What the Cornell 7 Story Reveals About Women, the Media, Race and Power

I've been avoiding this story.

Not because it's not important. What happened to Jane Doe at a Cornell University frat party in 2024, and the reaction of the school and law enforcement towards it, is damning and maddening, and it deserves all the attention it is getting.

The story is also a testament to the power of student journalism. Young women wrote, edited, and broke this story.

Yet, I've been avoiding it because everything about it and its discourse is triggering. I know too many women who have been sexually assaulted, and the details behind the case have been upsetting. But I chose to write about it after a conversation with a friend and fellow Black female journalist who pointed out something I hadn't considered.

"This would have never been covered if the journalists weren't women of color," she said.

Promising, Powerful Women

My friend said that if the student paper hadn't been led by a Muslim, female editor-in-chief, Sophia Dasser, or if its female writer, Cereese Qusba, hadn't stuck with the story since 2024, it likely would never have seen the light of day. This is because too many people are dedicated to upholding the status quo and the institutions that they benefit from. 

Would a man have followed this story for years, she asked? Would a male editor have cared enough to greenlight and publish it?

I don't know, but I do know the status quo. And how women have accused universities of covering up sexual assault for decades.

I also know the end result—men being called out and held accountable—is the real reason why it's so hard for women, especially women of color, to get to the top in media.

Or any powerful industry.

Because women in power, women who are marginalized, women from diverse backgrounds, are a threat to the status quo.

When women who challenge systemic issues lead, change happens. In fact, because of these female student journalists of color, New York's Governor Kathy Hochul and Attorney General Letitia James have amplified this story, forcing law enforcement to investigate and act.

Women leaders are holding men accountable while women journalists demand answers, and they can do this because women lead New York State.

Leadership matters.

And empathy (or lack thereof) starts at the top.

Always Exceptions, Never Rules

In journalism, our standards were set long ago by white men who believed they should be the arbiters of what is "impartial" or "unbiased." Women and people of color need not apply because they might be "tainted" by their race or gender. This, of course, ignores that white men have their own worldview that is often not inclusive of anyone different from them.

While I've been fortunate to have worked with some white male editors who chose to be part of the solution, they were the exception. Most men—even the so-called "progressive" ones—had to be pushed to care, dragged into change, or forced out after the Me Too movement came for them.

In fact, before diversity, equity, and inclusion were dismantled, many news organizations were reckoning with how they'd covered race and gender, some adapting better than others. But many abandoned their DEI principles after the Trump Administration began threatening anyone who stood up for diversity in the newsroom.

If you wanted to change the system for the better, you need not apply.

Which is why the Cornell 7 story resonates.

The Three P's

The men accused in this case are often protected because of the three P's—power, privilege, and potential. Many come from powerful families that sit at the intersection of wealth and the privileges that come with it. And when women like the accuser come forward, they're often told not to think of how a crime may have been committed, but of the potential of the accused.

Officials typically don't ask victims to think of the "potential" of someone who just robbed, beat, or killed them.

In the case of rape, it comes up all the time.

But their potential is the exact reason we should prosecute rapists and why the media should amplify these stories. Because a person who commits rape can have the potential to become a leader. The potential to become an executive or a politician. The potential to sit in some of the highest offices in the land. The potential to be a president. If you allow someone who would violate another human to access power, they don't become more remorseful or respectful; they become more reckless and abusive. And that's how women's rights and protections come under attack. It's how Roe v. Wade gets overturned. It's how the men in the Epstein files go uninvestigated and unprosecuted by multiple administrations.

It's how you can incite a mob in an attempt to overturn an election, but go unpunished.

But if our future tormentors were ostracized and prosecuted when they were young abusers, they might not have ascended to the heights of power and influence. The world might look more empathetic and equal, instead of a dumpster fire of discrimination, poverty, and frivolous, deadly wars.

Women who choose to be iconoclasts are a threat. Not to our peace and prosperity. Not to the health of our nation, but to those who seek to exploit and abuse us. Equality means every voice has power and every story deserves to be told. Those who seek to destroy cannot allow these voices to be heard. They will warp and twist the minds of others. They will lie, obfuscate, threaten, silence, and protest. They will hide behind precedent and legacy and claim that if our abusers can’t remain in power, we will somehow become lost, as if abusers know best by virtue of their horrors.

It’s time for a change.

Cornell could be the catalyst.

And women, particularly women of color, will lead the way.