All posts by KC Johnson

KC Johnson is a history professor at Brooklyn College and the City University of New York Graduate Center. He is the author, along with Stuart Taylor, of The Campus Rape Frenzy: The Attack on Due Process at America's Universities.

The Office of Civil Rights Is Still Out of Control

As it left office last year, Barack Obama’s administration made one final move in its crusade against campus due process: it requested a massive increase—$30.7 million, or 28.7 percent—in funding for the Office for Civil Rights (OCR). The previous year, at a time when discretionary federal spending was barely rising, the office had received a 7 percent increase.

The Trump “skinny budget” contained an overall cut for the Department of Education, but included no specifics about OCR (or any other Education Department office). Based on its performance of the last six years in higher education, OCR deserves a dramatic reduction in its funding—rather than the huge boost it desires.

The Obama-era request envisions OCR hiring 157 new staff investigators. (OCR had asked for 200 new employees in fiscal year 2016 and received funding that allowed around 50 additional hires.) At a time of limited hiring by the federal government, why would OCR have demanded such a massive personnel increase?

A clue came in a recent article from BuzzFeed’s Tyler Kingkade. Over the past six years, Obama OCR heads Russlynn Ali and Catherine Lhamon—joined by grassroots accusers’ rights organizations such as Know Your IX—encouraged campus accusers to file Title IX complaints against their institutions.

These filings served multiple purposes for Lhamon and Ali. First, each Title IX complaint would give OCR jurisdiction to investigate individual universities, at which point the federal government could impose a “voluntary” resolution letter on the affected institution. These letters lock into place procedures for that school, even if the Trump administration eventually withdraws the Dear Colleague letter.

Second, Title IX complaints provided an opportunity for the Obama administration to stoke the public frenzy around the purported campus rape epidemic. In a highly unusual move, OCR publicized the identities of schools under investigation. This approach pressured the affected institutions to settle quickly while also leaving the impression that many of the nation’s elite institutions were indifferent to the large number of rapists in their midst.

Finally, the complaints provided a rationale for ever more frantic demands for more funding from Congress. As the 2016 budget justification explained, complaints addressing “sexual violence” were “both more complex and more high profile,” and “inadequate staffing” led to intolerable delays in handling the questions.

The resulting surge from a couple of dozen to hundreds of Title IX complaints against colleges and universities might have provided more than enough work for OCR. But, incredibly (and without announcing the shift publicly), Lhamon seized even more authority. According to Kingkade, who would have had no reason to misstate the claim (indeed, his reporting has consistently defended the accusers’ rights cause), Lhamon “expanded all Title IX sexual violence investigations to become institution-wide, so investigators reviewed all cases at a school rather than just the cases that sparked federal complaints.”

To translate: on her way out the door, Lhamon wanted to hire nearly 200 permanent employees, who would work under a true believer (Harvard’s ex-Title IX coordinator), because she had decided OCR would investigate not merely the complaints it received but thousands of other cases, even though no accuser had filed a Title IX complaint about any of these individual cases. On this matter, as on virtually all OCR-related matters during the Obama years, no sign of congressional oversight existed.

It would be difficult to imagine a more wasteful use of federal funds. Reducing OCR’s budget would help to bring the rogue office back under congressional oversight, and likely would force the new OCR head to (at the very least) temper Lhamon’s investigatory zeal.

The new administration will need to make key decisions not only on OCR’s funding level. Trump’s Education Department continues to enforce the flawed 2011 and 2014 guidance for sexual assault cases, which required colleges to use a preponderance of the evidence standard, discouraged cross-examination, instituted double-jeopardy regimes allowing accusers to appeal not-guilty findings, and urged subordinating public university students’ constitutional rights to due process to OCR’s interpretation of Title IX.

The slowness with which Trump has filled executive appointments has maximized the power of Obama holdovers. This situation is especially problematic with OCR, whose current head of enforcement, former Harvard Title IX director Mia Karvonides, dropped into her civil service position a mere three days before Trump was sworn in as president. Karvondes’ rushed appointment leaves the impression that the outgoing administration intended to maintain the unfair Obama rules regardless of what Trump did. Every day that passes without Trump staffers in OCR allows Karvonides to implement her agenda unchecked.

Finally, the Jeff Sessions-led Justice Department must decide to whether to defend Obama’s OCR overreach. The key lawsuit challenging the 2011 Dear Colleague letter—a case from the University of Virginia, which remains pending—was coordinated by FIRE, and filed by lawyer Justin Dillon. The UVA adjudicator, a retired judge, admitted that “there were signs” that the accuser “may have been capable of effective consent,” but nonetheless found the student guilty, in a case that she deemed “very close” and “very difficult.”

The most recent filing in the case came around a month before Obama left office. The Justice Department urged dismissing the student’s complaint on grounds that OCR policies are, basically, set in stone. Since UVA “knows” that “OCR considers the preponderance of the evidence standard to be the only standard consistent” with Title IX, the university would have no choice but to maintain its unfair procedures under threat of punishment from federal bureaucrats—even if a federal court overturned the Dear Colleague letter. Sessions used the excuse of a pending legal fight to reverse Obama’s era Title IX guidance designed to protect transgender teens. Will he defend the Dear Colleague letter, which actually harms accused students?

Moving beyond the Obama-era’s OCR abuses will take years. But Congress exercising the power of the purse is a needed first step in the process.

Duke Reports a Sexual Assault Rate 5 X as High as Our Most Dangerous City

Over the last few years, we have become all but immune to what, under any other circumstances, would be a fantastic claim—that one in five female undergraduates will be victims of sexual assault. This rate would translate to several hundreds of thousands of violent crime victims (with almost all of the incidents unnoticed) annually, and, as Emily Yoffe has pointed out, implies that about the same percentage of female college students are sexually assaulted as women in the Congo where rape was used as a war crime in the nation’s civil war.

Even within this environment of pie-in-the-sky statistics, a recent survey from Duke stands out. According to the survey, 40 percent of Duke’s female undergraduates (and 10 percent of Duke’s male undergraduates) describe themselves as victims of sexual assault. This data would mean that each year, a female undergraduate at Duke is 5.5 times more likely to be a victim of violent crime than a resident of St. Louis, which FBI statistics listed as the nation’s most dangerous city in 2016. And yet, incredibly, parents still spend around $280,000 to send their daughters into this den of crime for four years.

But 88% of Women Feel Safe

As always occurs with these surveys, the internal data renders them highly unreliable. But in this case, the internal data suggests a survey at war with itself. A few examples:

The survey indicates that 88 percent of female undergraduates say they feel safe on campus. So—at a minimum—28 percent of Duke female undergraduates say they feel safe at a school where they experienced sexual assault. Similarly, 74 percent of female undergraduates consider sexual assault a big problem on campus—meaning that at a minimum, 52 percent of female undergraduates feel “safe” on a campus where they think sexual assault is a “big problem.”

The most startling rate of self-described sexual assault victims comes among lesbian and bisexual female undergraduates, 59 percent of whom say they were sexually assaulted while at Duke. And yet, according to a later table, zero female undergraduates list a female as the perpetrator of their assault. Even assuming that every bisexual student surveyed said she was assaulted by a man, this figure would suggest that a significant portion of Duke lesbians are having some type of sexual contact with men (nearly all of whom, it appears, then turned out to have been sex criminals). Could anyone take such data seriously?

If true, these figures would suggest a violent crime epidemic not merely for Duke but for the city of Durham. Significant percentages of the alleged sexual assaults occurred in a category described as “off-campus/local,” thus falling within the jurisdiction of the Durham, rather than the Duke, Police Department. Yet no signs exist of the Durham Police paying more attention to this purported crime wave in their midst, or that the Duke leadership has asked them to do so.

‘Fundamentally Unfair” to Men

At heart of the issue is the extraordinarily broad definition of sexual assault—a term with a common cultural and legal understanding—used in surveys like the Duke one. The survey lumps together being “touched or grabbed” in an unwanted way (61 percent of the self-described victims) with sexual assault by force or threat (22 percent of the alleged victims) as if the severity of the offenses were the same. Even the survey takers appear to recognize the folly of this approach; 41 percent of self-described female sexual assault victims describe the experience of being sexually assaulted as not very upsetting—or not upsetting at all. The university’s response? Asking whether this figure indicated “a need for broadly disseminated programming on the impact of sexual misconduct.” Duke already has increased “the number of staff providing counseling and support services and conducting investigations.”

Perhaps the saddest item from the survey: 57 percent feel that students accused of sexual assault are treated fairly. They’re responding to a system in which Duke has had two negative judicial decisions, the most recent of which featured Judge Orlando Hudson characterizing the Duke procedures as “fundamentally unfair.” There is, of course, no reason to believe that most students have any idea just how unfairly Duke treats students accused of sexual assault.

False Rape Reports in Sacred Heart

Last week featured a rarity—the filing of criminal charges against a campus sexual assault accuser. Ashe Schow has a full write-up of the case, which originated when a Sacred Heart University student named Nikki Yovino accused two of the university’s football players of sexually assaulting her.

An affidavit prepared by the local police indicated that the football players were suspended, and thus presumably found guilty. (Sacred Heart has disputed the extent of the students’ punishment.) But Yovino later admitted to police that she made it all up, seeking to engender sympathy from another male student she wanted to date. As Schow points out, this motivation resembles the Jackie case at UVA.

What most struck me, however, was the defense offered by a university spokesperson: “Whenever there is any kind of incident at Sacred Heart University, we go to great lengths to ensure due process for all parties involved. The way that this particular case is playing out certainly demonstrates the validity of our procedures.” [emphasis added] Again, this was a case in which Sacred Heart’s procedures led to the punishments of students who were falsely accused.

Though Sacred Heart promises a “fair process,” nothing in its procedures suggests fairness. The university begins by announcing its dedication to “providing information and resources to the Sacred Heart University community about the risks and myths that contribute to sexual misconduct.” What these “myths” are the procedures don’t reveal, and a Sacred Heart spokesperson did not respond to a request for the information.

The university also uses an affirmative consent policy, which effectively requires accused students to prove their innocence. “Consent,” at Sacred Heart, “cannot be inferred from the absence of a ‘no’; a clear ‘yes,’ verbal or otherwise, is necessary.” The procedures are silent on how “otherwise” can yield a “clear ‘yes,’” and despite a claim to the contrary, other sections of the guidelines outline a policy in which anything short of an ability to prove a verbal “yes” is likely to yield a guilty finding.

The university considers “persons who are intoxicated” while having sex to be victims since they are “lacking the physical and/or mental ability to make informed and rational decisions or judgments.” The policies don’t explain what happens when both students are intoxicated.

Once a charge is filed, the Title IX coordinator, rather than an independent party, investigates. If the coordinator concludes it’s more likely than not that the accused student is guilty, he goes before a hearing panel of two administrators and one professor. This panel hears “the facts of the case from both parties”—but the accused student has no right to cross-examination, no right to call witnesses, and no right to full legal representation.

These procedures are no worse than those employed at many universities, though they also give the lie to the spokesperson’s claim that the institution goes “to great lengths to ensure due process for all parties involved.” But Sacred Heart’s sexual assault procedure has a clause I’ve seen at no other school.

“An allegation that is both intentionally false and malicious,” Sacred Heart explains, “may [emphasis added] be a violation of the Sacred Heart University Student Conduct Code.”

Consider this provision for a moment. A false rape allegation, in and of itself, is not a violation of Sacred Heart’s code—the allegation must be “intentionally” false. (The code provides no description of the distinction between a false and an intentionally false claim.) But even an “intentionally false” claim isn’t a violation—the claim must also be “malicious.” (The code provides no description of the distinction between an intentionally false and an intentionally false/malicious claim.)

But even then—even if Sacred Heart has encountered a sexual assault claim that’s both “intentionally false” and “malicious”—the accuser only “may” be guilty of a code violation. So under certain (unspecified) circumstances, a Sacred Heart student who filed an intentionally false and malicious sexual assault claim against a fellow student still didn’t violate the university’s disciplinary code. It seems that Nikki Yovino found the perfect university to attend.

Panic Over Sex Assault ‘Crime Wave’ Overtakes Yale

In a 2012 resolution agreement with the Office for Civil Rights, Yale became the nation’s only university required to document all sexual assault allegations on campus. The reports, prepared by Yale deputy provost Stephanie Spangler, are generally bare-bones (and became even more so last year after Spangler announced she’d decided to supply less information about some unresolved complaints) but nonetheless provide a peak into the deeply unhealthy atmosphere—at least at elite campuses—regarding the investigation and adjudication of sexual assault complaints. The most recent of the Spangler Reports, which covers events in the last six months of 2016, has now appeared.

Minding the Campus has covered each of the previous Spangler reports, which have included such items as:

As always, Spangler notes that the university “uses a more expansive definition of sexual assault” than does either Connecticut state law or the federal government (through Clery Act requirements). The university has never offered an explanation as to why it does so. The current report, which discusses allegations filed between July and December 2016, adds a vague assertion that it “assigns complaints to general categories such as ‘sexual assault’ . . . that encompass broad ranges of behavior”—but, again, why sexual assault should “encompass broad ranges of behavior” beyond the common legal or cultural understanding of the term remains a mystery.

Fueling the Panic

The Spangler reports always have had the feel of existing to feed the frenzy (while appeasing OCR and justifying Yale’s sprawling Title IX bureaucracy) more than providing accurate information, but the current report seems to go overboard on this matter. It portrays a campus in the midst of a terrifying wave of violent crime—or, more likely, in the midst of a moral panic.

There were 81 reports of some type of sexual harassment at Yale in the last six months of 2016. Spangler seems almost giddy at the news, since “we have noted a sustained increase in the number of complaints brought to the university’s attention in the three reporting periods following” the AAU survey from 2015 (which, using deeply flawed methodology, suggested the nation’s preeminent campuses were hotbeds of felonies).

Spangler never pauses to consider whether this surge of reporting might be fueled by a panicked campus atmosphere to which she, and the Yale administration, have contributed. Instead, she believes that her previous reports—which indicated that a typical female undergraduate at Yale had a greater chance of being a victim of violent crime than a resident of Detroit, which FBI statistics have identified as the nation’s most dangerous city—have shown an insufficiently low number of campus crime victims. The university, she declares, therefore needs to “identify and address barriers to reporting” of sexual assault at Yale. What those barriers could be, given the frenzied atmosphere on campus in recent years, Spangler does not reveal.

Responding to the Yale Crime Wave

Spangler promised only two specific steps to take to meet this campus crime wave. The first is almost comical. “We are,” Spangler writes, “working to shed more light on Yale’s procedures through the creation of additional ‘hypothetical case scenarios’ that address a broad range of behaviors and are tailored to local campus communities.” The existing version of these scenarios was (deservedly) mocked by Cathy Young; and, in any case, they don’t shed light on its procedures—as Yale demonstrated when it didn’t follow them in the Jack Montague case, a point raised in his lawsuit against the university.

The second, however, raises grave academic freedom concerns. Interns in the Title IX Office, Spangler explains, have developed a program to address “patterns of academic and social life particular to the graduate and professional schools.” This program “has been offered in numerous departments.” Yet “academic” issues at the level of academic “departments” are supposed to be the purview of the faculty—not student interns responsible to a Title IX bureaucrat. Yet not only has this initiative not aroused any academic freedom concerns, according to Spangler “demand is high” for future workshops. Faculty, instead, appear to have bowed to the inevitable, as this jargon-laden sentence implies: “Schools and departments across the campus continue to introduce initiatives aimed at identifying and impacting factors that influence local culture.”

Despite the top-line assertion of 81 complaints of sexual harassment, Yale’s disciplinary tribunal, the UWC, handled only one case of sexual assault involving undergraduate students during this six-month period. (The student, unsurprisingly given the guilt-presuming procedures, was found guilty.) One case remains pending, and another withdrew instead of bothering going through the UWC.

New Developments

The current Spangler report departs from its predecessors in five interesting ways. First: several faculty members faced serious allegations, and therefore got a taste of the procedures to which their students have been subjected for years. One was found not guilty of sexual assault, but guilty of violating the school’s policy regarding teacher-student relations. A second is still facing the same charge, with two others currently under investigation on this policy. A fifth was found guilty of sexual harassment—in a case initiated not by any students, but by a Title IX “coordinator.” The professor was suspended for a semester, and prohibited from having any leadership positions or advising any students for five years. And the Title IX office is investigating two other professors for making “inappropriate comments.”

Second: the report features several cases in which students filed complaints not to have another student expelled, but solely to receive an academic accommodation (such as a delay on an exam or paper) from the Title IX office. And some of the allegations were remarkably broad. In two instances, for example, the student complained that another student “paid unwanted attention” to her. By that definition of sexual harassment, any student asking another out for a date would be risking a sexual harassment complaint. The ability of students to game the system by filing complaints to get accommodations is present in all Title IX matters, especially at elite schools.

Third: there appear to have been two cases in which a male filed a complaint against a female. It’s not clear whether there were sexual assault or harassment cases. It’s not clear whether they involved undergraduate or graduate students, or what their disposition was. But it is a trend worth watching.

Fourth: in the last few Spangler reports, a disturbing pattern emerged of Title IX coordinators—rather than accusers—filing sexual assault complaints against Yale undergraduate students. These moves came despite severe restrictions in the Yale guidelines regarding the filing of these complaints. One of the victims of this process was Jack Montague—and after his lawsuit brought attention to the matter, the restrictions vanished. But so too, at least for this reporting period, did the filing of charges against male undergraduate students by the Title IX office. Did the administration instruct the office to lay low on the matter until the Montague suit is resolved?

Fifth: seven sexual assault allegations by undergraduate students received no description from Spangler at all—yet they counted toward her top-line total of 81 cases, helping to fuel the campus panic. Previous Spangler reports would describe this kind of case, which often involved a claim by a student that a second student (whose identity she didn’t know) was sexually assaulted by a third student (whose identity she also didn’t know). Providing this type of information, of course, demonstrated the absurdity of the allegation. So, beginning with her last report, Spangler dropped it.

She wouldn’t want to provide inconvenient facts that might undermine the narrative.

The Downgrading of American History

A little more than a decade ago, I commented on the “re-visioning” of American history—the transformation of “traditional” sub-disciplines such as U.S. political, diplomatic, or military history to have them focus on the themes of race, class, and gender (and, now, ethnicity) that have come to dominate the field. A more recent development, documented by a 2016 ACTA report, has been the elimination of any required courses in U.S. history—even of the “re-visioned” variety. Only 23 of the nation’s 76 leading colleges and universities have such a requirement for History majors.

ACTA’s report is important not merely because of its impressive collection of hard-to-gather data, but because it has led some university History departments to publicly explain why they believe it’s fine for a U.S. university to graduate a History major who hasn’t taken a single course in U.S. history.

According to George Washington’s History Department, the elimination of a U.S. history requirement was purely market-driven—the number of majors had declined, and the department decided that eliminating a U.S. requirement would attract majors. Yet the department kept a far more onerous requirement (a pre-1750 course).

And a comment last month from the department’s director of undergraduate studies—“American history is so dominant at GW that it’s almost unnecessary to tell students that they have to take it. It’s what our students overwhelmingly do”— contradicted the suggestion that the unpopularity of U.S. history explained the decision to eliminate the requirement.

If George Washington’s seemingly illogical explanation for its removal of the U.S. history requirement, the response of the Duke History Department provided a clearer rationale for the problem the ACTA report exposed. Professor Bruce Hall, director of undergraduate studies in Duke’s History Department, asserted that “our goal is to have our students to develop the kind of critical skills that we think are really important for them”—implying that the actual content of History courses is irrelevant to Duke history professors.

Of course, the vast majority of History courses at Duke (or any other university) consist not of the instructor spending dozens of hours talking about “skills,” but of the professor providing information about the past. The “skills” emphasis (a favorite of the AAC&U, among others) provides a way to divert the public’s attention from what actually is being taught in university classrooms.

In the event, a Ph.D. student in the Duke program, Jessica Malitoris, gave the game away, indicating her “worry about the politics of privileging American history.” (Malitoris’ Duke profile affiliates her with the institution’s gender, sexuality, and feminist studies program.) Hall appeared to agree: “We don’t try to communicate an American ideological notion about citizenship—that’s not our goal.”

At least Malitoris was candid in why the department might have eliminated the requirement for U.S. history. (How that line would work with Duke donors, on the other hand, is a different question.) Hall’s remark, meanwhile, is difficult to square with his department’s own mission statement, which proclaims that “we study history for instrumental reasons, to redress the pervasive ‘history deficit’ in political discourse and policy formation.”

(The department’s website doesn’t indicate the nationality of its majors, but it seems safe to assume that the majority, and probably the overwhelming majority, are U.S. citizens, linking the department’s concern with “the pervasive ‘history deficit’ in political discourse and policy formation” to U.S. history.) And Duke University’s own mission statement, as articulated by the Board of Trustees, speaks of providing students with “a sense of the obligations and rewards of citizenship” that Hall appeared to disparage.

Only pressure from trustees is likely to achieve any kind of progress on this issue. As the responses of the Duke and George Washington departments illustrated, and as ACTA’s study documented, it appears that a majority of History professors nationally now believe that it’s OK for a university to graduate History majors who have never taken a course in U.S. history.

Obama OCR Moves to Deter Any Trump Reform

As the Obama administration draws to a close, opponents of campus due process have launched an aggressive public relations campaign on behalf of their agenda, lest change comes with a new regime in the White House.

The highest-profile effort came from Joe Biden, who penned an open letter to the presidents of the nation’s colleges and universities urging them to continue to meet the “epidemic” of campus sexual assault. (This is seemingly the only violent crime “epidemic” in American history in which law enforcement is to have little or no role.)

Perhaps the most striking item in Biden’s letter was his assertion that “twenty-two years ago, approximately 1 in every 5 women in college experienced rape or sexual assault. Today, the number is the same.” Setting aside the absurdity of the statistic (which would imply hundreds of thousands of unidentified victims annually, just among college students), this claim amounted to an admission that the admission’s war on campus due process has done nothing to lower the number of sexual assault victims—which, according to Biden, is at the “same” percentage as 1995.

The Vice President did not once mention due process or civil liberties in his letter.

As Biden released his letter, Democratic senators Bob Casey and Patty Murray pressed the incoming Trump administration to retain Obama’s interpretation that Title IX requires schools to use the lowest standard of proof in sexual assault cases, give sexual assault accusers the right to appeal not-guilty findings, and discourage procedures in which sexual assault accusers can be cross-examined about their allegations.

Portraying campuses in the midst of an unprecedented wave of violent crime, the senators contended that “campus sexual assault is a widespread problem affecting millions of college students across the nation.” The senators did not identify the source for their claim that “millions” of college students are affected by sexual assault. Nor did they explain why these “millions” of crime victims should not be an immediate priority of the nation’s police.

Accusers’ rights groups such as Know Your IX got into the act with a social media campaign demanding that incoming Education Secretary Betsy DeVos make no changes to the Obama administration’s Title IX policies. The implicit message: any effort to restore due process or a semblance of fairness to campus tribunals will be denounced as hostile to “survivors.”

But perhaps the most consequential move to retain the war on campus due process came outside of the public eye. On January 4, the Harvard Crimson broke the news that Harvard’s Title IX administrator, Mia Karvonides, was planning to depart her position abruptly. Karnovides had overseen one of the most unfair adjudication systems for campus sexual assault anywhere in the country.

Karnovides’ new position? Enforcement Director at the Office for Civil Rights (OCR), the agency that has served as the center of the war on campus due process during the Obama administration. Her starting date? January 18, or two days before Barack Obama leaves office. It seems unlikely that Karnovides would have accepted the new position if she lacked civil service protections.

The midnight appointment can only be interpreted as placing a key figure in the bureaucracy to disrupt any Trump administration effort to restore a sense of fairness to Title IX enforcement. Will the new administration respond?

Due Process Wins a Battle Against a University’s Kangaroo Court

Though federal judges tend to uphold a lot of unjust campus decisions in sex-assault cases, Judge Elizabeth Dillon, an Obama appointee, proved on December 23 that some campus procedures are just too outrageous to survive judicial review.

The judge’s due process ruling came in a case out of James Madison University. (You can read her opinion here.) After troubling appellate rulings in California (which approved a process one judge had compared to a kangaroo court) and in the 6th Circuit (where one judge suggested that military court martials represented an appropriate model for campus sexual assault cases), the Dillon ruling is important.

The James Madison case also illustrates the effects of an often- overlooked effect of the 2011 Dear Colleague letter—the requirement that colleges introduce allow accusers to appeal not-guilty findings. As in comparable cases at George Mason and the University of Michigan, at James Madison, this double-jeopardy principle created an additional layer of injustice. Indeed, in all other types of disciplinary cases at JMU, an accusing student can’t appeal a not-guilty finding.

Even in an environment that often features shaky claims, the JMU one was unusually weak: the accuser filed her claim (that she was too intoxicated to have consented) only after learning that the student she’d accused had moved on to another woman; the accuser offered varying dates for the alleged attack; and the accuser’s own roommate, who the accuser had called as one of her own witnesses, told the hearing panel that on the night of the incident, the accuser was “completely fine” and didn’t seem to be drunk.

Despite a hearing that hardly passed as a paragon of due process (the accused student was forced to present his defense before the accuser’s version was offered to the panel), the accused student was found not guilty.

But—thanks to the Dear Colleague letter’s change—the case wasn’t over. The accuser exercised her right to appeal the not-guilty finding, sending the case to a three-professor panel. And the appeals occurred amidst a campus frenzy over the issue of sexual assault. A few months earlier, OCR had commenced a Title IX investigation of the university. A student named Sarah Butters generated national controversy by claiming JMU had insufficiently punished the students who had raped her.

The fall 2014 semester had begun with an editorial from the student newspaper proclaiming that the university’s alleged softness on sexual assault was the issue that “had been on everyone’s mind for these past few months,” and indicated that “we cannot tolerate a culture of sexual assault at our school.” The editors indicated that “our goal is to give our readers the information necessary to empower them to stand up against sexual assault.” The editorial, signed by all members of the paper’s editorial team, did not mention due process as an issue of any concern.

Amidst this atmosphere, the university allowed the accuser to introduce three new pieces of evidence (each of which had been available to her at the time of her complaint) to the appeals panel.

First, she offered a report from a social worker asserting that she was prone to excessive intoxication when drinking because of medication she was taking. (This report had been introduced into the case file before the original panel made its decision, but was never shown to the accused student.)

Second, she produced a statement from a suitemate claiming that the roommate who testified against her had admitted to lying.

Third, she turned over a voicemail from what she claimed was the night of the incident in which she had discussed her intoxication. Sent, she wrote, right after she left the accused student’s residence, the voicemail “emphasizes that I was drunk and unable to give consent to sex.”

Armed with this “evidence” and the audio of the original hearing—but hearing no testimony from the parties, granting the original panel’s credibility determination no deference, and (it appears) using a definition of consent that differed from that in JMU’s own policy—the appeals panel ordered the accused student suspended for five-and-a-half years.

An e-mail sent to a JMU administrator suggested that the voicemail was critical in the outcome; a subsequent email amended the claim to the new witness statements as the key. Oddly, the panel did not issue a written explanation of why it overturned the original panel’s decision; it did not even indicate that it had found the accused student guilty. Its form only indicated that it had “increased” his (previously nonexistent) punishment.

The flawed procedures in this case yielded particularly flawed results.

First, according to subsequent testimony from members of the appeals panel, they credited the claim that the key exculpatory witness (the accuser’s roommate) had lied without ever giving her a chance to respond. Even more incredibly, under JMU policies, the accused student couldn’t ask the roommate to file a rebuttal statement with the appeals panel—because (since she was a witness called by the accuser in the original hearing) he was forbidden from contacting her.

Second, and in violation of JMU rules, the accused student never saw, at any stage of the process, the social worker’s statement. So he never had the chance to hire an expert of his own to rebut it.

Finally, the so-called ‘smoking gun’ voicemail was actually from the night before the incident. Indeed, its introduction suggested that the accuser might have tried to mislead the appeals panel—which the accused student could have pointed out if JMU had given him more than 24 hours to respond to this new “evidence” (which it sent to him in the middle of winter break).

Since he didn’t see the “evidence” in time, he thought he had no chance to impeach it. One of the appellate panelists, Education professor Dana Haraway, later testified that she considered the voicemail significant in her decision. She didn’t learn about the date error until the accused student’s lawyer deposed her in the due process lawsuit against JMU. It’s hard to imagine a more cavalier approach to one of her own institution’s student’s life and reputation. Professor Haraway did not respond to a request for comment.

All of this was too much for Judge Dillon. “No reasonable jury,” she concluded, “could find [the accused student] was given fundamentally fair process. Instead, the undisputed facts show that JMU denied [him] a ‘meaningful hearing.’”

The case, however, will only lurch along. The accused student’s life has been on hold since January 2015; he filed his lawsuit in May 2015. For the next two months, the two sides will present briefs discussing whether JMU should hold a new hearing. At best, he’ll be eligible to re-enroll in the fall 2017 semester (spring 2018 if JMU requests an additional hearing before Judge Dillon)—so would serve at least a five-semester suspension for an offense that appears never to have occurred, because of procedures that were fundamentally unfair.

Judge Dillon’s ruling addressed one other significant point. In 2015, Judge T.S. Ellis (in a factually dicey case out of George Mason) issued one of the most perceptive comments in any due process ruling about the effects of a guilty finding on the accused student. He noted that a university deeming a student a rapist would have enormous consequences on his future educational and earning opportunities—since he’d have no choice, as part of applying to a new school or to any job that required a background check, to produce educational documents showing the university judgment.

JMU’s lawyer denounced this decision, which he termed the “800-pound gorilla or the elephant in the room,” as “wrong” and a “mistake.” (You can read the hearing transcript here.) In JMU’s world, any student who wanted to conceal a wrongful finding of sexual assault could simply not produce his educational records. Judge Dillon rejected this suggestion as the false choice it was.

Unfairness in the Minnesota Football Rape Case

We don’t normally think of college athletes as prominent defenders of due process. Yet perhaps the highest-profile protest against the post-Dear Colleague letter demise of campus due process came last week at the University of Minnesota. Its emergence, the reaction to it, and its quick collapse speaks volumes about the relationship between due process and policies toward sexual assault on the nation’s campuses.

In September, several members of the Minnesota football team were accused of a particularly ugly gang rape. The police investigated, but the prosecutor ultimately declined to pursue charges, largely because a contemporaneous video of the incident (taken by one of the players) showed the accuser (in the words of a police report) “certainly conscious and aware of what is going on”—“lucid” and “alert.”

The university, however, conducted its own investigation and found at least some of the players guilty of the same offense (sexual assault) for which the local prosecutor had concluded he lacked probable cause to indict. Armed with that finding, the university’s athletic department suspended the players—in the process publicly identifying them. This move prompted other members of the football team to threaten to boycott the Holiday Bowl game, only to abandon their move under heavy pressure from the university and the media.

The Limitations of Due Process Protests

The timeline of the Minnesota football team’s response resembles that of the Yale basketball team’s response to the Jack Montague case. In both instances, the team began with examples of high-profile protest. Each member of the Yale team wore Montague’s warm-up shirt before a game. Each member of the Minnesota football team stood behind a statement indicating that university procedures had denied their teammates’ “due process,” in part by finding them guilty of the same offense for which the police had chosen not to bring charges.

Within 48 hours, under what appeared to be heavy internal and external pressure, the teams backed down and issued statements effectively retracting their original protests. In both instances, these statements were radically different in tone and substance from the teams’ original actions and read as if written by a university administrator rather than by college students.

Contrast both the Minnesota and Yale outcomes to that at the University of Missouri. When the Mizzou football team threatened to boycott on behalf of student protesters alleging racial discrimination on campus, the president was fired. The backdowns in the Minnesota and Yale cases, by contrast, provides a reminder of where the power lies in universities on due process issues and sends a message to other students that standing up for due process in sexual assault adjudications will be futile.

The Minnesota case includes one element absent in the Yale matter. Local reports suggest that the players’ unity was in part eroded by the release of the university investigative report. Even construing the incident in the light most favorable to the accused players, this lengthy document revealed an ugly, troubling episode in which the accused players were almost caricatures of unfeeling misogynists. Little wonder the other players then folded. (One of the players has subsequently maintained that the boycott nonetheless will ensure that future accused students are treated fairly, but no signs exist that Minnesota will in any way change its policies.)

Ironically, however, the leaking of the report (to a local TV station) heightened the due process critique the team originally made. The report, of course, was supposed to be confidential. Given its conclusion, and its highly negative character portrayals, it’s inconceivable any of the accused players leaked it. That leaves someone from the accuser’s legal team, or a university official, as the likely source—figures willing to waive the confidentiality requirements when they thought it would be helpful to their side of the case. The report’s leaking, in this respect, casts further doubt on the integrity of the Minnesota adjudication process. Just as with Yale and the Patrick Witt case, however, I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for an investigation to identify the leaker who violated university policies.

Blue State Laws

The last few years have featured a wave of blue states passing “affirmative consent” laws, which effectively require accused students to prove their innocence. Minnesota hasn’t enacted such a law (though the university does employ the “affirmative consent” standard, thereby defining sexual assault differently than state statutes). But the state did enact a first-in-the-nation law requiring “training” of all campus investigators and adjudicators of sexual assault cases.

The football players’ case was one of the first to be adjudicated under the new standards. This summer, I had asked Minnesota’s Title IX coordinator, Kimberly Hewitt, for a copy of the new training material; she declined to provide it, with a cc to the university public relations office. (I then obtained it through a state public records request.)

I can see why Hewitt wasn’t eager for the material to become public. Minnesota has trained its sexual assault investigators by having them attend an event organized by the Minnesota Coalition Against Sexual Assault; sessions from the National Association of Colleges and Universities; participating in the “Minnesota Campus Sexual Violence Summit”; joining an AAU Survey of Sexual Assault and Sexual Misconduct Webinar; and completing a course organized by the ATIXA Institute, an organization associated with the anti-due process NCHERM.

Adjudicators receive briefings from the Minnesota Equal Opportunity and Affirmative Action Office, the Student Sexual Misconduct Subcommittees, the university Office of the General Counsel, a local police chief, a university lecturer expert in addressing questions of credibility, the Director of Gender and Sexuality Center for Queer and Trans Life at the University of Minnesota, and the legal advocacy coordinator of the Aurora Center, a university organization that “provides a safe and confidential space for students . . . who are victims/survivors/concerned people of sexual assault.”

Adjudicators receive briefings from the Minnesota Equal Opportunity and Affirmative Action Office, the Student Sexual Misconduct Subcommittees, the university Office of the General Counsel, a local police chief, a university lecturer expert in addressing questions of credibility, the Director of Gender and Sexuality Center for Queer and Trans Life at the University of Minnesota, and the legal advocacy coordinator of the Aurora Center, a university organization that “provides a safe and confidential space for students . . . who are victims/survivors/concerned people of sexual assault.”

The list of training, therefore, contains no defense lawyers. Nor does it feature a representative of a group devoted to campus civil liberties, like FIRE (or even the ACLU). So Minnesota trains its investigators and adjudicators exclusively from sources that are either neutral or who are ideologically inclined to believe the accuser (and therefore find guilt). Imagine the criminal justice context, of jurors in sexual assault trials (and only sexual assault trials) required to receive “training,” with the training material provided only by the prosecutor and not by the defense.

The effects of this training were apparent in the university investigator’s report. Both the accuser and the accused had inconsistencies in their stories. But the accuser’s inconsistencies enhanced her credibility—“we generally attribute the differences among [her] accounts over time to her gradual recollection of what she found to be a very traumatic experience,” the university report declared—while the accused students’ inconsistencies led the university investigator “to discount their credibility.”

Nothing in the one-sided nature of the training, of course, should obscure the ugliness of the undisputed conduct detailed in the report. (This was, in the light most favorable to the accused players, an episode of group sex amidst underage drinking, while the players were entertaining a high school recruit.) But despite the wording of a statement issued from the president’s office, Minnesota did not suspend several of the players because their behavior conflicted with university values; it suspended them because the university concluded they had engaged in behavior the state considers a felony—even as the prosecutor declined to seek indictments over the same behavior.

Media

Initial coverage of the players’ boycott statement was basically fair—at least in the local Minnesota media. That tone soon changed. It changed despite the fact, as Robby Soave has observed, this was a protest (from students of all races) alleging that authorities had denied due process rights to accused black males.

In the current national environment, in virtually any other context, this message –that young men of color had been mistreated by agents of the government who were investigating conduct that state law deemed to be criminal—would have been greeted with enthusiastic support from the mainstream media.

Yet (unsurprisingly, given the general media attitude regarding due process and campus sexual assault), the editorial and commentary response was overwhelmingly negative. This Sally Jenkins piece in the Washington Post is a representative sample; this Dave Zirin piece is a typically extreme manifestation of the attitude. In its editorial condemning the players who threatened to boycott, the Star-Tribune conceded that “there can be discussion over whether [preponderance of evidence is the correct standard and over the high level of secrecy involved in the disciplinary process at the University” and noted that there “has been pushback in other high-profile incidents across the country over the current system and the way standards are applied.”

In other words: the editors conceded that the due process concerns presented by the students had merit. After making the point, the editors nonetheless charged that, through their protest, the players threatened to “further damage the university’s reputation.” Is there any other context in which a left-of-center editorial page would advance such a claim about students advocating for other students’ civil liberties?

Beyond the choice of framing, both the Times (in a straight news story) and the Star-Tribune (in its op-ed) erroneously asserted that the University of Minnesota was required by “law”—even Obama administration officials (albeit very reluctantly, under prodding from Senators Lamar Alexander and James Lankford) have conceded that the Dear Colleague letter doesn’t carry the force of law. The Times quietly eliminated its error.

After the issue was pointed out on Twitter, the Times replaced, without acknowledgment, the claim that Minnesota had to use a lower standard of proof by law with the following passage: “Burdens of proof used in such investigations are frequently lower than the criminal justice system’s.” The false claim in the Star-Tribune editorial remains. The errors reflect the generally poor approach the media has featured in covering campus procedural issues.

The Minnesota football coach has said that his public support for the protest threatened his job. Given the current atmosphere on campus, he’s probably right.

How Governor Andrew Cuomo Is Weakening CUNY

I’ve worked at CUNY under four governors—George Pataki, Elliot Spitzer, David Paterson, and Andrew Cuomo. Pataki (and state Senate Republicans) didn’t allocate to the institution sufficient funding. But he was by far the best governor of the four for CUNY.

Pataki appointed a superbly-qualified chairman of the Board of Trustees, Benno Schmidt. He named other trustees—Jeffrey Wiesenfeld, Kay Pesile—who were both independent and committed to CUNY’s academic excellence. (And, despite opposition from status quo faculty, Pataki reappointed Wiesenfeld.) The board, in turn, appointed an excellent chancellor, Matthew Goldstein, whose policies helped to revitalize the institution. All the while, Pataki stood aside and allowed CUNY to flourish free from political meddling.

Neither Spitzer nor Paterson served long enough to leave much of a mark on CUNY—though both seemed to recognize the institution’s significant improvement in the Schmidt-Goldstein era and seemed disinclined to reverse the progress. Not so, however, Cuomo.

For his first term, Cuomo confined his CUNY policy to disinterest—though he distinguished himself as even less supportive of robust funding levels than Pataki or the GOP-led state Senate. But since winning re-election in 2014, he increasingly has targeted the institution. He offered a curious call for consolidating the CUNY and SUNY administrations, despite the radical differences between the two institutions. (For starters: CUNY schools are urban and non-residential; many SUNY schools are rural or exurban with on-campus residency requirements.)

As part of this effort, the Cuomo administration criticized CUNY’s decision to pay Goldstein as chancellor emeritus, which carried with it teaching and research expectations. (As the Times noted at the time, “By national standards, Dr. Goldstein’s compensation has always been moderate.”) And the governor brought to CUNY, which heretofore had a policy that was a model of fairness, his campaign to weaken due process protections for students accused of sexual assault.

In the meantime, Cuomo stacked the CUNY Board of Trustees with political cronies. Here’s a listing, from a recent New York Times summary: “[A] new chairman, William C. Thompson Jr., the former New York City comptroller, Fernando Ferrer, the former Bronx borough president; Robert F. Mujica, Mr. Cuomo’s budget director; Ken Sunshine, a public relations consultant; and Mayra Linares-Garcia, Mr. Cuomo’s former director of Latino affairs.” None have, to date, demonstrated any indication of independence from the governor.

Frustrated in his effort to consolidate CUNY and SUNY, the governor then took advantage of alleged financial misconduct by the former president of CCNY, Lisa Coico. The Cuomo-appointed BOT chairman, Thompson, publicly “requested” a university-wide audit by the state inspector general, who—contrary to normal practice—quickly issued an “interim” report. The report’s revelations—focusing on a tendency to hire outside counsel for sticky investigations (an approach that

The report’s revelations—focusing on a tendency to hire outside counsel for sticky investigations (an approach that has worked very well at CUNY) and purportedly excessive discretionary spending by college presidents—hardly seemed to be the type that would justify an “interim” report. Nonetheless, Albany responded with a statement containing a scarcely-concealed attack  on the upper-level CUNY administration.

Cuomo’s motives in targeting CUNY remain unclear. The Times quotes CUNY emeritus professor Kenneth Sherrill, who observed that Cuomo might want to distract attention from a scandal at SUNY-Polytechnic Institute. It’s also possible that CUNY has become caught in the battle between Cuomo and his chief rival in the New York Democratic Party, NYC mayor Bill DeBlasio. If so, CUNY is in deep trouble indeed, trapped between a governor who seems willing to use the institution as a political plaything and a mayor who’s an incompetent ideologue.

But, in the end, Cuomo’s motivation is irrelevant. An effective, independent administration at CUNY is critical given the ineffectiveness of the elected faculty leadership—especially the faculty union, the Professional Staff Congress, which has distinguished itself over the past 15 years for its opposition to every major effort to raise standards at CUNY.

Any vacuum caused by less independent trustees and administrators—the clear effect if not the intent of Cuomo’s policies—will only work to weaken education at CUNY overall.

The Title IX Mess—Will It Be Reformed?

Since 2011, the federal government has made successful and devastating efforts to undermine civil liberties on campuses. The surprise outcome of the presidential election raises at least the possibility that this illicit campaign, based on a vast extension of Title IX, will be reversed. Thousands of students accused of sexual misconduct but denied due process have been victimized by the frenzy stimulated by the Education Department’s Office for Civil Rights (OCR), and by the unfair procedures that OCR has championed. (Consider events at Amherst or Yale or UVA or Brandeis, for starters.)

College hearings on sexual misconduct are often a travesty of justice. Usually, there is no attorney for the accused, no cross-examination, no discovery, no note-taking, little time for the accused to prepare and often a form of double jeopardy (the accuser can appeal but the accused cannot). Individual universities can broaden the definition of offenses (at Yale “economic abuse” counts as sexual assault) and uninvolved third-party accusations can sometimes launch hearings.

Some comments on what should, and should not, occur:

The Fate of Obama-Era Guidance

President Obama’s two heads of the OCR have ignored the requirements of the Administrative Procedure Act and imposed their dubious interpretations of Title IX without required notice and comment. They never offered a convincing explanation as to why, in part because Congress only rarely pressed them; outgoing OCR head Catherine Lhamon purported to justify OCR’s actions in this exchange with Tennessee senator Lamar Alexander, but only revealed herself to be ignorant of congressional authority.

Related: How the Feds Use Orwell to Apply Title IX

But the arrogance of Lhamon and her predecessor, Russlynn Ali, means that the 2011 “Dear Colleague” letter—and OCR’s even more troubling 2014 guidance, which suggested that OCR’s imaginative interpretation of Title IX could trump the constitutional protection of due process promised to all students at public universities—can be withdrawn without going through the notice-and-comment process.

Given the Access Hollywood tape, it might well be politically impossible for a Trump administration to simply withdraw the 2011 and 2014 “guidance.” But another avenue for action exists, including the FIRE-orchestrated lawsuit filed by a former University of Virginia student and by Oklahoma Wesleyan University. The new administration could easily enter into settlement negotiations for the lawsuit and concede the inappropriateness of issuing new regulations on all colleges and universities outside the APA’s requirements.

If this doesn’t occur, Congress becomes all the more important. The two people to watch are Lamar Alexander and Oklahoma Republican James Lankford. The Oklahoma senator issued an encouraging statement the day after the election, noting that the Education Department had “used Dear Colleague letters and guidance documents to mandate policies for schools without adhering to legally required regulatory processes. It is extreme overreach at agencies like the Department of Education that the American people repudiated in this election. I will push our new Republican-led Washington to put a stop to this abuse and restore proper regulatory and guidance processes to the federal government.”

Related: How Title IX Became a Policy Bully

Accusers’ rights organizations seem to have recognized that, at the very least, the anti-due process agenda of the current OCR might be discontinued in the next administration. And so, as the Chronicle recently reported, they’ve ratcheted up pressure on colleges to maintain the current unfair procedures that the Ali/Lhamon-led OCR helped to establish.

Yet even the most extreme of the activist groups—Know Your IX—has conceded that colleges are obliged to provide “fair” processes. (The group’s founders, Alexandra Brodksy and Dana Bolger, have defined “fair” in Orwellian terms, but they nonetheless use the language.)

Early in her tenure, Russlynn Ali made clear that the new OCR would welcome Title IX complaints from accusers angered at their college having returned not-guilty findings, or simply not rendering a guilty finding quickly enough. The new OCR could make clear that given the manifest unfairness of most college disciplinary systems on sexual assault matters, it would welcome complaints from accused students, to give the federal government a chance to counteract the improper pressure to keep disciplinary systems unfair. The resolution of the pending Title IX complaint against Brandeis—in a case that was the subject of the piercing opinion by Judge Saylor—could provide a template.

Along these lines, resolution agreements from OCR should restore earlier principles (from the Bush II administration) that colleges aren’t obligated to reinvestigate claims where a criminal complaint has been filed; and that colleges aren’t obligated to investigate allegations that occur off campus.

Distractions

Over the past five years, only a handful of politicians have paid any attention to the issue of campus fairness; as Christina Hoff Sommers presciently noted, “due process has no lobby.” Scores of GOP legislators and governors, on the other hand, rose up as one against OCR guidance regarding bathroom policies for transgender school kids.

For advocates of campus due process, then, the great fear is this: given Republican priorities, the new administration will focus its OCR reform agenda on eliminating protections for transgender public school students—a move that will receive fierce political resistance—and therefore will decide not to address the campus due process issue at all.

Related: The Feds Now Run a Bureaucracy That Regulates Sex

Any comment on a Trump-led OCR has to address what was avoided. While OCR under Obama was disastrous for due process, the crusade always had a surreal element to it. Obama, after all, was formerly a constitutional law professor, and also someone who was willing to stand up for campus civil liberties (albeit only in the free speech context). Even as his administration eroded due process rights for accused students, there was always the chance that a President with Obama’s beliefs would recognize he had gone too far.

No chance would have existed for such a course correction under Hillary Clinton, had she been elected. (Full disclosure: I am a Democrat who donated to, and voted for, Barack Obama in 2008 and 2012. My only federal political donations in 2016 went to Jason Kander, who narrowly lost in the Missouri Senate race.) To the extent that Clinton had any consistent beliefs, they revolved around a fierce connection to gender-based identity politics. And there was no doubt as to how these beliefs would have translated on campus.

Clinton’s campaign began with an official policy toward campus sexual assault—that all accused students who could not prove mistaken identity were guilty since all campus accusers had a “right to be believed.” Even Obama’s OCR, as extreme as its approach toward campus due process had been, never adopted such a policy. Clinton withdrew the line only after she was asked how it would apply to her husband’s accusers, but there seems little doubt that she would not have granted the same degree of skepticism for students accused of sexual assault on campus.

It also seems likely that a Clinton OCR—perhaps with Lhamon staying on for a second stint in charge of the agency—would have more aggressively targeted campus free speech. The University of Montana “blueprint” (imposed by OCR and the Justice Department) supposedly was abandoned after a public outcry. But its basic principles were quietly extended to the University of New Mexico and could have formed a national template under four years of Clinton.

In a Clinton presidency, Title IX would have been used as a sword against fairness and due process. If nothing else happened last Tuesday night, that outcome appears to have been avoided.

Yale Defends Its Star Chamber Hearings

The Obama administration, acting through the Office of Civil Rights, has made a terrible mess out of sexual misconduct hearings on our campuses, but it did one good thing without thinking much about it: it targeted one university—Yale—for regular reports on how it dealt in sexual assault hearings.

The reports, released by Deputy Provost Stephanie Spangler, are bare-boned and hardly meant to be informative, but they have included enough information to demonstrate the fundamental unfairness of Yale’s procedures and the witch hunt atmosphere that has permeated the campus. Perhaps for this reason, OCR has avoided instituting a reporting requirement like Yale’s on any other institution.

Recently, Yale’s dubious policies came under higher-than-usual scrutiny, thanks to a perceptive Wall Street Journal op-ed from Jennifer Braceras—who correctly noted that the accused enjoyed far more rights under the notorious Star Chamber than they do in Yale’s sexual assault disciplinary tribunals. Jack Montague, Braceras noted, discovered first-hand just how unfair Yale’s procedures could be.

He had no right to direct cross-examination, no right to have a lawyer fully participate in the process, and received a judgment from a “trained” panel that seemed predisposed to find guilt. He also was charged in seeming violation of Yale guidelines, which (as Spangler explained at the time) did not apply to cases like Montague’s, where the accuser declined to file a complaint.

Braceras’ op-ed generated a response, from Yale professor David Post, an aquatic ecologist who chairs the University-Wide Committee on Sexual Misconduct (UWC). Post deemed Braceras’ comments an “affront” to him, noted that many Yale cases end with no punishments, and gushed about “Yale’s multilayer process,” which “allows parties to submit and respond to evidence, engage legal counsel, submit questions for a hearing panel to ask the other party and file an appeal to the university’s highest levels. Each complaint is investigated by an outside fact-finder.”

According to Professor Post, “Yale’s process is honest, fair, transparent and respects privacy.”

First of all, here’s a statement on the Montague lawsuit, offered to the Hartford Courant, by a Yale public relations staffer: “Yale always respects the privacy and confidentiality of all students involved in a disciplinary process. Yale’s procedures for addressing allegations of sexual misconduct are thorough and fair. Allegations are investigated by an impartial fact finder, heard by five trained members of the Yale community, and decided by the accused student’s dean.

Throughout the process, all parties have advisers, which can be legal counsel, and they can appeal a decision.” Previous Yale statements also had stressed the fact that not all accused students are found guilty (citing the same statistics as Post), in following the outlines laid out by Judge Furman’s opinion in the Columbia case. Apparently, no one told Post that the Second Circuit had overruled Furman.
The remarkable similarities between the earlier Yale publicity statement and Post’s letter—which ostensibly contains his own words, and reflects his own thinking, not that of a Yale public relations officer—raises some questions about the professor’s “honest[y].”

As to the other qualities of Yale’s procedures: I’m sure that Montague—like Patrick Witt before him—was surprised to discover Yale’s commitment to respecting “privacy.” Indeed, after Montague left the team, Yale’s Women’s Center released a statement “speculat[ing]” that “it seems that a survivor felt that coming forward was a viable option and that they got the decisive outcome that they likely fought hard for.”

The claim of transparency also intrigues. This assertion was the major difference between Professor Post’s letter and the earlier statement from Yale’s p.r. office (which, wisely, made no mention of the concept). It’s not clear why Professor Post added the claim since Yale’s process is anything but transparent. It’s closed to the public. The university has refused to release the “training” all UWC members receive. And Yale makes no promise to share with the accused students all the evidence the purportedly independent “fact finder” uncovers.

As for the claim of Professor Post—and Yale’s spokesperson—that the university’s process is “fair”: even as last year’s protesters demanded a more “diverse” English fare, it seems that Orwell is alive and well on the New Haven campus.

The “Jackie” Interview in the UVA Fake Rape

In the suit against Rolling Stone by University of Virginia dean Nicole Eramo over the magazine’s false rape story, the trial rolls along, with the two sides offering a narrow band of arguments: according to Rolling Stone and former reporter Sabrina Rubin Erdely, our nation’s campuses are teeming with sexual assaults, beset by a “rape culture,” and the UVA administration was indifferent to the student victims in its midst. (Even the Office for Civil Rights has said so, Rolling Stone lawyers have argued.)

It is difficult, therefore, to have sympathy for either party in Eramo’s lawsuit. (Phi Kappa Psi’s lawsuit against Erdely is another matter.) But the Eramo lawsuit has been of extraordinary value in bringing to light the flawed process through which the Rolling Stone article was produced. First came the discovery material, including Erdely’s reporting notes. And now, Charlottesville TV station CBS-19 obtained a 150-minute recording of what seems to have been the first detailed interview between Erdely and accuser “Jackie.”

I posted brief audio excerpts of the choicest elements of that conversation. It occurred in a restaurant; some portions of the audio are of very poor quality.

Erdely comes across as closed-minded, having already decided on her thesis. (Her research notes showed that she began her project by interviewing the anti-due process fanatic Wendy Murphy and the discredited researcher David Lisak.) Jackie, meanwhile, comes across as even more ideologically extreme than Erdely—which is saying something—and not terribly bright. She discusses failing multiple courses during the conversation; how she remained enrolled at UVA is a mystery.

Effects on Lawsuits

The material on this tape would seem to help Rolling Stone in the Eramo lawsuit and badly hurt it in the Phi Kappa Psi lawsuit. Regarding Eramo: One of the dean’s libel claims comes from the article’s claim that she told Jackie that UVA didn’t aggressively report sexual assaults because the publicity would be harmful, since “nobody wants to send their daughter to the rape school.”

Eramo refused Erdely’s request for an interview. But the tape has Jackie claiming that Eramo gave her that feedback (and another campus activist told Erdely the same thing). Furthermore, the tape has Jackie portraying Eramo as corrupt—after saying she didn’t want to get Eramo “in trouble,” Jackie asserted that the actual number of people who reported being sexually assaulted to Eramo was “much higher” than Eramo has reported to her superiors—thereby suggesting that Eramo had violated federal law. Rolling Stone thus can (and, obviously, will) say that it had a seemingly credible source for Eramo’s “rape school” alleged statement.

At the same time, the tape should provide substantial ammunition for Phi Kappa Psi. Erdely made clear that she sees what happened (or in this case, didn’t happen) to Jackie as a “gang rape initiation ritual,” and therefore wanted the article to identify the fraternity. She added that she “want[ed] to get these guys.” Members of the fraternity, Erdely mused later on, personified the “banality of evil,” in that the non-attacker members of the frat were afraid to ask questions, lest they learn too much. Phi Kappa Psi, Erdely concluded, was a fraternity “that might have a culture of gang rape.”

After these quotes—in her own voice—it’s going to be very hard for Erdely to argue that her article didn’t directly target Phi Kappa Psi.  And since the article’s claims were false, that would seem to be very bad for Rolling Stone.

The Agenda

As Ashe Schow has noted, the tape showed that Erdely harbors a strong bias against fraternities. Both Erdely and Jackie also entertained an imagined view in which—as Jackie put it—“nobody wants to talk about” sexual assault on college campuses. (Of course, there are few issues that get talked about more on contemporary elite campuses.) Erdely, meanwhile, envisioned an elite campus culture in which “social capital is more important than people’s safety,” and therefore students were unwilling to help victims in their midst. Again, this seems to be an almost wholly imagined view.

They’re describing, of course, the same campus whose student leadership and voices of student opinion would remain committed to Jackie’s tale even after it had collapsed.

Jackie

The conversation gave a sense of Jackie’s extremist beliefs, her rather unappealing personality—and if Erdely had been at all open-minded, her penchant for tall tales.

She pressed Erdely not to name Phi Kappa Psi in the article, worried that the fraternity members would “hate” her as a result. But she also argued that leaving the identity of the fraternity a mystery would serve a broader purpose of stimulating a witch hunt atmosphere on campus.

If UVA administrators didn’t know which fraternity was the site of the seemingly horrific attack, Jackie said that she “would hope to see” full-scale investigations of all fraternities. Innocent fraternities, Jackie breezily suggested, should welcome such an inquiry, since, after all, “the ones that have nothing to hide won’t be upset.”

Since most of Jackie’s ideas seem to have emanated from what Erdely terms her “club” of campus activists, it would be interesting to know how many of Jackie’s fellow accusers’ rights activists shared this extraordinary conception of fairness. Jackie also saw an extraordinarily dangerous campus she suggested that one in three UVA female students are sexual assault victims.

In justifying BuzzFeed’s decision not to identify Jackie, Tyler Kingkade bizarrely suggests that she might actually be a victim. He incorrectly asserts that “none of the publicly available court documents . . . use[s] Jackie’s full name.” Kingkade then obtains a quote from the Columbia Journalism School’s Steve Coll, co-author of the autopsy that avoided asking hard questions about why the magazine had so badly failed. “She never solicited Rolling Stone to be written about,” Coll said.

The 150-minute conversation, however, showed a figure eager, even joyous, at advancing her narrative. Jackie actively participated in the interview—she seemed to very, very much enjoy talking about herself and her feelings. She suggested multiple other witnesses. She talked about her myriad activities advancing her agenda on campus. And she told Erdely about her eagerness to create “bad publicity” against UVA.

Jackie also came across as someone with significant mental health issues. (Of course, since we now know she’s a liar, her description of her mental health might also be a lie.) She told Erdely that she’d seen at least four different mental health professionals—when she was 14 (to address her poor relationship with her father), as a senior in high school (parental issues, again), at the urging of her mother after the purported campus assault, and at the urging of a friend after the purported campus assault. The latter ended because the counselor didn’t adopt Jackie’s preferred approach to the session: “Can we talk about what I want to talk about?”

Finally, there were red flags in the interview that a less agenda-driven reporter might have picked up. For instance, Jackie (at considerable length) discussed her mother’s time in college, when she commuted 30 minutes each way as a day student at Brown. But the mother didn’t go to Brown (as Erdely later discovered).

Jackie said that after the alleged assault, she “didn’t get out of bed for weeks.” She later claimed that she left campus two weeks before the end of the semester in her first-year fall term. Yet Erdely never asked how she could have stayed enrolled if she never attended class, and wasn’t even on campus.

She twice informed Erdely that even one of her fellow activists told her “you are insane, you watch too many crime shows.” (Various elements of her story borrowed from Law and Order.)

And in a long discussion about whether the article would name Phi Kappa Psi, Jackie urged anonymity of the frat on grounds that she was scared that fraternity members would learn she had claimed she was raped in their house. Yet at other points in the conversation, she spoke about how lots of people on campus already knew about her story, and Erdely knew that she had spoken about the event at a “victims’ rights” rally.

Erdely, the non-skeptical reporter, did not probe the inconstancies. Indeed, she appears to have believed the inconsistencies made Jackie more credible.

Feds Lurch Toward Due Process in a Campus Sex Case

In a first for the Obama-era Office for Civil Rights, the Education Department’s OCR found in favor of an accused student who filed a Title IX complaint against Wesley College. At the least, after five years, we’ve finally found a case whose facts were so outrageous that even an OCR notoriously indifferent to due process couldn’t justify them.

The letter has received extensive coverage; the facts of the case are tawdry. At a fraternity in the Delaware school, two students had sex. Unbeknownst to the female student, the intercourse was streamed and witnessed (allegedly) by two other members of the fraternity. Two other students found out (from another fraternity member who had heard about the affair), went to the college, and an “investigation” ensued. Within seven days, all three of the accused students—the male fraternity member who had sex, and the two who allegedly watched—had been expelled.

The college violated multiple procedures in its handling of the case. It didn’t give the accused student a clear sense of the charges against him. It didn’t tell the student that the hearing (which would recommend his expulsion) actually was a hearing—the student thought it was a preliminary conference, so he had no witnesses to testify on his behalf. The college also gave the student an interim punishment—suspension—before the hearing, even though at that point of the “investigation,” the student had spoken to no one at the college about his side of the story.

Although the OCR letter doesn’t take a position on the matter, it suggests that the case  should never have been brought against the accused student at all. Wesley’s policy suggests that charges shouldn’t be brought against a student in a case without an accuser. In this instance, the accuser told Wesley administrators that though she hadn’t consented to the streaming of the intercourse, she didn’t believe the accused student had any role in the planning or execution of the event. Yet Wesley went forward with charges anyway.

The entire investigation and adjudication took a week. OCR investigators found that in 10 or the 12 most recent Title IX cases at Wesley, the matter had been resolved “in a matter of days.”

Though Wesley was the subject of the Title IX complaint, the real target could have been OCR itself. As FIRE’s Will Creeley has noted, “Given the many similarities between the procedural failures found by OCR here and those alleged by accused students in lawsuit after lawsuit over the past few years, chances are that Wesley College’s failings are far from unique.”

For instance, in its discussion of the threshold for imposing interim punishments, the resolution letter noted that “while a school must assess whether the presence of an accused student threatens the safety of individuals within the school community, a sufficient level of inquiry–that is not here evident–must be undertaken in determining the appropriateness of interim suspensions.” Yet nothing in OCR guidance over the past five years would have suggested that colleges should consider the rights of accused students when imposing interim punishments. Will OCR now retreat from its enthusiastically championing of the interim punishment approach for all students accused of sexual assault?

Similarly, the resolution letter noted that “OCR has concerns, however, that the College’s expedited investigation of complaints of sexual harassment and sexual violence may have compromised the equity of such investigations.” Yet nothing in OCR guidance over the past five years would have suggested that colleges should refrain from lightning-fast “investigations” and adjudications—indeed, OCR has been relentless in its pressure that colleges should speed things up. (Recall the Peter Yu case at Vassar as a particularly egregious example of how lightning inquiries frustrate pursuit of the truth.) Will OCR now abandon its pressure tactics on speed of inquiries, and encourage colleges to choose timeframes that allow students accused of sexual assault—who are, effectively, required to prove their innocence—enough time to prepare their case?

Finally, the letter is a striking testament to OCR’s hypocrisy. The only case specifically investigated involved treatment so unfair to the accused student that even OCR said the judgment had to be invalidated. Yet the general recommendations in the letter veered in the direction of changing procedures to increase the chances of guilty findings (more “training,” for instance, to remove a lack of “clarity” regarding the preponderance of evidence standard) or ensuring that more cases are adjudicated (fewer employees designated as eligible for confidential reporting). OCR expressly criticized the existing policy (which Wesley ignored in the case that prompted the complaint) of not having cases go forward without an accuser.

So, in short, while this case will need to be re-tried to allow the accused student to defend himself, the actual outcome of this letter is that more accused students at Wesley likely will be subjected to unfair procedures down the road.

Brown U. Messes Up Sex Assault Case, Accused Prevails

In campus sexual assault hearings, due process for accused students is rare, because of pressure from feminists and campus activists, administrators’ diffidence, and the Obama administration’s 2011 “Dear Colleague” letter that minimized protections for the accused.

Getting these cases into court for a due process trial is even rarer, but now the first such trial since the issuance of the “Dear Colleague” letter has ended with a victory for an accused Brown University student. Chief U.S. District Court Judge William Smith—as he had strongly hinted during oral arguments in mid-August—vacated Brown’s disciplinary judgment, arguing Brown had violated its own procedures, thus producing an unfair result.

Related: No Due Process, Thanks—This Is a Campus

The case involved student attempts to influence the judge, biased training of panelists in Brown’s sexual assault cases and the university’s extraordinary belief that flattery and flowers qualify as a manipulative part of sexual assault.

The case arose out of a fall 2014 incident where two members of the Brown debate team had oral sex after purportedly meeting (in a small room on campus) to watch a very late-night movie. In texts that flew back and forth between the two, the male student made clear his desire for no-strings-attached sex; the female was ambivalent, but signaled consent in some of her texts, while in others stating she wasn’t eager for sex. A few weeks later, the male student urged the female to put in a good word for him with a friend, with whom he wanted to have sex. These were not, to put it mildly, overly appealing characters.

Related: Don’t Bother with Due Process

In his 84-page ruling (which you can read here, and which both Robby Soave and Ashe Schow have also summarized), Smith identified three areas of misconduct by Brown (definition of consent, conduct of investigator, conduct of one of the panelists). Some of these issues were peculiar, related to the specific facts of this case, in which Brown had changed its policy between the time of the incident and the time the accuser decided to file her charges.

The decision has three areas of relevance, however, for matters beyond Brown. The first involves the “training” that the Office for Civil Rights (OCR) mandates all schools to provide to panelists in sexual assault cases. The equivalent in the criminal justice process would be if all jurors in rape trials (and only in rape trials) had to get training material—provided only by the prosecutors, designed to increase the chances of a guilty finding.

Anything Proves Sexual Assault

The inevitable result of this biased “training” manifested itself in the Brown case. After the incident, the accuser told a roommate what a great time she had with the student she’d eventually accuse; post-incident text messages sent by the accuser likewise indicated her having consented to sex. But one of the panelists, Besenia Rodriguez, said she didn’t consider the post-incident texts or conversations because her interpretation of Brown’s “training” suggested that sexual assault survivors behave in “counter-intuitive” ways. Therefore, she reasoned, “it was beyond my degree of expertise to assess [the accuser]’s post-encounter conduct . . . because of a possibility that it was a response to trauma.”

Rodriguez’s contention that her university-provided training shows that essentially any behavior—intuitive or counterintuitive—proves sexual assault “clearly comes close to the line” of arbitrary and capricious conduct, Smith noted. Yet the training Rodriguez received, and the mindset she reflects appears to be commonplace in campus sexual assault matters.

The case’s second key feature involves the pressure campaign—in the form of non-public e-mails—organized by a Brown student named Alex Volpicello. He even prepared a template—and dozens of students followed his lead and e-mailed Smith to urge him to uphold Brown’s handling of the case.

Volpicello’s ham-handed initiative predictably backfired with Smith. But the flurry of e-mails provided Smith with a glimpse of the witch-hunt atmosphere that exists on today’s campuses. He was deeply troubled, noting that “the Court is an independent body and must make a decision based solely on the evidence before it. It cannot be swayed by emotion or public opinion. After issuing the preliminary injunction this Court was deluged with emails resulting from an organized campaign to influence the outcome.

These tactics, while perhaps appropriate and effective in influencing legislators or officials in the executive branch, have no place in the judicial process. This is basic civics, and one would think students and others affiliated with a prestigious Ivy League institution would know this. Moreover, having read a few of the emails, it is abundantly clear that the writers, while passionate, were woefully ignorant about the issues before the Court. Hopefully, they will read this decision and be educated.”

Alas, the anti-due-process activists have shown no interest in education. Indeed, Volpicello issued a statement denouncing Smith’s ruling as indifferent to “the emotional trauma of the survivor” and insulting to “the intelligence and civic awareness of us as Brown students.” “Where is the justice?” wailed Volpicello. Where, indeed.

Third, despite the victory for the accused student, Smith’s ruling was very limited. He appeared deeply reluctant to involve himself in a campus disciplinary matter and explicitly said Brown could re-try the accused student—even as he spent page after page detailing Brown’s dubious conduct in this case. (And this comes after he spent page after page detailing Brown’s dubious conduct in another sexual assault case.) Nor did he pull any punches about the absurdity of Brown’s current policy, which defines sexual assault as including such behavior as a male student giving a female student flowers, or flattering her, in hopes of getting her to agree to sex. As Smith noted, Brown defines such manipulative behavior as sexual assault.

As FIRE’s Samantha Harris perceptively noted, “Smith’s opinion also makes quite clear that the court takes no legal issue with the substance of Brown’s new Title IX policy, which employs an affirmative consent standard and uses a single-investigator model to resolve claims . . . Courts are deeply reluctant to interfere in the inner workings of university judicial systems, particularly at private institutions . . . When we talk to the families of students facing serious misconduct charges at private universities, they often express shock at how easily the school can jeopardize a student’s future while giving him or her so few rights. This case, while a legal victory for the plaintiff, underscores this problem.”

In his opinion, Smith contended that he could strike down only a college disciplinary system that “tends to injustice.” If a system whose personnel regularly violate students’ rights, while defining the giving of flowers before sex as a sexual assault, and amidst a witch-hunt atmosphere doesn’t tend to injustice, what type of system possibly could?

Rolling Stone Goes to Trial

A lawsuit stemming from the most famous of the modern rape hoaxes—the Rolling Stone account of a brutal but fictional attack on “Jackie” at a University of Virginia fraternity—gained ground last week.  A federal judge in Virginia ruled that UVA administrator Nicole Eramo’s lawsuit against Rolling Stone should go to trial.

The lawsuit has been of enormous value in producing documents that exposed both the closed-minded incompetence of Rolling Stone and the poisonous, guilt-presuming campus atmosphere at UVA. However, unlike the lawsuit filed by the Phi Kappa Psi fraternity (reporter Sabrina Rubin Erdely’s chief target), an Eramo victory would send, at best, a mixed message.

Judge Glen Conrad’s ruling allowed Eramo’s suit to proceed on multiple grounds. The dean’s strongest claim involves Rolling Stone’s manipulation of a mundane photo of her, to give her wild, almost devil-like eyes, with her back turned to victims demanding justice. Even the Rolling Stone fact-checker, who independently concluded that the fantasist “Jackie” was telling the truth, worried that the photo was too harsh.

Conrad also greenlighted a count involving Erdely’s claim that Eramo had discouraged Jackie from reporting her non-existent attack because she worried that UVA would develop a reputation as a “rape school.” It seems very unlikely Eramo—who comes across in the depositions as a true believer about a campus rape panic—ever uttered such a remark. But Erdely had two sources suggesting otherwise (Jackie and a fellow campus activist), and UVA refused a request to let Eramo be interviewed. Perhaps that will be enough for Rolling Stone to prevail.

Other aspects of Eramo’s lawsuit, however, are deeply troubling. The UVA Dean gathered support from a variety of campus activists—Emily Renda, Sara Surface, and Alex Pinkleton—with a de facto goal of ensuring that the discrediting of the Rolling Stone article won’t discredit their joint cause of fueling a moral panic about the issue of campus sexual assault.

In depositions for the lawsuit, the activists framed Erdely as an irresponsible journalist (which is not hard to do)—but not because she was a closed-minded ideologue who had reached her conclusions before she did any investigation. Rather, the trio of activists criticized herafter the fact—for focusing on Jackie and Eramo, and not on what they see as the epidemic of victims on campus, and the indifference to them of administrators other than Eramo. So in this view, Eramo is a victim of Rolling Stone, but the magazine’s basic thesis was correct.

One Erdely source, Alex Pinkleton, summarized the view of the activists that people must not let Jackie’s lies get in the way of the preferred narrative. “We need to remember,” said she, “that the majority of survivors who come forward are telling the truth.” How people who did not tell the truth about being sexually assaulted could still be considered “survivors” Pinkleton has never explained.

It would not have been difficult for Rolling Stone to have discredited these activists’ depositions—after all, each of them vouched for the veracity of Jackie’s tale in their interviews with Erdely, and each seemed to be eager for the Jackie story to be told at the time. But Rolling Stone ultimately shied away from portraying these figures as the non-credible witnesses they are. The magazine probably had no choice—because Erdely had relied so heavily on them for her article. Moreover, Conrad’s ruling cited the depositions of these non-credible activists as proof that three individuals “advised Erdely that her portrayal of Eramo was inaccurate.”

Perhaps the oddest section of Conrad’s ruling dealt with Rolling Stone’s December 5, 2014 Editor’s Note, which disavowed the story. Eramo claims that because Rolling Stone only said it no longer believed Jackie, and because the magazine did not remove the allegedly defamatory statements about the dean, the disavowal constituted a republication of the attacks on Eramo. This interpretation is bizarre. Jackie was the story.

The repudiation of her truthfulness repudiated the entire article. I cannot imagine how anyone—except, perhaps, the activists who are now riding to Eramo’s defense—could have interpreted the disavowal as Rolling Stone expressing full confidence in everything else Erdely wrote about UVA.

In her deposition, Erdely expressed regret—not to the fraternity members she falsely accused. (She has never apologized to them.) Rather, she said that she wished that instead of orienting her article around Jackie, she had chosen another accuser (“Stacy”) to serve as the article’s spine. The rest of the article would have remained unchanged—and since Stacy’s story was (it seems) not self-evidently false, Rolling Stone would have needed to make no retraction.

I suspect if Erdely had followed that course, none of the activists currently defending Eramo would be on the UVA dean’s side. Ironically, despite the lawsuit, the opinions of campus sexual assault held by Erdely, Eramo, and the UVA activists seem to be almost identical.

The Alarming Decline of U.S. Political History

One of the year’s most important essays on higher education appeared earlier this week in The New York Times op-ed page. Historians Fredrick Logevall and Kenneth Osgood wrote of the decline of U.S. political history. “The public’s love for political stories,” they correctly noted, “belies a crisis in the profession. American political history as a field of study has cratered. Fewer scholars build careers on studying the political process, in part because few universities make space for them. Fewer courses are available, and fewer students are exposed to it. What was once a central part of the historical profession, a vital part of this country’s continuing democratic discussion, is disappearing.”

Related: A Big Campus Trend–Ignorance of U.S. History

As someone who almost lost his job in part because (as a former colleague put it in a then-secret letter), my scholarship took the “old-fashioned” approach of focusing on “figures in power,” I obviously share the concerns raised by Logevall and Osgood. I’ve made similar points about the field at Minding the Campus and in Congressional testimony.

The two historians also offered a solution: “What is needed, to begin with, is for university administrators to identify political history as a priority, for students and families to lobby their schools, for benefactors to endow professorships and graduate fellowships and for lawmakers and school boards to enact policies that bolster its teaching—and without politicizing the enterprise.” They’re absolutely right, of course, that history departments won’t solve the problem (though I suspect the reason is less “tight budgets” than the fact that the departments, through their hiring policies, created the problem in the first place).

I’m dubious that administrators will do anything about the issue; only a reckless administrator takes on faculty on personnel matters when faculty has strong ideological objections. And based on what we saw from student protests in 2015-2016, restoring U.S. political history seems unlikely to be a central concern (despite the fact that political, and diplomatic, history classes tend to be very popular with students). I agree that state legislatures are fully within their rights to bolster the teaching of political history, especially since—as at schools like CUNY—state policies require public school history teachers to get M.A. degrees, on the theory that this knowledge will train the students to be better teachers. If history departments don’t hire specialists in the areas that states need to have taught, why should states continue to prop up these departments through the tuition dollars from M.A. students? Trustees also should play a critical role. They can and should be far more involved in ensuring pedagogical diversity in key departments, including (and perhaps especially) history.

Related: Big History Kicks American History to the Back of the Class

The op-ed has (appropriately) generated lots of positive responses. Academic criticism has come from two sources—one of which is correct but not germane to the point Logevall and Osgood raise, and one of which unintentionally proves their point.

The first noted that good work in political history sometimes comes from people outside of history departments. True. To take some examples from my experience: whenever I teach an M.A. or Ph.D. class in political (or constitutional) history, I assign at least one book by Kevin McMahon, a Trinity political scientist who’s written on FDR and Nixon. The next time I teach my undergraduate course in recent political history, I’ll use this article on the state marriage equality debates from Anthony Kreis, currently on the faculty of Chicago-Kent Law School. (Kreis’ work is also a reminder to historians that if we don’t write about recent events for which lots of sources are available, we cede the topic to non-historians.) And Robert Mann of LSU, who holds chairs in journalism and mass communication, is the author of one of the two or three finest histories of the Senate.

The fact that some academic non-historians write good political history, however, isn’t a reason why history departments shouldn’t hire specialists in U.S. political history. Imagine the reaction if (say) political science departments started not hiring specialists in race or gender in U.S. affairs, because those topics are already extensively covered in history departments.

Related: The Campus Assault on American History

Critical reaction was more troubling. Here was the New School’s Claire Potter (a 1990 Ph.D. whose sole published monograph appears to be War on Crime: Bandits, G-Men and the Politics of Mass Culture), tweeting to six other historians: “According to @nytimes we don’t exist.” It’s not clear to me why—even if Potter is correct that all seven of these people were hired in U.S. political history—the existence of seven U.S. political historians among the nation’s 7000 universities would undercut the Logevall/Osgood thesis. The reaction of Potter and her correspondents, however, seemed to reflect a general argument that Logevall and Osgood have misunderstood the nature of the field—overlooking what once was called the “new” political history, or a “re-visioned” political history, which sees the field as more attuned to themes in social history, or urban history, or elements of identity politics.

Some of this history, of course, is excellent—such as the work of Tom Sugrue (who unsurprisingly dismissed the op-ed) or Nancy Cott. But, as an approach, the “new” political history envisions a narrowed, not broadened, field—one in which it’s difficult to fit in most elements of congressional or even presidential history, or institutional histories of the government, or public policy histories that don’t correspond to identity politics or urban themes, or many types of political biographies, or the history of campaigns and elections. “The most interesting scholars blend the older fields,” as Potter euphemistically put it.

I suspect, for instance, that someone like Potter would not be pleased if gender history as a field generated few jobs; and that a significant portion of the diminished tenured or tenure-track positions in the field had gone to specialists in biographies of female members of Congress, with a heavy focus on their committee work. Such studies could be considered gender history. But they’d obviously represent only a small segment of the field.

It’s good to see Logevall and Osgood speaking out, and I hope their op-ed makes a difference.

More on the Sex Panic at Yale

The bizarre procedures of Yale’s sprawling sexual assault bureaucracy may well be the worst in the nation. We have come to realize this because Yale is the only university to publicly document all campus allegations of sexual assault, the result of a 2012 agreement with the Obama administration. Reports issued by Deputy Provost Stephanie Spangler don’t provide much detail, but with each new report, we see more clearly a campus environment characterized more by witch hunts than a pursuit of justice.

Consider this item: “An administrator informed a Title IX Coordinator that a Yale College student reported that another YC student made unwanted advances.” On the basis of this third-hand allegation, a current Yale student is being investigated.

The most recent Spangler Report, just published, says 20 Yale undergraduates were accused of sexual assault in the first six months of 2016. Twenty-six undergraduates filed sexual assault complaints. Assuming all were female (the source of around 99 percent of campus complaints), it would mean an annual violent crime rate for Yale undergraduate women of 1.9 percent, without taking into account any attempted murder or felony assault claims. That would be just under the annual violent crime rate for the city FBI stats deem the most dangerous in the country, Detroit.

Yet Spangler, it seems, believes her campus is actually far more dangerous for undergraduate females than Detroit. “We know,” she writes, “from both national statistics and our own participation in the 2015 AAU Sexual Climate Survey that this number represents only a fraction of the instances of sexual misconduct at Yale.” Actually, we “know” no such thing—as my colleague Stuart Taylor has pointed out, the AAU survey appears to have dramatically oversampled female students who reported a sexual assault to their school.

Here are some revelations from previous Spangler reports:

  • There is an increasing pattern of Yale’s Title IX office filings complaints on their own, without a formal complaint by the alleged victim, and odd investigations based on anonymous complaints—and sometimes with anonymous targets
  • The “resolution” of a complaint against a professor was reported, with a chair to “monitor” him, even though the professor has never officially been informed of the complaint
  • A student was punished though even Yale’s due process-unfriendly system had found not culpable for the allegations against him
  • Students have been charged under a vague standard that included “emotional or economic abuse” by “roommates”
  • Yale has redefined “sexual assault,” attributing to the term “broad ranges of behavior” that neither the criminal law nor common cultural understanding would define as sexual assault. As a result, no one can really be certain about what constitutes “sexual assault” at Yale.

Limiting Information

The Spangler reports always have seemed designed more to stimulate a sense of panic on campus than to actually convey information. The reports have tended to provide minimal amounts of information—ostensibly for privacy reasons, though Yale could easily provide more detail than it does and still ensure anonymity.

The only time Yale provided more information came in response to criticism from the accusers’ rights movement and its media allies. A 2013 biannual report had revealed that while several students had been found guilty of “sexual assault,” Yale hadn’t expelled any of them. Showing the university’s extraordinary sensitivity to criticism for not being tough enough on campus rape (just the type of sensitivity that attracted the notice of the Second Circuit, when it reinstated a Title IX lawsuit filed by an accused student at Columbia), Yale rushed out with a clarifying statement, as well as a document describing a host of conduct that it considered sexual assault but virtually no one else would. The implication—the students found guilty of “sexual assault” really had committed no such offense.

But while Yale is worried about not looking tough enough on sexual assault, it doesn’t seem to worry about not providing information that might cast doubt on the suggestions that the university is experiencing an unprecedented crime wave. Beginning this August, Spangler has revised her report to exclude details for cases that don’t move into the investigation phase. Instead, the report provides only statistical tables with the filings, so Yale can still list these incidents as campus sexual assault claims, thereby heightening the sense of panic. Spangler argues that Yale has taken this course because “those categories contain complaints in which no further action was taken,” and therefore “the descriptions provide little, if any, additional information.”

But this isn’t so. In fact, the descriptions of these cases were quite revealing. The now-suppressed data showed that these allegations often involved second-hand claims, in which a third party reported that a student whose identity he or she didn’t know was allegedly sexually assaulted another student whose identity the reporter didn’t know. That type of information demonstrated a seemingly panicked student body—and the absurdities of the university’s excessively broad definition of sexual assault. No wonder Spangler removed it.

The Numbers Lie

For Spangler and Yale, if the choice is between its own data (which is itself inflated because of how the university defines “sexual assault”) and dubious stats that reinforce campus beliefs, dubious stats will prevail. And so, Spangler reveals, a campus already frantic in its response to sexual assault has undertaken or will undertake “not only dozens of school and department based town hall meetings, but also workshops, curricular re-examination and design, the creation of local climate committees, the training of peer liaisons, and the expansion of bystander intervention programming to include features relevant to the graduate and professional student experience.”

The Incidents

Despite the high number in Spangler’s executive summary (26 female undergraduates filing sexual assault allegations in the first six months of 2016), only four of those cases made it to the UWC, Yale’s adjudication panel. And of those four, two accusers “withdrew” their allegations, for unspecified reasons. A third case remains pending. The fourth student was tried and unsurprisingly found guilty.

In contrast to recent patterns, the accuser—rather than a Yale Title IX officer—filed all four of these complaints. Though the previous version of the Spangler Report have claimed that the Title IX coordinator will take independent action “only in extremely rare cases, where there is a serious risk to the safety of individuals or the community, will the University take independent action,” that clause does not appear in the most recent Spangler report. Spangler provides no explanation for the revision.

A cynical person might assume that the excision was caused by Jack Montague’s lawsuit, since the complaint against the former Yale basketball captain was filed not by his accuser but by a Title IX officer, even though under no conceivable interpretation of the facts associated with his case did Montague pose a “serious risk to the safety of individuals or the community.” Montague’s expulsion is mentioned in the current report (as an update to cases first referenced in the fall 2015 report, which had contained the “extremely rare” language); though he isn’t identified, the filing of the complaint by the Title IX officer, and his expulsion, are the giveaways.

Consider this item, which seemingly illustrates a chilled classroom environment: “A faculty member reported that a YC student made inappropriate comments in a classroom. A Title IX Coordinator investigated and determined that the conduct did not constitute sexual misconduct and referred the matter to other campus officials for further action.” Since the student—who was nonetheless subjected to an investigation for doing nothing wrong—wasn’t even charged, why was he referred to “other campus officials for further action”? What was this “further action”? Spangler doesn’t say.

Finally, the report has two separate instances in which graduate students made allegations of “improper comments” against two professors. But both times, the students didn’t file charges. It didn’t matter: even though without the charges there was no investigation to determine the truth, in both instances, Spangler reports that the Title IX officer and relevant department chair “will monitor the [professor’s] interactions with students.”

Another reminder that the Yale faculty’s decision to remain largely silent about the assault on their students’ rights will ultimately threaten their own rights as well.

Why Colleges Don’t Have Fair Hearings on Sexual Assault

Some politicians and media outlets seem to believe that college and university campuses are beset by a culture that is indifferent to rape and that the procedures for investigating and adjudicating claims of sexual assault are so one-sided as to constitute gender discrimination against female accusers. In reality, schools for decades have denied meaningful due process to students accused of sexual assault, and mandates from the U.S. Department of Education have only made the problem worse.

Far from condoning criminal activity, American college administrations are so concerned with ideology, federal funding, and public perceptions that they punish innocent students. Examples from four elite institutions—Yale, Amherst, the University of North Carolina, and Occidental College—reveal unfair procedures that come close to presuming guilt and severely restrict the opportunity for accused students not only to defend themselves, but even to prove their innocence. The problem continues to grow worse, and there is as yet no sign of a return to due process in campus tribunals.

Related: Another Unbalanced View of Campus Sex Hearings

KEY POINTS

  1. An April 4, 2011, U.S. Department of Education Office for Civil Rights document dramatically reinterpreted the sexual assault case procedures required for colleges to comply with Title IX.
  2. Threatening the withholding of federal funds, the OCR ordered all colleges to adjudicate sexual assault complaints utilizing the preponderance-of-evidence (50.01 percent) standard rather than the stricter beyond-a-reasonable-doubt standard.
  3. When coupled with the preexisting denial of due process in most institutions’ disciplinary proceedings, the new standard makes it too easy to “convict” the accused.
  4. The OCR also ruled that colleges that allowed appeals in the disciplinary process must allow accusers to appeal a not-guilty finding, something that would not happen in the criminal system because of prohibitions on double jeopardy.
  5. Even before issuance of the new OCR document, many schools denied meaningful due process to students accused of sexual assault, and so-called reforms since 2011 have only made the problem worse.

Related: What The Rolling Stone Affidavits Show

On April 4, 2011, the U.S. Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights (OCR) released a document dramatically reinterpreting Title IX, the federal law that prohibits gender discrimination in colleges and universities that receive federal funds. The document issued by the OCR was a “Dear Colleague” letter, an allegedly informal agency guidance that Department of Education officials claimed did not need to follow notice-and-comment rulemaking pursuant to the Administrative Procedure Act.

The “Dear Colleague” letter specified the procedures that the OCR believed colleges and universities should follow in sexual assault cases in order to comply with Title IX. Although two Department of Education officials have publicly noted that the letter does not have the force of law, this concession does not change its practical effect, which is to coerce universities into compliance. Moreover, each change in Title IX requirements found in the letter increases the likelihood of a guilty finding in a campus sexual assault case.

The Myth: Institutional Negligence

Since 2011, efforts by the Administration to bring universities into compliance with the new mandates have attracted widespread support from politicians and the media. President Barack Obama convened a White House summit on the topic, Vice President Joseph Biden oversaw a task force, and the OCR issued further “guidance” in the form of a 45-page question-and-answer document that also acted as an informal set of rules. In the Senate, Kirsten Gillibrand (D–NY) and Claire McCaskill (D–MO) have been the most outspoken supporters of this policy.

Both The New York Times and The Washington Post have published news articles portraying campuses as hotbeds of violent crime, with female students allegedly facing the risk of extremely high rates of sexual assault. The Times alone has run more than 20 articles on the topic since 2012, and the Post featured a multi-part series in 2015 based on a poll contending that one in five college women are sexually assaulted—a total it reached in part by redefining sexual assault to include such things as sex “coerced…through verbal…promises.”

Related: Georgetown’s Survey Stokes the Rape Panic

At the heart of this campaign is a belief—sincerely held in some instances—that college and university campuses are beset by a “rape culture,” in which the procedures for investigating and adjudicating sexual assault claims are so one-sided as to constitute gender discrimination against female accusers. Only unprecedented federal intervention, according to this theory, can promote justice.

The Reality: American Colleges Railroad the Innocent

For those who have spent any time on campus in the past two decades, this argument seems counterintuitive. The contemporary academy is extraordinarily sensitive to real and perceived discrimination on issues of gender (as well as race and ethnicity). Faculties are increasingly dominated by race/class/gender pedagogy in the humanities and some of the social sciences, and there has been an explosion in the number of administrators responsible for dealing with student life and diversity issues.

Given these facts, it is difficult to see how the academy’s environment could be considered so indifferent to rape as to necessitate unprecedented federal intervention. The on-campus responses to the two highest-profile university rape claims of the past decade—the Duke University lacrosse case of 2006 and the University of Virginia allegations outlined in Rolling Stone in 2014—suggest that, far from being indifferent to rape, the campus environment tends to presume guilt even when faced with non-credible rape allegations.

Nevertheless, the Obama Administration issued new guidelines in 2011 directing colleges and universities to change the procedures they use to evaluate sexual assault allegations. These changes have the effect of dramatically increasing the likelihood that an accused student will be found guilty. Threatening the possible withholding of federal funds, the “Dear Colleague” letter:

Related: Problems in the Stanford Sexual Assault Case

  • Considered it a violation of Title IX to do anything but adjudicate sexual assault complaints utilizing the preponderance-of-evidence (50.01 percent) standard, in effect ordering colleges to change their procedures. When coupled with the preexisting denial of due process in most institutions’ disciplinary proceedings—a denial of meaningful legal representation, the lack of mandatory discovery of evidence uncovered by the college, and the inability of colleges to require testimony under oath—the new standard makes it much easier to “convict” an accused student.
  • Stated that colleges that allowed appeals in the disciplinary process (which means virtually all of them) must allow accusers to appeal a not-guilty finding, imposing a type of double-jeopardy principle for students accused of sexual assault.
  • Chastised colleges for taking too long to investigate and adjudicate complaints, with the Obama Administration suggesting a 60-day cap on the entire process.
  • Discouraged colleges from allowing accused students to cross-examine their accusers even in cases in which the accuser is the only witness in a disciplinary hearing that could end with the accused being found responsible for committing sexual assault.

Related: How the Feds Use Orwell to Apply Title IX

The “Dear Colleague” letter imposed a nationwide set of standards, and then-OCR head Russlynn Ali also made clear that the office would welcome the filing of gender discrimination claims by students against their own schools. On May 1, 2014, in a highly unusual move, the OCR revealed the identities of the colleges and universities under investigation (currently more than 200) but refused to “disclose any case-specific facts or details about the institutions under investigation.” The OCR’s inconsistent approach to transparency has left the public with the impression of widespread problems justifying a panicked federal response without the opportunity to evaluate the credibility of these complaints.

In response to the OCR’s guidance, several new campus groups addressing the issue of rape have encouraged self-described “survivors” to file Title IX complaints. The two most prominent, SurvJustice and Know Your IX, have opposed anything approximating fair procedures for college students accused of offenses—while effectively downplaying the idea of requiring colleges to turn sexual assault adjudications over to the courts. Know Your IX co-founder Dana Bolger explained why to The New York Times. The “college disciplinary system,” she argued, is superior to a “criminal justice system [that] notoriously fails rape survivors,” since “police disbelieve victims, prosecutors refuse to take on the majority of cases because they lack witnesses, the standard of proof is impossibly high and juries buy into the rape myths that saturate our society and acquit perpetrators.”

Although sexual assault obviously should not be tolerated and accusations of rape should be treated seriously, it is simply not true that American colleges are systematically turning a blind eye to such violence. The proliferation of activist groups on the side of “victims” suggests, if anything, an extreme desire to use the threat of severe sanctions to change cultural norms.

Related: Campus Surveys Inflate Rape Statistics

Case Study #1: Yale University

The first major Obama-era Title IX complaint came from Yale University. In October 2010, pledges to the Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity shouted something crude, albeit not illegal. The resulting public backlash led to apologies from the fraternity members, suspension by the national fraternity of the local chapter’s ability to secure pledges, and abandonment of the university’s traditional free-speech absolutism to punish some of the students. The Yale Executive Committee declared that the statements “had threatened and intimidated others, in violation of the Undergraduate Regulations of Yale College as they pertain to ‘harassment, coercion or intimidation’ and ‘imperiling the integrity and values of the University community.’”

The fraternity’s spectacle was crass and violated norms of basic decency, but The Atlantic’s Caitlin Flanagan observed that it also could be seen as an “obvious reaction” to the oppressive atmosphere of political correctness on campus. In Flanagan’s opinion, referencing the leader of the 1964 Free Speech Movement at the University of California:

[The] closest you’re going to get to Mario Savio—sick at heart about the operation of the machine and willing to throw himself upon its gears and levers—is less the campus president of Human Rights Watch than the moron over at Phi Sigma Kappa who plans the Colonial Bros and Nava-Hos mixer.

Despite apologies from the fraternity members and condemnation from the Yale administration, campus activists addressing the issue of rape seized on the incident to file a Title IX complaint against Yale. The administration quickly settled. In a voluntary resolution agreement with the OCR, the university agreed to hire various Title IX bureaucrats and to rework its campus sexual assault policy. That policy “encompass[es] broad ranges of behavior,” since the definition of sexual assault employed by Yale is “more expansive” than the one that is used by the federal government or local law enforcement. The university has never explained why it chose to redefine a term—sexual assault—commonly understood in both the law and culture, but in a 2013 document, it did provide examples of the sort of behavior that could lead the school to brand a student guilty of engaging in “nonconsensual sex.”

Related: Suing the Office for Civil Rights

Yale then set up a two-tier system to handle rape allegations. Formal claims would be handled by a newly created University-Wide Committee on Sexual Assault (UWC). The UWC process begins with an allegedly “impartial fact-finder” (whose employment comes through the university Title IX office, which has a repeat relationship with and is often attuned to the views of the regulators) who gathers “documents and conduct[s] interviews as necessary to reach a thorough understanding of the facts and circumstances surrounding the allegations of the complaint.” The investigator’s report serves as the evidentiary basis for the five-person committee that decides the fate of the accused student.

The accused student cannot call relevant witnesses unless he can prove to the panel in advance that he “can offer potentially relevant information that was not conveyed to the fact-finder.” In the rare cases in which a campus accuser also goes to the police, Yale’s disciplinary panel may—but is not required to—consider the evidence from an actual law enforcement investigation.

Finding the truth is all but incidental to Yale’s procedure. Lest the accuser be retraumatized (regarding an event that, at the time of the hearing, Yale has not established to have occurred), the accused student not only cannot cross-examine the accuser, but also has no right to be in the same room as she gives her testimony. The most input Yale allows the accused student is the submission of written questions for the panel to ask the accuser—if the panel chooses to do so. In essence, the accused student is found responsible for committing sexual assault if three of the five committee members find it more likely than not that a violation has been shown (usually, that the accuser’s version of events is more credible than the accused’s).

Related: Yale’s Case against Montague Looks Shaky

These “formal” hearings are a paragon of due process when compared to the second avenue for Yale accusers to present their complaints. Under an “informal” process, which Yale used in about a dozen cases in 2011–2012, the accused student has no right to present evidence of his innocence; indeed, in at least one case, the accused student was not even informed about the specifics of the allegations against him.

Yale Deputy Provost Stephanie Spangler justified this procedure by explaining that the university’s “goal is to achieve a resolution that is desired by the [accuser] and acceptable to the [accused].” Further, one goal of the university process is to help accusers “regain their sense of well-being.”

It is impossible to know what goes on behind closed doors, and perhaps the only real protection for a student accused through the informal process is a promise that the process will remain confidential. But in at least one high-profile case—that of former Yale quarterback Patrick Witt—an unknown party leaked the existence of a complaint first to the Rhodes Trust (Witt was under consideration for a Rhodes Scholarship) and then to The New York Times, which produced a front-page story that failed to describe the guilt-presuming procedures under which he was charged. There was no indication that Yale ever investigated, much less punished, the person or persons who broke the university’s rules and shared the information about Witt’s case. When he wrote about the experience several years later, Witt recounted that Yale’s policy “almost ruined my life.”

Witt was the first of many accused students victimized by Yale’s new policies. For at least a year, the university’s definition of sexual misconduct was so broad as to include “emotional or economic abuse” by “roommates.” In one instance, a student was found not guilty but was nonetheless punished by the university, which ordered him to take “sexual consent training,” and on several occasions, Yale undertook investigations based on anonymous complaints, raising concerns that the new Title IX process could be used for revenge or ideological targeting.

Related: Accused, Expelled, and Smeared as a Rapist—at Yale

Among the faculty, an unknown male professor was subjected to a sexual harassment complaint from a female colleague. Yale investigated by speaking to the accusing professor and to the department chairman—but never informing the accused professor that charges had been filed against him, thereby robbing him of an opportunity to defend himself. The inquiry ended with the department chairman formally monitoring the male professor for an indefinite period. This incident produced scant public dissent among the faculty.

Case Study #2: Amherst College

As occurred with the fraternity pledge incident at Yale, a single event triggered Amherst’s explosion of Title IX activism. In October 2012, a former student named Angie Epifano penned a lengthy recollection of her experience as a self-described survivor of sexual assault. In May 2011, she wrote, a student acquaintance raped her. She did not report the incident to police, nor did she want the case adjudicated by a campus tribunal: “No thank you, I could barely handle seeing him from the opposite end of campus; I knew I couldn’t handle that level of negativity.”

Epifano alleged shocking treatment from Amherst administrators. She claimed that the college’s sexual assault counselor, Gretchen Krull, told her not to report the crime and instead advised her to “forgive and forget.” Soon thereafter, an Amherst dean, concerned about the student’s mental health, denied her request to study abroad in Africa. The dean allegedly informed her that “Africa is quite traumatizing, what with those horrible third-world conditions: disease…huts…lions!”

A campus administration committed to the truth might have asked some hard questions about Epifano’s veracity. On a campus already known for its political correctness, for an unidentified dean to have made disparaging remarks about Africa seems extraordinarily unlikely.

Related: Railroading the Innocent in Cincinnati

On October 18, 2012, Amherst President Carolyn “Biddy” Martin uncritically accepted Epifano’s presentation of events as “horrifying” and promised “consequences,” either with “procedures or [with] personnel.” Within a few days, Gretchen Krull had resigned, with some speculating that she had been made a scapegoat. Martin then appointed an eight-person committee to develop a new sexual assault adjudication procedure. A professor of women’s and gender studies chaired the panel, whose only other faculty member specialized in African–American literary and cultural studies; a campus activist addressing the issue of rape, Liya Richtman, represented student views.

Future Know Your IX co-founder Dana Bolger, an Amherst student, hoped that the policy change would create a new culture on campus, since “we have all, at some time, in some way—through our jokes, our questions, our arguments—silenced a survivor” and “at some time, in some way, exerted our respective privileges—male, white, heterosexual, disgendered, able-bodied—to silence our peers.” The idea that 21st century Amherst College is dominated by white, heterosexual, male privilege suggests an unusual interpretation of reality. The type of guidelines developed in this ideological mess was unlikely to treat any accused student fairly, but it remained unclear whether Amherst’s new policy was so one-sided as to prevent even an innocent student from defending himself.

For several months, despite the claims of activists that Amherst was a campus awash in sexual assaults, no cases were filed to test the new system’s scope. Then, in late 2013, Amherst got its first post-Epifano claim.

In a column published in June 2015, Washington Post blogger Radley Balko wondered why so many high-profile campus rape allegations have proved to be unfounded. He offered several reasons, including the following:

It may be that activists deliberately seek out and champion the ambiguous cases to demonstrate their commitment to the cause. This is pretty common among ideologues. (I see it often among my fellow libertarians.) You show your bona fides by taking a hard line even on those issues, incidents and scenarios that scream out for subtlety. You see this in some of the reform proposals put forth by anti-campus rape activists, such as laws requiring explicit consent before each progression of sexual activity or in staking out absurd positions such as “drunk sex is always rape.”

Balko could have been describing the Amherst case, which arose out of an incident in February 2012. Following an apparently consensual sexual encounter with another student, the female accuser apparently had a change of heart. She also eventually fell in with a new group of friends: many of the campus activists addressing the issue of rape who were energized by the Epifano essay. By fall 2012—inspired, she wrote, by Epifano’s article—she published an essay at AC Voice, a webzine for which several in the group wrote. The female accuser now reinterpreted the incident of the previous semester as a sexual assault in spite of the fact that most of the accuser’s anger appeared to be directed not at her alleged assaulter, but instead at a “former friend” who had treated her contemptuously after discovering who the accused man was.

Related: How Title IX Became a Policy Bully

The female student waited for another year before filing a sexual assault claim at Amherst, and the investigation and adjudication of the case showcased the unfairness of the college’s new policy—which, to be clear, is typical of how most schools now handle the issue. A hired investigator spent a day on campus interviewing witnesses; when asked whether she had any text messages or e-mails about the incident, the accuser said that she had none. During the hearing, the accuser admitted that she had texted after the incident, but none of the panelists asked her to explain why she had told the investigator otherwise. To corroborate her assault claim, the accuser said that she had invited someone over to her room after the incident to talk and comfort her. None of the panelists asked the identity of this mystery witness, who had not been interviewed by Amherst’s investigator.

Moreover, the accused student could not raise these questions effectively: Prohibited from having a lawyer by his side in the hearing, he was required under Amherst’s new rules to submit written questions for the accuser before the hearing. As legal blogger Scott Greenfield has noted:

Submitting questions isn’t a particularly effective way to confront an accusation. Questions beget answers, and answers beget more questions. Putting aside whether [the accused student] is adept at formulating incisive questions, no one can effectively confront an accuser without hearing her answers and following up.

The accuser said that she had consented but in the middle of the process had revoked that consent; the accused student said that he was too drunk to recall anything that happened. This portrayal of events was enough for the panel to find the accused student responsible. Amherst promptly expelled him.

Related: Why ‘Yes Means Yes’ Rules Can’t Work

The accused student hired a lawyer who subsequently uncovered considerable evidence undercutting the accuser’s credibility, including post-incident text messages (which the accuser had implied to Amherst’s investigator did not exist). Any fair investigation, of course, would have discovered this at the time. Amherst’s response? The accused student had failed to uncover this information within seven days of the disciplinary hearing, so he was now out of luck.

The student filed a federal lawsuit, which remains pending. In that lawsuit, Amherst has contended that the process worked as the college intended in this case.

Case Study #3: University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

While Amherst was finding an innocent student responsible for rape, another incident occurred at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (UNC). Inspired by the activities at Amherst and Yale and in constant contact with the accusers there, she later told The New York Times, a student named Andrea Pino stepped forward.

Pino claimed that in March 2012, another UNC student raped her at an off-campus party. (Because she has admitted that she had never seen the man before that evening and never saw him again, she left it unclear as to how she concluded that her attacker attended UNC.) Pino elected not to report the alleged assault to police, nor did she file a complaint through the university because, she later said, unnamed other students doubted that it would do any good. Instead, Pino went to a UNC academic employee about her plight, and this person allegedly told her she was lazy.

The identity of the unnamed figure who made the “lazy” remark has shifted depending on the reporter interviewing Pino. According to Inside Higher Ed’s Allie Grasgreen, Pino said that “an academic adviser told her she was lazy when her experience impacted her performance in the classroom.” ESPNW’s Allison Glock, on the other hand, quoted Pino as saying that “when I explained to a professor what was happening and how it was affecting my grades, I was told I was lazy, and it was suggested that maybe I couldn’t handle Carolina.”

Related: Ten Campus Rapes—Or Were They?

Neither Grasgreen, who identified the “lazy” comment as coming from an academic adviser, nor Glock, who quoted Pino as attributing the remark to a professor in one of her courses, appears to have reached out to the unnamed academic adviser/professor for comment on whether Pino’s story was actually true. Nor did the documentary filmmakers responsible for The Hunting Ground, which presented Pino’s tale uncritically. Again, it is very unlikely that a UNC professor or academic adviser, having been informed by a student that someone had raped her, would respond by calling the student lazy.

As Pino was portraying herself as victimized by a gender-hostile administration, UNC was actually revising its policies to make it easier for students like Pino to see their alleged attackers found guilty. In 2012, the university removed sexual assault cases from the jurisdiction of its Student Honor Court and turned them over to a special new panel that handled only allegations of sexual assault, claiming that students could not be sufficiently trained to handle such cases fairly. Given the timing, however, this decision appears more likely to have been motivated by a desire to accommodate the OCR’s “Dear Colleague” letter, since the move allowed UNC to shift its burden of proof in sexual assault cases (and only in sexual assault cases) from the Honor Court’s standard of beyond a reasonable doubt to a preponderance of the evidence, something required by the letter.

Melinda Manning, an assistant dean of students, rejoiced at the abandonment of a policy that discouraged “victims” from coming forward. Summarizing the dean’s views after an interview,Inside Higher Ed’s Allie Grasgreen reported Manning’s view that the earlier system discouraged reporting by “requiring victims to be judged by a roomful of peers.” Of course, a university disciplinary system judges the accused students, not the accusers, and administrators should know better. Manning resigned the following year, claiming that unnamed UNC administrators had pressured her to underreport rape claims; the university fired back with a document claiming that Manning had underreported filings. The ex-dean joined several accusers in filing a Title IX complaint against UNC. As with all such documents, the OCR declined to make the filing public, and contemporaneous press reports suggested alternatively that it was damning or frivolous.

In any event, UNC spent nearly $200,000 on a consultant to rework its Title IX mechanisms and hired seven new staff employees to deal with the matter at an annual cost of around $500,000 before unveiling yet another new sexual assault procedure, this one even less friendly to the rights of the accused than the preceding one. By this point, North Carolina had passed a law requiring colleges to permit students accused of disciplinary offenses to have access to a lawyer. (North Dakota is the only other state to have such a law.) An investigator, hired and overseen by the Title IX office, is not compelled to share his or her evidence with the accused; he or she must only produce a draft of his or her report, effectively precluding the accused from offering exculpatory material during the process. Only under limited circumstances can the accused student introduce new evidence at the hearing.

The accused student’s attorney can examine a draft of the investigator’s report, but only by coming to UNC and promising not to photograph or copy the report. Once the hearing begins, the accused student’s lawyer, as dictated by state law, may attend it but may not cross-examine the accuser; he or she may only submit questions to the hearing chairman, who can ask the questions, modify them, or simply move on. The hearing procedures guarantee neither that the lawyer can even see the accuser as she gives her answers nor that he or she can cross-examine other witnesses.

The new procedures maintained the lower preponderance-of-evidence standard, but even though the OCR is silent on the issue of unanimous findings, UNC now allows a student to be, in essence, found responsible for committing sexual assault based on a two-to-one vote of the disciplinary panel. The guidelines do not explain why the university followed this course.

Even after a student graduates, he can still be sanctioned by UNC. The school allows the filing of anonymous reports of sexual assault to “help give university administrators a better picture of the number of assaults that are occurring within the university student community.” The policy’s wording suggests that the university simply assumes that the assault has occurred, based solely on the anonymous filing. UNC’s policy also has no equivalent of a statute of limitations, a deficiency that allows for the filing of complaints years after the alleged event even when both the accuser and the accused are no longer students at the school. Among elite universities, only Harvard has such an open-ended policy, which raises the question of whether a university could use a years-after-the-fact sexual assault claim to revoke a degree.

Case Study #4: Occidental College

On the West Coast, the most aggressive Title IX activism has been at Occidental College. As at UNC, Yale, and Amherst, Occidental appeared to have a disciplinary structure that denied meaningful due process to the accused. Well before “affirmative consent” laws were enacted in California, Occidental policy maintained that a student who obtained such consent could nonetheless be deemed a rapist. Many have criticized so-called affirmative consent policies as unrealistic and damaging. The college’s sexual assault policy denied the accused student a right to counsel in the proceedings while informing him that terms like “innocence” and “burdens of proof” were “not applicable.” A healthy majority of the undergraduates—currently 56 percent, with 57 percent in the most recently admitted class—are women, and 50 percent of the college’s professors are women.

Nonetheless, according to a small group of campus activists, the school turned a blind eye to sexual assault on campus. In 2013, a handful of self-described survivors, joined by faculty members Danielle Dirks and Caroline Heldman, formed a group called the Oxy Sexual Assault Coalition, or OSAC, which denounced the “yes-might-not-mean-yes” policy as insufficiently protective of accusers. The group adopted a tagline of “because rape is a crime”—even as Dirks (speaking, she said, “as a criminologist”) announced that she had “given up on the criminal justice system.”

OSAC had a preference for adjudicating sexual assaults through college tribunals, even though these assaults would usually be felony offenses in the criminal courts. As explained by Dirks, “College campuses, which are supposed to be the bastions of cutting-edge knowledge and a chance to shape the rest of the country, actually can do right.” Celebrity attorney Gloria Allred involved herself, representing several Occidental students who filed Title IX complaints against the college, which quickly settled.

The college attracted national attention after expelling a student for rape—despite a police report concluding that no rape had occurred and despite text messages from the accuser checking on whether the accused student had a condom and telling a friend, “I’m going to have sex now.”]Occidental reached this decision by contending that while both students were intoxicated, the female student’s drunkenness rendered her unable to consent to intercourse that her own text messages showed she had initiated.

By comparison, even Yale’s “expansive definition of sexual assault” appears to exclude the kind of behavior that Occidental deemed rape. Yale’s guidelines cite an instance of the parties’ “send[ing] a few texts” discussing their plans for intercourse and then confirming those plans once they arrived in the bedroom as an example of “consensual sex.”

In an essay for the Harvard Law Review, Harvard Law professor Janet Halley criticized the “pressure on schools to hold students responsible for serious harm even when—precisely when—there can be no certainty about who is to blame for it. Such calls are core to every witch hunt.” In 2013, the number of reported sexual assaults at Occidental increased from 10 (in 2012) to 60. This figure meant that Occidental alone, with a female enrollment of just over 1,100, accounted for 40 percent of the total increase in reported sexual assaults at all of California’s four-year public and private colleges and universities. As attorney Mark Hathaway has noted, Occidental’s rate of reported sexual assaults in 2013 was 16 times higher than that of the next 10 California colleges and universities combined. It could be, of course, that this Los Angeles liberal arts campus is a statistical anomaly and that it really is very dangerous, but such an interpretation seems very unlikely.

Conclusion

Campus activists addressing the issue of rape have assiduously conveyed the impression that such institutions as Yale University, Amherst College, the University of North Carolina, and Occidental College are led by administrators who ignore widespread criminality. Sexual assaults on college campuses do occur and are a serious issue, but justice requires procedures that afford due process both to accusers and to the accused. Yet even before the OCR’s “Dear Colleague” letter, many schools denied meaningful due process to students accused of sexual assault, and so-called reforms since 2011 have only made the problem worse.

(Reprinted with permission from the Heritage Foundation)

Faculty Unions and the Problem of Adjuncts

With the demise of the Friedrichs case, with the post-Scalia Supreme Court giving a 4-4 victory to organized labor, it seems likely that the faculty unions that currently exist at public universities will survive. At the same time, the increasing number of adjuncts creates a potentially awkward situation: should faculty unions equally seek to represent the interests of adjuncts and full-time faculty, even though full-time faculty have expectations of research and service, and are hired after national searches? Or should separate bargaining units represent part-time and full-time faculty?

Frozen in Time?

Recent developments at CUNY, highlighted in a Chronicle article, strongly suggest that separate bargaining units are the way to go. The CUNY faculty union, the Professional Staff Congress (PSC), is almost a caricature; the union’s leadership appears intellectually frozen in time in 1968 or 1969, desperate to storm the barricades one last time for the revolution. In the last year, the union gleefully threatened an illegal strike, as it organized screaming protests outside the CUNY chancellor’s residence. DC 37, which engaged in neither tactic, secured the same financial deal from CUNY.

(At CUNY, faculty and adjuncts are members of the same union. Faculty who don’t wish to join the union must pay an agency fee, which Bowen’s leadership team improperly sought to inflate. DC 37 represents some of the maintenance and custodial staff.)

Adjuncts over Full-Timers

PSC leader Barbara Bowen, whose “New Caucus” seized control of the PSC in 2000, provides a case study in how a union leadership consolidated its power by prioritizing the interests of adjuncts over full-time faculty. Shortly after coming to power, the new union leaders changed the dues structure from a flat fee to a percentage of salary—thus increasing the dues paid by associates and full professors, who now subsidized adjuncts’ dues. The stated purpose: getting more adjuncts to sign up as full union members, where their votes would be critical to Bowen’s first two (quite narrow) re-elections.

Bowen’s PSC then secured funding for extending health insurance to adjuncts—after telling her elected delegates that the program’s cost was figured into a subsequent final salary agreement, replacing what would have been a one percent salary hike. So, yet again, full-time faculty effectively subsidized benefits for adjuncts.

In the two most recent contract negotiations, Bowen’s PSC showed scant interest in meaningfully addressing the issue of faculty workload—even after a recent Brooklyn survey showed that full-time faculty considered this issue, not salary, their top priority. The new contract flipped the union dues issue on its head: a “signing bonus” was included as flat amount rather than as a percentage of salary. (Having a flat amount, in this instance, favored adjuncts over full-time faculty.) And, troublingly, the new contract also included a provision in which five-year adjuncts—who aren’t hired after a national search, and have no requirement of research—will receive three-year contracts during which they’re guaranteed six or more credit hours for each semester.

Eager for a Strike?

Despite this record, and almost incredibly, the Chronicle revealed that various adjunct leaders were complaining that the new contract contained insufficient concessions for them. “I just want to tell CUNY ‘No,’” proclaimed Ruth Wangerin, described as an activist in “CUNY Struggle.” (Wangerin seemed especially eager for an illegal strike.)

Another “CUNY Struggle” adjunct advocated rejecting the contract and aligning with “working-class” New Yorkers. And Sandor John, of a group called “CUNY Contingents Unite,” denounced the dangerous three-year adjunct as something that “helps management divide and conquer.” (John appears to see the CUNY administration as “management,” even though funding for CUNY comes from tuition and the state legislature.) Unlike the Board of Trustees, and despite the union leadership’s constant claims to be “democratic,” the PSC does not allow its delegate assembly meetings to be recorded. But rumors exist that complaints from adjunct activists dominated the last meeting.

Workload Not a Shared Interest

In the end, adjuncts and full-time faculty have fundamentally irreconcilable interests. For the full-time faculty, an ideal university would be one in which the only non-tenure track instructors would be visiting professors and graduate students getting teaching experience for when they go on the job market. But such a university—with positions filled after a national search—many current adjuncts (especially at institutions with desirable locations) could be left unemployed. And, as the CUNY experience shows, adjuncts (for understandable reasons) have little interest in such issues as faculty workload or faculty health insurance.

If a leadership like Bowen’s fails to appease adjunct activists, it’s hard to imagine any union leadership that would do so. The best approach would be avoiding faculty unions altogether. But given New York law, which allows the PSC to deduct compulsory dues from all CUNY instructors, two organizations—one to represent full-time faculty, the other to represent part-timers—would produce better outcomes.

Rare Court Ruling for an Accused Campus Male

Friday morning brought important news from the Second Circuit, which vacated a decision from Judge Jesse Furman in the Doe v. Columbia U. case, giving the accused student a rare new chance to prove his university denied him a fair proceeding. It was the first decision by an Appeals Court to deal with campus sexual assault since the Obama administration’s “Dear Colleague” letter raised strong pressure against accused students in campus sex hearings. (I had previously written about the Columbia case, and Judge Furman’s decision.) You can read the unanimous opinion here. The decision also will apply to pending lawsuits throughout the Second Circuit, including at Cornell, Colgate, and (perhaps most importantly) Yale.

A note on what wasn’t decided. This decision only overturned Judge Furman’s dismissal of the case; it only allows the claim to move forward. It does not resolve the merits of the case or (even) allow the accused student to survive a summary judgment motion. A spokesperson for Columbia said that the university doesn’t comment on pending litigation.

No Title IX Disparate Impact

The basic background: with only a handful of exceptions, accused students making Title IX claims have lost in motions to dismiss. While the Obama administration invoked Title IX even though only most (but not all) sexual assault victims are female, courts mostly have argued that argued that accused students can’t sue under Title IX, because only most—around 99 percent, according to one study—but not all accused students are males, and disparate impact lawsuits under Title IX aren’t allowed.

The Second Circuit articulated a more forgiving standard for how accused students can survive a motion to dismiss. It suggested that district courts evaluate these claims through the case law of Title VII (employment discrimination, which allows some disparate impact claims). The opinion also outlines the type of facts that could give rise to the possibility of gender discrimination:

The Complaint alleges that during the period preceding the disciplinary hearing, there was substantial criticism of the University, both in the student body and in the public media, accusing the University of not taking seriously complaints of female students alleging sexual assault by male students. It alleges further that the University’s administration was cognizant of, and sensitive to, these criticisms, to the point that the President called a University-wide open meeting with the Dean to discuss the issue. Against this factual background, it is entirely plausible that the University’s decision-makers and its investigator were motivated to favor the accusing female over the accused male, so as to protect themselves and the University from accusations that they had failed to protect female students from sexual assault.

Judge Furman’s decision had similarly acknowledged the existence of these protests—but had used them to opposite effect. He had contended that even if Columbia’s procedures were biased against accused students on grounds of gender, the university might have had a legally acceptable reason—avoiding the bad publicity that can come from having an insufficient number of guilty findings.

Repudiating Furman

In what Scott Greenfield termed an otherwise linguistically “tepid” opinion, the Second Circuit repudiated Furman’s rationale: “A defendant is not excused from liability for discrimination because the discriminatory motivation does not result from a discriminatory heart, but rather from a desire to avoid practical disadvantages that might result from unbiased action. A covered university that adopts, even temporarily, a policy of bias favoring one sex over the other in a disciplinary dispute, doing so in order to avoid liability or bad publicity, has practiced sex discrimination, notwithstanding that the motive for the discrimination did not come from ingrained or permanent bias against that particular sex.”

The Impact of the Decision

Beyond allowing the Columbia student’s case to move forward, the decision has at least three immediate impacts:

  • The standard laid out by the Appeals Court for surviving a motion to dismiss on Title IX grounds—that the complaint suggests the university set up biased procedures in response to public pressure from the media, or from accusers’ rights groups—would seem to apply to virtually any elite school in the current environment. For instance, if the district court judge in Jack Montague’s case at Yale applies this decision faithfully, it’s virtually inconceivable that Yale will win a motion to dismiss.
  • There hasn’t been much consistency regarding political affiliation and decisions; there have been good and bad decisions written by judges of both parties. But it nonetheless was striking that this decision came from an all-Democratic panel—written by Clinton nominee Pierre Laval and joined by Obama nominee Christopher Droney and District Court judge John Koeltl, a Clinton nominee.
  • Although it technically was only one district court decision among many, Judge Furman’s decision was unusually influential, as FIRE’s Samantha Harris noted on Friday. That decision is now gone from the book

The case now returns to the courtroom of Judge Furman, who seems to have an unusual number of personal connections to the parties. His wife, Ariela Dubler, served as a professor at Columbia Law School from 2002 through 2014. (Dubler’s research specializes in “the legal regulation of sex and the family.”) And as he considers a new a complaint that strongly condemns the Obama administration’s policies, Furman’s brother, Jason, chairs Obama’s Council of Economic Advisors.

Another Unbalanced View of Campus Sex Hearings

Monday’s Chronicle of Higher Education featured an article by Sarah Brown, a very one-sided article,  on a gathering dealing with campus efforts to cope with sexual assault. It reviewed

a federally-funded program, the National Center for Campus Public Safety, to better train colleges in adjudicating allegations of sexual assault. “I want to get this right,” Brown quoted one investigator, articulating her strategy for interrogating accused students.

But the article, in fact, portrayed a gathering in which there seemed to be little interest in getting it right.  It shows no interest in fairness to the accused.

Related: Campus Surveys Inflate Rape Statistics

The piece doesn’t list any defense lawyers as speakers. It doesn’t appear as if anyone from FIRE or any other group devoted to academic civil liberties was invited to speak. Of course, a meeting of (say) the National District Attorneys Association might not feature such speakers, either. But the college process—supposedly—isn’t prosecutorial (one reason why colleges claim it’s OK to exclude lawyers from meaningful participation, and not to have discovery). It’s a neutral search for the truth. So why would a federally-funded organization, amidst a conference that wanted to “get this right,” hear only from those involved on one side of the process?

The dangers of one-sidedness appeared in Brown’s discussion of a panel entitled, “Interviewing the Respondent.” Brown paraphrased the advice given: “Ask about the (accusing) student’s background — where they’re from, what they do outside of class, and where they spend time on the campus. Ask about witnesses. Seek evidence, like text messages and social-media accounts.” She then quoted from one of the presenters, waiving a smartphone: “These are little miracles for corroboration.”

What’s missing from this is that the burden of proof is on the accuser, not the accused. (The article contained no mention that Margolis Healy, a campus safety firm, and its solicited presenters urged that investigators force accusers to provide electronic evidence that corroborates their claims—or recommended asking accusers how they spent their time on campus, or what they did outside class. Indeed, such questions almost certainly would yield a strong attack from groups like Know Your IX.) Moreover, one of the greatest shortcomings of the college process is that it lacks the legal power to obtain such evidence. An accuser making a false allegation, or a guilty accused student, will simply refuse to provide evidence that contradicts their version of events. And the school can do nothing.

More striking was the information Brown’s article didn’t contain. She mentioned that Margolis Healy coordinated the National Center for Campus Public Safety through a federal grant, but (oddly) didn’t reveal the amount of the grant. According to USAspending.gov, through the end of 2015, Margolis Healy has received $5,854,732 in taxpayer funds, with the grant scheduled to continue until April 2017. The total grant thus seems to exceed $8 million.

Related: Weaponizing Title IX at Middlebury

And what sort of training does Margolis Healy provide? Brown’s article doesn’t say. I’ve previously looked at Margolis Healy’s unusual approach to training, in the context of its training of Middlebury’s sexual assault investigators. The training heavily relied on the discredited David Lisak; instructed Middlebury officials that they must “start by believing” the accuser (they weren’t supposed to use terms like “accuser” in their reports); and held that the investigator’s report “should not include . . . consensual language” or note that the “victim has inconsistencies with her story.” But what if the accused student wasn’t guilty, and the inconsistencies of the “victim” would prove the accused student’s innocence? That outcome doesn’t appear to have crossed the minds of the Margolis Healy trainers.

After the Middlebury piece appeared at Minding the Campus, Margolis Healy removed its training slides from the web. It would seem that—for around $8 million in taxpayers’ funds—the public has a right to know how, specifically, this firm trains colleges to reach the “truth” in sexual assault claims.

What The Rolling Stone Affidavits Show

University of Virginia dean Nicole Eramo’s lawsuit against Rolling Stone has produced hundreds of pages of documents on how the botched article about University of Virginia came to be published—and how UVA employees handled sexual assault claims.

Rolling Stone Rape Charge
False rape charges

Last week, Rolling Stone filed affidavits and notes from the key people involved in the project. I’ve provided excerpts from the affidavits of reporter Sabrina Rubin Erdely, editor Sean Woods, and fact-checker Liz Garber-Paul. Robby Soave has an excellent article with five take-aways from the material; Ashe Schow offers commentary. I recommend both pieces. In addition, a few items:

Rolling Stone’s defense is based on two points, which appear in all three affidavits: (1) that everyone at the magazine believed the accuser, “Jackie,” and had reason to do so; and (2) key people involved in sexual assault adjudications at UVA believed Jackie as well.

There’s no doubt that Erdely, Woods, and Garber-Paul believed Jackie. There’s also no doubt that each of them were ideologically inclined to believe Jackie. (Erdely, for instance, opened her “reporting” by speaking with the biased experts Wendy Murphy and David Lisak, and all of her interview subjects appear to have been people who agreed with her on the existence of a campus “culture of rape.”) Rolling Stone’s groupthink meant that every inconsistency in Jackie’s story, or unusual behavior on her part, was explained away as “consistent with other victims of sexual assault.”

And so behavior that might have raised red flags—Jackie claiming that her attacker would retaliate against her if Erdely contacted him (while she didn’t worry about retaliation once the article appeared); Jackie discouraging Erdely from contacting friends who could corroborate her tale; Jackie changing the number of assaulters—was dismissed or excused.

The only problem, of course, is that Jackie was a fabulist. Rolling Stone’s argument that the behavior of an actual victim and the behavior of someone inventing a gang rape are identical should raise significant concerns about the always-believe-accusers mantra.

Second, the Rolling Stone affidavits make clear that campus activists, and every UVA employee dealing with sexual assault matters that Erdely encountered, also believed Jackie. Rolling Stone highlighted the point for legal reasons: if all of the UVA apparatus, including Eramo, believed Jackie, how can Eramo sue Rolling Stone for publishing an article based on Jackie’s fantasies?

From the standpoint of policy, however, this material is chilling: if the UVA sexual assault bureaucracy believed that someone like Jackie was a victim, how could the process of which they’re a part possibly be fair? Ironically, since Rolling Stone, UVA’s policy has only grown more unfair, as the recent FIRE lawsuit indicated.

In this respect, Erdely actually had a great story—how a campus atmosphere of moral panic was exploited by a fabulist. But she was too closed-minded to see it.

Third, it’s striking that even as their case collapsed, those who Jackie had fooled didn’t change their underlying assumptions. Erdely, for instance, stated in her affidavit that he she had any sense that Jackie might be lying, she simply would have used another vignette to prove her campus “rape culture” thesis—without even stopping to wonder whether her initial assumptions, which had led her to trust Jackie, were wrong. Sara Surface, a UVA activist, told Erdely that Jackie was no longer credible—but rationalized, “I think trauma has done something to the details.” A few days later, another UVA activist, Alex Pinkleton, reminded the Washington Post that “the majority of survivors who come forward are telling the truth.” Pinkleton didn’t explain how the minority—who, by her framing, were not telling the truth—could be “survivors.”

And, perhaps, my favorite item from the affidavits: Editor Sean Woods said, “I stand by the statement that we verified the perpetrator’s existence.” If the case goes to trial, perhaps Rolling Stone could summon Jackie’s invented attacker, “Haven Monahan,” as a witness?

Georgetown’s Survey Stokes the Rape Panic

Both campus rape activists and their political allies—such as Kirsten Gillibrand—have consistently championed “campus climate surveys,” which they claim are necessary to provide more data about the purported epidemic of violent crime sweeping the nation’s campuses. It’s hard to argue against more data. But these surveys always are incomplete—they never ask about campus attitudes toward due process or what rights accused students should have. Moreover, their vague questioning seems designed both to confuse attitudes as to what sexual assault is, and to intensify the panicked attitude on campus. A recent survey at Georgetown accomplished both goals.

Related: Campus Surveys Inflate Rape Statistics

The survey’s topline, stressed by Georgetown president John DeGioia: “Thirty-one percent of female undergraduate students report having experienced non-consensual sexual contact.” If true, this finding, which would represent around 780 undergraduate students alone (although nearly one-third of this total indicated their victimization occurred off-campus at a location not affiliated with the university), would suggest that the Georgetown campus is the center of violent crime in DC’s Second Police District (the area within 1500 feet of Georgetown’s campus had only 19 reports of violent crime in the last two years).

Surely President DeGioia and the DC Police are engaged in intensive discussions to address the threat; perhaps a task force will be appointed? If so, the press release from Georgetown contains no indication. In fact, there isn’t a single known case of a campus climate survey leading to a university leader demanding an increased police presence to protect his or her institution’s students. This approach doesn’t fit the agenda of a movement that wants “#copsoffcampus.”

From this survey, Georgetown has promised multiple levels of action—including focus groups, a task force, required annual training for all students, and a new resource campaign. Presumably this will all cost (including staffing) hundreds of thousands of dollars annually.

As often occurs in surveys on this topic, female respondents outnumbered male, roughly 3-2. Georgetown weighted the survey for the actual total of Georgetown students without taking into consideration that the gender skew might have led to skewed results. Indeed, as occurred with the AAU surveys, internal data suggests such skewing. 22.8 percent of female undergraduates who say they experienced nonconsensual sexual contact by force say they reported this incident to the university.

The figure for female undergraduates who say they experienced nonconsensual sexual contact by force was 13.9 percent. According to the survey, that would mean just under 100 students made such a report. Yet according to the Clery Act database, only 25 students made such a report in the 2011, 2012, and 2013, and 2014 calendar years. This data would suggest that students who made a sexual assault report to Georgetown were substantially over-represented in the survey.

Related: Education Dept. Rules on Campus Rape Called Illegal

The data on the non-reporters was equally revealing. Around 77.2 percent of students who say they experienced nonconsensual sexual contact by force say they did not report the incident to the university. Of that total, more than 60 percent said they didn’t report because they believed what happened to them wasn’t serious enough. Perhaps large numbers of Georgetown undergraduates don’t believe sexual assault is serious. Far more likely: these students don’t consider themselves victims of sexual assault.

So what does the survey contain?

Some of the questions Georgetown asked students reflected the normal pattern of the campus sexual assault movement—framing the offense as far broader than its legal, or cultural, understanding, as a way of jacking up the final numbers. For instance, consider a question asked under the heading of “Bystander Intervention upon Witnessing Sexual Assault or Sexual Misconduct by Gender and Enrollment Status.”

77.1 percent of female undergraduates said they had “witnessed [a] drunk person heading for sexual encounter.” Consider the oddity of this question—part of a survey, recall, that’s producing enormous activities by the school. First, it asks students (who, given the context, might well have been somewhat drunk themselves) to judge the intoxication level of another student. Second, it then asks these students to anticipate what another student might or might not do. Finally, sex while drunk likely doesn’t constitute sexual assault, unless the student was incapacitated. So why is Georgetown classifying this question under “witnessing sexual assault”?

Did You Witness a Criminal Act?

At another stage, Georgetown asked whether respondents had “witnessed someone acting in sexually violent or harassing manner” (just under one-third of female undergraduates, listed as 2508 in the survey, said yes).  But these are two entirely different things—witnessing sexually violent behavior means asking whether the student witnessed a criminal act. Sexual harassment, while deplorable, isn’t criminal. Why did Georgetown choose to combine these two concepts?

The survey shows that some students appear to place themselves in very dangerous positions quite often. 1.3 percent of female undergraduates (which would translate to 32 or 33 students) say they have been the victim of “nonconsensual sexual penetration” four times or more as Georgetown students. Victims never deserve to be raped. But surely any responsible student life staff would want to know how so many students could have been victimized by violent crime so many times? This sort of question doesn’t appear to interest Georgetown.

Assaulted by a Faculty Member?

Likewise, more than 40 female students (1.7 percent) say they were sexually assaulted (extrapolating from the survey’s language, which always is risky) by a faculty member. Nothing in the current obsession with depriving accused students of due process rights will address this problem—which, if true, is very serious.

Around 27 percent of those who say they were victims of sexual assault (extrapolating from the survey’s language, which always is risky) were victimized by someone without any affiliation with Georgetown. Nothing in the current obsession with depriving accused students of due process rights will address this problem.

More than a quarter of those who say they were victims of sexual assault (extrapolating from the survey’s language, which always is risky) say they were victimized by the person they were dating. Did they continue dating this person? The survey doesn’t ask.

In about seven of ten cases involving those who say they were victims of sexual assault (extrapolating from the survey’s language, which always is risky), the alleged victim had been drinking. A similar figure exists for the alleged perpetrator. Nothing in the current obsession with depriving accused students of due process rights will address the relationship between alcohol and sexual assault.

Seven of eight female undergraduates who say they experienced nonconsensual sexual penetration by force experienced no physical injuries in the process.

The Saddest Thing

Perhaps the survey’s saddest finding, however, is the following. Georgetown asked students to assess the “likelihood of experiencing sexual assault or sexual misconduct off campus at university-sponsored events.” (Leave aside the vagueness of “sexual misconduct” in the question.) Many students—at Georgetown or anyplace else—never will be “off campus at university-sponsored events.” Others will be so only in very restricted capacities—say, as a member of a (single-sex) athletics team—in ways that would make the opportunity for any type of sexual misconduct seem remote.

Yet according to the survey, 39.6 percent of female undergraduates said it was somewhat, very, or extremely likely that they would experience “sexual assault or sexual misconduct off campus at university-sponsored events.” This figure is quite likely higher than the percentage of female undergraduates who will even be “off campus at university-sponsored events.” And for most of those who do participate in such activity, it’s unlikely that more than 1 percent of their time at Georgetown would be spent “off campus at university-sponsored events.”

There’s no reason to doubt the genuine nature of this response. But the fear is an irrational one. The chances of four-in-ten Georgetown females being victims of sexual assault “off campus at university-sponsored events” would seem to be infinitesimal. The logical response of a university leader to signs of panic among his student body would be to soothe his students. Instead, DeGioia, like almost all other university presidents, has chosen to stoke the panic.

Basketball Star Sues Yale

Yale has brought controversial charges against two star athletes in recent years, both on the eve of their biggest games: quarterback Patrick Witt in 2014 just before the Yale-Harvard game (and when he was up for a Rhodes scholarship) and  Jack Montague, captain of the Ivy-League championship basketball tram just before this year’s  rare appearance in March Madness.  As promised, Montague has just filed suit against Yale.

His accuser said she had consensual sex with Montague three times before the alleged sexual misconduct and one time after. On the fourth occasion, his lawyer said, she joined him in bed, voluntarily removed all of her clothes, and they had sexual intercourse. Then they got up, left the room and went separate ways. Later that same night, she reached out to him to meet up, then returned to his room voluntarily, and spent the rest of the night in his bed with him.  You can read the full complaint here. I summarized the document here.

Four major points from the complaint:

1.) Why Did Yale Break Its Own Rules? Montague’s accuser did not file charges against him. Instead, a Yale Title IX administrator did so. Yale’s policies grant the Title IX bureaucrat this authority, but only in “extremely rare cases,” and only when “there is serious risk to the safety of individuals or the community.” In February 2016, Stephanie Spangler, who oversees Yale’s Title IX coordinators, told the Yale Daily News, “Except in rare cases involving an acute threat to community safety, coordinators defer to complainants’ wishes.”

Montague’s case was a claim filed by a former sex partner around a year after the two had slept together. Even his accuser didn’t claim that he was an “acute threat” (or any threat) to her at all. But if there was no “acute threat to community safety” from Montague, why did Yale pursue the case?

2.) What Would Discovery Produce? Montague has sued Yale—along with two Title IX administrators. The complaint certainly raises some troubling questions about one of those administrators, Angela Gleason. (As so often occurs in these cases, the administrators making key decisions seem to have a strong background in identity politics.) Gleason appears to have aggressively pressured the accuser to file a complaint against Montague—after the Yale bureaucrat learned from the accuser’s roommate about the basketball player allegedly having a “bad experience” with the accuser. According to the complaint, Gleason misled the accuser both about Yale’s policies and Montague’s disciplinary history.

The complaint plausibly suggests that Gleason wanted the accuser to file charges because Montague was such an inviting target—expelling a high-profile star athlete would prove Yale’s “seriousness” about confronting sexual assault. With whom did Gleason and other Title IX bureaucrats consult before deciding to go ahead against Montague?

3.) Yale’s Likely Response. In its public statements earlier in the case, Yale has telegraphed its response: citing material from the Spangler Reports (the twice-yearly documents summarizing all sexual assault cases on campus, which I’ve regularly analyzed), the university has argued that it doesn’t expel everyone accused of sexual assault. Therefore, its policies should be presumed discerning and fair.

The complaint uses these same reports, and other Yale sexual assault documents, to argue that—even assuming Montague was guilty, which looks like a big assumption based on the information, his punishment far exceeded comparably-situated Yale students. That disparity reinforces the theory that the university targeted Montague to send a message.

Another point: in its statement responding to the lawsuit, Yale touted its specially “trained” disciplinary panelists. But the university has, thus far, refused to reveal precisely what “training material” these panelists received. Since Yale considers this material so critical, will it make the “training” public?

4.) Yale and the Treatment of Athletes. From Baylor to Tennessee to Florida State, star athletes sometimes get special treatment in sexual assault cases. But when universities don’t make money from the athletics program, there’s scant evidence of favored treatment for athletes. Yale’s troubling attitudes toward due process when athletes are accused first came to light in the Patrick Witt case. It seems to have continued with its handling of Montague—where the complaint argues that the accuser was treated far more favorably than Montague.

One aspect of the Montague affair that has received insufficient attention is the treatment of the men’s basketball team. The basketball team—in a gesture of empathy for a friend going through a difficult time—wore warmup shirts with Montague’s nickname. In response, the players received vitriolic criticism (this Unite Against Sexual Assault Yale statement is representative), and, it seems, pressure from the Yale administration to issue an apology.

If the university were so sensitive to portraying Montague as guilty that it pressured other students to refrain from pro-Montague statements, how fairly could it have treated him?

Problems in the Stanford Sexual Assault Case

In a recent op-ed in the Washington Post Stuart Taylor, Jr. and I discuss the Brock Turner case at Stanford. We argue that the case proves that campus felonies like sexual assault are better handled by the criminal justice system than by campus tribunals—in no small measure because the public can have confidence in the Turner verdict in a way that would have been inconceivable with Stanford’s notoriously one-sided campus disciplinary process. The case thus gives the lie to campus rape groups like Know Your IX and their academic supporters, such as Stanford Law’s Michele Dauber, who have attempted to delegitimize the role of the police in handling campus felonies, at least when the felony is sexual assault.
A few other points from the case that deserve a mention:

  • The 6-month sentence imposed on Turner (along with a lifetime requirement that he register as a sex offender) has triggered a severe backlash. Given the backlash, as Jason Willick first pointed out, it’s very difficult to comprehend the far more restrained response to the 6-month sentence imposed on former Baylor football player Sam Ukwuachu. By virtually any measurement, Ukwuachu’s case (which, like Turner’s, also received extensive media attention) was more severe: the nature of his assault appears to have involved more violence; alcohol does not seem to have played any role in his crime; he seemed to have had a pattern of treating women violently; and he had no remarks comparable to Turner’s expression of remorse. Yet there was no national campaign to recall the judge in the Ukwuachu case, nor was his photograph regularly used in social media with a “rapist” theme.It would be interesting to hear from the accusers’ rights movement, and their media and academic allies, why they responded to the two sentences so differently. (I also agree, by the way, with the inappropriateness of the recall campaign against the judge, though I consider the sentence for Turner—like the sentence for Ukwuachu—too lenient.)
  • Before the judge issued his sentence, Michele Dauber, law professor at Stanford, wrote a letter to the judge demanding that Turner spend more time in jail than what the probation office recommended. Dauber said that she wrote because of her expertise on the issue—without revealing that she had previously disparaged the ability of the same prosecutor’s office that successfully tried Turner to handle campus rape cases.In her letter, Dauber conceded (correctly) that “the facts here are in some ways especially egregious when compared with many other assaults on campus.” She cited the public nature of the crime, and the fact that Turner and his victim were strangers. Just over a page later, however, Dauber suggested that “at Stanford, assaults that are very similar to this case are unfortunately all too frequent.” [emphasis added] Really? Cases similar to public assaults of strangers are “frequent” at Stanford?
  • In her letter, Dauber asserted, remarkably, that students who have committed sexual assault at Stanford “typically have participated in athletics.” [emphasis added] She cited no evidence for this claim. Given that the data on which such a claim could be based is confidential, Dauber either: (a) simply misled a judge; or (b) inappropriately revealed protected information. I’d bet on (a).
  • The Stanford Law professor justified her demand for a lengthier sentence (it’s worth pausing to consider the extraordinary nature of a high-profile left-wing law professor writing a judge to demand a sentence for a convicted criminal longer than the probation office recommended) by citing deterrence. It’s not clear why potential Stanford rapists would be deterred by seeing a classmate get a three-year sentence (plus lifetime as a sex offender, loss of a degree, loss of ability to compete as an intercollegiate athlete, and massive media exposure as a rapist) but would not be deterred by seeing a classmate get a six-month sentence (plus lifetime as a sex offender, loss of a college degree, loss of ability to compete as an intercollegiate athlete, and massive media exposure as a rapist). Dauber did not explain how she reached her deterrence evaluation.
  • Dauber concluded by claiming that “Turner will have plenty of opportunity to finish his education.” It’s not clear what academic universe she lives in, but it’s hard to believe (and for very good reason) that many universities will accept a convicted sex criminal who has a lifetime obligation to register as a sex offender. But—much like Jared Polis in his infamous 2015 remarks—it’s critical for figures like Dauber to keep alive the myth that colleges routinely admit students found guilty of sexual assault.