How Title IX Fails to Serve Its Victims Justice

My Personal Title IX Story

On May 11th, 2019, I was sexually assaulted in my own apartment with my roommates present. The person who assaulted me was a teaching assistant for one of my classes — a supposed “friend” who I had known for the greater part of two years.

What began that week was an arduous, almost four-month-long Title IX process. When I should have been celebrating my honors thesis, a presentation at a research expo, graduation, and other milestones in my life, I was battling post-traumatic stress disorder and bouts of spiraling, neverending depression.

I was terrified that I would not be believed, that my story would be one of many that fell to the side, becoming yet another statistic of a survivor who cried, “assault.”

But, the investigators listened to me, to my witnesses. He was found guilty on all counts: sexual harassment, sexual contact without consent, and sexual penetration without consent.

What came next, though, was like living and reliving the entire ordeal over again.

For the sanctioning panel, the complainant prepares a statement in which they appeal for certain punishments or restrictions to be placed on the respondent.

The following is an excerpt from my statement:

To the panel,

Thank you for listening to me. But there is no way to properly quantify the impact that this event has had on my life. . .

You are here to consider “the necessity of any specific action in order to eliminate the conduct, prevent its recurrence, and remedy its effects on the complainant.”

So I beg of you. Please do not allow this predator to continue taking advantage of women at universities.

Please do not give him the dignity to continue his career by saying, “I am a graduate of Northwestern University.”

Prevent this from happening to another trusting and naive young [student] like me.

Let the only statement that he can make about this school be, “I am guilty of being a sexual predator at Northwestern University.”

During the panel, I was forced to listen to him speak of how his childhood damaged him. How the “allegations” had caused him to reach an all-time low with his own mental health. How he’d attempted suicide.

He admitted to alcoholism. He admitted to ceasing drinking and attending Alcoholics Anonymous.

He did not admit to sexually assaulting me.

Instead, he explained that he believes survivors — “And if she says I did it, then I did.”

Not once did he admit his guilt, how he groomed me for months to be unaffected by sexual-themed text messages, how he’d gotten closer with me and my friends, how he had taken advantage of me that night.

A week later, when the sanctions were released, I rejoiced. For the first time in months, it was as if I could breathe. He was being punished. He would not receive his PhD. I had won.

EXPULSION. Effective immediately, you are expelled from Northwestern University. As a result of being expelled, you forfeit all rights and degrees not conferred at the time of the expulsion, your college will be notified of the expulsion, you will be withdrawn from all courses, and you forfeit tuition and fees. You must refrain from visiting the University premises except when engaged in official business approved in writing by the Dean of Students. You may never apply to be a student at Northwestern University again. This sanction will be noted permanently on your record in the Office of the Vice President for Student Affairs and on your university transcript.

But then came his appeal. The power I had gained, the satisfaction I had finally derived from this lengthy, triggering process — it was gone. Once again, he held my mental health and emotional wellbeing in his own, guilty hands.

Once again, he blamed everything except himself. An attempt was made to assuage the appellate panel that he had admitted guilt all along. This was not true.

He admitted that he came from a low-income background, that Northwestern University had an incredible graduate program, that he needed his degree to continue his career.

What went largely unaddressed was my own low-income background. That I, too, owed Northwestern for everything in my collegiate career. But, I had not made the decision to sexually assault another human being.

Weeks later — though it felt like months — the appellate panel concluded that the original sanctions would be upheld. That “this marks the conclusion of the case and all outcomes are now final.”

Sexual assault cases never conclude, and the use of “open-and-shut” language in dealing with these cases can be dehumanizing for victims. Overall, the process continued to show me how much power perpetrators have.

Despite being expelled from our University, his record is sealed. The man who assaulted me is protected by FERPA — the same law that prevents your parents from looking at your grades when you’re in college.

Without his explicit permission and consent, his disciplinary record cannot be shared with anyone.

His employer, who hired him while the investigation was ongoing, does not know the conclusions of the case. They do not know anything about it at all.

Eventually, down the line, they will discover that he has not been awarded his PhD. But how far — how long — can he go without it?

In his appeal, he outlined how without his degree his career as an educator is effectively over; how he cannot work at a K-12 school with an expulsion on his academic records; how he will never receive a tenure-track position without his PhD.

And yet, he is currently working as a professor at a different university. He is working with high school students, too, through workshops and a position with a local high school.

So what was the point of my Title IX case? Why are we pressured, by society, the #MeToo movement, everything — to report sexual assault to our universities? We want to make a difference for the people who may come after us, victims of the same perpetrator.

Title IX got me nowhere. It exacerbated my anxiety, my depression. It continually caused my PTSD — my assaulter — to rule over my life. I was afraid to report to the police for the same reason I stayed with Title IX; I thought that I would not be believed.

I thought that maybe my university could help me, and I was wrong.

My goal was always to protect other women, girls, and victims. As it stands, my assaulter is actively working with undergraduate women and high school girls.

I cannot report him to his employer, because his records are sealed. The trauma I experienced that day and every day since has been for nothing.

I have protected no one.

What else can I possibly do?