Cornell Jane Doe: I had a similar experience in a fraternity. I understand Jane Doe’s reaction.

Last month, Jane Doe, a former student, filed a civil suit against Cornell University over an alleged 2024 sexual assault at a fraternity house. In her words, she was drunk when she arrived at the fraternity and was “pretty good” with a first encounter involving two men she knew. But the night quickly degenerated. She alleges that men pressured her to take ketamine and that several men forced sex on her. At one point, she took more ketamine in hopes of passing out, reasoning that if the men had had sex with her while she was unconscious, no one could deny it was rape. Then she sent text messages to her rapists. In the eyes of some, this means she was “fine.” That’s not how I see it. Especially because something similar happened to me.

When I was raped in a fraternity in 2016, I initially tried to forget the encounter. It was easy because I didn’t remember what happened. The softer reality I gave myself deflated when one of my fraternity “friends” texted me that I had been raped. His take on the situation was to laugh it off as a night that got out of control. Apparently it didn’t matter that none of the brothers present stopped an older brother from raping a nearly unconscious woman. I followed his lead and downplayed what had happened.

Later, younger fraternity members told me they knew I was being raped and felt bad for not intervening. They at least had the decency to appear upset and apologize for allowing this to happen. I assured them I was fine. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe I was in denial. Or maybe I was just numb to the idea of ​​being a victim of sexual violence at the hands of men. I wanted to leave everything behind. But first, I wanted to talk to my rapist.

Although the other fraternity brothers told me I was barely conscious, he assured me the rape was a rumor and said I had consented to sex. Like many women, I think I have been conditioned to be a people pleaser. My instinct was not to call him out, but rather to ease the discomfort. A sick knot formed in my stomach as I rushed to smooth the situation over. Then I did something that seemed to shock people: I apologized for questioning what had happened and promised to put an end to all the rumors.

I wanted to back up my words with actions, so I agreed to return to the same house where I had been raped. I sat awkwardly on the couch and pretended to be interested in a TV show to demonstrate to him that I was, in fact, fine. All the while, I counted down the minutes until I could escape. Maybe I wanted to prove to him that things were normal.

More likely, I was trying to prove it to myself. In the months and years that followed, his name and image immediately filled me with a creeping disgust that spread from my heart. There would certainly be no more forced television sessions. I just wanted to continue the life I had before he made the choice to change it. I think many victims can understand my answer. But that doesn’t change the fact that I was raped.

In the days following Jane Doe’s assault, she exchanged friendly texts with two of the men she would later accuse, who were her friends. Some cite the friendly messages as proof that she was not actually raped. They rely on the oldest phrase used to discredit women who report rape: she regretted it and changed her story. As someone who lived through some of Jane Doe’s experience personally, I can confidently say that she reacted in one of the many very normal ways that people react to an extraordinary violation.

Some women are able to fight back with words or fists. But for many of us, going soft, enduring, minimizing, and ignoring all of these are simply survival tactics that contradict the perfect victim narrative. Sometimes you let things happen because you want it to end sooner. In many cases, fighting back could mean even more serious assault or even death.

The prevailing legal advice is to preserve evidence. But not everyone comes out of sexual assault able to clearly say, “I was raped.” Many of us want to erase the crime that has been imposed on our bodies: take a long, hot shower, go to bed, maybe even burn the evidence, and tell ourselves whatever story is easier to digest.

Most rapes aren’t as obvious as Jane Doe’s, but it shouldn’t take that much effort to convince people that a rape happened. The Centers for Disease Control now estimates that nearly half of women (45.1%) in the United States have experienced some form of contact sexual violence. When an assault occurs in circumstances other than this “perfect” scenario, it becomes immediately apparent why many rapes and assaults are never reported.

But perhaps the real reason people seek to discredit victims is because they don’t want to admit the shades of gray behind sexual assault, which might force them to examine the conduct of their loved ones, as well as their own. Every woman I spoke to knows someone who has been assaulted or who has been assaulted themselves. According to RAINN, about 8 out of 10 rapes are committed by someone the victim knows. Still, you’d be hard-pressed to find a man who knows a rapist.

As long as we repeat the story that rape happens when a woman says no and fights back, we can absolve ourselves and our friends. Or we can spread the blame and downgrade rape from a jailable offense to something that can be ignored with a slap on the wrist so the rapist can move on with their lives. As CBS News reports, none of the seven men pursued by Jane Doe have been sentenced to prison, although the prosecutor has reopened the criminal investigation. Two were expelled, two were suspended, two were found not responsible and one graduated. According to the lawsuit, some men were allowed to tone down their conduct by submitting essays, which Cornell calls “reflection papers.”

Rape is not wrong. It’s not a stupid or inconsequential mistake that you can forgive with an apology or indirect explanation. At this point, I’m tired of writing about being raped. If only it could reach a point where men would get tired of doing the crime.