [ 50 – 52 ]. The AUDIT assesses alcohol consumption, drinking behaviors, and alcohol-related problems. Participants rate each question on a 5-point scale from 0 (never) to 4 (daily or almost daily) for possible scores ranging from 0 to 40. The range of AUDIT scores represents varying levels of risk: 0–7 (low), 8–15 (risky or hazardous), 16–19 (high-risk or harmful), and 20 or greater (high-risk). We also examined one AUDIT item on binge drinking, defined as having 6+ drinks on one occasion at least monthly [ 49 ].

Sexual orientation

Sexual orientation was assessed with one question with the following response options (students could select all that applied): asexual, pansexual, bisexual, queer, heterosexual and homosexual, as well as other [ 53 , 54 ]. Students were categorized into four mutually exclusive groups for analyses: heterosexual, bisexual, homosexual, and other which included asexual, pansexual, queer, or another identity not listed. Non-heterosexual students who indicated more than one orientation were assigned hierarchically to bisexual, homosexual, then other.

Romantic/sexual relationships

Romantic/sexual relationships since enrollment at CU/BC were assessed with one question. Response choices included: none, steady or serious relationship, exclusive or monogamous relationship, hook-up-one time, and ongoing hook-up or friends with benefits. Students defined “hookup” for themselves. Students could check all that applied. This variable was trichotomized: at least one hook-up, only steady or exclusive/monogamous relationships, and no romantic/sexual relationships.

Pre-college sexual assault

Students also were asked one yes/no question on whether they had experienced any unwanted sexual contact prior to enrolling at CU/BC.

Data analysis

To assess the representativeness of the sample, the distribution of demographic variables based on administrative records from CU and BC for the total University undergraduate population were compared to the random sample of students contacted, the survey responders, and the current analytic sample, which consists of students that responded to the questions about sexual assault. Demographics for survey responders are based on self-report from the survey. Cramer’s V effect size was used to assess the magnitude of the differences in demographic distributions between the CU/BC population and respondent sample where smaller values (i.e. Cramer’s V <0.10) indicate strong similarity [ 55 ].

Analyses were performed on each type of sexual assault as well as a combined “Any type of sexual assault” variable: yes/no experienced sexualized touching, attempted penetrative assault, and/or penetrative assault since CU/BC. Prevalence of each type of sexual assault was calculated by gender and year in school, with chi-square tests of difference used to compare prevalence between genders across each year in school versus freshman year. The total number of incidents of assault and the mean, median and standard deviation for number of incidents of assault per person reporting at least one assault were summarized. Among individuals who experienced any type of sexual assault, the proportions that experienced a particular method of perpetration (e.g. incapacitation, physical force) were calculated by type of sexual assault. Chi-square tests compared proportions between males and females for each perpetration method. The associations of each key correlate with the odds of experiencing any sexual assault were calculated and tested using logistic regression stratified by male/female gender. In addition, a multinomial regression with hierarchical categories (no assault, sexualized touching only, attempted penetrative assault [not completed], and penetrative assault [completed]) as the outcome was performed to examine if associations differed by type of sexual assault. To adjust for the fact that the sample comes from a finite population (i.e. CU/BC N = 5,765 women; N = 3,851 men), a standard finite population correction was implemented for standard error estimation using SAS Proc Surveylogistic. Given the low sample size of GNC students, they were excluded from some analyses. All analyses were conducted using SAS (v. 9.4).

Descriptive statistics

Table 1 presents demographic data on the full University, the randomly selected sample, the respondents and the analytic sample for this paper. Among students who consented to the survey (n = 1,671), 46 stopped the survey before the sexual assault questions and 33 refused to answer them resulting in an analytic sample of n = 1,592 (95% completion among responders). Demographic characteristics (i.e. gender [male, female], age, race/ethnicity, year in school, international status, and economic need [Pell grant status]) of the respondent sample were very similar (Cramer’s V effect size differences all <0.10 [ 55 ]) to the full CU/BC population ( Table 1 ) indicating that the responder and final analytic samples were representative of the student body population.

The analytic sample included 58% women, 40% men, and 2% GNC students (4 students refused to identify their gender) and was distributed evenly by year in school with most (92%) between18-23 years of age. Self-reported race/ethnicity was 43% white non-Hispanic, 23% Asian, 15% Hispanic/Latino, and 8% black non-Hispanic; 13% were transfer students, and the majority of the sample was born in the US (76%). Twenty-three percent of participants received Pell grants and 51% of students acknowledged at least sometimes having difficulty paying for basic necessities.

The majority of women (79%) and men (85%) identified as heterosexual. In terms of romantic/sexual relationships since starting CU/BC, 30.0% of women and 21.6% of men reported no relationships, 21.0% of women and 22.6% of men reported only steady/exclusive relationships with no hookups, and 49.0% of women and 55.7% of men reported at least one hook-up. Finally, 25.5% of women, 9.4% of men, and 47.0% of GNC students reported pre-college sexual assault.

Aim 1: Prevalence of sexual assault victimization at CU/BC

Overall rates by gender and school year.

Since starting CU/BC, 22.0% (350/1,592) of students reported experiencing at least one incident of any sexual assault across the three types (sexualized touching, attempted penetrative assault, and penetrative assault). Table 2 presents data on types of assault by gender and year in school. Women were over twice as likely as men to report any sexual assault (28.1% vs 12.5%). There was evidence of cumulative risk for experiencing sexual assault among women over four years of college, so that by junior and senior year, respectively, 29.7% and 36.4% of women reported experiencing any sexual assault, compared to 21.0% of freshman women who had only one year of possible exposure (p < .05). However, one-fifth (21.0%) of women who took the survey as freshman had experienced unwanted sexual contact, compared to 36.4% over 3+ years (seniors), suggesting that as others have found, the risk of assault is highest in freshman year.

Note: Some respondents reported multiple unique incidents corresponding to multiple types of unwanted sexual contact; therefore, total number of respondents who experienced each of the three types of unwanted sexual contact do not sum to total number of respondents who experienced "Any type" of unwanted sexual contact.

* p < .05 for test of proportion difference vs. Freshman within each gender.

Cells with 3 or fewer respondents have been suppressed, noted here with a dash through the cell.

Among men, one in eight indicated that they had been sexually assaulted since starting CU. Similar to women, the risk for sexual assault among men accumulated over the four years of college, with 15.6% of seniors vs 9.9% of freshman reporting a sexual assault since entering CU, although this difference was not statistically significant.

Although the numbers were small, GNC students reported the highest prevalence of sexual assault since starting CU/BC (38.5%; 10/26). Numbers were too small (n<3) to present stratified by year in school (see Table 2 ).

Types of sexual assault by gender ( Table 2 )

The most prevalent form of sexual assault was sexualized touching; rates for women (23.6%) and GNC students (38.5%) were significantly higher than rates for men (11.0%; p < .05). Prevalence of attempted penetrative assault and penetrative assault were about half that of sexualized touching. Compared to men, women were three times as likely to report attempted penetrative assault (11.1% vs 3.8%) and over twice as likely to experience penetrative assault (13.6% vs 5.2%). Among GNC students, the majority reporting sexualized touching, with rates of the other two types too small to report.

Experiencing multiple sexual assaults ( Fig 2 ; S1 Table )

Students could report multiple types of sexual assault incidents (i.e. sexualized touching, attempted penetrative, and penetrative assault) as well as multiple incidents experienced of each type. Overall, students reported a total of 1,007 incidents of sexual assault experienced since starting CU/BC. For the 350 students who indicated any sexual assault, the median number of incidents experienced was 3.

Among the 350 students reporting any sexual assault, Fig 2 presents different combinations of sexual assault experienced by students since CU/BC. Most prevalent, 38.0% reported experiencing only sexualized touching; 19.0% reported both sexualized touching and penetrative assault incidents; 17.0% experienced all three types of assault; and 12.0% sexualized touching and attempted penetrative assault.

Aim 2: Methods of perpetration (lying/threats, criticism, incapacitation, physical force, threats of harm, and other) by gender ( Table 3 )

* p < .05 for test of proportion difference between male vs female for specific method of coercion by type.

a % can add up to more than 100% within type due to multiple coercion methods reported.

Across types of assault, incapacitation was the method of perpetration reported most frequently (> 50%) in both men and women. For both women and men, approximately two-thirds of all penetrative assaults and about half of sexualized touching and attempted penetrative assaults involved incapacitation.

Physical force was reported significantly more frequently by women than men (34.6% vs 12.7%) for any sexual assault. More specifically, compared to men, women were three times more likely to experience sexualized touching via physical force (32.1% vs. 10.0%), and six times more likely to experience penetrative assaults via physical force (33.3% vs 6.1%).

Lastly, a sizeable number of respondents reported verbal coercion (ranging from 21.0% to over 40.0% depending on type of assault). Criticism was cited by women at rates similar to physical force for both sexualized touching and penetrative assaults. Among men, both verbal coercion methods were cited most frequently after incapacitation for all three types of assault.

For GNC students, we examined rates of each perpetration method for only the composite variable any sexual assault (due to small numbers in any specific type of assault). Among those who experienced an assault, incapacitation was the most frequently mentioned method (50.0%), followed by criticism (40.0%).

Aim 3: Identify factors associated with sexual assault experiences

We examined the association between sexual assault (both any sexual assault [ Table 4 ] and each type of sexual assault [ Table 5 ]) and key demographic, sexual history and social activity factors. Results are stratified by gender (women/men).

a As measured by a score of 8 or more on the Alcohol Use Disorders Identification Test (AUDIT).

NE = Not estimable due to small cell sizes.

Race/Ethnicity

For both women and men, the prevalence of any sexual assault was similar for all race/ethnicity groups compared to non-Hispanic White students with one exception. Asian students (women and men) were less likely to experience any sexual assault than non-Hispanic White students. For women only, differences emerged by type of assault. Asian women compared to non-Hispanic White women were less likely to experience penetrative assault (OR = 0.35, CI: 0.19–0.62), but not attempted penetrative assault (OR = 0.56, CI: 0.25–1.26), nor sexualized touching only (OR = 1.00, CI: 0.59–1.69). Black women were found to have increased odds of touching only incidents compared to non-Hispanic White women (OR = 1.99, CI: 1.05–3.74). There were no other significant racial or ethnic differences.

Economic precarity

Women who often or always had difficulty paying for basic necessities had increased odds of any sexual assault; for men the trend was similar but it did not reach statistical significance. Considering penetrative assault specifically, both men and women who often or always had difficulty paying for basic necessities had increased risk (women OR = 2.24, CI: 1.23–4.09; men OR = 3.07, CI: 1.04–9.07) compared to those who never had difficulty.

Transfer student

Women transfer students were less likely to experience any sexual assault than non-transfer students. Closer inspection of type of assault revealed that this protective effect was seen for sexualized touching only (OR = 0.34, CI: 0.15–0.80), but not for penetrative (OR = 0.60, CI: 0.34–1.08), nor attempted penetrative (OR = 1.03, CI: 0.48–2.21) assault. There were no significant differences between men who were transfer students and those who were not.

For women, those who identified as bisexual and those who identified as some other sexual identity besides heterosexual, homosexual, or bisexual (includes people endorsing exclusively one or a combination of: Asexual, Pansexual, Queer, or a sexual orientation not listed), were more likely to experience any sexual assault than heterosexual students. For penetrative assault specifically, this increased risk was only present for individuals with some other sexual identity (OR = 2.11, CI: 1.20–3.73). For men, those who identified as homosexual were more likely to experience any sexual assault than heterosexual male students. For penetrative assault specifically, those who identified as homosexual, bisexual, or some other sexual identity all had substantially increased risk compared to those with a heterosexual identity (OR = 4.74, CI: 2.10–10.71; OR = 3.39, CI: 1.03–11.16; OR = 4.74, CI:1.10–20.48, respectively).

Information about the gender of the perpetrator for different gender and sexual orientation groups was available for a subset of incidents (336/997). Among these events, 98.4% (3/184) of the heterosexual women indicated the perpetrator was a man, while 97.1% (33/34) of the bisexual women, 75% (3/4) of the homosexual women, and 88.9% (24/27) of the other sexual identity women indicated it was a man. For men who were assaulted, 84.9% (45/53) of the heterosexual men reported the perpetrator was a woman, while 0 of the homosexual men said the perpetrator was a woman. Numbers for bisexual men and other sexual identity men were too small to report separately, but combined showed that 5/8 (63.0%) of bisexual and other sexual identity men said the perpetrator was a woman. Of the GNC students reporting on a most-significant event, 77.8% (7/9) reported that they were assaulted by a male perpetrator (the numbers are too small to further examine by sexual orientation).

Lived in US less than 5 years

There was no association found between living in the US for less than 5 years and any sexual assault, nor any specific type of sexual assault.

Relationship status

Among both women and men, students who had at least one hook-up were more likely to have experienced any sexual assault than students who were in only steady/exclusive relationships since starting college. Among women who had engaged in at least one hook-up, this increased risk held for each type of sexual assault (penetrative: OR = 5.03, CI = 2.91–8.68, attempted penetrative: OR = 4.43, CI = 1.83–10.8, sexualized touching only: OR = 3.26, CI = 1.74–6.09), while among men the increased risk was found for sexualized touching only (OR = 13.33, CI = 2.09–85.08), but could not be estimated (due to small numbers) for completed penetrative assault. Women who did not have any romantic or sexual relationship since CU/BC were found to be less likely to experience penetrative assault than women who had a steady/exclusive relationships only (OR = 0.05, CI: 0.01–0.31).

Fraternity/Sorority membership

Although a relative minority of students participated in fraternities (24.1%) or sororities (18.2%), for both men and women, those who participated were more likely to experience any sexual assault than those who did not. Examination of type of assault revealed that the effect is driven primarily by sexualized touching only which is significant in both women (OR = 1.63, CI: 1.00–2.67) and men (OR = 2.40, CI: 1.25–4.63) and not significantly increased for penetrative nor attempted penetrative assault.

Risky or hazardous drinking

For both men and women, individuals who met criteria on the AUDIT for risky or hazardous drinking were more likely to experience any sexual assault than those who did not. When examining each type of assault separately, for men this increased risk was only significant for penetrative assault (OR = 4.07, CI: 2.01–8.21). For women, the increased risk of assault held for each type of assault—penetrative (OR = 6.04, CI: 4.10–8.90), attempted (OR = 3.38, CI: 1.84–6.19) and touching (OR = 2.33, CI: 1.42–3.81). We also looked at one AUDIT item specifically on binge drinking (6 or more drinks on a single occasion). Individuals who reported binge drinking at least monthly were more likely to experience any sexual assault than those who did not. When examining each type of assault separately, for men this increased risk was only significant for penetrative assault (OR = 2.15, CI: 1.12–4.15). For women, this increased risk was significant for penetrative assault (OR = 3.12, CI: 2.09–4.65), attempted assault (OR = 2.28, CI: 1.20–4.33), and touching (OR = 2.42, CI:1.50–3.91).

Pre-college assault ( Table 5 )

Among both women and men, those who experienced pre-college assault were more likely to experience any sexual assault while at CU/BC. The increased risk held for penetrative assault in both women (OR = 3.01, CI: 2.07–4.37) and men (OR = 2.44, CI: 1.03–5.76). In women, the increased risk also held for attempted penetrative, but not touching only, whereas in men, the increased risk held for touching only, but not attempted penetrative sex.

The SHIFT survey, with a population-representative sample, good response rate and behaviorally-specific questions, found that 22.0% of students reported a sexual assault since starting college, which confirms previous studies of 1 in 4 or 1 in 5 prevalence estimates with national samples and a range of types of schools [ 23 , 24 ]. However, a key finding is that focusing only on the “1 in 4/ 1 in 5” rate of any sexual assault obscures much of the nuance concerning types of sexual assault as well as the differential group risk, as prevalence rates were unevenly distributed across gender and several other social and demographic factors.

Similar to other studies [ 4 , 24 ], women had much higher rates of experiencing any type of sexual assault compared to men (28.0% vs 12.0%). Moreover, our data suggest a cumulative risk for sexual assault experiences over four years of college with over one in three women experiencing an assault by senior year. However, our data also suggest that freshman year, particularly for women, is when the greatest percentage experience an assault. This supports other work on freshman year as a particularly critical time for prevention efforts, otherwise known as the “red zone” effect for women [ 32 ].

Importantly, our study confirms that GNC students are at heightened risk for sexual assault [ 23 ]. They had the highest proportion of sexual assaults, with 38.0% reporting at least one incident, the majority of which involved unwanted/non-consensual sexualized touching. These data should be interpreted very cautiously given the small number of GNC students. However, increasingly studies suggest that transgender and other GNC students have sexual health needs that may not be targeted by traditional programming [ 57 ]; thus, a better understanding of pathways to vulnerability among these students is of high importance.

Similarly, students who identified as a sexual orientation other than heterosexual were at increased risk for experiencing any sexual assault, with bisexual women or women who identified as “other” and men who identified as any non-heterosexual category at increased risk. Similar to GNC students, understanding the specific social and sexual health needs of LGB students, particularly as it relates to reducing sexual assault risk is critical to prevention efforts [ 58 ]. Factors such as stigma and discrimination, lack of communication, substance use, as well as a potential lack of tailored prevention programs may play a role. To our knowledge, there are no evidence-based college sexual assault prevention programs targeting LGB and GNC students. Our data suggest that the LGB and GNC experiences are not uniform; more research should be done within each of these groups to understand the mechanisms behind their potentially unique risk factors.

Our data also suggest that the 20–25% rate of any sexual assault obscures variation in assault experiences. Sexualized touching accounted for the highest percentage of acts across gender groups, with over one-third of participants reporting only sexualized touching incidents. Rates of attempted and completed penetrative sexual assault were about half the rate of sexualized touching. This finding does not minimize the importance of addressing unacceptably high rates of attempted penetrative and penetrative assault (14%-15%), but it does suggest the importance of specificity in prevention efforts. For GNC students, for example, the risk of assault was primarily for sexualized touching with very few reporting attempted penetrative assault or penetrative assault during their time at CU/BC. These elevated rates of unwanted sexual touching may be a combination of GNC students’ focus on their gendered sexual boundaries–and thus potentially greater awareness of when advances are unwanted–at a developmental moment when they are building non-traditional gender identities, as well as these students’ social vulnerability. Further investigation is warranted.

Moreover, there was variation in methods of perpetration reported by survivors of sexual assault. Incapacitation was the most common method reported across all gender groups for each type of assault, and female and male students who reported risky or hazardous drinking were at increased risk for experiencing any sexual assault, particularly penetrative assault. Across campuses in the US, hazardous drinking is a national problem with substantive negative health outcomes, risk for sexual assault being one of them [ 2 , 39 , 59 ]. Our data underline the potential of programs and policies to reduce substance use and limit its harms as one element of comprehensive sexual assault prevention; we found few evidence-based interventions that address both binge drinking and sexual assault prevention. Of course, any work addressing substance use as a driver of vulnerability must do so in a way that does not replicate victim-blaming.

However, similar to other studies with broad foci, incapacitation was not the only method of perpetration reported. For women, physical force, particularly for penetrative sex, was the second most frequently endorsed method. Verbal coercion, including criticism, lying and threats to end the relationship or spread rumors, was also employed at rates similar to physical force for women, and was the second most frequently endorsed category for men and GNC students. Prevention programs, such as the bystander interventions which are the focus of efforts on many campuses [ 60 ], often focus on incapacitation or physical force. These interventions tend to highlight situations where survivors (typically women) are vulnerable because they are under the influence of substances. In SHIFT, verbal coercion is also shown to be a powerful driver of assault; however, it typically does not receive as much attention as rape, which is legally defined as penetration due to physical force or incapacitation. If a survivor is verbally coerced into providing affirmative consent, the incident could be considered within consent guidelines of “yes means yes” but it may have been unwanted by the survivor [ 61 , 62 ]. Assertiveness interventions and those that focus on verbal consent practices may be useful for addressing this form of assault.

We also found high rates of re-victimization. As others have found, pre-college sexual assault was a key predictor for experiencing assault at CU/BC [ 33 , 36 ]. However, we also found high rates of repeat victimization since starting at CU/BC with a median of 3 incidents per person reporting any sexual assault since starting CU/BC, and the highest risk of repeat victimization in women and GNC students. These data underline the importance of prevention efforts that include care for survivors to reduce the enhanced vulnerability that has been shown in other populations of assault survivors [ 36 ]. Future studies should also seek to disaggregate the relationship between type of victimization (sexualized touching, attempted penetrative assault, penetrative assault) and repeat victimization.

This study also identified a number of variables associated with sexual assault, some similar to previous studies and others different. As noted, gender was a key correlate. While prevention efforts should respond to the population-level burden by focusing on the needs of women and GNC students, it is important to note that men were also at risk of sexual assault. In our study, nearly 1 in 8 men reported a sexual assault experience, a rate also found in the Online College Social Life survey [ 56 ], but higher than other studies [ 63 , 64 ]. Few programs target men, and issues around masculinity and gender roles may make it difficult for men to consider or report what has happened to them as sexual assault. Importantly, this study found that men who were members of fraternities were at higher risk for experiencing assault (specifically unwanted/nonconsensual sexualized touching) than those who were not members. This is consistent with previous findings, including the Online College Social Life survey [ 56 ], but is of particular note because research has identified men in fraternities as more likely to be perpetrators [ 64 ], but few, if any, studies have looked at fraternity members’ vulnerability to sexual assault. Our data suggest a need for further examination of the cultural and organizational dimensions of Greek life that produce this heightened risk of being assaulted for both men and women. However, it is important to note that we did not examine a range of other social and extracurricular groups which may have produced risk as well and thus a more full examination of student undergraduate life is needed.

One other key factor associated with assault was participation in “hook ups”. Both male and female students who reported hooking up were more likely to report experiencing sexual assault, compared to students who only had exclusive or monogamous relationships and those who had no sexual relationships. The role of hooking up on college campuses has received much attention in the popular press and in a number of books [ 65 , 66 ], but little has been written about its connection to sexual assault, although several recent studies are in line with ours about its role as a risk factor for experiencing sexual assault on college campuses [ 40 , 41 ]. Multiple mechanisms may be at work: students who participate in hookups may be having sex with more people, and thus face greater risk of assault due to greater exposure to sex with a potential perpetrator, but students who participate in hookups may also face increased vulnerability because many hookups involve “drunk” sex, or because hookups by definition involve sexual interactions between people who are not in a long-term intimate relationship, and thus whose bodies and social cues maybe unfamiliar to each other. Alternatively some aspects of hook-ups may be more or less risky than others and therefore continued study of different dimensions of these more casual relationships that can refer to a wide-range of behaviors is necessary.

Several demographic characteristics were not for the most part associated with sexual assault. We did not find racial or ethnic differences in sexual assault risk with primarily one exception, Asian male and female students were at less risk overall compared to white students. We also did not find transfer students to be at greater risk; female transfer students were actually at lower risk, potentially due to less exposure time, particularly during freshman year. International student status as indicated by having been in the US<5 years was also not associated with increased risk. However, this study highlights the role of economic factors that have received limited attention in the literature. Little is known about how economic insecurity may drive vulnerability, but issues of power, privilege, and control of alcohol and space all require further examination.

There are several limitations to this study. Participants came from only two private schools that are interconnected in one city, and thus findings may not generalize to the rest of the US. There is a continued need for more national studies with different types of colleges and universities in urban and rural environments with more varied economic backgrounds in order to fully understand institutional and contextual differences. Although we had a response rate that was higher than many prior studies and our rates of sexual assault are consistent with prior studies [ 4 ], we cannot assess the extent to which selection bias may have occurred and therefore, our rates could be an underrepresentation or overrepresentation depending on who chose to participate. Although this concern is somewhat mitigated by findings that basic demographic data between respondents and the total population of students at two colleges suggest no significant differences, there may be some bias in factors we did not consider. Our present analysis has focused only on bivariate associations between risk factors and assault. While this analysis provides a valuable description of which groups are at elevated risk or not, future work will consider how combinations of risk factors at different levels may interact to increase risk. Critically, the analysis presented here reflects a focus on those who experience being assaulted, but in other work we look at the characteristics of perpetrators, both from those who reported perpetrating and from a subset of incidents that survey respondents described in depth, which provided more information about the perpetrator. A greater understanding of the characteristics and contexts of perpetration is without question vital for effective prevention. Finally, our data are cross sectional. Longitudinal studies with a comprehensive range of predictors are critical for identifying pathways of causality and targets for interventions.

Despite these limitations, this study confirms the unacceptably high rates of sexual assault and suggests diversity in experiences and methods of perpetration. A key conclusion is that a”one size fits all” approach that characterizes the extant literature on evidence-based prevention programs [ 67 ] may need to be altered to more effectively prevent sexual assault in college. Clearly different groups had differential risk for assault and may require much more targeted prevention efforts. Bystander interventions have shown promise in addressing risk in social situations, including fraternity parties and other settings with high alcohol use [ 68 , 69 ]. However, bystander interventions may not be sufficient for incidents occurring in non-party contexts where verbal coercion methods or physical force may be used without others around.

Creating effective and sustainable changes to campus culture requires engaging with a broad range of institutional stakeholders. SHIFT investigators are in the process of sharing selected findings with both student and institutional advisory boards, and an intensive collaborative process allows us to explore the implications of our results for a broad range of policies and programs, including both elements commonly considered as sexual assault prevention (consent education, bystander trainings), more general topics related to sexual orientation and verbal discussions of sex, and aspects of the institutional context across diverse domains including alcohol policy, mental health services, residential life policies, orientation planning, and the allocation of space across campus.

Overall, our findings argue for the potential of a systems-based [ 70 ] public health approach–one that recognizes the multiple interrelated factors that produce adverse outcomes, and perhaps particularly emphasizes gender and economic disparities and resulting power dynamics, widespread use of alcohol, attitudes about sexuality, and conversations about sex–to make inroads on an issue that stubbornly persists.

Supporting information

Acknowledgments.

The authors thank our research participants; the Undergraduate Advisory Board; Columbia University’s Office of the President and Office of University Life, and the entire SHIFT team who contributed to the development and implementation of this ambitious effort.

Funding Statement

This research was funded by Columbia University through a donation from the Levine Family. The funder (Levine Family) had no role in study design, data collection and analysis, decision to publish, or preparation of the manuscript.

Data Availability

Laurell Sinai

A Blogs@Baruch site

Research-Based Argument Essay

Sexual assault and rape are serious social issues in the United States. Sexual assault can happen to anyone, regardless of age, gender, race, or sexual orientation; However, women are most commonly the victims of sexual assault. Many students in colleges don’t know the true meaning behind sexual assault, which increases the rates of college rape. Sexual assault is “any unwanted sexual act against a person or without a person’s consent—any sexual, physical verbal or visual act that forces a person against their will to have unwanted sexual contact or attention” (“Sexual Assault and Rape”). Many colleges disregard campus rapes in order to keep their reputation intact. Caroline Heldman discusses in her article how “no college in the U.S. has come up with a plan to effectively shift rape culture on their campus”. People need to start understanding that if this shift does not occur soon, we are putting girls all over the world in danger.

Rape is known to be the most common violent crime on American college campuses today. Rana Sampson goes into further detail in her article on how college years are the most vulnerable for women since “women ages 16 to 24 experience rape at rates four times higher than the assault rate of all women”. College women are more at risk for rape and other forms of sexual assault than women the same age, but not in college. Sampson state that it is estimated that almost 25 percent of college women have been victims of rape or attempted rape since the age of 14. Many students in college experience rape but decide not to report it. Many victims think that their college will not do anything about it. Jed Rubenfeld explains that “because of low arrest and conviction rates, lack of confidentiality, and fear they won’t be believed, only a minuscule percentage of college women who are raped — perhaps only 5 percent or less — report the assault to the police. Research suggests that more than 90 percent of campus rapes are committed by a relatively small percentage of college men — possibly as few as 4 percent — who rape repeatedly, averaging six victims each. Yet, these serial rapists overwhelmingly remain at large, escaping serious punishment”. This raises the question of why should women feel confident enough to come forward about their sexual assault without reassurance that the state and college will correctly handle the situation?

One college that has been convicted of continuous mishandlings of sexual assault is Vanderbilt. Even though, Vanderbilt is known to be one of the most prestigious colleges in the United States. Recently, there was an ugly rape case involving their football team that just can’t get worse. On the second floor of the Gillette House dorm at Vanderbilt, there was a broken door that has been knocked off. When school officials checked the security cameras, they found one of their highly rated football players who just transferred, Brandon Vandenburg. Bobby Allyn published in 2013, only a few months after the initial assault and stated that “hat officials eventually discovered about the events of that night would lead to the indictment of four football players for rape and another for alleged involvement in a cover-up”. On a Saturday night in June, Vandenburg went out with a 21-year-old student from Oklahoma who he had been casually dating. When they both returned to Vandenburg’s dorm after a long night of drinking, the girl was seen to be completely unconscious. Vandenburg called down three of his teammates, Cory, Brandon, and JaBorian, to help him bring the girl into his room. Some time after, 4 football players entered the room; different objects were used to penetrate the victim. Vandenburg took pictures and videos on his phone, and sent the others the footage. This was used as the main component of evidence during the trial. Even though there is such a graphic video, the coach of the football team claims, that “people always speculate and gossip. There is no truth to that accusation whatsoever. It’s inflammatory” (Allyn). Vanderbilt has kept quiet about these accusations until further notice. They will do whatever they can in order to keep this story under wraps. Situations like this is exactly why women do not usually come forward.

Similarly, Emerson College’s handling of a student’s sexual assault case caused so much stress that the victim ended up in the hospital and eventually dropped out of school, a new lawsuit contends (Kingkade). In April 2012, Jillian Doherty had consensual sex with a male student, but declined when he requested anal sex, it was then that he choked her and forcibly penetrated her. Doherty reported the assault in March 2013, and concluded with a final hearing in May. At the hearing, Tyler Kingkade writes that “the accused ‘was allowed to present new evidence, a letter of character, from a fellow Emerson student, who had no involvement with the hearing, assault, or the investigation’, the suit claimed.” According to Doherty, she was not given an opportunity to view the letter. The suspect was found not responsible because both he and the victim admitted to have been drinking before the incident and the court ruled her statement “inconsistent”. As a result of the first hearing, Doherty told Huffington Post “It was just the worst feeling in the world knowing you’re telling the truth and no one believes you.” Doherty was granted an appeal in the summer of 2013, and a new hearing took place in October. After the second hearing, the accused was found responsible for the assault and was expelled from school. By the time the hearing was over, the damage has already been done. Doherty’s grades dropped she had chronic depression and PTSD. She began “an outpatient treatment program at Arbor Hospital to address the emotional distress from reporting her assault” (Kingkade). According to the lawsuit, she was not granted academic accommodations to do her class work from home during that time, and unfortunately had to leave Emerson in Spring 2014, which was her dream school. The suit against Emerson claims that they violated the campus safety law, the Clery Act, by underreporting the sexual assault. This further proves, that even with laws against sexual assault are in tact, colleges and the government are still not handling these situations correctly. All in all, Walt Bogdanich explains that “school disciplinary panels are a world unto themselves, operating in secret with scant accountability and limited protections for the accuser or the accused.”

The difference in the amount of people who do and do not report their sexual assault is overwhelming.About 80 percent of campus rapes are not reported to police, according to a U.S. Department of Justice report on sexual assault. Julia Glum states that “researchers found that 26 percent of students and 23 percent of non-students chose not to report their rapes because it was too personal to tell police. More non-students than students said they didn’t report the crime because, they believed, the police could not or would not do anything to help.” Victims most of the times feel like they do not have a voice after being sexually assaulted. Society needs to seem more open and understanding when a situation like rape arises. Many victims of rape blame themselves for what has happened to them. They usually put the blame on what they were wearing, what they drank, where they were, and the time of day etc. These victims have to understand that no one is perfect and they were in a situation that they could not have controlled. Rebecca Nagle, co-director of the Baltimore-based activist group FORCE, told International Business Times earlier this week “We live in a culture where survivors are taught … to doubt your experiences, We need to build a culture of support for survivors”. Sexual assault is never the victim’s fault. You deserve to feel safe and supported. From the perspective of a university administrator who is mostly concerned with his school’s reputation, a rape that goes unreported is a rape that never actually happened (Kitchener). This shows exactly why women do not report their assault, because of the clear mindset of a highly respected school administrator.

There are a couple of things we know for sure about rape on college campuses, but here are two: It happens, and universities lie about it (Stern). Many colleges decide to keep their rape victims in the shadow and will decide not to tell state police of what has happened. “’When it comes to sexual assault and rape, the norm for universities and colleges is to downplay the situation and the numbers’, researcher Corey Rayburn Yung, a law professor at the University of Kansas, said in a release ’ (Timm). In 2006, Fox News reported that administrators at Eastern Michigan University covered up a rape and murder of a student, 22-year-old Laura Dickson, all while letting her parents think that she died of natural causes. Joseph Shapiro explains that, “despite federal laws created to protect students, colleges and universities have failed to protect women from this epidemic of sexual assault.” Colleges have a lot to lose when they admit to having a rape problem on campus. College codes and procedures were designed to punish for plagiarism and underage drinking, not to prove the crime of sexual assault. Many administrators use that excuse to justify them keeping the rape a secret. Many women face interrogations by administrators who do not seem to know what a rape exam is.

Many colleges will try to resolve the problem on their own. But, instead of making it better, they only make it worse. Last year, Bridgewater State University withheld the names of two men charged with rape on campus and did not notify any students or faculty about the incident. The school didn’t notify its 11-member board of trustees. Maria Papadopoulos quoted when Richard M. Freeland said, “Students and parents have a right to be concerned if they learn about such activity from the media, rather than from campus officials.” “O’Neill said withholding the names of accused rapists from a college community and the public is ‘ridiculous’ – and it shows that university officials are reluctant to be transparent about crimes reported on campus.”

In 2012 at Grinnell College, Emily Barlett received text messages from a guy “if you ever tell anyone God help you”, only ten minutes after he left her dorm room. That night, she told an advocate on campus that she was sexually assaulted. A few days later she went to campus security to file an official report. College administrators decided to set up a meditation session between the rapist and the victim, a practice the U.S. Department of Education prohibited a year before. The meditation was a failure because it re-traumatized the victim and didn’t bring a resolution to her case (Kingkade). She later took the case to a college court, where they found the accused not responsible for sexual misconduct, despite the photos of deep bruising on her body and the text message he sent the victim-threatening her if she told anyone about what had happened. “He was deemed responsible for “disorderly misconduct” and “psychological harm” and punished with a year of probation” (Kingkade). The accused was still allowed to play baseball and take the same courses as the victim. At Grinnell College, students were forced to attend class with men the school knew have sexually assaulted them. The college made the offenders write short apology letters to the victim.

Some women started to struggle in their classes due to stress related to their assaults, they say, the college decided to push them off campus. In many cases, the victim would be placed on academic suspension while the offender would be allowed to return to campus. When one of the professors at Grinnell told the administration office that a victim was placed right next to her offender, the college said there was nothing they could do about it. During one case at Grinell, the attacker landed an on campus job as the head of security, just after being accused. The way Grinell has handled their sexual assaults has driven two victims away from their dream school and caused daily anxiety for the third, who decided to stay on campus. The college constantly places the blame of them not doing anything about the accusations on the fact that it is a small campus. They believe that also because Grinell, Iowa is a small city, there isn’t any way for the victim and the attacker not to run into each other, so things at school cannot be any different than the two running into each other on the street. In 2013, almost a year after the assault, Emily Barlett decided to transfer to the University of Missouri. In 2014, Grinell sent Barlett a letter asking her to reconsider returning to the college, and had the indecency to ask her why she left. Another high profile case that occurred at Grinell, only a few months after Barletts initial assault. India Vannoy was assaulted by a classmate in her scholarship program. She filed school conduct charges against the male student, as did another women who was assaulted by the same man. The hearing occurred 5 months after the assault. Grinell found him to be responsible for psychological trauma in Vannoy’s case. He was suspended for a short 3 semesters before returning to campus. Vannoy was clinically diagnosed with PTSD and took the spring 2013 semester to recover. She returned in the fall, but landed on academic probation. Grinell promised to do anything to help her out during the ordeal, but Vannoy said that she did not receive any assistance. Instead, an administrator told her she was “mentally unstable” and suggested, “she take time off to get over it”. She was later placed on academic suspension, banning her from returning to campus; meaning that the attacker is allowed back on campus, but Vannoy is not.

The mishandling of sexual assaults led to a Senate report, it was found that 41% of schools conducted no investigation in the past 5 years, even though there were numerous complaints made by female students. Many women keep an assault a secret to prevent embarrassment, shame and the trauma of reliving the nightmare during legal proceedings. Some administrators care less about the victim, and more about their own image. Schools are terrified of the result if the world hears that such an awful crime has been committed on their campus. Colleges fear that any negative publicity will ruin their sterling reputations, which will result in diminished enrollment applications (Jarrett). Colleges need to step out of their own alternative world, and step back into reality. Gregg Gregg Jarrett explains that “these cases reveal an unsettling fact: many colleges are dilatory or derelict in failing to prevent attacks. Once they do occur, campus investigations have proven to be scant, shoddy and incompetent. All too often, complaints are brushed aside; local police are kept in the dark, survivors are encouraged to drop it and crimes are covered up. The alleged victim is victimized all over again.” Colleges will not change their course of action unless they are forced to do so. Until then, not much will be done about correctly handling a campus rape.

Since all of these mishandlings of sexual assault cases, the government was forced to make laws in order to prevent colleges from mishandling rape. A few of them are: “Yes Means Yes”, “Title IX”, and “It’s On Us”. “Governor Jerry Brown of California signed Senate Bill 967, nationally known as the “Yes Means Yes” bill, into action on September 28” (Hwang). The “Yes Means Yes” bill aims to provide help for victims of sexual assault on college campuses. This bill requires colleges to define affirmative consent as a clear “yes” rather than the absence of a verbal “no”. Additionally, the bill mandates that colleges educate their students on consent and sexual assault in order to prevent further rapes (Hwang). Senator Kevin de Leon of California said in a speech “our sisters, our daughters, our nieces — every woman deserves the right to pursue the dream of higher education without being threatened by the nightmare of violence and sexual abuse.” The bill also provides multiple resources funded by the state in which victims can use to assist them in the legal process of reporting, investigating and finalizing the case. Unfortunately, as of now the bill has only been passed in California. Officials are working to pursue this bill across America. Even “President Obama decided to join Vice President Biden and American people across the country to launch the “It’s On Us” initiative- an awareness campaign to help put an end to sexual assaults on college campuses” (Somanader). “It’s On Us” asks everyone, both men and women to make a personal commitment to step off the sidelines and be a part of the mission to end the epidemic of college rape. This bill sends guidance to every school that receives federal funding on their legal obligations to prevent and to deal with sexual assaults that occur on their campuses. Adding onto the bill, Obama created the “White House task force” to protect students from sexual assault to work with colleges on developing the best practices on how to prevent and deal with sexual assault. “Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972 is a federal civil rights law that prohibits discrimination on the basis of sex in any education program or activity that receives federal funding” (“What is Title IX”). Even a single instance of rape or sexual assault by another student or staff member could meet the standards of getting the victim justice.

The “Yes Means Yes”, “Title IX”, and “It’s On Us” bills do not implement a transfer of power between the victim and the rapist, as they aim to give victims a fighting chance (Hwang). Sarah Yang said, “It takes a lot of strength to report in the first place, and having to deal with an administrator that doesn’t understand the whole situation is very difficult.” Many of these bills will continue to arise due to this continuously rising problem of sexual assault, giving the universities more incentive and pressure to find more evidence in reports where there is none.

College rape has been and will continue to be a huge problem around the world if people do not make an effort to put an end to it. Many colleges have experienced handling huge rape cases such as: Vanderbilt, Emerson and Grinnell. College Rape is an important topic to be educated on because many students reading this will soon be attending or are already attending college and need to know about the different ways you could get help if you are sexually assaulted. Since this is such a huge problem in many colleges today it is important for everyone to know what you could do in order to help prevent future campus rapes.

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It's Been 37 Years Since My Rape. The Shame Still Haunts Me

Editors note : The author of this essay is a 52-year-old Massachusetts woman. We've granted her request for anonymity because of the personal and painful nature of its content. We also believe her desire to remain anonymous, nearly 40 years after she was assaulted, says something powerful about the effect this experience has had on her life.

In March 2013, I published an  anonymous essay  about being sexually assaulted by five male classmates in 1981 when we were 15 years old. I was moved to write that essay because I was so angry about the way a teenage sexual assault victim from Steubenville, Ohio was being publicly vilified for drinking alcohol and passing out, which a group of boys then viciously took advantage of. The incident, including the victim’s clear incapacity, had been captured on video, which was probably the only reason the two rapists were held to account. My heart broke for the teenager who was being doubly victimized. First, she was sexually violated. Then, she was blamed in the  national media for somehow “allowing” or even “encouraging” the rape to happen.

As sickened as I was by the incident, I only agreed to publish that article with the understanding that my identity would be kept private. I didn’t want my teenage sons to know what had happened to me. I didn’t want my current circle of friends to know about that part of my past.

I still don’t want my identity revealed. Even now, as women across the country step forward to share their #MeToo stories. And even as Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, Deborah Ramirez and Julie Swetnick bring allegations of sexual misconduct against Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh.

Keeping a “secret” is part of what is so damaging about sexual assault. It festers inside of you, allowing the shame to grow.

I don’t want to spend emotional energy discussing and reliving that awful part of my life with each friend or loved one who reads this essay. I also don’t want to risk the professional reputation I’ve worked years to build on the off-chance that someone I know — or who finds me on the internet — decides to harass me. I particularly fear harassment or humiliation aimed at my boys or my husband.

It’s true that almost 40 years after that incident and its aftermath, I still feel shame. It embarrasses me to discuss, or even to think about, the degrading details of my assault:

How I was new to town; how a popular boy I vaguely knew, “John,” called to see if he and four friends could come over to my house one Saturday night when my parents weren’t home; how we watched TV for a while with my younger brother before going into the living room to talk; how one boy asked if they could see what my bedroom looked like; how we talked in my room for a few minutes until John said, “one, two, three” and they all jumped on top of me and started tearing off my clothes; how I struggled and yelled to John to get everyone off me; how he said he would — as long as I would let each boy have a turn; how I agreed — I didn't know what else to do; how before that night, I had only kissed one boy, after he had been my boyfriend for several months; how I arrived at school the next Monday to everyone laughing at me and calling me a slut; how I had to endure three more years at that high school before applying to a college across the country and never looking back.

As a 15-year-old, I was confused, overwhelmed, devastated, alone. The adults in my life didn’t ask what had happened after my behavior markedly changed or ask how they could help, maybe thinking it was just normal teenage angst. I was naïve in not knowing how to ask them for the help I so desperately needed.

Keeping a “secret” is part of what is so damaging about sexual assault. It festers inside of you, allowing the shame to grow. Since you don’t have anyone else to act as a sounding board, you’re at the mercy of your own crazy repeating thoughts — replaying the incident over and over, wishing you had done some little thing differently in the hope that the assault could have been avoided. Additionally, you will do almost anything to make sure the secret won’t be revealed, which can make the initial situation even more damaging. You engage in self-destructive behaviors to blot the pain or to subconsciously punish yourself. Your self-esteem plummets. You think you are unlovable, dirty and bad.

I didn’t even know the concept of “rape” before it happened to me, so how was I supposed to know these seemingly cool boys were plotting something so evil?

Eventually, through therapy, I was able to understand that my behavior didn’t cause the assault — John’s did. Sure, I let them come over to my house when my parents weren’t home, because I was excited to hang out with boys who apparently wanted to spend time getting to know me. No alarm bells went off when one of them asked to see my bedroom. I had neat things in my room to look at, and the white desk where I studied was there, so I didn’t think of it as just the place where my bed was. I didn’t even know the concept of “rape” before it happened to me, so how was I supposed to know these seemingly cool boys were plotting something so evil? My fervent hope is that the #MeToo movement has educated potential victims so they will be more psychologically prepared to thwart an attack than I was.

No alcohol was involved when I was raped, though women are often blamed for their assaults if they have been drinking ( our president said so just this week): as if there is an equivalency between voluntarily drinking alcohol and being sexually violated against your will. I don’t understand why this only happens to rape victims. For instance, in 2017 several male college students tragically died after being hazed by their prospective fraternities . No one blamed those victims for drinking too much alcohol or for putting themselves in a situation where others could easily take advantage of them. The blame rested squarely where it should have: on the aggressors.

I marvel at the strength of Blasey Ford, Ramirez and Swetnick, for coming forward — in front of the entire world — to describe the degradation and violence they say they suffered 35 years ago. They know, like me and so many other victims, that they will be blamed for the disgusting, criminal behavior they were subjected to. They will also be blamed for ruining Kavanaugh’s career (or at least his character) as if his alleged deeds themselves weren’t the disqualifying factor.

Regardless of Kavanaugh’s fate, their bravery moves us another step up the ladder towards a fuller understanding of why we must #BelieveSurvivors. I thank them for that.

• Also by this author: My Own Personal Steubenville: Reflections On My High School Rape
• Janna Malamud Smith: I Stand With Christine Blasey Ford. Do You?
• Susan E. Gallagher: Kavanaugh’s Fate Isn’t The Only Thing At Stake

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The War at Stanford

I didn’t know that college would be a factory of unreason.

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ne of the section leaders for my computer-science class, Hamza El Boudali, believes that President Joe Biden should be killed. “I’m not calling for a civilian to do it, but I think a military should,” the 23-year-old Stanford University student told a small group of protesters last month. “I’d be happy if Biden was dead.” He thinks that Stanford is complicit in what he calls the genocide of Palestinians, and that Biden is not only complicit but responsible for it. “I’m not calling for a vigilante to do it,” he later clarified, “but I’m saying he is guilty of mass murder and should be treated in the same way that a terrorist with darker skin would be (and we all know terrorists with dark skin are typically bombed and drone striked by American planes).” El Boudali has also said that he believes that Hamas’s October 7 attack was a justifiable act of resistance, and that he would actually prefer Hamas rule America in place of its current government (though he clarified later that he “doesn’t mean Hamas is perfect”). When you ask him what his cause is, he answers: “Peace.”

I switched to a different computer-science section.

Israel is 7,500 miles away from Stanford’s campus, where I am a sophomore. But the Hamas invasion and the Israeli counterinvasion have fractured my university, a place typically less focused on geopolitics than on venture-capital funding for the latest dorm-based tech start-up. Few students would call for Biden’s head—I think—but many of the same young people who say they want peace in Gaza don’t seem to realize that they are in fact advocating for violence. Extremism has swept through classrooms and dorms, and it is becoming normal for students to be harassed and intimidated for their faith, heritage, or appearance—they have been called perpetrators of genocide for wearing kippahs, and accused of supporting terrorism for wearing keffiyehs. The extremism and anti-Semitism at Ivy League universities on the East Coast have attracted so much media and congressional attention that two Ivy presidents have lost their jobs. But few people seem to have noticed the culture war that has taken over our California campus.

For four months, two rival groups of protesters, separated by a narrow bike path, faced off on Stanford’s palm-covered grounds. The “Sit-In to Stop Genocide” encampment was erected by students in mid-October, even before Israeli troops had crossed into Gaza, to demand that the university divest from Israel and condemn its behavior. Posters were hung equating Hamas with Ukraine and Nelson Mandela. Across from the sit-in, a rival group of pro-Israel students eventually set up the “Blue and White Tent” to provide, as one activist put it, a “safe space” to “be a proud Jew on campus.” Soon it became the center of its own cluster of tents, with photos of Hamas’s victims sitting opposite the rubble-ridden images of Gaza and a long (and incomplete) list of the names of slain Palestinians displayed by the students at the sit-in.

Some days the dueling encampments would host only a few people each, but on a sunny weekday afternoon, there could be dozens. Most of the time, the groups tolerated each other. But not always. Students on both sides were reportedly spit on and yelled at, and had their belongings destroyed. (The perpetrators in many cases seemed to be adults who weren’t affiliated with Stanford, a security guard told me.) The university put in place round-the-clock security, but when something actually happened, no one quite knew what to do.

Conor Friedersdorf: How October 7 changed America’s free speech culture

Stanford has a policy barring overnight camping, but for months didn’t enforce it, “out of a desire to support the peaceful expression of free speech in the ways that students choose to exercise that expression”—and, the administration told alumni, because the university feared that confronting the students would only make the conflict worse. When the school finally said the tents had to go last month, enormous protests against the university administration, and against Israel, followed.

“We don’t want no two states! We want all of ’48!” students chanted, a slogan advocating that Israel be dismantled and replaced by a single Arab nation. Palestinian flags flew alongside bright “Welcome!” banners left over from new-student orientation. A young woman gave a speech that seemed to capture the sense of urgency and power that so many students here feel. “We are Stanford University!” she shouted. “We control things!”

“W e’ve had protests in the past,” Richard Saller, the university’s interim president, told me in November—about the environment, and apartheid, and Vietnam. But they didn’t pit “students against each other” the way that this conflict has.

I’ve spoken with Saller, a scholar of Roman history, a few times over the past six months in my capacity as a student journalist. We first met in September, a few weeks into his tenure. His predecessor, Marc Tessier-Lavigne, had resigned as president after my reporting for The Stanford Daily exposed misconduct in his academic research. (Tessier-Lavigne had failed to retract papers with faked data over the course of 20 years. In his resignation statement , he denied allegations of fraud and misconduct; a Stanford investigation determined that he had not personally manipulated data or ordered any manipulation but that he had repeatedly “failed to decisively and forthrightly correct mistakes” from his lab.)

In that first conversation, Saller told me that everyone was “eager to move on” from the Tessier-Lavigne scandal. He was cheerful and upbeat. He knew he wasn’t staying in the job long; he hadn’t even bothered to move into the recently vacated presidential manor. In any case, campus, at that time, was serene. Then, a week later, came October 7.

The attack was as clear a litmus test as one could imagine for the Middle East conflict. Hamas insurgents raided homes and a music festival with the goal of slaughtering as many civilians as possible. Some victims were raped and mutilated, several independent investigations found. Hundreds of hostages were taken into Gaza and many have been tortured.

This, of course, was bad. Saying this was bad does not negate or marginalize the abuses and suffering Palestinians have experienced in Gaza and elsewhere. Everyone, of every ideology, should be able to say that this was bad. But much of this campus failed that simple test.

Two days after the deadliest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust, Stanford released milquetoast statements marking the “moment of intense emotion” and declaring “deep concern” over “the crisis in Israel and Palestine.” The official statements did not use the words Hamas or violence .

The absence of a clear institutional response led some teachers to take matters into their own hands. During a mandatory freshman seminar on October 10, a lecturer named Ameer Loggins tossed out his lesson plan to tell students that the actions of the Palestinian “military force” had been justified, that Israelis were colonizers, and that the Holocaust had been overemphasized, according to interviews I conducted with students in the class. Loggins then asked the Jewish students to identify themselves. He instructed one of them to “stand up, face the window, and he kind of kicked away his chair,” a witness told me. Loggins described this as an effort to demonstrate Israel’s treatment of Palestinians. (Loggins did not reply to a request for comment; a spokesperson for Stanford said that there were “different recollections of the details regarding what happened” in the class.)

“We’re only in our third week of college, and we’re afraid to be here,” three students in the class wrote in an email that night to administrators. “This isn’t what Stanford was supposed to be.” The class Loggins taught is called COLLEGE, short for “Civic, Liberal, and Global Education,” and it is billed as an effort to develop “the skills that empower and enable us to live together.”

Loggins was suspended from teaching duties and an investigation was opened; this angered pro-Palestine activists, who organized a petition that garnered more than 1,700 signatures contesting the suspension. A pamphlet from the petitioners argued that Loggins’s behavior had not been out of bounds.

The day after the class, Stanford put out a statement written by Saller and Jenny Martinez, the university provost, more forcefully condemning the Hamas attack. Immediately, this new statement generated backlash.

Pro-Palestine activists complained about it during an event held the same day, the first of several “teach-ins” about the conflict. Students gathered in one of Stanford’s dorms to “bear witness to the struggles of decolonization.” The grievances and pain shared by Palestinian students were real. They told of discrimination and violence, of frightened family members subjected to harsh conditions. But the most raucous reaction from the crowd was in response to a young woman who said, “You ask us, do we condemn Hamas? Fuck you!” She added that she was “so proud of my resistance.”

David Palumbo-Liu, a professor of comparative literature with a focus on postcolonial studies, also spoke at the teach-in, explaining to the crowd that “European settlers” had come to “replace” Palestine’s “native population.”

Palumbo-Liu is known as an intelligent and supportive professor, and is popular among students, who call him by his initials, DPL. I wanted to ask him about his involvement in the teach-in, so we met one day in a café a few hundred feet away from the tents. I asked if he could elaborate on what he’d said at the event about Palestine’s native population. He was happy to expand: This was “one of those discussions that could go on forever. Like, who is actually native? At what point does nativism lapse, right? Well, you haven’t been native for X number of years, so …” In the end, he said, “you have two people who both feel they have a claim to the land,” and “they have to live together. Both sides have to cede something.”

The struggle at Stanford, he told me, “is to find a way in which open discussions can be had that allow people to disagree.” It’s true that Stanford has utterly failed in its efforts to encourage productive dialogue. But I still found it hard to reconcile DPL’s words with his public statements on Israel, which he’d recently said on Facebook should be “the most hated nation in the world.” He also wrote: “When Zionists say they don’t feel ‘safe’ on campus, I’ve come to see that as they no longer feel immune to criticism of Israel.” He continued: “Well as the saying goes, get used to it.”

Z ionists, and indeed Jewish students of all political beliefs, have been given good reason to fear for their safety. They’ve been followed, harassed, and called derogatory racial epithets. At least one was told he was a “dirty Jew.” At least twice, mezuzahs have been ripped from students’ doors, and swastikas have been drawn in dorms. Arab and Muslim students also face alarming threats. The computer-science section leader, El Boudali, a pro-Palestine activist, told me he felt “safe personally,” but knew others who did not: “Some people have reported feeling like they’re followed, especially women who wear the hijab.”

In a remarkably short period of time, aggression and abuse have become commonplace, an accepted part of campus activism. In January, Jewish students organized an event dedicated to ameliorating anti-Semitism. It marked one of Saller’s first public appearances in the new year. Its topic seemed uncontroversial, and I thought it would generate little backlash.

Protests began before the panel discussion even started, with activists lining the stairs leading to the auditorium. During the event they drowned out the panelists, one of whom was Israel’s special envoy for combatting anti-Semitism, by demanding a cease-fire. After participants began cycling out into the dark, things got ugly.

Activists, their faces covered by keffiyehs or medical masks, confronted attendees. “Go back to Brooklyn!” a young woman shouted at Jewish students. One protester, who emerged as the leader of the group, said that she and her compatriots would “take all of your places and ensure Israel falls.” She told attendees to get “off our fucking campus” and launched into conspiracy theories about Jews being involved in “child trafficking.” As a rabbi tried to leave the event, protesters pursued him, chanting, “There is only one solution! Intifada revolution!”

At one point, some members of the group turned on a few Stanford employees, including another rabbi, an imam, and a chaplain, telling them, “We know your names and we know where you work.” The ringleader added: “And we’ll soon find out where you live.” The religious leaders formed a protective barrier in front of the Jewish students. The rabbi and the imam appeared to be crying.

S aller avoided the protest by leaving through another door. Early that morning, his private residence had been vandalized. Protesters frequently tell him he “can’t hide” and shout him down. “We charge you with genocide!” they chant, demanding that Stanford divest from Israel. (When asked whether Stanford actually invested in Israel, a spokesperson replied that, beyond small exposures from passive funds that track indexes such as the S&P 500, the university’s endowment “has no direct holdings in Israeli companies, or direct holdings in defense contractors.”)

When the university finally said the protest tents had to be removed, students responded by accusing Saller of suppressing their right to free speech. This is probably the last charge he expected to face. Saller once served as provost at the University of Chicago, which is known for holding itself to a position of strict institutional neutrality so that its students can freely explore ideas for themselves. Saller has a lifelong belief in First Amendment rights. But that conviction in impartial college governance does not align with Stanford’s behavior in recent years. Despite the fact that many students seemed largely uninterested in the headlines before this year, Stanford’s administrative leadership has often taken positions on political issues and events, such as the Paris climate conference and the murder of George Floyd. After Russia invaded Ukraine, Stanford’s Hoover Tower was lit up in blue and yellow, and the school released a statement in solidarity.

Thomas Chatterton Williams: Let the activists have their loathsome rallies

When we first met, a week before October 7, I asked Saller about this. Did Stanford have a moral duty to denounce the war in Ukraine, for example, or the ethnic cleansing of Uyghur Muslims in China? “On international political issues, no,” he said. “That’s not a responsibility for the university as a whole, as an institution.”

But when Saller tried to apply his convictions on neutrality for the first time as president, dozens of faculty members condemned the response, many pro-Israel alumni were outraged, donors had private discussions about pulling funding, and an Israeli university sent an open letter to Saller and Martinez saying, “Stanford’s administration has failed us.” The initial statement had tried to make clear that the school’s policy was not Israel-specific: It noted that the university would not take a position on the turmoil in Nagorno-Karabakh (where Armenians are undergoing ethnic cleansing) either. But the message didn’t get through.

Saller had to beat an awkward retreat or risk the exact sort of public humiliation that he, as caretaker president, had presumably been hired to avoid. He came up with a compromise that landed somewhere in the middle: an unequivocal condemnation of Hamas’s “intolerable atrocities” paired with a statement making clear that Stanford would commit to institutional neutrality going forward.

“The events in Israel and Gaza this week have affected and engaged large numbers of students on our campus in ways that many other events have not,” the statement read. “This is why we feel compelled to both address the impact of these events on our campus and to explain why our general policy of not issuing statements about news events not directly connected to campus has limited the breadth of our comments thus far, and why you should not expect frequent commentary from us in the future.”

I asked Saller why he had changed tack on Israel and not on Nagorno-Karabakh. “We don’t feel as if we should be making statements on every war crime and atrocity,” he told me. This felt like a statement in and of itself.

In making such decisions, Saller works closely with Martinez, Stanford’s provost. I happened to interview her, too, a few days before October 7, not long after she’d been appointed. When I asked about her hopes for the job, she said that a “priority is ensuring an environment in which free speech and academic freedom are preserved.”

We talked about the so-called Leonard Law—a provision unique to California that requires private universities to be governed by the same First Amendment protections as public ones. This restricts what Stanford can do in terms of penalizing speech, putting it in a stricter bind than Harvard, the University of Pennsylvania, or any of the other elite private institutions that have more latitude to set the standards for their campus (whether or not they have done so).

So I was surprised when, in December, the university announced that abstract calls for genocide “clearly violate Stanford’s Fundamental Standard, the code of conduct for all students at the university.” The statement was a response to the outrage following the congressional testimony of three university presidents—outrage that eventually led to the resignation of two of them, Harvard’s Claudine Gay and Penn’s Liz Magill. Gay and Magill, who had both previously held positions at Stanford, did not commit to punishing calls for the genocide of Jews.

Experts told me that Stanford’s policy is impossible to enforce—and Saller himself acknowledged as much in our March interview.

“Liz Magill is a good friend,” Saller told me, adding, “Having watched what happened at Harvard and Penn, it seemed prudent” to publicly state that Stanford rejected calls for genocide. But saying that those calls violate the code of conduct “is not the same thing as to say that we could actually punish it.”

Stanford’s leaders seem to be trying their best while adapting to the situation in real time. But the muddled messaging has created a policy of neutrality that does not feel neutral at all.

When we met back in November, I tried to get Saller to open up about his experience running an institution in turmoil. What’s it like to know that so many students seem to believe that he—a mild-mannered 71-year-old classicist who swing-dances with his anthropologist wife—is a warmonger? Saller was more candid than I expected—perhaps more candid than any prominent university president has been yet. We sat in the same conference room as we had in September. The weather hadn’t really changed. Yet I felt like I was sitting in front of a different person. He was hunched over and looked exhausted, and his voice broke when he talked about the loss of life in Gaza and Israel and “the fact that we’re caught up in it.” A capable administrator with decades of experience, Saller seemed almost at a loss. “It’s been a kind of roller coaster, to be honest.”

He said he hadn’t anticipated the deluge of the emails “blaming me for lack of moral courage.” Anything the university says seems bound to be wrong: “If I say that our position is that we grieve over the loss of innocent lives, that in itself will draw some hostile reactions.”

“I find that really difficult to navigate,” he said with a sigh.

By March, it seemed that his views had solidified. He said he knew he was “a target,” but he was not going to be pushed into issuing any more statements. The continuing crisis seems to have granted him new insight. “I am certain that whatever I say will not have any material effect on the war in Gaza.” It’s hard to argue with that.

P eople tend to blame the campus wars on two villains: dithering administrators and radical student activists. But colleges have always had dithering administrators and radical student activists. To my mind, it’s the average students who have changed.

Elite universities attract a certain kind of student: the overachieving striver who has won all the right accolades for all the right activities. Is it such a surprise that the kids who are trained in the constant pursuit of perfect scores think they have to look at the world like a series of multiple-choice questions, with clearly right or wrong answers? Or that they think they can gamify a political cause in the same way they ace a standardized test?

Everyone knows that the only reliable way to get into a school like Stanford is to be really good at looking really good. Now that they’re here, students know that one easy way to keep looking good is to side with the majority of protesters, and condemn Israel.

It’s not that there isn’t real anger and anxiety over what is happening in Gaza—there is, and justifiably so. I know that among the protesters are many people who are deeply connected to this issue. But they are not the majority. What really activates the crowds now seems less a principled devotion to Palestine or to pacifism than a desire for collective action, to fit in by embracing the fashionable cause of the moment—as if a centuries-old conflict in which both sides have stolen and killed could ever be a simple matter of right and wrong. In their haste to exhibit moral righteousness, many of the least informed protesters end up being the loudest and most uncompromising.

Today’s students grew up in the Trump era, in which violent rhetoric has become a normal part of political discourse and activism is as easy as reposting an infographic. Many young people have come to feel that being angry is enough to foment change. Furious at the world’s injustices and desperate for a simple way to express that fury, they don’t seem interested in any form of engagement more nuanced than backing a pure protagonist and denouncing an evil enemy. They don’t, always, seem that concerned with the truth.

At the protest last month to prevent the removal of the sit-in, an activist in a pink Women’s March “pussy hat” shouted that no rape was committed by Hamas on October 7. “There hasn’t been proof of these rape accusations,” a student told me in a separate conversation, criticizing the Blue and White Tent for spreading what he considered to be misinformation about sexual violence. (In March, a United Nations report found “reasonable grounds to believe that conflict-related sexual violence,” including “rape and gang rape,” occurred in multiple locations on October 7, as well as “clear and convincing information” on the “rape and sexualized torture” of hostages.) “The level of propaganda” surrounding Hamas, he told me, “is just unbelievable.”

The real story at Stanford is not about the malicious actors who endorse sexual assault and murder as forms of resistance, but about those who passively enable them because they believe their side can do no wrong. You don’t have to understand what you’re arguing for in order to argue for it. You don’t have to be able to name the river or the sea under discussion to chant “From the river to the sea.” This kind of obliviousness explains how one of my friends, a gay activist, can justify Hamas’s actions, even though it would have the two of us—an outspoken queer person and a Jewish reporter—killed in a heartbeat. A similar mentality can exist on the other side: I have heard students insist on the absolute righteousness of Israel yet seem uninterested in learning anything about what life is like in Gaza.

I’m familiar with the pull of achievement culture—after all, I’m a product of the same system. I fell in love with Stanford as a 7-year-old, lying on the floor of an East Coast library and picturing all the cool technology those West Coast geniuses were dreaming up. I cried when I was accepted; I spent the next few months scrolling through the course catalog, giddy with anticipation. I wanted to learn everything.

I learned more than I expected. Within my first week here, someone asked me: “Why are all Jews so rich?” In 2016, when Stanford’s undergraduate senate had debated a resolution against anti-Semitism, one of its members argued that the idea of “Jews controlling the media, economy, government, and other societal institutions” represented “a very valid discussion.” (He apologized, and the resolution passed.) In my dorm last year, a student discussed being Jewish and awoke the next day to swastikas and a portrait of Hitler affixed to his door.

David Frum: There is no right to bully and harass

I grew up secularly, with no strong affiliation to Jewish culture. When I found out as a teenager that some of my ancestors had hidden their identity from their children and that dozens of my relatives had died in the Holocaust (something no living member of my family had known), I felt the barest tremor of identity. After I saw so many people I know cheering after October 7, I felt something stronger stir. I know others have experienced something similar. Even a professor texted me to say that she felt Jewish in a way she never had before.

But my frustration with the conflict on campus has little to do with my own identity. Across the many conversations and hours of formal interviews I conducted for this article, I’ve encountered a persistent anti-intellectual streak. I’ve watched many of my classmates treat death so cavalierly that they can protest as a pregame to a party. Indeed, two parties at Stanford were reported to the university this fall for allegedly making people say “Fuck Israel” or “Free Palestine” to get in the door. A spokesperson for the university said it was “unable to confirm the facts of what occurred,” but that it had “met with students involved in both parties to make clear that Stanford’s nondiscrimination policy applies to parties.” As a friend emailed me not long ago: “A place that was supposed to be a sanctuary from such unreason has become a factory for it.”

Readers may be tempted to discount the conduct displayed at Stanford. After all, the thinking goes, these are privileged kids doing what they always do: embracing faux-radicalism in college before taking jobs in fintech or consulting. These students, some might say, aren’t representative of America.

And yet they are representative of something: of the conduct many of the most accomplished students in my generation have accepted as tolerable, and what that means for the future of our country. I admire activism. We need people willing to protest what they see as wrong and take on entrenched systems of repression. But we also need to read, learn, discuss, accept the existence of nuance, embrace diversity of thought, and hold our own allies to high standards. More than ever, we need universities to teach young people how to do all of this.

F or so long , Stanford’s physical standoff seemed intractable. Then, in early February, a storm swept in, and the natural world dictated its own conclusion.

Heavy rains flooded campus. For hours, the students battled to save their tents. The sit-in activists used sandbags and anything else they could find to hold back the water—at one point, David Palumbo-Liu, the professor, told me he stood in the lashing downpour to anchor one of the sit-in’s tents with his own body. When the storm hit, many of the Jewish activists had been attending a discussion on anti-Semitism. They raced back and struggled to salvage the Blue and White Tent, but it was too late—the wind had ripped it out of the ground.

The next day, the weary Jewish protesters returned to discover that their space had been taken.

A new collection of tents had been set up by El Boudali, the pro-Palestine activist, and a dozen friends. He said they were there to protest Islamophobia and to teach about Islam and jihad, and that they were a separate entity from the Sit-In to Stop Genocide, though I observed students cycling between the tents. Palestinian flags now flew from the bookstore to the quad.

Administrators told me they’d quickly informed El Boudali and his allies that the space had been reserved by the Jewish advocates, and offered to help move them to a different location. But the protesters told me they had no intention of going. (El Boudali later said that they did not take over the entire space, and would have been “happy to exist side by side, but they wanted to kick us off entirely from that lawn.”)

When it was clear that the area where they’d set up their tents would not be ceded back to the pro-Israel group willingly, Stanford changed course and decided to clear everyone out in one fell swoop. On February 8, school officials ordered all students to vacate the plaza overnight. The university was finally going to enforce its rule prohibiting people from sleeping outside on campus and requiring the removal of belongings from the plaza between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m. The order cited the danger posed by the storm as a justification for changing course and, probably hoping to avoid allegations of bias, described the decision as “viewpoint-neutral.”

That didn’t work.

About a week of protests, led by the sit-in organizers, followed. Chants were chanted. More demands for a “river to the sea” solution to the Israel problem were made. A friend boasted to me about her willingness to be arrested. Stanford sent a handful of staff members, who stood near balloons left over from an event earlier in the day. They were there, one of them told me, to “make students feel supported and safe.”

In the end, Saller and Martinez agreed to talk with the leaders of the sit-in about their demands to divest the university and condemn Israel, under the proviso that the activists comply with Stanford’s anti-camping guidelines “regardless of the outcome of discussions.” Eight days after they were first instructed to leave, 120 days after setting up camp, the sit-in protesters slept in their own beds. In defiance of the university’s instructions, they left behind their tents. But sometime in the very early hours of the morning, law-enforcement officers confiscated the structures. The area was cordoned off without any violence and the plaza filled once more with electric skateboards and farmers’ markets.

The conflict continues in its own way. Saller was just shouted down by protesters chanting “No peace on stolen land” at a Family Weekend event, and protesters later displayed an effigy of him covered in blood. Students still feel tense; Saller still seems worried. He told me that the university is planning to change all manner of things—residential-assistant training, new-student orientation, even the acceptance letters that students receive—in hopes of fostering a culture of greater tolerance. But no campus edict or panel discussion can address a problem that is so much bigger than our university.

At one rally last fall, a speaker expressed disillusionment about the power of “peaceful resistance” on college campuses. “What is there left to do but to take up arms?” The crowd cheered as he said Israel must be destroyed. But what would happen to its citizens? I’d prefer to believe that most protesters chanting “Palestine is Arab” and shouting that we must “smash the Zionist settler state” don’t actually think Jews should be killed en masse. But can one truly be so ignorant as to advocate widespread violence in the name of peace?

When the world is rendered in black-and-white—portrayed as a simple fight between colonizer and colonized—the answer is yes. Solutions, by this logic, are absolute: Israel or Palestine, nothing in between. Either you support liberation of the oppressed or you support genocide. Either Stanford is all good or all bad; all in favor of free speech or all authoritarian; all anti-Semitic or all Islamophobic.

At January’s anti-anti-Semitism event, I watched an exchange between a Jewish attendee and a protester from a few feet away. “Are you pro-Palestine?” the protester asked.

“Yes,” the attendee responded, and he went on to describe his disgust with the human-rights abuses Palestinians have faced for years.

“But are you a Zionist?”

“Then we are enemies.”

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Sean Combs’s Legal Troubles: What We Know

Federal agents executed search warrants at his homes in Los Angeles and Miami Beach, and he faces several civil lawsuits accusing him of rape and sexual assault.

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By Julia Jacobs and Ben Sisario

Since federal agents raided two of Sean Combs’s homes in Los Angeles and the Miami area this week, the investigation into the hip-hop mogul has become the subject of intense public interest and speculation.

The raids were conducted by Homeland Security Investigations, which has said very little about the focus of its inquiry. No criminal charges have been filed against Mr. Combs in relation to the case.

But the footage of federal officers brandishing weapons while entering Mr. Combs’s sprawling Los Angeles mansion, where they confiscated computers and other devices, has raised questions about the nature of the investigation and how it might relate to a series of civil sexual assault lawsuits filed against Mr. Combs in recent months.

Mr. Combs — a high-profile music producer and artist for decades who has been lauded as one of the architects of hip-hop’s commercial rise — has vehemently denied all the accusations, and his lawyer called the raids a “witch hunt based on meritless accusations made in civil lawsuits.”

As details about the federal investigation gradually emerge, here is what we know about Mr. Combs’s legal troubles.

What happened during the raids?

On Monday, federal agents raided residences associated with Mr. Combs, 54, in Florida and California. Footage of the Los Angeles raid taken by a local television station , Fox 11, captured agents filing past manicured hedges and into Mr. Combs’s home.

Video of Mr. Combs’s home showing the aftermath of the raid that was published by TMZ showed belongings spilling out of cabinets and a set of empty shelves with Mr. Combs’s three Grammys sitting on top.

Mr. Combs was stopped that day at an airport in the Miami area as he was preparing to leave for the Bahamas, according to a person with knowledge of the matter, who noted that federal agents took a number of electronic devices from him. Mr. Combs cooperated with authorities and was not detained, his lawyer said.

What has Mr. Combs been accused of in the lawsuits?

The dramatic raids on Mr. Combs’s properties follow a series of lawsuits, in which four women have accused him of rape and sexual assault and a man accused him of unwanted sexual contact.

Several of the lawsuits accused Mr. Combs of human trafficking, with two of the plaintiffs accusing him of forcing them to participate in sexual encounters with prostitutes.

The first lawsuit was filed by his former girlfriend Casandra Ventura, who makes music as the singer Cassie . She accused Mr. Combs of rape, physical abuse and forced sex with male prostitutes. The suit was settled just one day later, with both Mr. Combs and Ms. Ventura saying their dispute had been resolved “amicably.”

Three more lawsuits accusing him of rape were filed over the next three weeks.

In one, the plaintiff, Joi Dickerson-Neal, accused Mr. Combs of drugging and sexually assaulting her when she was a college student in 1991.

Another lawsuit, filed by a woman named Liza Gardner, also described allegations from the early 1990s. She accused Mr. Combs of coercing her into sex and then, a couple of days later, choking her so hard that she passed out.

A fourth woman, who filed her lawsuit anonymously, accused Mr. Combs and two other men of gang raping her in a recording studio in 2003, when she was 17. The judge in that case has ruled that — pending a motion to dismiss that was filed by Mr. Combs’s lawyers — the woman will have to use her real name if she wishes to proceed with the case.

The most recent lawsuit filed against Mr. Combs, in February, was brought by a music producer , Rodney Jones Jr., who worked on his most recent solo album. Mr. Jones, also known as Lil Rod, accused Mr. Combs of making unwanted sexual contact and forcing him to hire prostitutes and participate in sex acts with them.

It is not clear how exactly the civil suits factor into the federal investigation, but federal investigators in New York have been conducting interviews asking potential witnesses about sexual misconduct allegations against Mr. Combs for several months, according to a person familiar with the interviews.

The criminal inquiry is being conducted by federal prosecutors in the Southern District of New York and federal agents with Homeland Security, a law-enforcement official said.

How has Mr. Combs responded?

Mr. Combs has denied all of the allegations against him. In a statement released on the day the fourth lawsuit was filed, Mr. Combs said, “Let me be absolutely clear: I did not do any of the awful things being alleged. I will fight for my name, my family and for the truth.”

A lawyer for Mr. Combs, Jonathan D. Davis, said in a court filing in response to the gang rape lawsuit that the defendants’ reputations had been “irreparably damaged” and that the accusations “resulted in them becoming victims of the ‘cancel culture’ frenzy in the courts — well before any evidence has been presented, and on the basis of rank, uncorroborated allegations.”

A day after the raids, another one of Mr. Combs’s lawyers, Aaron Dyer, criticized the approach by Homeland Security, calling it a “gross overuse of military-level force” and an “unprecedented ambush.”

“There has been no finding of criminal or civil liability with any of these allegations,” Mr. Dyer said in a statement.

Has anyone been arrested?

The only known arrest was of a 25-year-old associate of Mr. Combs who was charged with cocaine possession.

The associate, Brendan Paul, was arrested on Monday at Miami-Opa Locka Executive Airport, where federal agents stopped Mr. Combs. A former Division I college basketball player, Mr. Paul, who was released on bond, has posted on social media in the past about working with Mr. Combs.

The lawsuit filed by Mr. Jones, the music producer, accused Mr. Paul of working as Mr. Combs’s “mule,” claiming that he acquired and distributed drugs and guns for him. It also said that he sometimes negotiated fees for prostitutes for Mr. Combs. The lawsuit does not include Mr. Paul as a defendant.

A lawyer representing Mr. Paul, Brian H. Bieber, said in a statement, “We do not plan on trying this case in the media — all issues will be dealt with in Court.” He did not respond to questions about the allegations in Mr. Jones’s lawsuit.

Why are people talking about Cuba Gooding Jr.?

The actor’s name has been circulating in connection with Mr. Combs because he was added this week as a defendant in Mr. Jones’s lawsuit. In the complaint, Mr. Jones accuses Mr. Gooding of groping his “upper inner thighs near his groin” on Mr. Combs’s yacht, after Mr. Combs introduced the two men.

A lawyer who had represented Mr. Gooding in a criminal sex abuse case — in which he pleaded guilty to a single count of harassment — did not immediately respond to a request for comment on Mr. Jones’s claim.

Julia Jacobs is an arts and culture reporter who often covers legal issues for The Times. More about Julia Jacobs

Ben Sisario covers the music industry. He has been writing for The Times since 1998. More about Ben Sisario