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 Until Proven Innocent: Political Correctness and the Shameful Injustices of the Duke Lacrosse Rape Case.

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.

How the Feds Use Orwell to Apply Title IX

Among the many anti-campus due process groups that have appeared in the past five years, the most prominent is Know Your IX, co-founded by two self-described sexual assault victims, Dana Bolger and Alexandra Brodsky. The group has an active presence on social media; trains activists to crusade against due process at their home campuses; and has sought to influence Congress. Know Your IX members appear to have been among the group applauding Congressman Jared Polis’ call for the expulsion of innocent accused students at a 2015 congressional hearing.

Perhaps understanding that outright opposing due process makes for bad P.R., Know Your IX representatives occasionally have made vague references to fairness in the campus adjudication process. They’ve never quite spelled out what they mean by “fair,” however, other than to say that an accused student shouldn’t enjoy all of the due process rights a criminal defendant possesses.

A recent letter from Know Your IX co-director Dana Bolger to the House Judiciary Committee makes clear that by a “fair” process, the organization actually means “unfair.” The letter contained two remarkable provisions. The first attempted to justify the Obama administration’s decision to ignore the requirements of the Administrative Procedure Act and issue the 2011 Dear Colleague letter—which eviscerated due process rights for accused students.

In her letter, Bolger acknowledged that in the 1997 and 2001 “Dear Colleague” letters dealing with sexual harassment on campus, OCR proceeded with a notice-and-comment period. Know Your IX then cited the two letters as justification for the Obama administration not seeking comment. She provided no explanation for her illogical argument—that is, notice and comment was good enough for the Clinton and Bush OCR, but the Obama OCR doesn’t have to utilize the procedure. Instead, without explanation, she suggested that the terms of the 2011 letter (preponderance of evidence, right of appeal to accusers, discouragement of cross-examination) were merely a “clarification” of the 1997 and 2001 documents.

This Orwellian argument is a mere setup for the letter’s second major claim—that students accused of sexual assault are treated more fairly than students accused of all other offenses on campus. Here’s Bolger: “By mandating fairness and equity in campus sexual misconduct proceedings, Title IX affords accused students the right to prompt investigations, regular updates, notice of rights, and trained adjudicators. In so doing, Title IX provides students accused of sexual assault far more procedural protections than are enjoyed by students accused of other disciplinary infractions, like perpetrating simple assault or selling drugs out of a dorm room.”

In these remarks, Bolger seems to have dropped her earlier comparison of sexual assault to plagiarism. Instead, she’s embraced an insinuation by OCR head Catherine Lhamon that colleges are hotbeds of drug-dealing activities, which the schools resolve not by going to police but instead by handling the matter internally.

Below are some comparisons of the fairness accorded to a student accused of drug-dealing, and one accused of sexual assault.

Title IX chart

Legal requirement to investigate:

And yet according to Know Your IX, the student in Column 2 receives fairer treatment than the student in Column 1. Orwellian.

4 Well-Known Universities With No Integrity

In a Commentary essay earlier this spring, I argued that universities’ response to the 2015-2016 campus protests can be seen, in part, through the lens of faculty and administrators sharing the protesters’ diversity-obsessed goals, if not agreeing with them on tactics. A recent protest from Dartmouth confirmed the point.

Sometimes, campus speech issues are complicated. This one wasn’t. The Dartmouth College Republicans, following college rules, requested access to a bulletin board, where they posted items with the theme of “Blue Lives Matter.” The move coincided with National Police Week.

Related: DE PAUL FAILS FREE SPEECH AGAIN

In response, “Black Lives Matter” protesters tore down the Republicans’ posters, put up posters that reflected their political viewpoints, and “occupied” the area around the bulletin board to prevent the College Republicans from re-posting their original material. The College Republicans went to the administration throughout the day to ask for assistance in replacing their posters, but were rebuffed. The administration, apparently fearful of confronting the students engaged in a heckler’s veto, informed the Republicans they’d have to wait a day; when the building was shut down in the overnight hours, the hecklers’ posters would be removed. Dartmouth administrators followed up with a statement forcefully condemning the removal of the posters—but without any indication of punishment. Nor was there any indication of Dartmouth devoting additional resources to free speech. This type of non-effect would have been inconceivable if the “Blue Lives Matter” students had torn down the “Black Lives Matter” students’ poster.

The student activists remained defiant. In an open letter, they remarked, “We acknowledge that many of you are concerned about the question of free speech. However, one hundred students’ disapproval for ‘Blue Lives Matter’ does not constitute a disregard for free speech, nor does it condemn policemen who have died in the line of duty. What it does constitute is a concern for anti-blackness on this campus and nationwide.”

Related: TITLE IX TRAMPLES FREE SPEECH AND FAIRNESS, SO NOW WHAT?

Again: the student protesters took down posters with which they disagreed, and, on a bulletin board temporarily designated to the College Republicans, put up posters that reflected the protesters’ point of view. If that doesn’t “constitute a disregard for free speech,” it’s hard to imagine what could.

Missouri

The campus that triggered the fall protests was the University of Missouri, where the highest-profile defender of the protests, ex-Professor Melissa (“muscle”) Click was back in the news last week. The AAUP produced a report faulting the University of Missouri for its slipshod procedure in firing Click. I agree.

But then the AAUP offered the following conclusion: “[W]e doubt whether Professor Click’s actions, even when viewed in the most unfavorable light, were directly and substantially related to her professional fitness as a teacher or researcher.” This statement is astonishing. Recall, again, the context: on the campus quad—a public area of the university—Click called for “muscle” against a University of Missouri student. How could such conduct possibly not be directly related to her position as a teacher? And, again, imagine the unlikelihood of the AAUP in reaching this conclusion if the facts had been reversed—if, say, a white male professor, an advisor of the Mizzou Republicans, had called for “muscle” against a black student journalist.

Rutgers

One of the most perceptive analyses of the fall 2015 protests came from Robert Tracinski. Writing in The Federalist, Tracinski observed, “The more you read through the students’ demands, the more they look curiously like a full-employment program for the faculty who just happen to be egging on these naive youngsters.” The demands, he noted, read “less like a manifesto of student revolutionaries, and more like a particularly aggressive salary negotiation. But this is not about higher pay for all faculty members. Notice in the middle the emphasis on “specialty positions,” we are defined as “faculty who work on critical issues related to social justice.” So it’s a special sinecure for those with the correct political agenda.”

Tracinski’s observations came to mind when reading a Chronicle piece earlier this month involving a tenure case at Rutgers. The basics: Rutgers denied tenure to an African-American professor of communications, Jennifer Warren. Warren came up for tenure without a book. And her teaching evaluations had recently declined. According to the article, Warren seems to have blamed both developments on guidance she received from her department. But on paper, it hardly seems outrageous to see a quality research institution like Rutgers deny tenure to a professor without a book, and with falling evaluations in the classroom.

Related: IS YALE USING TITLE IX TO TRUMP FREE SPEECH?

Nonetheless, the tenure denial triggered protests, holding signs with such sayings as “RU for Black Tenure.” (Imagine the outrage if students carried signs demanding “RU for White Tenure.”) And then, according to the Chronicle, “Several days after the students’ rally, Ms. Warren received good news: She had won her grievance hearing and would have another shot at tenure, in the spring of 2017.”

The article supplies no additional information regarding the contents of Warren’s grievance, or the substance of the appeals decision. This incomplete record leaves two options: (1) Warren’s department committed an unspecified major procedural error, and it fortunately was caught in a university appellate process. (2) After denying tenure to someone whose scholarly and teaching credentials the university had deemed insufficient, Rutgers reversed itself to appease the protesters. The statement from the head of the Rutgers faculty union didn’t inspire confidence: “Students are driven to involvement,” said he, “in a sense of desperation because they’re seeing that percentage go down in a microcosm. What they see in Jennifer Warren’s case is the black-faculty percentage falling instead of rising.”

That might well be true. But a decline in the percentage of black faculty doesn’t constitute a procedural violation.

Amherst

The New York Times has been all but hermetically sealed, ideologically, in covering campus events in recent years. Its one-sided approach to due process and campus sexual assault has matched its fawning, uncritical coverage of the 2015-2016 campus protests.

But even against that standard, a recent column from Frank Bruni stood out. It offered the administration of Amherst’s Biddy Martin as a model for other schools to follow in the quest for student diversity. That would be the same Biddy Martin whose administration has presided over what is likely the most egregious sexual assault trial since issuance of the Dear Colleague letter, and who proposed a new campus speech code modeled on the anti-due process approach Amherst has used for sexual assault. The idea that Amherst would be the model for anything is absurd.

Yet none of these controversies are mentioned by Bruni. He even gives column space to Martin to allow her to suggest her administration isn’t obsessed with only the usual types of campus diversity: “The college’s president told me that one of her current passions is to admit more military veterans, who bring to the campus abilities, experiences and outlooks that other students don’t possess.”

How many veterans has Amherst admitted in the past three years? Bruni can’t find the space to reveal the total.

Campus Surveys Inflate Rape Statistics

Calls for additional or new “campus climate surveys” have been a regular feature the post-2011 war on campus due process. The White House has produced a template that colleges can copy. The Gillibrand/McCaskill Campus Safety and Accountability Act (co-sponsored by such Republicans as Marco Rubio, Charles Grassley, and Kelly Ayotte) contains a provision seeking to make such surveys mandatory. Given the Obama-Gillibrand-McCaskill-Rubio record on campus due process, it should come as little surprise that something the four of them want is problematic.

Though often billed “campus climate” surveys, these polls do little of the sort. They never ask, for instance, whether students understand the specifics of their campus adjudication system’s procedures (such as the preponderance of evidence or the lack of meaningful legal representation). Nor do they seek to ascertain student attitudes toward due process matters at the school—a topic that should be obvious if the real goal were to get a sense of the “campus climate.” And, of course, their anonymity ensures that climate surveys deal only with allegations of sexual assault, and provide no way of testing their accuracy.

The White House template suggests that universities survey “perceptions” of “attitudes” among students regarding sexual assault. (If perceptions and attitudes are all that’s required, it makes the exclusion of questions about due process all the more puzzling.) White House guidance strongly discourages schools from asking students if they were raped or sexually assaulted, instead asking for behaviors that the school’s researchers can then re-interpret as sexual assault. This list is so broad as to include “sexual contact” while “drunk.”

For students who didn’t report such incidents, the template asks them which of twenty-four possible reasons explains why they didn’t report. The possible answers include such duplicative items as “didn’t have time to deal with it due to academics, work” and “had other things I needed to focus on and was concerned about (classes, work)” or “I thought nothing would be done” and “didn’t think the school would do anything about my report.”

Beyond the limited array of questions, the surveys suffer from another fatal flaw—in the current campus environment, they aren’t really designed to solicit information. Instead, their primary goal appears to be to confirm preexisting beliefs about the existence of a campus sexual assault epidemic.

Consider the reaction to a recent Stanford survey. It revealed that 1.9 percent of Stanford students said they had been sexually Assaulted. This figure (which would translate to around 160 sexual assaults, given the university’s enrollment) would make the Stanford campus the violent crime capital of Palo Alto, which in the last five years has averaged around six rapes or attempted rapes annually. Nonetheless, it generated fury from Stanford campus activists, led by the anti-due process law professor, Michele Dauber—who seemed outraged that it didn’t return the preferred 1-in-5 figure.

In response, students passed a non-binding resolution demanding a new survey, which would presumably return a higher figure of sexually assaulted students. A group of Stanford alumni penned a letter threatening to withhold financial donations to the university unless Stanford conducted an “improved survey” that used the methodology of the AAU. The signatories included Stanford Ph.D. Paul Gowder, whose dismissal of campus due process was previously eviscerated by Scott Greenfield.

The AAU’s 2015 survey, which my colleague Stuart Taylor strongly critiqued, returned a figure suggesting that the campus sexual assault rate was roughly the same as (and perhaps even higher than) the rape rate in war-torn areas of the Congo, where rape is used as a weapon of war.

What’s the purpose of a survey if activists already know the result they desire? It clearly isn’t to discern information. Instead, the goal at Stanford—just as with Gillibrand and McCaskill—is to generate apocalyptic figures, which then can justify the diminution of due process.

Suing the Office for Civil Rights

The prospect of the Office for Civil Rights (OCR) being sued has been much in the news lately. Talk began with an announcement from FIRE—on the fifth anniversary of the issuance of the “Dear Colleague” letter—that it was soliciting an accused student to sue OCR. Attorney Andrew Miltenberg then filed two such suits, on behalf of an accused student from Colorado and a state legislator from Georgia.

In a break from the past, the Dear Colleague letter reinterpreted Title IX to grant the federal government authority to order colleges to enact specific disciplinary procedures for handling sexual assault (and sexual harassment) complaints filed by one student against another. Each of the changes ordered or strongly urged by the administration increased the likelihood of a guilty finding; the best-known change required colleges to use the lowest burden of proof, preponderance of evidence (50.01 percent), to determine guilt.

Related: An Illegal Program OCR Won’t Strike Down

OCR issued the Dear Colleague letter without going through a notice-and-comment period, which the Administrative Procedures Act requires for new government regulations. Subsequent claims by OCR head Catherine Lhamon as to why the office pursued this unusual course—that it didn’t need to do so, because the preponderance standard previously had been offered in resolution agreements with two of the nation’s thousands of colleges; or that the Dear Colleague letter merely provided guidance—don’t pass the laugh test. The most likely explanation: the delay caused by notice-and-comment would have ensured that the Dear Colleague letter wouldn’t have appeared until after the 2012 elections, robbing the letter of its value confirming the administration’s identity politics bonafides.

Republicans control 34 of the nation’s 50 governorships; many of these states have been under GOP control for more than a decade. Every state’s higher-ed law is different, but all give at least some control (usually through appointment of trustees) to a governor. Any of these 34 state education boards would have had standing to challenge OCR’s new mandate. Yet none have—a reminder that campus due process has no constituency, and with the exception of Lamar Alexander and James Lankford, the Republican record on this issue is very poor.

Any lawsuit coordinated by FIRE—or the two Miltenberg lawsuits already filed—first will need to survive a challenge on standing that a university threatened by OCR would not face. But the “Dear Colleague” letter not only lowered the evidentiary standard, but also mandated the right of accuser to appeal, pressured colleges to accelerate their adjudication processes, and discouraged cross-examination. So for standing purposes, the likeliest case would involve a student—as in the recent cases at James Madison and George Mason—whose not-guilty finding got overturned on appeal.

More often than not, when universities have lost motions to dismiss in due process lawsuits, they’ve quickly moved to settle the case. The federal government has no incentive to settle, so this litigation likely will be protracted. What would the effects be if any of these lawsuits succeed?

In theory, colleges could return to fairer adjudication systems—they could increase the burden of proof, end the double-jeopardy scenario where not-guilty findings can be appealed, and create more robust investigations. It seems unlikely that many colleges would actually pursue such a course. But the termination of the “Dear Colleague” letter would, at the very least, remove any chance that judges could rely on it—as occurred in the recent Cincinnati decision—to side with universities in due process lawsuits.

Returning to the pre-“Dear Colleague” letter status quo also would allow for a more even-handed discussion of why colleges are legally compelled to adjudicate felony allegations by students in the first place. The recent article by Jacob Gersen and Jeannie Suk uncovered at least one resolution letter, from 2005, in which an OCR regional office made clear that colleges had no obligation to investigate criminal offenses.

Bush-era court decisions to the contrary seemed far more limited than anything the Obama administration has proposed. A decision from the 11th circuit, for instance, made clear that its findings were dictated by the unusual facts of the case—that the University of Georgia recruited a basketball player who had committed sexual misconduct at his previous school. And the only non-athlete case from the Bush years that foreshadowed the Obama policies—the Kelly case at Yale—featured a judge who seemed to ignore the provisions of the Supreme Court’s 1999 Davis ruling. (You can read materials from the Kelly case file here.)

Progress toward a fairer campus adjudication system—much less a structure where colleges no longer investigate felonies at all—can only occur once the “Dear Colleague” letter ceases to exist. Hopefully the courts will be up to the task.

Yale’s Case against Montague Looks Shaky

Max Stern, the lawyer for the expelled Yale basketball captain Jack Montague, has spoken out, announcing that he will sue Yale on behalf of Montague in April, and clarifying some details in the case, including a very surprising one: that the aggrieved female did not file the sexual misconduct complaint. In his telling, Montague had sex with the woman four times and the woman says only the fourth time was non-consensual.

The Stern statement said, “On the fourth occasion, 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”

The accuser waited around a year to speak to someone from Yale’s Title IX office, but decided not to file a complaint with Yale. But the Title IX officer filed a complaint. A disciplinary hearing occurred, amidst a campus frenzy following a survey suggesting that the New Haven campus was a hotbed of violent crime.

Related: Montague and Yale’s Poisoned Campus Culture

The indication that the Title IX officer—not the accuser—filed the charges should have triggered outrage on the Yale campus. The Title IX coordinator has authority under Yale’s procedures to file a complaint independently. But according to the regular Spangler Reports on campus sexual misconduct (my review of the most recent report is here), such a move is supposed to occur only in “extremely rare cases,” and only when “there is serious risk to the safety of individuals or the community.” Stephanie Spangler herself reaffirmed this point in February, telling the Yale Daily News, “Except in rare cases involving an acute threat to community safety, coordinators defer to complainants’ wishes.”

There is nothing in the facts as described by Stern that remotely fits these criteria. So why did the Title IX coordinator act? Did Montague’s status as a high-profile basketball player account for the decision? Was she, for instance, fearful of negative publicity from following Yale’s own guidelines? Or was she worried about the fallout from a recent AAU survey, which had generated negative publicity for the school?

Related: Yale’s Imaginary Crime Wave

Or perhaps it’s simpler than that: The Title IX office seems to have a custom of not following the restrictions laid out in the Spangler Report. Here’s a chart using data in the Spangler Reports, involving allegations of sexual assault of Yale undergraduates. (I have updated cases originally listed as “pending” when follow-up information was provided in a subsequent report.

Yale-Title IX

 

 

 

In the two starred 2014 cases, the accused student was found not guilty. Given Yale’s stated criteria—“extremely rare cases” involving “acute threat to community safety”—it should be all but inconceivable that any case filed by the Title IX officer ended with a not-guilty finding. That two did suggests that she had ceased following Yale’s own standards even before the Montague case.

(Despite these not-guilty findings, the accused student in both of those cases received what amounted to minor punishment—a no-contact order, which could have academic consequences by limiting course offerings. In two Title IX officer-filed cases, in fall 2011 and spring 2012, there were allegations of physical, but not sexual, violence involving couples that previously had a sexual relationship.)

The pattern here is obvious: the Title IX office has gradually become more and more aggressive in filing charges, culminating in the three cases in which charges were filed in the 2015 academic year, despite the supposed restrictions on the types of cases the office can file. So: has the Title IX coordinator decided that Yale’s own regulations don’t apply to her?

Media Reaction

Richard Bradley, probably too hopefully, suggested that this might be the case that prompts the fair-minded to recognize that cases such as this should be handled by the police. But for now, they’re still handled by secret university tribunals that deny due process to the accused.

Some in the media, however, appear to be hearing the message. Both the Daily News and the New York Post had powerful editorials condemning Yale’s handling of the case. Montague’s high school coach, Dennis King, invoked the witch-hunt metaphor, and added that he knew of no player “more dedicated to self-improvement, more single-minded in his love of the game, or more committed to his teammates.” And Montague himself attended the Yale NCAA games in which, but for Yale’s procedures, he would have played.

Related: Worst College President of 2015, Who Wins the Sheldon?

Perhaps because of this public pressure, Yale issued a statement defending its approach to campus sexual assault. Most of the press release was boilerplate, but one section was interesting—stressing that most students accused through Yale’s procedures don’t wind up being expelled. This passage telegraphs the university’s likely defense, borrowing from the standard pioneered by Judge Furman in the Columbia case—since the university doesn’t find all accused students guilty, it shouldn’t be vulnerable to any Title IX challenge, and the courts should wholly defer to its unfair procedures.

Writing in the Washington Post, Shanlon Wu, a former federal sex crimes prosecutor, placed these stats in context: “What would be far more telling would be the percentage of Yale’s campus sexual assault allegations that go forward to hearings. Sending nearly every college student accused of campus sexual assault to a hearing is an abdication of responsibility. Colleges and universities owe it to their students to review and investigate each allegation of sexual assault professionally and thoroughly — prior to sending it forward to a panel hearing. While every case deserves investigation, not every case deserves a hearing.” He also took note of the fact that the “training” Yale provides its disciplinary panelists remains secret.

The Hostage-Video Statement

In the aftermath of 30 for 30’s “Fantastic Lies” documentary profiling the Duke Lacrosse case, it’s hard not to focus on the differences in the campus atmosphere between then and now. During the lacrosse case, the students were the voices of reason—from the student government, to the student newspaper, to students who registered to vote against Mike Nifong. And perhaps the highest-profile student action came from the Duke women’s lacrosse team, in the 2006 national semifinals, who said nothing but wore armbands with the number 6, 13, and 45—the numbers of the three falsely accused men’s players.

Doubtless the Brodhead administration did not welcome this move—the Duke president, after all, had a month before suggested privately that a movie in which an accused murderer fooled his lawyer into believing his innocence was a good frame for the case. But Duke allowed the silent statement to proceed. And students in general were either supportive of or neutral toward the women’s lacrosse team members.

In 2016, the Yale men’s basketball team made a nearly identical, silent statement. They said nothing, but wore warm-up shirts with Montague’s number and nickname. Here, however, the campus backlash was furious. Unidentified students posted flyers accusing the team of defending “rapists.” Yale’s dean issued a statement that seemed to condemn the basketball team. Student reaction toward the team seemed overwhelmingly negative. And the team then issued a statement that came across as a written version of a hostage video, filled with buzzwords more common from Title IX officials than a typical college student, apologizing to the campus community.

There’s scant reason to believe that the Yale Daily News is up to the task that the Duke Chronicle performed so ably in the lacrosse case. Rather than examine whether the basketball players were inappropriately pressured to issue the hostage-video statement—and, if so, what such pressure would say about the intellectual environment at Yale—a long article in Monday’s Daily News broke the news that members of the team still spoke with Montague.

The piece also contained lengthy quotes from campus rape groups criticizing Stern. In their own words, reporters Daniela Brighenti and Maya Sweedler wrote, “Stern’s reasoning drew criticism from experts, victims’ advocates and sexual assault survivors, who argued that the language Stern used in the statement blames victims.”

But such standards—which essentially conflate the experiences of battered women in long-term relationships, who are often emotionally and financially dependent on the men who abuse them, with college students who engage in brief sexual relationships—render it impossible for any accused student to defend himself. If any behavior or evidence undermining the credibility of the accuser (who often, as appears to be the case here, is the only witness suggesting the accused student did anything wrong) can be dismissed as typical conduct of a “victim,” then all behavior confirms the accusation, and the accused must be found guilty.

Montague and Yale’s Poisoned Campus Culture

Jack Montague, captain of Yale’s basketball team, has been expelled from the university on some sort of sex charge and the story continues to get uglier. Since his family has basically declined to comment (for understandable reasons) and because Yale chooses (for incomprehensible reasons) to employ “a more expansive definition of sexual assault” than state or local authorities, there’s no way to know even what he allegedly did wrong.

That said: there’s no reason to trust that Yale’s deeply unfair process got the decision right.

Since 2011, I’ve often written about sexual assault cases at Yale—which, thanks (ironically) to an agreement with the U.S. Education Department’s Office for Civil Rights (OCR), has been required to release biannual reports about its cases. Though opaque, these reports give a sense of the current witch-hunt atmosphere on campus. The most recent report, for instance, brings news of an investigation into a report of sexual assault from a third party—who claimed that an unidentified person had sexually assaulted another unidentified person.

Yale’s Imaginary Crime Wave

Beyond the question of campus culture, Yale’s procedures deny an accused student a meaningful attempt to prove his innocence. Given the combination of the preponderance-of-evidence threshold (those judging guilt need only be 50.01 percent sure they are right) and the guilt-presuming “training” that most panels receive—which, to date, Yale has not made public— students accused of sexual assault effectively have to prove their innocence.

At Yale, the critical procedural obstacles for an accused student include a denial of direct cross-examination of the accuser; the lack of any meaningful right to legal representation in the disciplinary process; and severe restrictions on the amount of evidence he can possess, due both to the OCR-mandated haste with which sexual assault campus cases must proceed and to Yale’s inability (like all schools) to subpoena evidence. Even with these restrictions, Yale doesn’t promise to share all the evidence from its “investigation”—even all the exculpatory evidence—with the accused student or his lawyer.

Montague, a two-year captain of the team, vanished from the squad, without explanation, in early February. In an interview at the time, he cited personal reasons; then, as we now know, Yale expelled him.

His accuser never went to the police—a critical decision in interpreting the subsequent campus and media reaction.

In a campus environment in which enormous social, media, and (at least indirectly) administration pressure exists to oppose fair treatment of accused students, Montague’s teammates then did an extraordinary thing. In the first game after Yale reached its decision (again: at this stage, there’s no way of knowing whether the decision was factually correct, but it’s clear it was procedurally unfair), the teammates all wore cover shirts with Montague’s number and nickname on the back, and “Yale” spelled backward on the front..

In the midst of the lacrosse case, the members of the Duke women’s team took the field with wristbands containing the numbers of the three falsely accused men’s lacrosse players. They attracted some angry comments from the usual suspects (New York Times sports columnists) but in general enjoyed strong support from the student body.

Fast forward ten years. The basketball team’s comparable action triggered blind rage on campus. Unknown parties—presumably Yale students who were briefed on the allegations against Montague, which at this point were not public—blanketed the campus with posters demanding that the team “stop supporting a rapist.”

Yet the fiction of the college disciplinary process is that it doesn’t make determinations of criminal offenses. A judgment by Yale can’t deem anyone a “rapist” any more than it can deem someone an “armed robber” or a “drug dealer”—two other crimes that powerful advocates of the campus status quo, Sen. Claire McCaskill and Catherine Lhamon of OCR, have bizarrely claimed that colleges currently investigate.

But, as the Montague case reveals, that fiction is just that—a fiction—with both students and the public at large interpreting any university action as a determination that the accused party has committed a serious felony. This reality makes it all the more important that Yale have a fair process.

Reflections on the Duke Lacrosse Case

The posters triggered a frenzied reaction on campus. The Yale Women’s Center—an entity with an official Yale website and a Yale faculty advisor—issued a statement that all but identified Montague as expelled for sexual assault. After the New Haven Register reported on the statement, the item disappeared from the Women’s Center website, replaced by a new statement that acknowledged Montague’s (utterly ignored) protections under FERPA. An article by Sue Svrluga in the Washington Post perceptively captured the witch-hunt atmosphere on campus.

The combination of sensational, now-public, but wholly non-specific allegations and the basketball team’s first trip to the NCAA tournament since 1962 has attracted national media attention. The quality of the coverage, however, has left something to be desired.

Kyle Ringo Yahoo! Sports, for instance, informed readers that “it remains unclear . . . if there are ongoing investigations by the school or law enforcement.” Really? The New Haven Register’s Chip Malafronte wrote: “There is no record of an arrest or court hearing involving Montague on file with the Connecticut judicial branch.”

CBS News, meanwhile, featured a nearly two-minute story on its national news broadcast. The piece concluded with a paraphrase of an e-mail to students from Yale Dean Jonathan Holloway, who said he was “committed to providing a safe campus for all of you.” Ending the report in this fashion was a damning frame, leaving the viewer with the impression that Montague was a threat to the safety of campus. Yet, once again, we currently have no idea what Montague even was alleged to have done.

Holloway’s email was notable, and troubling, for another reason. To date, the dean has not seen fit to publicly condemn either the students who distributed the “rapist” posters or the Women’s Center figures who posted the statement ignoring FERPA obligations. But the email did criticize the basketball players, asserting that their wearing Montague’s number in warmups left many “upset and angry.” Holloway’s document offered no explanation of why he chose to criticize only one group of students on the issue.

Holloway, ironically, is also Edmund S. Morgan Professor of African American Studies, History, and American Studies. Here’s a Morgan quote on which both Yale students and administrators could do well to reflect: “When any group of people become sufficiently intent on attacking a particular evil, they are likely to discard as obsolete and ineffective any ground rules that society has developed for the peaceful or fair achievement of social objectives.”

The Team’s “Official” Statement

Anyone who has followed the issue of due process and campus sexual assault knew that the subject would prove too tempting for the New York Times to resist. After badly botching its last foray into events at Yale (the Patrick Witt case), The Times avoided sending error-prone Richard PérezPeña back to New Haven; the lead byline on its coverage of Montague was Joe Drape, the only Times beat reporter who covered the lacrosse case fairly.

Drape’s piece was the best the Times has produced on any sexual assault case since 2011. But, critically, it offered a bland description of Yale’s disciplinary process that didn’t mention any of its due process-unfriendly components.

Drape’s article broke news, by including a statement from the team. It read, as presented by the Times, that the team “supports a healthy, safe and respectful campus climate where all students can flourish.”

“Our recent actions to show our support for one of our former teammates were not intended to suggest otherwise, but we understand that to many students they did. We apologize for the hurt we have caused, and we look forward to learning and growing from these recent incidents. As student representatives of Yale, we hope to use our positions on and off the court in a way that can make everyone proud.”

While I’ve taught at Harvard and Williams, I never taught at Yale. So maybe Yale students actually write in the exact same tone and style as student life and Title IX bureaucrats. But, somehow, I doubt it. Obtaining the background of this strange, almost hostage-like, statement would seem like the kind of news a good campus newspaper could break. In 2012, the Yale Daily News was up to the task, and played a key role in exposing the Times’ errors in the Patrick Witt case. But the paper’s current group of editors and reporters has shown little inclination to speak truth to power on questions of campus due process, and I don’t anticipate any exploration of whether there was inappropriate pressure on these Yale students to issue this statement.

Looking Ahead

At this stage, Montague’s reputation has been ruined. (Take a look at his twitter mentions for a clue of the effects.) Even if he sues Yale, a possibility that his father raised in a statement, his good name has been severely damaged.

Although important, protecting the rights of the accused is not the primary reason for due process in campus sexual assault allegations. Rather, due process provides the best guarantee that the university reaches the correct results—since the decision, as we have seen in the Montague case, is a life-altering one.

Based on Yale’s unfair procedures, the university’s one-sided response, and what seems like a deeply poisoned campus culture, no one should have any confidence that the university got this decision right.

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

The case of Yale basketball player Jack Montague, who was expelled from Yale, allegedly because of a rape charge, has gotten a lot of press in the last few days. At this stage, I know nothing of the facts of the case, but I do know that Montague has lawyered up and his father told the Daily Mail that he can’t wait to tell the other side of the story. There are several concerns that deserve mentioning:

(1) The fiction of the college disciplinary process is that it addresses violations of the campus code, not felony offenses. Therefore, it’s acceptable for colleges and universities to deny basic due process to accused students. At Yale, that means a student accused of sexual assault has:

  • No right to the discovery of exculpatory evidence (even if the university, lacking subpoena power, stumbles upon it);
  • No right to see the full evidence upon which the university relied to make its determination
  • No right to an impartial panel (panelists receive secret “training,” which at the few universities where it has been revealed—StanfordOhio StateMiddlebury—has been guilt-presuming);
  • No right to meaningful representation by a lawyer in the disciplinary process (he can have a lawyer, but the lawyer can’t ask questions or address the panel);
  • No right to meaningfully cross-examine the accuser (questions must be submitted in writing to the panel, which can ask them or not, at its discretion);
  • No plausible right to follow-up cross-examination questions (see this Scott Greenfield post for the significance of this denial).

Again, the justification for these denials of basic due process is that no one is accusing the student of rape. How, then, to reconcile this fiction with posters that blanketed the Yale campus asking the Yale basketball team to “stop supporting a rapist” [emphasis added]?

When the alleged disciplinary offense is the same as a felony, the idea that deny due process serves the interests of fairness is preposterous.

(2) Of the media coverage of this issue, one article handled the issue responsibly. In the New Haven RegisterChip Malafronte wrote, “There is no record of an arrest or court hearing involving Montague on file with the Connecticut judicial branch.”

Every article on this case should contain such a sentence. How can someone be a “rapist” if he hasn’t even been charged with a crime—much less convicted?

Other coverage of the case (Jezebel unsurprisingly stands out here) has been far less responsible. And I very much doubt, based on how this general issue has been covered in the last several years, that many reporters will follow Malafronte’s example.

(3) Moreover, all coverage of this incident should place Yale’s policy in a specific context. First—as I’ve pointed out in many essays at Minding the Campus—this is a university whose handling of sexual assault allegations is fundamentally unfair, and seems based more on a response to moral panic than a pursuit of justice.

Second, and of particular importance for this case given the posters blanketing the campus, Yale itself has admitted (in the words of Deputy Provost Stephanie Spangler) that the university “uses a more expansive definition of sexual assault” than required either under federal law or by the Connecticut criminal code.

Yale has never explained why it chose to redefine a term commonly understood in both culture and the law. And at this stage, it’s not public what specific allegations Montague even faced. But to the extent he faced allegations that don’t fit the definition of sexual assault, and as a result of Yale’s actions he has now publicly been branded a “rapist” in campus posters, it would seem that he has suffered real harm from Yale’s peculiar use of the dictionary.

(4) In the past few weeks, a lawsuit against the University of Tennessee and continuing controversy at Baylor have both shown that, in specific contexts, star athletes appear to get special treatment in sexual assault allegations.

But most accused student-athletes aren’t football or basketball players at Power Five conferences, and I know of no evidence that accused student-athletes in any other context get treated any better than the typical accused student. That is: they, too, are subjected to the kind of due process-unfriendly procedures that Montague apparently experienced.

Montague’s case is a reminder that in one important respect, accused student-athletes get worse treatment than the typical student. Perhaps the only meaningful protection for an accused student in the college disciplinary process is its secrecy—their chances of a not-guilty finding aren’t good, but at least the finding won’t become public.

But for athletes, as former Yale quarterback Patrick Witt and now Montague have discovered, maintaining that secrecy is much harder than for a non-student-athlete. In Montague’s case, because he was in the public eye, his departure from the team unsurprisingly raised questions that would not have been asked in the case of another student.

(5) In an official statement, Yale unsurprisingly (and appropriately in this instance) shielded itself behind FERPA and declined comment.

But, incredibly, an agent of the Yale administration took a different course. As quoted by Malafronte, the Yale Women’s Center released a public statement purporting to “speculate” and then adding: “[W]e can comfortably say that, should all of this be true, this is progress. 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 . . . Though we can only speculate as to the intent behind the basketball team’s shirt protest, the team’s actions appeared to be a dismissal of the very real threat of sexual violence.”

In other words: an official Yale agency all but confirmed that Montague was expelled for “sexual violence.”

Between the publication of the Register article and this morning, someone (Yale’s general counsel, perhaps?) appears to have spoken to the Women’s Center, which released a modified statement “recogniz[ing] that FERPA and Yale policy prohibit Yale from commenting on the exact nature of any specific incident.”

But the Women’s Center has already commented. Its comment all but confirmed the rumors. And that comment, along with the harm it caused, can’t be undone.

The revised statement contains no apology to Montague.

Yale’s Imaginary Crime Wave

Yale is the only university that regularly issues reports on its handling of sexual assault complaints, the result of a 2012 resolution agreement with the Office for Civil Rights (OCR). The university is also unusual in reporting so many sexual complaints, the result of its peculiar decision to broaden the campus definition of “sexual assault” beyond all recognition.

The newest of these reports, issued as always by Deputy Provost Stephanie Spangler, has now appeared. And, as always, Spangler notes that Yale has chosen to redefine “sexual assault,” attributing to the term “broad ranges of behavior” that neither the criminal law nor common cultural understanding would define as sexual assault. Yale has never offered a convincing explanation for why it pursued this course, but the strategy does inflate the numbers, thereby helping to feed the current moral panic on campus.

The Odd Sexual Accounting at Yale

Previous reports have revealed such items as:

The number of sexual assault allegations for the second half of 2015 was considerably higher than for the first half, but Spangler says this development should have come as no surprise, given the results from a 2015 survey of the Association of American Universities. (Both Stuart Taylor and I picked apart the dubious methodology of the AAU survey. For a shorthand version: the survey wildly oversampled female students who said they reported a sexual assault allegation to their college, thereby creating an unrepresentative sample of the overall student body.) But to Spangler, AAU is gospel. “We know,” she writes, “from the AAU Survey results that prevalence rates are high and many experiences go unreported.”

Related: A One-Sided Conference on Sexual Assault

According to the Spangler Report, the Yale campus was a hotbed of violent crime between July and December, with 20 undergraduates and four graduate students reporting that they had been sexually assaulted. For Yale’s female students, these totals alone would suggest an annual violent crime rate (1.4 percent) comparable to that of Oakland, which the FBI listed as the nation’s third most dangerous city in 2014.

Surely, a crime epidemic of these proportions would have triggered Yale President Peter Salovey to coordinate with state and local police to address the issue. Surely, at the very least, police patrols of this very high-crime area should be stepped up. Perhaps a police task force should be created. And Yale could review its admissions procedures to determine why the university is admitting so many violent criminals.

None of those steps has been taken, of course. Nor will they be. The fundamental tension of the campus rape moral panic is that universities simultaneously claim that they are overrun by violent crime and that state and local law enforcement must play no role in addressing the matter—since such an approach might weaken the campus kangaroo courts that activists champion. It’s all but inconceivable to imagine any other scenario in which such a cavalier approach to a purported crime wave would be tolerated.

What Yale and the Times Did to Patrick Witt

The report itself answers the question of why President Salovey does not act. A grand total of one Yale undergraduate actually filed a complaint that went to the University-Wide Committee (UWC), the body that adjudicates campus sexual assault questions. (That case remains pending.) A second case was filed not by the student but by the Title IX coordinator—even though the Spangler Report claims that the Title IX coordinator will take action “only in extremely rare cases.”

The next two cases that went to the UWC? Both resulted in non-guilty findings—despite a procedure that’s heavily tilted toward returning a guilty outcome.

Then there’s the fifth case. Last year featured a deeply troubling scenario in which a non-Middlebury student essentially weaponized Title IX. She alleged that a Middlebury student sexually assaulted her in a study abroad program, and when she didn’t like the outcome from the study abroad program’s disciplinary process, she sent a notice to Middlebury implying she would file a Title IX complaint unless Middlebury brought the student up on sexual assault charges. Middlebury did so, employed a deeply unfair procedure, and found the student guilty. He sued, obtained a preliminary injunction, and eventually settled with the college.

At the time, I noted that perhaps the only good thing that could be said about the Middlebury case was its unusual nature. But it was a troubling precedent, since the only clear way for a college student to avoid a campus tribunal is to avoid any type of sexual contact with a fellow student.

That line seems to be breaking down. The current Spangler Report notes the following: “A Title IX Coordinator brought a formal complaint on behalf of a non-Yale student who alleged that a Yale College  student engaged in sexual penetration without consent and physically assaulted the complainant . . . The case is pending.”

There’s no indication that the non-Yale student went to police. The ostensible rationale for campus tribunals is that they set campus norms. To the extent they become absolute substitutes for the criminal justice system, providing avenues to police off-campus student behavior with non-students, the precedent is a terrifying one.

By the way, this case, too, was filed by the Title IX coordinator. So of the five cases reported to the UWC for formal resolution this past semester, two used a process that the report claims that the university employs “only in extremely rare cases.” Apparently not too rare.

Related: Expel 10 if 1 or 2 Are Guilty of Rape?

The vast majority of cases in the Spangler Report were handled informally (at least at this stage) through the office of the Title IX coordinator. In this process, the accused student effectively has no rights—but also can’t be expelled. Three of the Title IX office cases stand out:

(1) The Title IX office currently is considering a second sexual assault allegation filed by a non-Yale student against a Yale student. It’s very difficult to imagine how such a complaint does not belong before the local police rather than a Yale bureaucrat.

(2) As I’ve noted previously, the silence of the Yale faculty on this issue is especially odd, since the new Title IX regime threatens their rights as well. From the latest report comes news that a student informed a Title IX Coordinator that another Yale student reported that a faculty member made inappropriate comments in a classroom. This second-hand complaint about classroom discussion is now “pending,” under investigation.

(3) Clever students can find way to game the system. Have a tough exam coming up? Go see the Title IX office, like a Yale student who “reported that an unidentified visitor on campus made unwanted advances. The Title IX Coordinator implemented academic accommodations for the complainant.” Perhaps such advances from the unknown visitor occurred. (If the party was unknown, how did the student know it was a visitor?) But how can the Title IX investigate such a complaint to determine if “academic accommodations” are actually warranted?

Related: Let’s  Challenge the ‘Rape Culture’ Warriors

A good example of the witch-hunt atmosphere on today’s campuses is the increasing willingness of Yale students and employees to file second-hand, unsubstantiated allegations.

For instance, “an administrator informed a Title IX Coordinator that a [Yale undergraduate] student reported that an individual whom the complainant could not identify engaged in sexual touching without consent at an off-campus location.” A student informed a Title IX Coordinator that one Yale undergraduate “reported that another [Yale undergraduate] student engaged in sexual penetration without consent.” Rumor-mongering is now acceptable at Yale, as an unidentified administrator informed a Title IX Coordinator “of reports from multiple [Yale undergraduate] students that another [Yale undergraduate] student had engaged in sexual penetration without consent.”

And consider this allegation, with emphases added: “A student informed a Title IX Coordinator that an unidentified [Yale undergraduate] student reported that an unidentified [Yale undergraduate] student had engaged in sexual penetration without consent.” On what possible basis could Yale investigate this claim? And how did the reporting student possibly reach this determination?

The Spangler report lists each of the above episodes as a sexual assault. Keep that in mind when evaluating the report’s breathless statistics.

Railroading the Innocent in Cincinnati

By KC Johnson

The University of Cincinnati has a fascinating response to a recent lawsuit filed by two students alleging serious misconduct by UC and several of its administrators in sexual assault proceedings: “Even accepting Plaintiffs’ allegations as true, they received constitutional due process protections.”

Since UC informed them of the charges, and gave them a hearing, courts can do nothing—no matter the extent of the hearings’ biases, and no matter how indifferent to the truth the university was. That such an argument could come from an institution of higher learning is appalling—but, by this point, not surprising.

The lawsuit, which you can read here, involves two separate cases—one filed by a former UC undergrad (who then transferred) and the second by a former UC law student (who has since graduated). The first case involved a claim that the male student sexually assaulted two female students (in the same room). In a relative rarity in campus proceedings, the accusers also filed a complaint with police—who promptly uncovered significant evidence that undercut their stories.

No Due Process, Thanks

One claimed, for example, that she didn’t know how the male student got into her dorm, but videotape showed her standing by as the second female student signed in the male student to the dorm. She claimed not to have used marijuana, only to later admit that she had. She claimed that the male student got into her bed without her knowledge even though she had previously told police that she had undressed in front of the male student, gotten into her bed, and then he quickly joined her in bed.

The other student alternatively claimed to have been passed out and not passed out during the alleged assault, and claimed to have been passed out at a time that the police uncovered her sending text messages. Explosively, one of the detectives investigating the case testified that his colleague believed that UC had “obstructed” the flow of the investigation, seemingly to minimize the accusers’ credibility problems, and that UC’s general counsel “was trying to impede our train of thought and our investigation.”

UC nonetheless found the accused student guilty of sexual assault. It did so after an almost comically biased procedure. A UC administrator informed the accused student, “Neither party has any burden of proof.” (This assertion misstated UC regulations; even the preponderance of evidence threshold, which UC uses, imposes a nominal burden of proof on the school.) The accused student went before a disciplinary panel trained with inflammatory, unsubstantiated allegations such as, “The average rapist rapes 14 people before he ever spends a night in jail,” or “1 in 4 women will survive rape and/or sexual assault during her time in college.” See citations to the discredited David Lisak’s work on undetected rapists and misstatements of UC policy (the training asserts that consent needs to be “verbal and “ongoing,” and that the female student must be “sober,” even though UC’s actual policy contains no such requirement).

Male in Mattress Case Sues Columbia

An accompanying guide from the UC judicial office repeatedly labels accusers as “survivors” (“All reported sexual assaults will be taken seriously and every effort undertaken to assist survivors”)—even though, of course, at the time of the report, there’s an accuser and an accused, not a “survivor” and a perpetrator. Such sloppy use of language presumes a crime before any investigation occurs. It’s no wonder that since 2010, in every case for which a resolution is available, UC has found students accused of sexual misconduct guilty.

The accused student asked to record his disciplinary hearing; UC refused permission. UC policy prohibited him from directly cross-examining his accuser; questions that he submitted for asking went unexplored by the panel. The hearing panel refused to examine either the surveillance video of the students walking into the dorm or text messages from the accusers’ phones. The guilty finding seemed predetermined. He successfully appealed within the university, only to see the cases return to the same panel, which reaffirmed a guilty finding regarding one (but not, oddly, both) of the accusers.

Daniel Cummins, director of UC’s office of judicial affairs, informed the second student who was enrolled at UC’s law school that “a preponderance of the evidence burden of proof applies. Neither the complainant nor the respondent bears this burden of proof in an ARC hearing.” That UC’s chief disciplinary officer doesn’t understand what the preponderance of evidence requires speaks volumes as to the university’s unfairness.

Cummins handled the second case in other odd ways. Even though the alleged sexual assault occurred off campus, he insisted on having the UC disciplinary process hear it. Based solely on the filing of allegations, he informed the accuser’s thesis advisor that the student “has recently been the victim of behavior that violates our sexual harassment policy.” (This revelation suggested he had made up his mind before even speaking to the accused student.) The accused student also faced an interim punishment—including a prohibition on entering the library—based solely on these uninvestigated allegations.

More Extreme Procedures Coming?

During the hearing, one of the panelists scribbled a note that reflected the contemptuous approach often seen toward due process at the campus level: “Also ->this is NOT a court. We don’t have to do things like in law school.” The accused student was found guilty, and appealed. This appeal, too, was granted—and the case then remanded back to the same panel that had found him guilty in the first place. The second hearing featured the accuser attacking the accused student as a rapist and then storming out of the room before even UC’s permitted cross-examination could occur. The panel again returned a guilty finding.

UC retorted that none of this really matters—that the university only was obligated to hold a hearing and to inform both students of the charges against them, obligations that UC fulfilled. A fair process that might determine the truth, UC filings suggested, is beyond the legal obligations for any university. (Left unsaid was why a university wouldn’t want such a process.) UC purports to concede, citing relevant 6th Circuit precedent, that “a public university student who is facing serious charges of misconduct that expose him to substantial sanctions should receive a fundamentally fair hearing.”

But to justify its denial of basic fairness to the two students in these cases, the university relied on Jackson v. Dorrier, a 1970 case involving a high school policy prohibiting male students from having long hair. (“To hold that the relationship between parents, pupils and school officials,” the 6th Circuit ruled, “must be conducted in an adversary atmosphere and accordingly the procedural rules to which we are accustomed in a court of law would hardly best serve the interests of any of those involved.”)

It’s remarkable that UC could consider a grooming policy for high school students to be somehow relevant to whether a college student is entitled to fundamental due process when facing a life-altering sexual assault allegation. But perhaps not too surprising: UC also contends that even if its policy placed the burden of proof on the accused (which university briefs somewhat ineffectively denied), doing so “would not compel a finding that due process was violated.” Ponder that again: a public university has publicly affirmed that a policy that presumed students guilty of sexual assault would be constitutionally acceptable.

The university also justified its decision to impose interim punishments on students accused of sexual assault, on grounds that “federal regulations require the University to offer such [interim] accommodations or interim measures to victims of sexual assault” [emphasis added]. At the interim stage, of course, there is no victim—there’s an accuser and an accused. And Cincinnati’s filings also claimed that the Dear Colleague letter “directed” it to follow certain procedures, even though two high-ranking Education Department officials conceded last year that departmental guidance letters were just that—guidance, not obligations on universities.

UC seems to go out of its way to envision its undergraduates and even law students as the equivalent of high school students. For the proposition that it’s OK to deny students accused of sexual assault any right to cross-examine their accuser, the university cited a 2014 6th Circuit case involving a high school freshman. And for the proposition that it’s OK to deny students accused of sexual assault meaningful right to cross-examine their accuser by requiring questions to be funneled through a panel that might modify or simply ignore them, the university cited a Connecticut case involving a high school senior.

Since UC sees its students as glorified high schoolers, perhaps parents would be better off sending their children to another university.


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 Until Proven Innocent: Political Correctness and the Shameful Injustices of the Duke Lacrosse Rape Case.

How Title IX Became a Policy Bully

By KC Johnson

The Chronicle of Higher Education has received a good deal of attention for putting together a website cataloguing all the Title IX complaints currently pending with the Obama administration’s Office for Civil Rights (OCR). But the site should mostly be seen as a concrete demonstration of how little we know about these complaints, and how poorly the media as a whole has done in covering this issue.

Even before the issuance of the “Dear Colleague” letter in 2011, a marriage of convenience had developed between OCR and campus activists eager to weaken due process for students accused of sexual assault. In contrast to the Bush administration, OCR made clear by implication if not openly, it would welcome Title IX complaints, as a bludgeon to pressure universities to change their policies—if only the activists would file such complaints. And so local activists, increasingly organized by groups such as Know Your IX, SurvJustice, and End Rape on Campus, started filing complaints.

Related: The Hunting Ground—An Ethically-Challenged Tainted Documentary

The Title IX complaint against Yale—which produced the grossly unfair procedures that ensnared, among others, Patrick Witt—was the first example of this new process in action.

The only university that appears to have resisted OCR pressure was Tufts, and it did so only briefly, before backing down. The combined threat of bad publicity and a loss of federal funds—coupled with the fact that many on campus agree with the activists’ anti-due process agenda—has explained the remarkable academic passivity to this federal overreach.

OCR has followed the highly unusual strategy of releasing the names of colleges or universities under investigation, but refusing to release any of the details as to what prompted the Title IX complaint. And so, over and over again, the Chronicle website has lines such as these: “Sexual assault gained attention on the campus when the Office for Civil Rights notified leaders [and, of course, the public] in October that it had launched an investigation.”

OCR hasn’t explained why it has pursued this shaming strategy—whose only purpose seems to be to heighten the frenzy about the campus sexual assault issue and invite the media to assume the worst.

Related: Three Men Unfairly Branded as Campus Rapists

It’s not as if the agency doesn’t eventually release most of the details of complaints. Take, for instance, one of the most recent resolution letters, involving Michigan State University. There, once the matter was resolved, OCR published in some detail (without revealing the complainants’ identities) the initial allegations against the school. (In both instances, accusers claimed that the university had waited too long to investigate the charges, one of which was deemed baseless.)

OCR spares no details in these resolution letters: in the Michigan State case, for instance, the resolution letter included such unique details as the following: “In November 2010, during the investigation, Student A encountered the two male students in a University building where all of the students studied. The two male students were sitting in a private tutoring room with their tutor. While the door was closed, Student A could see the male students through a glass panel in the door. Student A remained outside the male students’ tutoring room for approximately 30 minutes.

When the male students were finished with their tutoring session, they left the room and walked past her to exit the building. Student A called the police to report that the male students had violated their PPOs by not leaving the building when she entered it. Student A stated that the male students were supposed to stay 500 feet away from her, but that the police had told her that the 500-foot rule has exceptions. After this encounter, the male students were assigned to a specific study area in the building that was separate from Student A’s study area and required them to use a separate entrance from the general student body.”

Related: The NY Times Reveals the Stupidity of ‘Yes Means Yes’

(This burden was placed on these two students, who also had been reassigned to a remote dorm on campus, even though the allegation was unfounded.)

This level of specificity, of course, ensures that those who knew both the accuser and accusers on campus would likely now learn about the sexual assault allegation. If the agency plans to release such details eventually, why not right off the bat? Perhaps because it sounded much worse to hear “Michigan State Under Title IX Investigation” than to learn that the allegation was that the school took long to conclude that an unfounded sexual assault allegation was, in fact, unfounded—and that the accused students had done nothing wrong.

An administration committed to transparency should release the details of the allegations, so the public could decide for themselves the seriousness of the Title IX complaints. That the Obama administration has chosen not to do so—as the Chronicle website helps to demonstrate—only compounds its bad faith on the issue of campus due process.


 

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 Until Proven Innocent: Political Correctness and the Shameful Injustices of the Duke Lacrosse Rape Case.

 

At Duke, “Intolerance” Can Cost You Tenure

Befitting its vision as one of the nation’s great universities, Duke declares that it grants tenure only to the best. Tenure at Duke, according to the university’s official policy, “should be reserved for those who have clearly demonstrated through their performance as scholars and teachers that their work has been widely perceived among their peers as outstanding,” with “good teaching and university service” expected but not in and of themselves sufficient.

Duke lists no other criteria for tenure. Until now.

Last week, the anti-campus free speech movement migrated from Yale, Missouri, and Amherst to Duke. This is, of course, a university with a record of indifference to student civil liberties: in the lacrosse case, dozens of faculty members unequivocally declared that something “happened” to false accuser Crystal Mangum; and after the collapse of this case to which they had attached their public reputations, dozens signed a statement affirming they’d never apologize. (They didn’t; instead, Duke spent millions in settlements and legal fees to, in part, shield the faculty from liability.)

In response to Yale/Missouri/Amherst-like student protests, Duke President Richard Brodhead joined, at a campus forum, the new dean of Trinity College of Arts and Sciences at Duke University, Valerie Ashby. (Ashby started at Duke this past July.) Brodhead, to his credit, openly opposed censorship, and cautioned that suppressing speech could eventually justify the silencing of the student protesters. At the same time, he neutralized this commitment by suggesting that Duke could institute a policy addressing “hate speech” (whose parameters remained undefined) modeled on the school’s due process-unfriendly sexual assault policy.

In the event, Brodhead didn’t have the last word on this issue. After he made his statement against censorship, Dean Ashby jumped in. She revealed a previously non-public university policy, announcing that untenured faculty is subjected to continuous evaluation for a university-approved level of tolerance. A video of Ashby’s remarks is here. Her key line: “You can’t be a great scholar and be intolerant. You have to go.” Chillingly, the assembled audience then burst into applause.

Nothing in Duke’s written tenure policy suggests that a “great” scholar’s failing to fulfill a definition of “tolerance” offered by Brodhead and Ashby constitutes grounds for denying tenure. Indeed, Ashby’s emotional concluding line—“you have to go”—suggests that the dean considers it possible to immediately dismiss those untenured professors who fail her tolerance test.

The academy’s recent debates about “tolerance” revolve around questions of race and gender. While Duke has now made clear that the “intolerant” can be fired, in her public statement, Ashby provided no clarity as to what specific views constitute dismissible offenses. For instance, would a junior professor who publicly opposed racial preferences be deemed “intolerant,” especially given Brodhead’s earlier criticism of tenured Duke professors whose research raised questions about the effects of racial preferences? Would a junior professor who urged the university to change course and provide due process to students accused of sexual assault be deemed “intolerant,” and thus worthy of dismissal under the new standards? If the Ashby principles had existed during the lacrosse case, could they have been used to terminate untenured Duke professors who criticized the Group of 88?

I asked two Duke spokespersons whether this new tenure evaluation policy had been provided in written form to untenured faculty; neither spokesperson replied. (Duke’s website contains no indication of a written policy, and Ashby defined the new standard only as “this is what’s tolerable here, this is what’s not,” without providing any degree of specificity.) At the very least, then since Duke’s new “tolerance” criterion remains appears to be wholly arbitrary, any junior professor who wants to stay employed needs to self-censor.

To date, Duke seems to be the only elite university that has abandoned all pretense that excellent scholarship, teaching, and service is sufficient for tenure, and held instead that these accomplishments can be trumped by a “tolerance” test imposed by the senior administration. Will other universities follow course?

CUNY’s Faculty Union and the First Amendment

The Supreme Court will consider two key cases relating to higher education this term. Fisher could curtail the use of racial preferences in admissions. Friedrichs could require higher-education unions to represent only those members who agree with the union’s usefulness.

As currently structured, public employee unions, including those at colleges and universities, must refund the portion of dues related to the union’s political activity. A central argument in the Friedrichs case is whether all activity of public employee unions, including those that represent professors at colleges and universities, constitutes political spending, from which employees who reject the union’s ideological message should be exempt.

It’s hard to imagine a better example of why the Supreme Court should side with the Friedrichs petitioners than the record of the CUNY faculty union, the Professional Staff Congress (PSC). The union’s leadership, headed by de facto President-for-Life Barbara Bowen, is intellectually stuck in 1968 or 1969, perpetually manning the barricades at the Columbia or Cornell campus protests. Its ineffective negotiating tactics (most recently union members showed up in the early morning, outside the CUNY chancellor’s apartment, banging pots and pans, and then fancied themselves 1960s-style protesters, engaging in a form of civil disobedience so comical that even the New York Times had trouble portraying it sympathetically) have helped leave CUNY faculty without a contract for more than six years.

The Brooklyn PSC branch just finished up a campaign for professors to use class time to distribute postcards that students will sign for later distribution to state legislators. The postcards demand more money from the legislature—but all of it from general appropriations, with no tuition increases. From a tactical angle, it might seem odd for a union that’s failed to deliver pay increases for years to publicly oppose at least one new revenue stream (a tuition increase) that might be devoted to faculty salaries. From an ethical angle, it might seem odd for a union to seek to use class time (for which, of course, students pay) for the students to engage in political activity.

From a constitutional angle, the union’s campaign targets one of the key issues in Friedrich—does a demand for a state legislature to take a specific act (in this case, spending more money, through more taxpayers’ resources) implicate the First Amendment? Does the union have a legal right to seize dues money from non-members to advance a policy position those non-members might oppose, even if the ostensible purpose is union-related rather than overtly political?

The union as a whole, meanwhile, is currently devoting union resources to a mobilization campaign seeking to authorize Bowen to call an illegal strike. (New York’s Taylor Law prohibits public employees from striking, while allowing public employee unions to deduct agency fees from non-union members. Bowen wants to set aside the first aspect of the Taylor Law but continue to enforce the second.)

As with the postcard campaign, this is a union activity that will have a political impact—if the union flouts the law, at the very least public resources will need to be devoted to increased NYPD activity protecting campuses, and likely to increased court action to prosecute the law-breakers. Does the union have a legal right to seize dues money from non-members to fund its mobilization campaign, with a long-term goal of violating state law?

The last time Bowen and her leadership team considered violating the law was 2005. In response, several dozen CUNY faculty members (including me) urged the union to follow the law and negotiate in good faith. The signatories also affirmed, “as individual CUNY professors, that we will abide by New York state law regardless of the ultimate course that the union chooses to take.” Hopefully, a comparable number of CUNY faculty members will speak up this time, as well.

Surely most public employee unions are not as extreme (and ineffective) as the PSC. But current law allows public employee unions like the PSC to spend non-members’ required agency fee payments on calls for state resources to be used in a particular way. In any other context, this would be recognized as constitutionally protected political speech. Will Friedrichs end this seemingly flagrant violation of the First Amendment?

Two Lawmakers Vote No to Safe Campus Act

A good rule of thumb when considering campus due process matters: If the Senate’s two most ardent foes of campus civil liberties, Kirsten Gillibrand and Claire McCaskill oppose something, the measure is probably worth a good look. The Safe Campus Act, which recently received criticism from the two senators, deserves more than a look.

It seeks to overturn the Office for Civil Rights mandate that colleges use the preponderance of evidence standard. It also says that while colleges can accommodate sexual assault accusers in any way desired (changing a class schedule, providing counseling, offering extensions on work), schools cannot initiate disciplinary proceedings unless the accusers report the allegation to police. The effect of the provision: ensuring that a student accused of sexual assault is judged on basis of evidence compiled by professionals rather than a campus Title IX bureaucracy,

Related: The Rape Epidemic on Campus Does Not Exis

Given their record on the issue, it’s no surprise that McCaskill and Gillibrand oppose the measure. Their arguments for doing so, however, are remarkable. Here’s McCaskill, in a quote that appeared in both Slate and Huffington Post: “You have this anomaly they’re proposing, where a young woman could be robbed at gunpoint and decide that she wanted to just try to get that person off campus and go to her university and they could take action under Title IX. But if she was raped, she would not be able to do that unless she made the decision to go to the police.”

This statement is strange. Does McCaskill—a former prosecutor—actually believe it would be a good idea for armed robberies to be adjudicated by the campus system? And could she really believe that victims of armed robberies could take action under Title IX? Even OCR has never described armed robbery as a crime that schools must adjudicate under Title IX.

More to the point, does McCaskill believe that student victims of armed robberies are currently being adjudicated through the campus disciplinary process? This is a bit like OCR head Catherine Lhamon’s recent, absurd claim by that campus’s tribunals’ deal with “drug dealing” cases. Imagine the resident Title IX investigator needing to jet off to Mexico to investigate the drug lords supplying her campus.

Related: Suing Over Star Chamber Hearings 

It seems that some foes of The Safe Campus Act are inventing a reality, falsely claiming that college disciplinary proceedings investigate all sorts of violent crimes—drug dealing, armed robbery, perhaps even attempted murder—to justify their calls for colleges to adjudicate the violent crime of sexual assault. In fact, the only serious felony that OCR wants colleges to handle is sexual assault.

Gillibrand, meanwhile, has said that she opposes the Safe Campus Act because the “goal of any campus sexual assault legislation should be to encourage [alleged] survivors to report crimes.” Indeed, it should—and this is exactly what the Safe Campus Act does. This is in contrast to campus rape groups like Know Your IX, with which Gillibrand regularly cooperate, and which have openly discouraged crime victims from going to police, suggesting that accusers who file reports with the “violent criminal legal system” might be deported.

Slate writer Christina Cauterucci is remarkably non-curious as to why sitting U.S. senators could oppose a bill seeking to have more crime victims report their crimes to police. “If the Safe Campus Act were truly about due process,” she muses, “plenty of other students’ rights activists would have rallied behind it.” Really? When has any campus rape group backed meaningful due process—provisions such as mandatory discovery, the right to cross-examination, a rule requiring colleges to turn over exculpatory evidence, allowing the accused student enough time to develop his defense?

Is this the result of imagining a campus reality that doesn’t exist?

A New Politically Tainted Survey on Campus Sexual Assault

The often-debunked statistic on campus sexual assault, that one in five women can expect to be attacked, has reappeared, inflated once more–this time to 23 percent–in a survey by the Association of American Universities (AAU), with the expected headlines from the expected quarters, such as The New York Times.

The general critiques of previous campus surveys apply to this one as well. First, if these numbers are true, it indicates an unprecedented wave of violent crime, yet neither the Obama administration nor college leaders are urging an increased law enforcement presence on campus. For instance, Harvard administrators called the survey “distressing” and expressed anguish—yet made no sign of calling in the Cambridge Police Department to deal with what these same administrators purport to believe is a campus crime wave.

Related: The Odd Sexual Accounting at Yale

Second, as Ashe Schow has repeatedly, and correctly, observed, framing questions in such a way to get a banner headline means the result will get a banner headline. That is, rather than asking students whether they had been sexually assaulted, this survey asked them a variety of questions that didn’t use the phrase, and then imputed sexual assault to the responses, to get the top-line figure. One of the data points from the survey revealed the problem with this approach. Of those who fit the researchers’ definition of sexual assault but didn’t report the offense, around 60 percent said they didn’t think what had happened to them was serious enough. (This number dwarfed the other reasons that students said they didn’t report, such as shame, a fear of being disbelieved, or a desire not to be re-traumatized.)

It’s simply inconceivable that a huge percentage of college women from some of the nation’s best universities don’t consider actual sexual assault to be serious enough to report—suggesting that whatever happened to these students, it wasn’t sexual assault.

The AAU survey has another significant problem, in that it appears to have dramatically oversampled one particular campus constituency—female students who reported a claim of sexual assaults to their campus. According to the latest Clery Act data, 5096 such students did so in 2013 (that number, of course, would include any males who made a sexual assault claim). Table 6 of the AAU survey informs us that, of the female undergraduates who responded to the survey, about 11 percent said they had been penetrated without consent—either due to incapacitation or force—and about one-fifth of these students had reported that offense to their college or university. (The precise reporting figures are 25.5 percent of those who said they had been penetrated without consent by force, and 14.4 percent of those who said they had been penetrated without consent due to incapacitation.)

Related: UC San Diego Loses in Sex Assault Case

As my colleague Stuart Taylor pointed out in a piece for washingtonpost.com, this survey data (conservatively assuming that students graduate in five years) would expect somewhere around 44,000 reported sexual assaults annually. Yet the most recent year’s Clery Act figures show 5096 reported sexual assaults. This massive disparity raises the likelihood that in a low-response survey (19 percent) that was already skewed 3:2 toward female respondents, those who considered themselves victims of sexual assault were far more likely to respond than non-victims. To their credit, the researchers concede the possibility of this over-reporting—just before they suggest that victims might not have wanted to participate in the survey, although none of the AAU’s internal data supports the latter conclusion.

One final point. Of the non-reporters, just under 25 percent said they didn’t report because the incident didn’t happen at school or that it had to do with school, presumably because the alleged perpetrator was a non-student. The Washington Post series from this summer also featured several students who said they had been sexually assaulted off-campus by non-students. Both data points are reminders that a non-trivial number of college students—even at primarily residential colleges, much less at non-residential institutions such as CUNY or some of the California state schools—are assaulted by people outside the campus community. The Obama administration and campus rape groups like Know Your IX, which champion a parallel, campus-based justice system, will do nothing for these students.

Top Reads from Minding the Campus

Weaponizing Title IX at Middlebury

Last week came two more court decisions involving due process and campus sexual assault. The first, which involved a student at Case Western Reserve University, had Judge Christopher Boyko (a George W. Bush appointee) ruling that it was plausible the accused student was innocent and the CWRU had manufactured inculpatory evidence—but there was nothing he could do to remedy the problem. The second, which involved a student at Middlebury College, had Judge J. Garvan Murtha (a Clinton appointee) issuing a preliminary injunction preventing Middlebury from expelling the student. You can read Judge Murtha’s decision here.

The Middlebury case was factually and procedurally complicated. But it offers three issues of importance:

(1) Title IX can be weaponized, with the accuser using the threat of a complaint with the Office for Civil Rights (OCR) to effectively force a college to do her bidding.

(2) In what seems like a first, a college assumed jurisdiction over a sexual assault case that involved an allegation filed by a student from another school.

(3) The case provides a rare behind-the-scenes view of the extraordinarily one-sided training that “impartial” campus adjudicators receive.

The Incident

In fall 2014, a male junior applied to study abroad for the semester; Middlebury’s study abroad program is run not by the college but by an institution called School for International Training (SIT), which is based in Brattleboro, around two hours from the Middlebury campus. SIT is a U.S. university, subject to Title IX, and Middlebury’s guidelines make clear that students in the program will be subject to SIT rulings for honors code violations while they’re abroad. The guidelines are silent about student conduct issues.

The background to the allegation was rather tawdry. On November 7, 2014, after what appears to have been a night of considerable drinking, the male student came back to his room with two female students in the study abroad program, at least one of whom wasn’t from Middlebury. His roommate was away, and so the three of them decided to sleep together in his room, pushing the two beds together, with the male student sleeping between the female students. At some point in the evening, the male student became sexually active with one of the female students (who initiated this contact remains in dispute). The other student (a friend of the female student, and a former romantic partner of the male student) eventually saw what was going on—and got up, retiring to her own room.

The incident was, at the least, embarrassing; it threatened the social equilibrium between the female student and her friend. But the female student soon claimed that the intercourse was nonconsensual; she filed a sexual assault claim through SIT. (There’s no indication she went to the police.) SIT, in turn, informed Middlebury that it planned to investigate the allegations; it then would conduct a hearing according to its own policies (which conform to OCR guidelines). Middlebury made no attempt to assert jurisdiction over the case. SIT convened a hearing at which both parties, and the other student who was in the bed, testified. The hearing also considered contemporaneous text messages between the three. Both the transcript of that hearing, and the text messages, were not included in the public documents filed in the case, so it’s impossible to comment confidently about the merits of the allegation. But the SIT hearing found the male student not culpable for sexual assault. The accuser elected not to exercise her OCR-right to appeal the finding at SIT.

That decision, it would seem, should have ended things. An accused student had been charged. A hearing had been held, at which he was acquitted. The accuser did not appeal.

Middlebury Intervenes

But the accuser elected to pursue another path. She still didn’t go to the police. Instead, working through the Title IX coordinator at her own institution, she wrote to an administrator at Middlebury, with an ill-concealed threat: “I am pursuing,” said she, “a complaint with the office of [sic] civil rights.” And suddenly Middlebury, which heretofore had unquestioningly accepted SIT’s coordination of the case, decided that it would conduct a second investigation—even though the accuser wasn’t a Middlebury student. To the best of my knowledge, this is the only publicized case since issuance of the “Dear Colleague” letter in 2011 in which an institution has asserted jurisdiction over a claim that didn’t involve two students from the college. If established as a precedent, the expansion of the parallel justice system championed by the Obama administration would be dangerous, and massive.

In addition to her threat about filing a complaint with OCR, the accuser passed along information about the case that she said corroborated her view of events. She also claimed that SIT’s investigation had violated Title IX because SIT’s investigator hadn’t spoken to her academic advisor (why that would be relevant the accuser didn’t say) and hadn’t spoken to unspecified witnesses (what these witnesses might or might not have said the accuser didn’t tell Middlebury). Though OCR, not Middlebury College, has authority to decide whether SIT’s actions conformed to Title IX, Middlebury Dean Karen Guttentag had heard enough. The college would effectively set aside SIT’s finding, the dean later testified, based on the accuser’s “perceptions of SIT’s investigation and hearing process.” You can read the dean’s affidavit here.

This rationale was nothing short of extraordinary. The files contain no indication that Guttentag had asked anyone at SIT whether the accuser’s “perceptions” of SIT procedures were based in reality. But with a clear threat that if Middlebury didn’t go along, the accuser would add the college to her already-filed claim against SIT, the college leapt into action, more than two months after the allegations and well after SIT had already acquitted the student.

Guilt and Middlebury

Middlebury’s decision meant that the accused student would be subjected not only to a double-jeopardy scenario, but a very different procedure. Unlike SIT, Middlebury has adopted the Obama administration’s preferred approach of bypassing a hearing (lest it re-traumatize an accuser who, at that stage of the process, the college doesn’t know is telling the truth) and turning things over to a single investigator. The investigator submits a report to a college administrator, who then interviews the accused student, but in every case since 2012 in which the investigator had branded the accused student a rapist, the college has accepted the finding. Middlebury referred this case to an investigator named Nell Coogan, whose website indicates no background in criminal investigation or law enforcement.

Middlebury has clear ideas on how sexual assault investigations should be conducted; the firm Margolis Healy trains college officials on the matter. The firm’s guidelines, as based on a 2012 training session, seem designed to ensure that the college gives every conceivable benefit of the doubt to the accuser. You can see the guidelines here; note how heavily Margolis Healy relies on the now-discredited researcher David Lisak, who is mentioned eight times, to explain how colleges should respond to sexual assault allegations.

Investigators, Margolis Healy instructed Middlebury officials, must not approach the case with “skepticism.” Indeed, they must “start by believing” the accuser. The discussion with the accuser must not involve the investigator interrogating her; “This is not the time for ‘just the facts.’” (If not then, when?) The investigator must avoid “victim blaming” questions, such as asking the accuser why she did something. “Use what we know” about campus sexual assault—that the “non-stranger sexual offender” says to himself, “I am going to have sex tonight. If it is consensual, fine. But, I am going to have sex tonight.” While the investigator must “start by believing” the accuser, the Middlebury official must begin by wondering if the accused is “who he said he is.” Margolis Healy counseled Middlebury investigators against using the term “accuser” (“victim” or “survivor” is preferred).

The report prepared by the investigator “should not include . . . consensual language” or anything indicating “mutual participation.” But what if the intercourse was consensual, or involved mutual participation? Nor should the investigator’s report include the following language: The “victim has inconsistencies with her story.” But what if she does? Nor should the report conclude that “the victim’s account of the incident is not believable or credible to officers given her actions during and after the encounter with the suspect.” But what if the accuser isn’t credible? According to Middlebury’s training, that outcome seems impossible.

With this background, and given the looming threat of a Title IX complaint if Middlebury didn’t do what the accuser wanted, the college returned a guilty finding, and recommended expulsion days before the accused student was to begin his final year at Middlebury. The accused student sued, noting that the college’s decision not only would end his Middlebury career, but also would rob him of a job offer that he had already lined up after graduation.

The Court Case

In filings before Judge Murtha, the two sides partially re-litigated the case. The accused student contended that SIT’s finding was correct, and that the accuser had substantially enhanced her allegations over the course of the inquiry. Middlebury countered that the accused had changed his story, and denied that kicking the accuser out of school and costing him his job would constitute irreparable harm for him. Middlebury administrators and its investigator also produced unintentionally comical affidavits claiming that the guilt-presuming training that Middlebury arranged for them to receive had no impact on how they investigated sexual assault allegations.

Judge Murtha understandably was skeptical about college officials’ newfound commitment to objectivity. His ruling was a preliminary one, but he noted that “Middlebury’s policies did not authorize a second investigation and de novo evaluation of the allegation of sexual assault after it had been decided in Plaintiff’s favor by SIT, the sponsor of the study abroad program during which the alleged misconduct occurred, to whose discipline Plaintiff was subject.”

The accused student thus can complete his senior year. But how will Judge Murtha rule on the merits of the case?

Expel 10 If One or Two Are Guilty of Rape?

At a House oversight hearing last week, Representative Jared Polis (D-Colorado) seemed deeply troubled by two arguments raised by FIRE’s Joseph Cohn: that trained police, rather than campus bureaucrats, are better equipped to investigate felony offenses; and that the current campus tribunals deny meaningful due process for students accused of sexual assault. In response, Polis asserted, “If there are 10 people who have been accused, and under a reasonable likelihood standard maybe one or two did it, it seems better to get rid of all 10 people. We’re not talking about depriving them of life or liberty, we’re talking about them being transferred to another university, for crying out loud.”

The Colorado congressman has now retracted parts of that assertion, in an op-ed that raises more questions than it answers. Polis writes that he “misspoke” when he “went too far by implying that I support expelling innocent students from college campuses, which is something neither I nor other advocates of justice for survivors of sexual assault support.” (Polis doesn’t explain why, if that’s the case, campus rape activists in the audience applauded his remarks.) But his chief justification for his policy shift appears to be tactical: He states that his “remarks have detracted from the substance of this debate.” (In fact, the activists’ applause provided a remarkable, if chilling, clarifying moment.)  Moreover, his op-ed leaves the impression that he simply spoke hastily or emotionally in a “back and forth exchange” the hearing, even though he reiterated his position afterwards in an e-mail conversation with Reason’s Robby Soave. Did he misspeak (or, I suppose, “mis-write”) to Soave, as well?

It appears, nonetheless, that Polis no longer believes that colleges should expel ten students accused of sexual assault if only one or two of them is guilty. But what about his other hearing statements?

Polis’ retraction comes in a defiant op-ed in which he expresses strong opposition to the concept that police, rather than campus bureaucrats, should handle the investigations of campus sexual assault. This is, he writes, a “deeply dangerous idea that demonstrates a cursory and superficial understanding of the issue.” (The congressman doesn’t say if he believes that campus bureaucrats should handle other serious student-on-student felonies, such as attempted murder or felony assault.) He also defends the Obama administration’s insistence that these campus hearings use the preponderance-of-evidence threshold.

In the hearing, Polis mused that colleges could use an even lower burden of proof—“reasonable likelihood,” which he defined as 20 or 30 percent chance of guilt. Does he still believe this? His op-ed doesn’t say.

In the hearing, Polis minimized the stakes for students accused of sexual assault. “For crying out loud,” he chuckled sarcastically, the worst that could happen to a falsely accused student would be transferring to another institution. Does he still believe this? As Eugene Volokh pointed out, Polis’ statement seemed either supremely cynical or flat-out misleading—since it would envision universities simply passing around actual rapists, or would involve Polis deliberately minimizing the difficulty of a transfer (not to mention subsequent employment opportunities).

Finally, Polis offers a new argument in his op-ed. “For those of us also concerned with the rights of the accused,” he writes, “dragging their name through the newspaper as an accused rapist through a criminal justice process will haunt them forever, even if they are found not guilty.” It’s heartening to see that Polis has suddenly discovered a concern with the rights of the accused. He oozed contempt toward Cohn, the only witness at the hearing who focused on due process for accused students; indeed, he suggested at the hearing that due process was irrelevant, since the accused student couldn’t be jailed by his college. (In his op-ed, he equates Cohn’s position with that of “most people who don’t know much about this issue”—an odd position for this newfound champion of rights of the accused to take.) In the event, Polis reiterated his belief that due process wasn’t the appropriate framework to consider the issue in his post-hearing e-mail discussion with Soave. Does he now repudiate that, as well?

Yet Polis’ only defense of the accused students’ due process—that the rules of campus disciplinary matters will keep their names out of the newspaper—is nothing short of extraordinary. The secrecy of campus tribunals provides no protection for the accused student; indeed, the secretary undermines due process. The closed nature of campus tribunals means it’s almost impossible for the media to discover (or the campus community to understand) that universities are branding students rapists after processes in which the accused student lacks meaningful representation from a lawyer, can’t cross-examine his accuser, and often has no right (or ability) to exculpatory or impeaching evidence.

Indeed, if I could recommend only one reform of the campus disciplinary process, it would be making hearings open to the public, to expose the kangaroo courts for what they are. As Louis Brandeis maintained, sunlight is the best disinfectant. It appears as if Congressman Polis, on the other hand, prefers the darkness.

U. of Michigan Screws Up in ‘Rape’ Case

On Friday, a federal court filing revealed that University of Michigan had settled its lawsuit with Drew Sterrett. The case, first exposed by Emily Yoffe in her sensational Slate article, featured Michigan branding Sterrett a rapist despite overlooking critical exculpatory evidence (including from the roommates of Sterrett and the accuser) and very troubling conduct by the Michigan bureaucrats who conducted the investigation. Yoffe  returned to the question in an excellent summary, hearing from both sides, of the conclusion to the case.

News of the settlement was first reported by David Jesse, of the Detroit Free Press. Jesse’s article could serve as a case study in how poorly the mainstream media covers campus sexual assault. A Free Press reader who didn’t read Yoffe or didn’t pore through filings on PACER would come away believing that Michigan had somehow wronged the accuser, and not Sterrett.

The article noted the terms of the settlement (setting aside of the university judgment, Sterrett agreeing to transfer, and a mutual non-disparagement clause). As already seen in settlements by Xavier, St. Joe’s, and DePauw, universities settle due process lawsuits not from the goodness of their hearts, but when they’re worried about losing. But Jesse provided none of this context—by, perhaps, interviewing a law professor. Indeed, the article didn’t even mention that Judge Denise Hood (despite seeming desperate to accommodate the university’s position) had kept alive Sterrett’s due process claim that “he was denied a meaningful hearing” by the university.

Indeed, a reader of Jesse’s article would have had no idea of the central issues in the lawsuit. Sterrett—as Yoffe’s article best explained—alleged that the university’s deeply flawed procedures (which included not telling him of the specific charges against him and pressuring him not to consult a lawyer) produced a flawed result (which included overlooking key third-party evidence that contradicted the accuser’s tale). Jesse mentions none of this, and instead offers seven sentences about whether or not Michigan encouraged the accuser to file a police report—an incidental element in Sterrett’s suit.

Sterrett’s lawsuit brought to the fore more evidence missed by Michigan. While the university’s judgment relied on two of the accuser’s friends, who said she told them that she tried to push Strerrett off of her, she admitted under oath in a lawsuit deposition that she had said no such thing. Yet Jesse risibly implies that Sterrett wanted to cover things up: the settlement, the Free Press reporter writes, means Michigan “cannot do any further investigation into the case.”

Jesse includes three paragraphs of comments from the accuser, to whom he grants the cloak of anonymity, denouncing the settlement. And he adds another three paragraphs, with similar sentiments, from the accuser’s attorney. The accuser—after a process that Michigan so distorted in her favor that the university ultimately couldn’t defend it in federal court—has now threatened to file a Title IX complaint.

Finally, the original version of Jesse’s article improperly claimed that Michigan found that Sterrett had committed a “rape.” The fiction of the university process, of course, is that schools pretend that they’re only addressing a college disciplinary code violation when they investigate rape allegations.

Other than each of these matters, the piece was a model of journalistic objectivity.

Office For Civil Rights Goes After Michigan State

However harmful the effects of the “Dear Colleague” letter to colleges and universities from the Education Department’s Office of Civil Rights, the document is a floor, not a ceiling, to OCR’s efforts to weaken campus due process. Resolution letters between OCR and various universities have allowed the agency to go well beyond the “Dear Colleague” letter’s terms. The Yale letter approved the “informal” process that allowed the university to brand a student a rapist without the accused having an opportunity to present evidence of his innocence. SMU and SUNY letters authorized the re-opening of cases where the accused student had been found not guilty, and oozed contempt for the idea that trained law enforcement personnel, instead of campus Title IX bureaucrats, should investigate sexual assault allegations. (Hans Bader has analyzed other resolution agreements, such as that with Tufts.) And the Montana letter envisioned a “blueprint” to weaken free speech on campus.

OCR’s most recent target, Michigan State, opens up a new inroad in the assault on campus due process.

Student A

A student identified only as “Student A” reported her alleged assault to the police, but not to the university, which instead learned about her allegations through media reports. The allegations weren’t very credible, as the police never filed charges. Nonetheless, when OCR discovered the charges, it told MSU that it needed to independently investigate the allegations. The university’s own investigation reached the same conclusion as the police—the accuser’s claims were not credible.

MSU nonetheless punished the accused students. As its investigation proceeded, the university forbade the accused students from contacting the accuser, and moved them out of their rooms to a different dorm, apparently well away from the accuser’s area of campus—which addressed the main concern the accuser said she had. The accused students apparently didn’t try to re-enter their old dorm, and the dorm to which they were reassigned was (according to the OCR letter) far away from their dining hall and their classes.

The accuser nonetheless cited the move in a Title IX complaint to OCR, apparently operating from the premise that students accused of sexual assault should be kicked out of all dorms, whether or not the accused students were guilty, and before any investigation had occurred. The accuser also claimed that the accused students violated a no-contact order—because, she reported, she had entered a university building and peered into a private tutoring room (through a glass panel in the door), where she spied the accused students meeting with a tutor. For reasons unexplained, she then stood outside the closed door for 30 minutes. There’s no evidence the male students saw the accuser until they left the room, but she interpreted their encountering her—after, to reiterate, she waited 30 minutes in a hall directly outside a room in which they were studying—as a violation of the no-contact order.

Even OCR conceded that this episode—which was, after all, directly initiated by the accuser—could not be held against the accused. That such an episode formed a key element of the accuser’s Title IX complaint demonstrates why reporters should be very skeptical when OCR reveals there’s a Title IX inquiry against a school, but refuses to release the actual complaint so outsiders can see the specifics.

Despite the record, OCR concluded that MSU had violated Title IX in its handling of Student A’s case, because the university took too long to conclude that Student A’s allegations were unfounded. This delay in initiating an investigation (based on a complaint the accuser never filed with the school) violated Title IX. OCR also expressed concerns about the structure of MSU’s policies, which at the time “required that a disciplinary hearing be conducted by the student judicial body before any action could be taken against a student accused of sexual harassment.” But the agency didn’t find a Title IX violation here, since by the time of the resolution letter, the disciplinary hearing requirement (which should, in fact, be an obvious form of due process) had been eviscerated.

To reiterate: Student A’s allegations proved unfounded, and she never filed a complaint through the university process.

The Campus Climate

As described in the resolution letter, Michigan State is a university whose leadership is obsessed with sexual assault. (According to Clery Act figures, there were 27 reported sexual assaults in 2013 at MSU, from an enrollment of about 35,000 students.) In 2013, the university initiated what it called a “No Excuse for Sexual Assault” campaign, designed in part, according to the OCR letter, “to debunk common myths regarding sexual assault.” MSU “distributed posters with images and messages intended to dispel various myths regarding sexual assault”; handed out shirts, stickers, buttons, and brochures with the slogan at various university events; developed a “No Excuse” Facebook page; created a special help line for students who wanted to report a sexual assault; and translated all of these materials into different languages—including Korean, Arabic, and Chinese. Students interviewed by OCR recalled these initiatives, along with material from the two required training sessions on sexual assault directed at all incoming students. (Athletes receive additional training.)

It appears that MSU’s training is creating some myths, rather than dispelling them. In a survey of all first-year and transfer students, 74.9 percent (incorrectly) said it was “false” that “someone can still give consent for sex if they are using alcohol or drugs.”

Yet to OCR, at Michigan State, a “sexually hostile environment existed for and affected numerous students,” while “the University’s failure to address complaints of sexual harassment, including sexual violence, in a prompt and equitable manner caused and may have contributed to a continuation of this sexually hostile environment.” The agency seemed troubled by findings (from campus surveys) that students would be more likely to report sexual assault to the police than to the university office that handles college investigations—as if, somehow, this is a bad thing. The resolution letter also went out of its way to include extraneous comments from random students: “OCR heard,” for instance, that a student had reported being raped at a fraternity shortly before the investigator came to campus. Well: Had she? Though this information presumably would have been very easy to ascertain, OCR investigators seemed uninterested in finding out. Another: “Many students referenced a walkway on campus near the river (the river trail) as being routinely referred to by students as the ‘rape trail.” This sounds ominous, until OCR informs us that this reputation dated from events in the 1970s or 1980s—that is, before 99.99 percent of MSU’s current undergrads were born.

Finally, OCR considered it a sign of a troubled campus culture that “only 7.4% of students were able to correctly identify the name of the University’s Title IX Coordinator,” while “71.5% of the students surveyed correctly identified the University’s head basketball coach.” That this churlish item made it into an official letter from a federal agency is astonishing. Given that miniscule percentages of students know the identities of even high-ranking academic bureaucrats, I wonder how many students know the name of the MSU provost, or the dean of the humanities (who are, after all, a far more appropriate comparison group for the Title IX coordinator). It’s remarkable, in fact, that according to the survey, around 2000 MSU students know the name of a mid-level bureaucrat at their university.

And what of the language that “71.5% of the students surveyed correctly identified the University’s head basketball coach”? Michigan State actually has two head basketball coaches: Tom Izzo, longtime coach of the men’s basketball team (including in 2000, when his team won the national title); and Suzy Merchant, who in her eighth year has emerged as one of the Big Ten’s best women’s basketball coaches. The 71.5 percent figure obviously refers to Izzo; by describing the university has having only one basketball coach, OCR—the agency devoted to gender nondiscrimination in athletics—chose to overlook the women’s basketball coach to make its political point.

Policy Abandoned

In early 2012, during the course of the investigation, MSU abandoned its previous policy (which required a hearing) that vexed OCR, and replaced it with a modified version of the single- investigator model. Student allegations of sexual assault are directed to the Office for Inclusion and Intercultural Initiatives (or “I3”). A I3 investigator speaks with the accuser, accused, and any other relevant witnesses, looks at any evidence the two sides present, and then produces a report deciding whether it’s more like than not that the accused is a rapist. The accused student has no opportunity to cross-examine his accuser—indeed, he doesn’t even see the evidence compiled against him until the investigator produces his report.

Once the I3 investigator produces his report, the accused student can appeal to a hearing—but under very circumscribed conditions. At the hearing, the OCR’s resolution letter noted, “neither side can ask questions of each other”’—and the accused student now has the burden of proof, a burden that goes well beyond the preponderance of evidence. He must “show that the I3 decision was arbitrary and capricious or had procedural problems.”

Such a one-sided procedure unsurprisingly has produced one-sided results. The OCR letter reported that MSU administrators indicated “that they have not yet had a case where the administrator or hearing board believed that the respondent met his or her burden of proof.”

In more than three years, then, MSU’s procedure has never resulted in an accused student being found not culpable once an investigator has decided otherwise.

OCR’s response? Michigan State procedures tilt too heavily—in favor of the accused. The agency found “that the University has not provided a prompt and equitable grievance procedure for the resolution of student and employee complaints alleging any actions prohibited by Title IX.” Investigations, OCR sniffed, take too long—at 90 days, with an additional 30 days to write.

OCR also faulted MSU’s policies for failing to unequivocally state that “the University will take steps to minimize the burden on the victim” regarding “interim measures while the investigation is pending.” But, of course, while “the investigation is pending,” there is no victim—the allegation is alleged, not established.

Unlike the SMU and SUNY letters, the Michigan State resolution letter doesn’t explicitly endorse any new, troubling policies. But it sends a most troubling message: even a university with MSU’s one-sided campus climate, and with MSU’s one-sided policies, will be found in violation of Title IX by the current OCR.

DESPITE CRITICISM, APUSH IS BETTER

The College Board’s new AP U.S. history standards (APUSH) remain in the news. A recent piece by Stanley Kurtz suggests that despite the revisions, the standards remain unsatisfactory and will prevent the instruction of more traditional topics in U.S. history. A piece in EDWeek, on the other hand, has quotes from historians mostly praising the revisions, along with a complaint from a so-called human-rights writer, who suggests that the changes will “foster divisiveness” by failing to sufficiently stress racial tension throughout U.S. history.

A reminder on the nature of the controversy. The 2014 standards generated considerable criticism (including from me) primarily on four grounds, the last three of which I shared:

(1)   The guidelines inappropriately stressed liberal themes at the expense of conservative ones.

(2)   The guidelines sought to impose a race/class/gender pedagogy, to the extent of diminishing the role played by important figures in U.S. history, such as the Founders.

(3)   The guidelines’ addition of a unit preceding the British settlement of North America was faddish.

(4)   The guidelines troublingly conflicted skills with content, suggesting that students could learn a “skill” (such as reading primary documents) regardless of the content of the skill-related item.

I had argued that the second and fourth items were the most significant defects. The fourth brought to mind the dispositions battle, in which NCATE touted a skill “disposition to promote social justice” as a way of denying academic freedom the students. Similarly, the implication was that a student could master the skill through reading Federalist 10—or by reading the diary of an 18th century midwife, suggesting that the two were somehow of equal importance.

But the revised version of the standards, as I previously noted, eliminates many of these problems. The skills/content conflation is gone, and the standards add a section on the importance of the Founders. Language is toned down; one example cited in EdWeek is the cutting of a description of Ronald Reagan’s rhetoric as “bellicose.” I’ve probably used such a description in a lecture in the past—but guidelines should strive to be as neutral as possible in language, and the shift was appropriate. The inclusion of the pre-British settlement section remained, although this material would better be covered in a European history class.

Kurtz, however, suggests that these changes are little more than token. He makes three principal argument. First, he notes that the revised guidelines continue to give insufficient attention to diplomatic and military history. I agree. But, as Kurtz also notes, “The most significant changes to the APUSH framework are the removal of controversial phrases, along with a general paring down of the content.” Paring down the content means that teachers can—and must—look to state educational guidelines, which have a much greater role for traditional topics. I would prefer to see more respect for state guidelines, but that wasn’t likely.

Second, Kurtz cites the experience of an outstanding AP U.S. history teacher, who went to a teacher-training session and got exposed to a lovefest for Howard Zinn. I’ve no doubt that this occurred as described—though I’ve done many of these seminars and have never had such an experience (here’s a link to my latest session, on the Cold War)—but even if APUSH were wholly revised, a Zinn-fest would still be possible.

Third, Kurtz argues that the new guidelines insufficiently stress American exceptionalism. The problem here, however, is that this phrase has become quite ideologically charged. (For that reason, I don’t believe I’ve ever used it in my own right in a class lecture, though of course I’ve noted when figures covered in the class, such as Woodrow Wilson, have operated under such a theory.) There’s also no historiographical consensus on what American exceptionalism is, or whether it’s even accurate to say that it exists. Accordingly, I didn’t expect to see the term play a large role in the revised standards, and am not surprised at the outcome.

Overall, with the exception of the pre-settlement era addition, I continue to think the revised standards are a vast improvement over their predecessor.

Judge Ends Mockery at Chattanooga

Earlier this week, Tennessee Chancery Court Judge Carol McCoy overturned the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga’s decision to brand one of its students, Corey Mock, a rapist. The case attracted an unusual amount of attention.

Mock had been a star wrestler for the UTC program. His accuser, Molly Morris, had gone public with her version of events at a left-of-center publication. And Mock’s father was fired from his position as University of North Carolina wrestling coach after starting a blog defending his son. UTC claimed that performance issues dictated the decision; the former coach plausibly contended that the university, center of some of the most extreme victims’ rights activism of any campus, retaliated for his position on his son’s allegations. The case is illustrative of three important trends in the contemporary debate: the significance of the “Dear Colleague” letter; the dangers of the “affirmative consent” standard; and the role of athletes.

You can read the decision here.

The specifics of the case are typical; the two students met through Tinder, a social media site, attended a party together, and had intercourse. Both had been drinking. Morris subsequently claimed that she had been drugged—with the implication that Mock had drugged her—but had no medical evidence to corroborate the claim. Six weeks later, Morris filed a sexual assault complaint through UTC’s system. But the administrative law judge who heard the case, Joanie Sompayrac, sided with Mock.

Before 2011, that would have been the end of the case. But the “Dear Colleague” letter from the Department of Education’s Office of Civil rights required colleges to institute a de facto double jeopardy principle, and allow accusers to appeal not-guilty findings. Morris took advantage of this shift, and appealed to UTC chancellor Steven Angle. Angle made no decision, and instead asked the administrative law judge to reconsider the ruling. Sompayrac got the message, and on the basis of the same facts that led her to find Mock not guilty, she then branded him a rapist.

Mock appealed the new guilty finding to Chancellor Angle, but in December 2014, Angle denied the appeal. He did so, however, on a slightly different basis than had Sompayrac—perhaps because he recognized the weakness of a ruling that deemed a student guilty on the basis of the same 49 findings of fact that the same administrative law judge previously had used to find the student not guilty. Angle, for his part, argued that Mock had failed to prove that he had obtained affirmative consent—that is, that Mock, not UTC, had the burden of proof in the initial hearing. UTC hadn’t adopted a “yes means yes” policy, but Angle inferred it through various provisions in the school’s code, and in other writings.

In what appears to be the first decision by a judge confronting affirmative consent head-on, Judge McCoy expressed strong doubts that such a standard ever could be constitutional. UTC’s policy, she noted, “erroneously shifted the burden of proof” to Mock to prove his innocence. As a general rule, McCoy continued, “The ability of an accused to prove the complaining party’s consent strains credulity and is illusory.” How, she wondered, could Mock have defended himself? Through a secret video of the encounter? Such a policy, McCoy concluded, “is flawed and untenable if due process is to be afforded to the accused.”

Finally, one of the general claims about college disciplinary debates is that athletes receive special treatment. That’s undoubtedly true—for men’s basketball players and football players, in some circumstances, if they play for one of the top teams in the ACC, SEC, Big XII, Big Ten, or Pac-12, and if they’re good players. But the vast majority of college athletes are like Mock—participants in non-revenue producing sports. The idea that they receive favored treatment given the current ideological climate on campus, to borrow a phrase, strains credulity.

The Odd Sexual Accounting at Yale

Since 2011, as part of its settlement with the Department of Education’s  Office for Civil Rights, Yale has published biannual reports that provide brief summaries of each sexual assault allegation at the university. (Yale is the only university in the country to have such an obligation.) I’ve analyzed each of these reports, issued by the office of Deputy Provost Stephanie Spangler.

Previous reports have revealed such items as: the “resolution” of a complaint against a professor, whose chair then would “monitor” him, even though he was never even informed of the complaint; odd investigations based on anonymous complaints—and sometimes with anonymous targets; concerns that Yale was using Title IX to trump university members’ free speech rights; the punishment of a student that even Yale’s due process-unfriendly system had found not culpable for the allegations against him; and students charged under a vague standard that included “emotional or economic abuse” by “roommates.”

The newest Spangler Report, covering all incidents in the first six months of this year, has just been released. The report is unusually bare-bones, even by Yale’s standards, but it does provide insight on two broader statistical debates about sexual assault on campus.

The 1-in-5 Claim

Between January 1 and June 30, six Yale undergraduates, or 0.2 percent of the 2678 female undergraduates at the university, filed sexual assault complaints with the school. (Three graduate students did so, and there were three complaints filed by non-Yale affiliates.) Of these complaints, only three were reported to the Yale Police Department. (None appear to have been reported to the New Haven Police Department.) Three more were formally handled through Yale’s University-Wide Committee (UWC), a due process-unfriendly procedure that I’ve written about previously. In sharp contrast to past years, zero cases were handled through informal complaints, a process that doesn’t promise an accused student the right to present evidence of his innocence. (This is the process that ensnared former Yale quarterback Patrick Witt.) But the newest Spangler Report suggests that the informal complaint procedure has effectively been replaced by the Title IX coordinator, from whom seven of the thirteen overall cases proceeded.

To place that statistic in context: the majority of sexual assault cases in the first six months of 2015 were handled by a Yale administrator whose job depends in part on keeping the university in OCR’s good graces, and without any procedural protections, of any type, for an accused student. (Under Yale procedures, an accuser can still file a formal complaint after working through the Title IX office.)

What of the sexual assault cases filed by undergraduate students? One of the six, the Spangler Report reveals, was simply withdrawn. So the university actually considered five undergraduate sexual assault cases in the first six months of 2015.

Of these five, one undergraduate was found culpable of “nonconsensual sexual activity.” His punishment? Probation and received a written reprimand—making it hard to believe the allegations he faced resembled what most people consider to be sexual assault. A second case couldn’t be substantiated by even the Title IX coordinator. A third accuser made a complaint (of “sexual touching”), identified the alleged party, but then withdrew the complaint—after which point the accused student nonetheless received a minor punishment (having to undergo “training on sexual consent”). A fourth case is still pending. The fifth involved a case in which the person accused, who was arrested by the Yale Police Department, wasn’t a Yale student.

This list confirms Spangler’s caution that Yale defines sexual assault in a way that “encompass[es] broad ranges of behavior,” since the university “uses a more expansive definition of sexual assault” than does the federal government (or the New Haven Police Department). Indeed, of the five January-June cases in which a Yale undergraduate alleged that another Yale undergraduate sexually assaulted her, none would appear to constitute “sexual assault” as the term is commonly understood.

According to the university’s own figures, then, the 0.2 percent sexual assault percentage is, if anything, too high for the January-June period. The commonly cited 1-in-5 statistic, on the other hand, would suggest that there should have been at least 67 complaints of actual sexual assault—instead of, at most, (depending on what precisely was charged in the case involving the non-Yale accused party) one. As we all know, sexual assault is an under-reported crime. But it would seem there are few environments nationally as favorable to victims filing complaints than the Yale University bureaucracy—which, after all, dramatically expands the definition of what constitutes sexual assault and still can’t get anywhere close to what would be expected from the 1-in-5 figure.

The Reports and False Rape Claims

A robust debate (from which I’ve largely abstained) exists over the question of what percentage of college rape reports are false. But clearly some percentage are false; even the now-discredited David Lisak conceded the falsity of around 6 percent of rape claims. It’s plausible to infer that the percentage of false claims on college campuses would be higher than in the general public. A situation in which communities of 18- to 22-year-olds living together might provide motives for false claims that are less common elsewhere. (Consider the Amherst case: making an almost certainly false claim gave the accuser an excuse for seducing her roommate’s boyfriend to the friends she lost, and an opportunity to fit in in with her new circle of friends, who were extreme victims’ rights advocates.) In any case, there’s no reason to believe that false rape reports occur at a lower percentage on college campuses than elsewhere.

Since July 2011, according to the Spangler Reports, there have been at least 92 sexual assault claims filed by Yale students (undergraduate and graduate), along with 18 cases of “intimate partner violence,” which the reports started distinguishing from sexual assault claims beginning in July 2013. With around 100 claims, therefore, it stands to reason that at least a few Yale students would have been found to have filed false reports. Instead, since July 2011, there have been zero students disciplined for filing a false report. There have been zero students who even faced a hearing for filing a false report.

The current Spangler Report does, however, contain a first: the disposition of false report allegation. The outcome? “The UWC found no factual basis for the respondent’s complaint and therefore did not accept jurisdiction.” In other words, the student didn’t even have the opportunity to present his evidence in a hearing. This is one of only five sexual assault-related claims since 2011 in which the Yale UWC has refused to “accept jurisdiction.” The other four involved two cases where the accused student had already withdrawn from the university; one where the accuser hadn’t provided sufficient information in her complaint; and one where an accuser appears to have refiled a claim that the UWC already had adjudicated and rejected. The current rejection, therefore, is the only one for which the UWC declined to proceed because it wouldn’t consider the specific allegations made by the student.

This result isn’t in any way surprising. Enormously powerful incentives exist for universities not to adjudicate false report cases, ranging from the benign (a fear that doing so might discourage actual victims from reporting) to the less defensible (an administration’s fear of almost-certain protests from certain quarters of the faculty, campus activists, or their allies in the media). But Yale’s handling of this issue provides a reminder that in the university environment, there’s virtually no possibility that a student who files a false rape report will be punished. That the system, on the other end, provides insufficient procedural protections for a falsely accused student to defend himself dramatically increases the chances of campus tribunals rendering unjust results on this issue.

Finally, the current Spangler Report contains an item that illustrates the potential danger to all in an environment like the current one on college campuses. An administrator informed the Title IX coordinator of a “rumor” that a graduate student inappropriately “engaged in personal relationships with undergraduate students.” Again: a rumor. The Title IX officer investigated and concluded that she “could not substantiate the allegations.” But she nonetheless “referred the matter to the respondent’s supervisor for additional oversight.”

Maybe the student behaved inappropriately. But it’s possible that this was an allegation leveled with ill intent. Either way, Yale’s Title IX office took an action that at least risked damaging the relationship between a graduate student and his supervisor—a relationship that’s critical to the student’s future career prospects—based on what the Title IX coordinator herself conceded was an unsubstantiated rumor.