The Cornell 7 and raising boys in a world filled with casual cruelty
Xavier Mouton Photographie via Unsplash
The bar is higher now. We must teach our sons what real courage means in a culture that continues to demean women.
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At this point, tens of thousands of words have been spilled about the Cornell 7, the group of seven fraternity brothers at Cornell University accused of drugging and sexually assaulting a 20-year-old student over the course of seven hours in 2024. There’s outrage at the legal system that failed Jane Doe; there’s disgust with the power structures that allow some families and some men to face limited consequences for their actions; there’s a rallying cry to ban frats on campuses.
And then, there are all of the moms out there, at a loss for how to raise boys who don’t hurt women—and don’t stand by quietly when other people hurt women. Tomika Anderson wrote in Essence this week: “ I want to raise a son who understands that his responsibility to another human being doesn’t end with, I didn’t do it.”
Because it defies reason, right? How are we raising young men who, en masse, are comfortable referring to a drugged and incapacitated woman as sexually available in the crudest terms possible? Men who use phrases like, “shop still open?” to find out if they too can participate in her alleged gang rape? How is it possible that not one single student in the seemingly fraternity-wide group chat titled “Chi Phi Actives” alerted the authorities when that text went out?
It’s actually not that surprising; in fact, it’s the probable outcome of the systems that we have collectively built. The small gains we might have made over the years, in accountability for sexual violence, some movement toward gender equity, and in bodily autonomy, are slipping away. And they’re being replaced by casual violence, sexism, and normalized cruelty—all rewarded by algorithms that value reaction above all else.
We live in a world that normalizes cruelty
That idea of normalizing cruelty is what guts me — as a woman, as a human, as a parent.
Because it’s hard to imagine that those seven frat boys at Cornell came to their casual cruelty through a lack of choice and opportunity. They were at one of the best schools in the country—they had all the choices in the world and all of the opportunities ahead of them.
What’s alleged in Jane Doe’s lawsuit could only have taken place if the men she named had a casual disregard for her life, body, and autonomy. If they didn’t see her as equally human. If perhaps, they didn’t see her at all. We’ve heard so many times that rape isn’t about sex. It’s about power. These men allegedly exercised their power over a drugged and incapacitated 20-year-old. Eventually, two of them, by Doe’s account, intervened to “shut it down.” But not before seven alleged assaults. Not a single boy in the group chat was willing to give up whatever modicum of power and status he had within the group to speak up before the assaults happened, or call the police, or to remind the rest of the group of this woman’s humanity. Let alone to help her leave the house.
The internet is ablaze with women shouting for justice, for accountability, and for change. And for raising boys who know and do better. How do we ensure our boys don’t morph from sweet, kind, good boys into monsters — without our clocking it?
We must raise boys who don’t resent women
My own son is fortunate enough to attend an elementary school where the educators and administrators spend a lot of time thinking about how we educate young boys — both so we don’t leave them behind, and so we celebrate and elevate what is special about them. What’s interesting to me is that the divide between boys and girls becomes so clear during these years. Speaking in generalizations, boys wiggle and have difficulties with impulse control. Girls activate the communication centers of their brains much earlier on and clearly and easily raise their hands, do “whole-body listening,” and verbalize their thoughts and ideas.
From the perspective of my 1st grader, who has traditionally gravitated towards close friendships with girls, “girls are better at everything.” And I can see that he feels his own sense of inequity in this. Things are often easier for girls. Their brains develop differently. And sometimes, they are even unkind about it, and his sensitive soul explodes with the injustice of it all.
But it’s my job — perhaps my main job, after keeping him safe and fed and sheltered — to start to bring context to his feelings. I can’t allow this feeling of competitiveness or inequity to shape his view of how men and women should treat each other. I can’t let it plant the seeds of resentment toward girls and women. In the closed bubble of elementary school, perhaps girls have an unfair advantage. But out in the world writ large, the decks are stacked against us.
I’m starting to have some of these conversations with him now — not sharing the deepest depths of darkness out there, but using his obsession with Hamilton or his interest in Greek mythology to point out the power structures limiting Angelica Schuyler or Penelope or Eurydice from living life on their own terms. (Shout out to the Greeking Out podcast from National Geographic—their “oracle” interjects with asides observing sexism, racism, and other problematic behaviors in the most kid-friendly way.)
We must raise boys who push back against cruelty, even when it’s hard
But even more urgently, I see now that I have to talk to him about cruelty. We are making our way through the second Harry Potter book at present, and there are some teachable moments in there. The word “mudblood,” the treatment of Dobby the house elf, and Draco Malfoy’s reflections of his dad’s biases have been particularly fertile ground for discussion.
But just as we talk about inclusion — “If someone says you can play but your friend can’t, you have to just say ‘that’s not cool,’ and find something else to play. Because we take care of our friends and are kind to everyone” — we also have to start talking about cruelty. What it might look like, why it might be confusing to spot when others disguise in a veneer of casual fun, and how to tell others to stop — or at least walk away and find a trusted adult who can intervene.
This last part is essential, because group dynamic peer pressure is particularly powerful in boys, and it’s not enough to raise kids who know what the right choice is and can make it for themselves.
We need our kids to be active participants in this world who speak their minds when they see others doing something wrong, even when the consequence might be ridicule and social isolation.
Before I had kids, I would have assumed that if you inculcate your kids with a clear idea of right and wrong, and a strong sense of their own values, nothing like this could happen. But now I’m not so sure. I know for a fact that it’s not good enough to just lead by example. Don’t get me wrong: That part is important. But we also have to have hard conversations, and be honest about this world and its realities so our kids don’t come face to face with hard things unarmed with anything more than a Pollyannaish sense of good and evil.
Our culture, our political leaders, and our media are filled with ideas about casual racism, sexism, bigotry, and cruelty. The internet is vast and full of rabbit holes waiting to radicalize our boys, if we aren’t vigilant. And the power of a persuasive group of peers to a kid with a partially developed prefrontal cortex and a desire to fit in is unfathomably strong. So, I have to arm my kid with something even stronger than that.
I have to teach him about the specific cruelties of this world. I have to give him (age-appropriate) context. And I have to have deeply uncomfortable conversations early and often. I also have to recruit my husband into these efforts. And as I think about that piece of the puzzle, I’m deeply grateful to be married to someone I feel entirely values-aligned with. Someone who doesn’t casually disrespect waitresses or make off-color comments about actresses’ bodies. Someone who doesn’t have to put on a show of respecting women because he inherently does. But I also have to persuade him to be more vocal about what happens in gendered spaces from a place of authority, because I know at some point, my kid’s going to start to tune me out and say, “Mom, you just don’t get it.”
And as I look around at what’s happening in this world, I really don’t get it.
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