The plus-one problem

Illustration by Sami Seyedhosseini, Photo Editor.

Seven hours is enough time to fly across the country, finish a workday or get a near full night's sleep. Apparently, it wasn't enough time for someone to remember what consent means.

A former Cornell student has accused seven men associated with the university's Chi Phi fraternity of sexual assault. According to her lawsuit, an encounter involving two men allegedly escalated into nearly seven hours of sexual violence.

Seven hours. 420 minutes. 25,200 seconds.

I have sat through lectures half that time and felt like I'd aged a decade.

And somehow, the conversation keeps circling back to her initial consent.

She allegedly agreed to a threesome after enough alcohol to knock out a horse and enough drugs to make her bloodstream look like a pharmacy.

And somehow, her judgment is the part we're questioning.

According to the lawsuit, she was so intoxicated that she could not meaningfully consent in the first place. And even if she had been sober enough to agree to a threesome, what gave those two men the authority to invite anyone else?

Since when did consenting to sex with someone make him the social coordinator of your vagina?

That question hits particularly close to home.

I'm a survivor of sexual assault. Almost all my closest friends are survivors, too. For years, I told myself, maybe I wanted it.

I was asleep on my couch when I woke up to a boy touching me between my thighs and kissing my neck and telling me to “relax.”

I never agreed to have sex with him. I never gave him permission to touch me. Hell! I wasn't even awake to be asked!

Two days later, my assaulter explained over Snapchat: “I get a little handsy when I’m drunk."

A little handsy. As though he'd had one too many drinks and embarrassed himself at a party.

I wish I could explain how infuriating those words are. For years, I questioned my own memory, my intentions and whether some part of me had secretly wanted what happened.

I spent years trying to remember giving permission I was never awake to give.

And somehow, his drunkenness was supposed to explain everything.

Apparently, his drinking deserved more consideration than my consent.

Alcohol impairs judgment, but drunkenness doesn't excuse assault. Being wasted doesn't make someone else's body available.

Several of my closest male friends belong to fraternities. They're genuinely wonderful men who would never dream of violating another person, regardless of gender. They've managed to navigate college parties without assaulting anyone.

Congratulations! You’ve met the lowest possible standard of human decency!

And that's precisely why I refuse to accept fraternity culture or intoxication as an excuse for individual behavior.

Campus communities need to take sexual violence seriously before another student becomes a headline. That means challenging friends, reporting dangerous behavior and refusing to protect reputations at somebody else's expense.

The Cornell allegations have yet to be adjudicated, and the accused deserve due process. But accountability and due process belong in the same conversation.

For generations, women have been taught to watch their drinks, share their locations and question their own decisions.

I spent years questioning mine.

Maybe it's time we stop asking women what they could have done differently and start asking men why they thought they could get away with it.