How Cornell has deepened college women’s nihilism about campus assault

Josephine Campos, 19, was feeling optimistic when she started her sophomore year at the University of Vermont. After spending the last few years focusing on herself, she was ready to date. She was going to be intentional, explore her options on the apps and at parties, put herself out there. But in September, when news broke of a former Cornell University student’s lawsuit against several men alleging they coerced her into taking drugs and then raped her, Campos told me she reconsidered. “Wait, do I really want to be doing this right now?” she asked herself.  

For many college women, it’s a fair question.

In the time since Campos first learned of the lawsuit, the public has reacted with outrage over the school’s handling of the incident. The New York attorney general appointed a former federal prosecutor to investigate the allegations — yet, none of the seven accused men, who deny wrongdoing, have been criminally charged. The university’s faculty senate voted no confidence in Cornell’s administration “to effectively address the ongoing crisis of sexual assault.” Cornell’s board of trustees, however, said it still has faith in the administration. 

And just this week, New York Focus uncovered a 2023 lawsuit against Cornell in which two students alleged the school did not take their accusations of sexual assault seriously. This mirrors what many women on America’s college campuses are feeling right now: Despite decades of advocacy and education around sexual violence, these incidents are still not taken seriously. 

Campos was just 10 years old when the Me Too movement exposed the prevalence of sexual assault in America. Today’s college students had reason to believe that the harrowing stories and bravery from young women like Chanel Miller, Emma Sulkowicz, and the survivors of Larry Nassar could change the culture. Now, more than a decade later, the Cornell allegations represent another tipping point — where women’s safety would finally be taken seriously.

But the young women who spoke with me for this story don’t see that happening any time soon. 

Many say they still feel overwhelming pressure to protect themselves because they believe the institutions charged with their care have failed them. After waves of outcry following each high-profile campus assault case, young women are losing hope that meaningful progress will ever materialize. 

“I would like to think it would be a turning point, but I’m just not sure,” 22-year-old Hannah Butler, a senior at Western Carolina University, told me. “I’m not sure because I feel like we hear so many stories of campus sexual assaults and nothing ever really happens a lot of the time. It’s just so unfortunately normalized. I’m worried that this is going to be another, ‘Oh crap, that happens,’ and then everybody continues on because everyone’s so desensitized to it now.”

“Cover your drinks” 

Campus sexual assault is common. A 2017 study concluded that the “one in five” statistic that is often used to quantify it is “is a reasonably accurate average across women and campuses.” In New York, a state that requires schools to report sexual assault, more than 25,000 incidents of sexual misconduct involving a student were documented between 2018 and 2024. Today, women continue to bear the brunt of speaking out mistreatment and sexual assault: They lean on “Are we sharing boyfriends?” Facebook groups and other whisper networks to voice their negative experiences with certain men and to warn other women. Most acts of sexual violence are not reported to authorities, and even fewer actually make national news. 

But when cases do capture the public’s attention — as Cornell’s did — they bring awareness to the prevalence of the problem. Campos said the Cornell case opened her eyes to the widespread issue of campus rape, and said the ongoing news coverage has made it easier for her and her friends to discuss their past sexual experiences, stories that might not have otherwise come to light.

“It’s not just happening at these really big schools,” Campos said. “You forget that it happens everywhere until you hear someone talking about it and then you’re like, ‘Oh wait, that happens here.’”

Butler said she and her friends have had similar conversations informed by their own experiences with sexual harassment and abuse. Butler remembered one of her friends texting their group chat for help while being cornered in the laundry room by a man. Others have been sexually assaulted but didn’t even realize it at the time that what happened to them had a name. 

“What our conversations generally sound like is shocked and horrified,” Butler told me, “but not super surprised.”

Gen Z has grown up in a precarious world full of perceived risks and threats, who have practiced school shooter drills since kindergarten; they are a generation that highly values safety. This attentiveness has filtered into their dating lives, too. Josie Stoffan, a 21-year-old senior at the University of Michigan, told me that being hyper aware is already part of their mindset. “I feel like it hasn’t really changed because we’ve already been, I don’t know, very vigilant about everything going on,” she said. This awareness stems, in part, from discussions on social media where young women share tips on how to avoid potentially dangerous situations, Stoffan said. 

This heightened vigilance is true for Campos, too. Despite her initial hesitations, she has decided to date after all — but she makes sure her friends have access to her location, and she only meets during the day in public locations. Butler’s friend group took location-sharing a step further: They’ve purchased trackers to monitor each other’s whereabouts. They also avoid alcohol on first dates — water only. “Girls are always taught to cover your drinks and be safe,” Butler said.

This undercurrent of fear and vigilance has swelled beyond the student body in recent weeks. At Pennsylvania State University’s Beaver campus, nurse Jessica Judy has fielded fresh questions from students who pass through her office that she believes was spurred by the Cornell outcry. Others have shared their outrage with her, their support of Jane Doe, their apprehension with dating. “Students are a little bit more leery now after hearing what potentially could happen,” Judy told Vox. “I think that they are really thinking things through and there is a small bit of fear there.”

Following many highly publicized incidents of sexual violence, news reports and social media commentary can empower people to speak out against rape or share their own experience, which was especially true in the years following Me Too. Society has made progress in recognizing the severity of these crimes and supporting victims, Elizabeth Armstrong, a sociologist at the University of Michigan who studies campus sexual assault, told my colleague Rachel Cohen Booth. But, Armstrong noted, most college campuses lack adequate resources for survivors of campus rape: mental health support, learning accommodations, and perhaps refunded tuition. Judy believes her students, both men and women, would benefit from more comprehensive sexual education about what consent is and how it can change within a single encounter.

“Is it voluntary? Is it enthusiastic? Has something changed?” she said. “I think that there’s an intimidation for some students, I’ve noticed, to really ask questions or set boundaries.”

But this responsibility to self-educate, to communicate, and to suss out whether a date is safe still falls on women. Shortly after learning about the Cornell case from social media — especially the details of the fraternity members’ group chat — Zoie King, a 21-year-old senior at San José State University, began asking her boyfriend what he and his friends discuss in theirs. “I definitely think it’s more, for me, asking questions like, ‘Oh, your friend hooked up with that girl. What did he say?’” King said. “You learn a little bit more about the friends and you’re like, ‘I don’t really love that. Oh, that’s kind of weird.’”

King was also taken aback by how differently she and her boyfriend’s attitudes toward safety. While she hardly ever walks alone at night, her boyfriend doesn’t bat an eye. “For him, it was just very surprising hearing how different women, especially women in college, see the world, how vigilant they have to be all the time,” King said.

“It’s a bunch of frat men around you, and they don’t really care”

It’s impossible to separate the Cornell allegations from the longstanding issues with Greek life: Hazing, rampant alcohol and drug use, and an intense party culture can create unsafe scenarios for both women and men. One study found that fraternity membership was correlated with sexual aggression. Fraternity houses are among the most common locations on college campuses where students reported being sexually assaulted.

Over the last decade, some fraternities and sororities have implemented rules to reel in Greek culture. “Sober monitors” — party attendees who remain sober throughout the night — are a common sight at social events. Their duties include checking IDs and making sure no one goes upstairs at houses unless given permission. Some schools have raised GPA requirements for Greek participation or banned fraternities and sororities altogether. Still, until a critical mass of universities or Greek organizations commit to systemic and cultural change, opting out remains an individual decision — which can effectively lead to alienation in schools where all socializing revolves around Greek culture.

Before the Cornell story broke, Campos had decided to rush a sorority. “The news came out right after I got in, so it was a very weird introduction to Greek life to have all this come out right after I finished recruitment,” she said. Her sorority offered members a discount on the She’s Birdie personal alarm systems — devices marketed toward young women and their parents — hosted self-defense classes, and committed to avoiding partnering with fraternities for events.

Lucy Walker is a 19-year-old sophomore at the University of Texas at Austin, a Southern school with a large Greek presence. While she isn’t a member of a sorority, she has attended fraternity parties and said these organizations still maintain a lot of influence on campus.

At most college campuses, sororities aren’t allowed to throw their own parties, and so members — and the campus at large — end up relying on fraternities to host. And most of the time, women get in for free. Walker told me she hasn’t seen any collective moves from her peers to avoid frat parties: “I feel like [sororities] have a lot more power than they think they do — because without the sororities,” Walker said, “the frats are kind of nothing.” Walker said. But that still puts all of the pressure on women to take action.

Stoffan, the University of Michigan student, was in a sorority but said because of the drama and partying, she left Greek life. She’s not dating this year — she’s moving soon for a job — but she told me she still hears from fraternity boys who make inappropriate jokes like, “You don’t want to get Cornell seven-ed.” 

Stoffan has tried calling them out for their insensitivity, but feels largely ignored. “It makes me very disappointed in, especially, the frat men. What is it going to take for them to stop making those jokes and maybe stand up for what’s right?” Stoffan said. 

“There’s only so much you can do, and it’s a bunch of frat men around you and they don’t really care.”