If Not All Men, Then Who?

Photo via Rare Manuscript Collections, Cornell University

Before continuing, be aware that this article contains discussions of sexual violence. Please read only to your comfort level. You can find additional support and resources available through the Fordham Title IX office. The ideas presented in this article are my own and do not represent the beliefs of the Fordham Political Review or Fordham University.

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On October 19, 2024, an incident of alleged gang rape occurred at Cornell University. By now, I’m sure many of you have seen information regarding the Cornell 7. This event is receiving renewed attention following a civil lawsuit filed by Jane Doe, the anonymous plaintiff, against Cornell University and others. Conversations and debates have taken place across news outlets and social media platforms discussing the case and arguing over the nuances of Jane Doe’s level of intoxication, New York State penal law, and the complexities of consent.

Because this event occurred on a college campus, and the story was broken by a student newspaper, the Cornell Daily Sun, it is necessary for students, faculty members, and families to be talking about Jane Doe and the prevalence of sexual violence on college campuses. To have these conversations, we must recognize the two interconnected issues: the fundamental misunderstanding most people have about consent and the misogyny—prejudice against women— we internalize and spread in our families, schools, universities, media, and peer interactions.

According to a study conducted in 2019 with a sample of 1,500 U.S. college students, only 34% of male students believed consent required a verbal “yes,” compared to 54% of female students from the same study. 45% of male students believed pressuring someone into sex until they say yes is not assault.

The same year that the survey was conducted, a College Climate survey found that 13% of undergraduate students experienced rape or sexual assault after enrolling in college. That survey reports that 26% of undergraduate women and 7% of undergraduate men experience non-consensual sexual contact after enrolling at their school. Of those cases, 90% go unreported across the United States, according to the Sexual Violence Legal Support Project. These statistics expose a troubling disconnect between students’ understanding of what constitutes consent and the actual prevalence of sexual violence on college campuses.

With all of that said, how is it possible for us to still be undereducated about the circumstances of sexual assault? How can we be having public debates about whether a victim of rape can be trusted because she was intoxicated during the time of the assault? Why does it take a case of this magnitude to force us to have a conversation and demand more from our justice system, universities, friends, and family members? Every act of sexual assault deserves accountability. Every rapist deserves to feel ashamed. And no woman’s life should be valued less than her rapist’s potential. Movements against sexual violence on college campuses have been taking place since the early 1960s and have largely been considered a feminist issue. For us to make real, lasting change, however, men must take responsibility for their participation in a culture that allows this kind of behavior to go unchallenged.

To open the conversation, it is imperative that we have a strong understanding of consent. Informed consent is the agreement of all engaged parties to participate in sexual activity under explicit and agreed-upon circumstances. Ethically, consent cannot be freely given when a person is coerced, threatened, below the age of consent, or too impaired to understand or voluntarily participate in a sexual act. If at any point the circumstances of that sexual activity change, such as one of the participants changes their mind, the activity is no longer consensual, and the request for consent must be reestablished. Consent must be freely given, informed, ongoing, and communicated without coercion. It cannot be assumed from silence, previous sexual activity, a relationship, or the absence of physical resistance.

We all have to take that information and reflect on our own actions. What constitutes consent and what does not is very clear. If you or anyone you know has ever violated the above parameters, that was sexual assault. Based on Jane Doe’s account, the conduct constitutes sexual violence under the ethical definition of consent previously established, regardless of whether the existing criminal statutes adequately encompass the conditions of her assault.

While the “Cornell 7” case involves particularly disturbing allegations that have been met with inadequate punishment, this event reflects a broader culture of hatred and violence against women. We live in a world where self-proclaimed misogynists Nick Fuentes and Andrew Tate can, at their peak, amass 1.3 million and 45 million followers, respectively; where our country’s current president was found liable for sexual abuse in a civil case brought by E. Jean Carroll, one year before being reelected; where two members of the Supreme Court, Brett Kavanaugh and Clarence Thomas, have been accused of sexual assault and harassment; and where an estimated 443,634 rapes and sexual assaults occurred in the US in 2024.

These figures are not independent of the culture that produces them, but rather reflect an environment in which degrading and assaulting women can be normalized and treated as politically inconsequential. We have a responsibility to demand justice and transparency for everyone who has ever been a victim of sexual violence. But more than that, we must demand a zero-tolerance policy for conduct of this sort by any member of our society.

This is not a woman’s issue. This is a human issue. If you are reading this, feeling sick at the thought of your wife, girlfriend, sister, or mother going through what Jane Doe experienced, you should reflect on why you can only feel empathy if the victim is someone you know personally. Every Jane Doe deserves our willingness to stand in solidarity and fight for justice. We have normalized phrases like “boys will be boys” and “locker room talk,” as well as trends like “choosing between the man or bear” for too long. The men involved in the infamous case, Matthew Ingalls, Johnathan Newell, Winston Lee, Gillio Lopes, Diego Sarabia, Scott Norris, and Scott Kretzschmar, have shown us the devastating effects of rhetoric like this.

This culture teaches boys they won’t be held accountable, and teaches girls to be afraid. When men meet the flood of social media attention generated in response to the Cornell 7, with the assertion that it’s “not all men,” they perpetuate this behavior. No, it is not all men. But it is some men. And when the rest of these men do nothing, they teach those few that they can get away with this. There were fifty-seven men in that group chat, and they did nothing. Laughing at or participating in conversations that objectify women, treating questionable behavior as normal, dismissing allegations, and failing to intervene or hold your peers accountable are how events like the Cornell 7 happen. If you’re not the problem, then you have a responsibility to be part of the solution. Staying silent may not make you a perpetrator, but it allows perpetrators to continue unchallenged.

The responsibility of preventing and speaking out against sexual violence does not belong solely to the women who experience it. We must demand fundamental changes to the way we teach young people about gender expression, how we discuss consent, how we respond to reports of assault, and how we hold others accountable. Men must recognize that challenging misogyny is not an act of heroism, but a basic expectation of decency. Universities must prioritize the safety of their students and ensure that institutional procedures do not become barriers to justice. This requires us, as individuals, to stop treating sexual violence like an unfortunate event that we discuss exclusively within the confines of a social media post.

We cannot undo what has been done to Jane Doe or restore the years of safety, trust, and security that this violation can take from survivors. But we can determine the next steps we take. We can decide whether the next woman who comes forward will be met with skepticism or solidarity; whether the next man who makes a derogatory joke will be met with nervous laughter or confrontation; whether the next person who witnesses sexual violence intervenes or remains silent.

The Cornell case must mean more than a news story. It must be a reason to change.

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This article was edited by Andrea Dominguez and Catherine Dalton