Eight years after the Kavanaugh hearings, a student’s allegations expose the enduring failure of institutions to support survivors and hold privileged men accountable.Protesters demonstrate against then-Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh in Union Square on October 6, 2018, in New York City. (Yana Paskova / Getty Images)

Originally published by The Contrarian, as “We Keep Failing Women.”

“For the past week, all I can see is red—for the naked distrust and disgust in which women are regarded, and the willingness to believe, vouch for, and dig hard for any rationale to excuse wealthy, privileged men from any shred of accountability.”

I did not write these particular words about The Cornell 7, the fraternity brothers who are the subject of a civil lawsuit and renewed criminal investigation for allegedly raping a fellow student over the course of several hours two years ago and posting in a group chat to invite others to do the same. Among the comments allegedly in their chain: “Free p*ssy upstairs,” “you can walk in and whip it out,” and “shop still open?”

No, the opening paragraph of my column is pulled from a Ms. essay I wrote exactly eight years ago as I watched the Senate Judiciary Committee hearing on Brett Kavanaugh’s nomination to the Supreme Court.

In 2018 and again in 2026, the country must reckon with establishment-level failure in a sickening pattern of gender-based violence and unabashed patriarchal entitlement—in this case, the university’s tepid response, which included assigning essays to some of the men as part of their punishment, the district attorney’s decision not to prosecute, and the re-opening of the investigation now because of public outrage.

With every passing day—with each sordid detail that comes to light about Brett Kavanaugh’s school years, with every aggressive and hypocritical word that passes across the lips of Senator Mitch “plow through these hearings” McConnell, with every victim-blaming tweet from the pussy-grabbing POTUS himself—my fury swells.

(2018)

Might this be the moment—and the generation—suited to declare no more? Can all of our outrage carry us through the midterms and beyond?

Jane Doe’s 100+ page filing paints a gruesome scene of being pressured into snorting ketamine, repeatedly assaulted, then offered out for abuse to the fraternity.

I experienced an extra wave of nausea watching CNN’s Jake Tapper interview Tompkins County District Attorney Matthew Van Houten, and his stubborn insistence that his office rationally presumed a case of mutual consent, even when presented with the text messages.

I’m not alone in observing his double-speak. Abortion, Every Day’s Jessica Valenti responded to another news segment:

“It was when I saw Van Houten’s interview with ABC News that I realized this wasn’t just a legal disagreement—but good old-fashioned victim-blaming. I understand that this district attorney must be under an enormous amount of scrutiny, and that his instinct is to defend himself. But this is the person we’re supposed to believe will seek justice on behalf of a young, traumatized woman?”

My fury is swelling right now too, but it has a somewhat different flavor than that of 2018. It is the badge of a degraded democracy that the power of certain men will not be held to account.

An anti-Brett Kavanaugh protest in Union Square on Oct. 6, 2018, in New York City. (Yana Paskova / Getty Images)

The Cornell 7—and every student who received their texts or knew what was happening and looked the other way—surely absorbed the fallout from Kavanaugh’s confirmation, even if they were pre-teens at the time. The inevitable message to society that the Kavanaugh confirmation sent was: “This will not hurt my chances of becoming president or a Supreme Court justice (or, say, a banker at Wells Fargo, where one of the men apparently worked and appears to have been fired from). I’m good, thanks.”

But here is what keeps me up at night: The path to Kavanaugh’s confirmation is only the beginning. If he is granted a lifetime appointment to the Supreme Court, he will shape our futures. He will determine our rights, our bodily autonomy, our dignity. He will hold the trajectory of our lives in his hands.

(2018)

I am so sorry how true these words are. I am sorry for my daughters, for my son, for our entire nation. We now live in a country where no one is safe. Kavanaugh’s confirmation to and now eight-year tenure on the Supreme Court more than sent a message to would-be rapists. It has unleashed direct and incalculable harm on women and girls, LGBTQ people, reproductive rights, safety, equality, and justice.

Through all the rage, though, is a fresh recognition. The problem isn’t just the players and perpetrators—it’s our very systems of democracy and justice, which are compromised to the core. For women that means we are forever stuck having to play by rules that we didn’t create—that are designed not to serve us, but to ensure that the power structures remain intact, and nearly always at our expense.

(2018)

Jane Doe told Cornell’s student newspaper that she was devastated by the lack of support she got from the university at all levels and that her “pain was compounded by being criticized and ostracized at a time when I needed compassion, support and care the most.”

That is perhaps the most personal manifestation of the collective impact—and all the structural barriers we’ve failed to eradicate.

Even so, her unfathomable bravery is the reason we are now having this public conversation at all; ditto for the talented student journalists who broke the story. Might this be the moment—and the generation—suited to declare no more? Can all of our outrage carry us through the midterms and beyond? I wish I could be as optimistic as I chose to be when I ended my 2018 essay with this:

Despite the grotesque politics of the last two years, I’ve found inspiration, even hope for progress, unlike any I’ve experienced in recent decades. A renewed camaraderie and sisterhood; activism and advocacy across diverse communities; millions who’ve taken to the streets for an intentional, intersectional feminism; swift power and impact from #MeToo and TIME’S UP across Hollywood—all of this has truly punctuated my work, deepened my resolve, revived my spirit. Honestly, it’s enough to make this 50-year-old lawyer-parent-feminist shove back hard at the men who stand too close on the subway and tell me to smile.

(2018)

I’ll shove back even harder now. Enough is enough. Not one more Jane Doe.