Editor’s Note: This story includes mention of sexual violence. Resources are available here. All opinions, columns and letters reflect the views of the individual writer and not necessarily those of the IDS or its staffers.
“Jane Doe” is defined as “a woman who is a party to legal proceedings and whose true name is unknown or withheld.”
In 2024, a Jane Doe reported being raped by seven members of the Chi Phi fraternity at Cornell University. The local district attorney initially closed the case, determining the allegations did not have enough evidence to bring criminal charges. In September, this Jane Doe filed a lawsuit against Cornell, which held a closed proceeding in 2024 to decide whether the men involved would face disciplinary action. The harshest punishment the men faced was expulsion, and the lightest was writing a paper.
This case — while extremely deserving of the attention it’s garnered — does not tell us anything new about the state of American universities. Rather, the work of student journalists at Cornell has brought into the spotlight what college students around the country have been subjected to for years: a campus culture that fails to hold the perpetrators of sexual violence accountable.
There are doubtlessly thousands of Jane Does on campuses across the United States. Any one of them may pass you on your commute to class. They might sit by you in a dining hall or live on your dorm floor. The rampant issue of sexual violence on campuses is little spoken of directly among the public and even many students. Why would it be? Universities aren’t going to take action.
Indiana University demonstrates this same indifference toward its students.
College campuses are not safe spaces for women, and this one is no exception. According to statistics released by the IU Police Department and cited in a guest column by history professor Maria Bucur, the average number of sexual violence reports on IU’s campus has increased by nearly 200% between 2022 and 2025. The Indiana Daily Student has consistently covered incidents, and the subject isn’t quite lacking in commentary either. However, IU continues to drag its feet toward making any real changes for its student body.
It is no surprise the uptick in reported incidents correlates with the hiring of IU President Pamela Whitten in 2021. Whitten, after all, embodies the old boys’ network, despite proudly claiming the title of IU’s first female president. She has consistently made fraternizing with the wealthy and powerful a priority. As assault reports surged, she collected a $250,000 bonus in July on top of a $100,000 salary raise last February.
She also fosters a warm relationship with the Trump administration, which has a notorious history of sexual misconduct allegations. Meanwhile, Whitten resisted directly acknowledging campus sexual assaults after being repeatedly prompted by student reporters.
So, what does being held accountable look like at IU? At the current moment, it looks like simply putting Greek organizations accused of violent behavior under cease and desist for a singular semester. It is the same Greek system that, throughout the country, has been constantly accused of misconduct yet has remained intact for generations. In regards to sexual violence, IU’s executive leadership has yet to publicly acknowledge the increase in cases, with the university’s website providing only a blanket statement on the matter.
This lack of accountability seeps into the way students are taught about consent and sexual assault. Universities have approached consent education with a narrative that frames victims as responsible for the actions of offenders. At IU, students come face to face with this narrative through educational modules and signage, the ever-repeated phrase being:
“Consent can be withdrawn at any time, as long as it is clearly communicated.”
This line tells the story of a culture that teaches survivors their pain is conditional and enables perpetrators to justify what is unjustifiable. After multiple calls for change in the way consent is defined on campus, from both my columns and supporting guests, IU has remained dormant. This is unsurprising. Given that victim blaming ideology has historically led to a lack of reporting, teaching students a skewed narrative of what consent looks like is a cop-out. It avoids placing responsibility where it belongs because doing so is inconvenient.
When victim blaming discourages people from reporting incidents, no one will be held accountable. And when a victim does come forward, that same culture scrutinizes their story to no end. The Cornell case is a traditional exhibit. Despite the deliberate actions of seven men and the inaction of 50 men in the fraternity’s group chat who could have intervened, every detail of Jane Doe’s own actions leading up to the alleged rape has come into question.
Because why would offenders answer for their behavior when funds are at play? After all, Greek alumni are more likely to donate to their alma mater. Failure to hold perpetrators of harm truly accountable lines universities’ pockets. It is much easier to assign an essay than it is to demand real change because change would disrupt the current system of wealthy donors patting each other’s backs.
The systemic failure that places victims at fault is what drives the alias “Jane Doe.” It is why so many other women in similar situations have not reported at all — which raises the thought of how many may have gone through the same on our own campus.
In light of the recent events at Cornell, American universities, including IU, are faced with a tough question: how much longer are they going to uphold a culture that blames survivors in order to protect the powerful?
Considering our campus’s current policy, the outlook is grim.
Emma Howard (she/her) is a junior studying journalism.
A list of resources is available here if you or someone you know has experienced sexual harassment or abuse.
