Image description: An image of university students walking up two stairs in a building that has grey walls. Some of the students’ bodies are blurred to indicate movement.
Drugged with ketamine until she was fully incapacitated, Jane Doe was then gang-raped at Cornell University’s Chi Phi fraternity house in 2024, she alleges in a civil lawsuit against the university, the fraternity, and the seven members she accuses.
As she describes it, she could not say yes, could not say no, and couldn’t leave. The case has caught national attention not because campus sexual assault is rare, but because of the revulsion it has provoked: the severity of the allegations, the institutions accused of failing to act, and, beneath it, a question the case has dragged out into the open. What happens when a person can’t stop their attacker, or tell them to stop? And who or what protects them when they can’t protect themselves?
The question is not unfamiliar to disabled women – many of whom rely on carers, aides, and partners to help handle their bodies. Women with disabilities experience sexual violence at two to three times the rate of women without disabilities, according to research published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine.
To be clear, the case itself is not about disabled women. But, it has revealed a human thread of vulnerability that weaves in and out of identity. Disability runs closer to stories like this one than most people realize: assault can depend on incapacitation, and its aftermath can itself be disabling. Yet disability doesn’t often come up in these conversations. So, we asked young disabled women in college how they’re processing the case, and what their experiences might add to the way we talk about assault. Here’s what they told us.
“[This case] reminds me that I’m less safe than I think I am. My university has these terrible posters in the women’s restrooms talking about how ‘consent can be withdrawn as long as it is clearly communicated.’ But what if I can’t communicate?” says Abby, a student at Indiana University.
The case has also led some students to consider risks that had never crossed their minds before. “I never even thought that my disability may be a vulnerability when it comes to potentially being a victim of something like this. Knowing that I don’t always sense every social cue or that I have a very limited physical capacity makes me anxious about what would happen if someone did try to take advantage of me,” says a student at Reed College who prefers to stay anonymous. “I likely would not be able to defend myself verbally or physically and potentially could be an easier target.”
“Last December, I was sexually assaulted and campus offered very little support, though it was off campus. My issues of concern came from the fact that it worsened my health and I’m desperately trying to get help from doctors, and being consistently ignored,” says a student at Washburn University who prefers to stay anonymous.
For others, questions of consent began long before college, in doctors’ offices and hospital rooms. “Been thinking a lot about how as someone who grew up very tethered to the medical system, I had a very warped view of consent because I had doctors touching me all the time without really asking,” says Daisy, a young disabled filmmaker based in New York City. “Ended up getting into a pretty bad relationship in high school as a direct result of that lack of understanding.”
As a disabled student and survivor of rape, Matilda has always felt unsafe at university and points out that traumatic events can themselves be disabling. “When I see people call for changes to better support victims of [sexual assault and sexual harassment], it’s sometimes hard when people don’t connect it to the broader struggle for better accessibility, [Universal Design for Learning], flexibility, case management, medical and counselling support on campus, all of which disabled students have been fighting for.”
