When does bystander silence become institutional failure?

This year sees the third iteration of GO Justice’s Journalism for Social Change Project. The initiative was designed to support students interested in social justice to develop their journalistic writing skills and create a finished piece of writing for publication.

A small group of students was selected to work with a journalist to learn writing techniques and develop story ideas before working on a draft for publication.

The School of Law is delighted to be publishing this series as part of Pro Bono Week 2026, 2 November - 6 November. You can find details of the activities that GO Justice is running as part of Pro Bono Week on the GO Justice Centre LinkedIn page.

By Vanya Magimay

At 11pm, Jane Doe stumbled into the Chi Phi fraternity house at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. Seven hours later, she left. The events of that night would change the course of the 20-year-old’s life, spark widespread public outrage and cast a shadow over the reputation of one of America’s most prestigious universities. 

Jane Doe, whose anonymity is protected, alleges that she was pressured into consuming ketamine, marijuana and alcohol before being repeatedly sexually assaulted by seven members of the fraternity. In testimony during Cornell’s disciplinary proceedings, she said: “I felt like bait. I felt like lions around me.” The student described being victim to a string of men who entered and left the room throughout the night, taking turns sexually assaulting her.  

According to a civil lawsuit filed by Jane Doe in September this year against Cornell University, seven fraternity members and several other defendants, she attempted to hide beneath the bedcovers as men arrived. Jane told Cornell University Police that she had been severely intoxicated throughout the night, with her lawyer subsequently arguing that she had been incapable of consenting to any sexual activity. 

Unbeknownst to her, her male classmates had alerted all 57 male members of Chi Phi's Snapchat group that she was in the alumni room upstairs. Casual, crude messages were exchanged by the accused men, including invitations for other fraternity members to "walk in and whip it out". One member even pledged his allegiance to Chi Phi, declaring: "I f***ing love Chi Phi", after being told that his fraternity essentially had a free pass to rape Jane upstairs. There is no indication in the proceedings that any of the 57 group chat members intervened, reported the situation or even expressed disagreement. 

The question that I am left with is: at what point does bystander silence become part of institutional failure? Beyond the seven men accused of directly participating in the alleged assault, the role of the group chat containing 57 fraternity members raises the issue of collective responsibility. Not everybody bears the same responsibility for what is said to have occurred that night, but what responsibility belongs to those who recognised Jane’s vulnerability and chose to remain silent? When does refusing to intervene become more than an individual moral failure, and instead reflect something deeply troubling about the culture of the institution itself? 

In a situation where somebody may be at risk of sexual violence, intervening need not require an extraordinary act of courage. It might begin with something as simple as a message expressing concern, challenging the behaviour of a friend or recognising that another person's safety matters more than fraternity loyalty. Yet perhaps the problem is not simply that men feel pressured into silence, but that some feel no obligation to intervene at all. The messages allegedly exchanged between members of Chi Phi raise an even more disturbing possibility: that the vulnerability of Jane was met not with concern, but with indifference, amusement or even excitement. We have progressed by some measures, but it is undeniable that violence against women remains an accepted feature of our society.  

But the responsibility to protect students does not end with their peers. It extends to the institutions entrusted with their safety. 

It raises questions around serious criminal conduct being left to universities to discipline, without having the authority to prosecute those accused. According to Jane Doe's lawsuit, the accused men were offered the opportunity to mitigate their conduct by submitting reflective essays, essentially a form of homework. The idea that a few scribbled-out essays could be considered an appropriate disciplinary measure in the face of allegations of brutal gang rape raises serious questions about the adequacy of university disciplinary proceedings, and whether they could ever have provided the justice that Jane deserves. 

Cornell disputes the suggestion that essays were their only punishment, confirming that the investigation also resulted in suspensions and expulsions. 

Cornell was legally entitled, and in certain circumstances required, to investigate allegations of sexual misconduct through its disciplinary procedures. However, the distinction between university discipline and criminal prosecution creates a fragmented division of responsibility. More troubling still is the potential conflict of interest when a university investigates allegations involving its own students. And in disciplinary proceedings, the institution making decisions about student culpability also has its own reputation to protect. 

The allegations were also investigated by Cornell University Police in 2024. Initially no criminal charges were brought, with the local district attorney citing insufficient evidence, despite having declined to review additional evidence gathered by university police. It is a chain of events that will be familiar to many women who have turned to the criminal justice system in the wake of their own trauma. 

With no charges to be brought, Cornell's disciplinary process became the primary means of determining accountability for the alleged misconduct. Following Jane Doe's civil lawsuit in September 2026, the criminal investigation was reopened. 

According to an analysis of New York state records reported by The Washington Post, Cornell received more than 1,200 reports involving sexual misconduct, domestic violence, dating violence and stalking between 2018 and 2024. Of these, 162 resulted in formal disciplinary charges, 51 in findings of responsibility, 14 in suspensions and just seven in expulsions or dismissals. These figures also raise wider questions about Cornell's responsibility for the fraternities operating under its name. Fraternities retain considerable autonomy over their culture, despite being part of a university that is responsible for student welfare and conduct. 

Cornell's own 2025 survey found that 52% of undergraduate women who were members of sororities or fraternities had experienced sexual assault, compared with 29% women who weren’t affiliated with the organisations. Why are fraternities concerned with such serious safeguarding concerns permitted to exercise such autonomy without stronger supervision and accountability? These are adult men attending one of America's most prestigious universities, but it would be naïve to assume a link between academic intelligence and moral integrity, respect for women or an understanding of consent. The alleged messages circulated within Chi Phi's Snapchat group raise precisely this concern. 

Institutional failure does not always mean that nobody acted. Sometimes everybody does ‘something’, but nobody is responsible for whether those separate actions ultimately add up to justice. When responsibility is divided between institutions, accountability is left to fall through the cracks, and collectively we fail to protect women like Jane from violence.  

Vanya Magimay is a second-year Scots Law student at the University of Glasgow who enjoys writing and is passionate about social justice.