News Violence

Fifteen Adults at Penn State Knew About Child Sexual Assaults, Rapes and Did Not Act

Jodi Jacobson

Fifteen adults at Penn State--15 individual adults, all men--either witnessed directly or had knowledge of rape, sodomy, and assault of children by Jerry Sandusky and either did not act or whose actions were for naught. These include 12 adult men who were in positions of power, some of them members of law enforcement.

I am still processing and still in shock from the revelations coming out of Penn State this week.  And the more I learn, the more revolted I become.

Consider for example, that 15 adults at Penn State–15 individual adults, all men–either witnessed directly or had knowledge of rape, sodomy, and assault of children by Jerry Sandusky and either did not act or whose actions were for naught. These include 12 adult men who were in positions of power, some of them members of law enforcement,  who did not do anything to protect children raped and abused or to prevent other children from being raped and abused. I am trying to wrap my head around this.  I am not sure I ever will.  The Daily has a list of the 15 men, what they knew and when they knew it. 

They also have a timeline which indicates that reports were being made and investigations into Sandusky conducted as early as 1998 (perhaps earlier).  In 1998, for example, police listened in on a conversation between the mother of a victim of sexual assault, a boy with whom Sandusky took a shower, whom Sandusky “lathered up” and who then was “bear-hugged” by Sandusky. In the conversation, he admits to having assaulted this child. What do the police do? They tell Sandusky not to shower with boys. He says he can not promise not to do so.

It only gets worse–far worse–from there.  The list follows.

Like This Story?

Your $10 tax-deductible contribution helps support our research, reporting, and analysis.

Donate Now

15 ADULTS WHO KNEW ABOUT ALLEGATIONS OF SANDUSKY’S BEHAVIOR BEFORE THE ARREST:

Joe Paterno, the legendary Penn State University football coach who was in his 46th season, was fired by the school’s board of trustees Wednesday.

Graham B. Spanier, Penn State’s president since 1995, also was fired by the board of trustees Wednesday. He was told of the 2002 shower incident but did not report the matter to police.

Tim Curley, Penn State’s athletic director, is charged by the state attorney general with perjury and failing to report to authorities what he knew of the allegations.

Gary Schultz, Penn State’s senior vice president for finance and business, is charged by the attorney general with perjury and failing to report to authorities what he knew of the allegations.

Mike McQueary, Penn State assistant football coach, says he witnessed Sandusky having anal sex with a boy in the shower in 2002 and reported the incident to his higher-ups.

Jim Calhoun, a janitor who saw Sandusky performing oral sex on a boy in 2000, suffers from dementia and is not competent to testify.

Ronald Petrosky, another janitor, was approached by a shaking and crying Calhoun in 2000. He testified that the janitors were afraid they’d lose their jobs if they told on Sandusky.

Jay Witherite, the janitors’ immediate supervisor, was told of the 2000 incident and left it up to Calhoun to report it.

Ray Gricar, formerly Centre County district attorney, investigated a 1998 claim about Sandusky acting inappropriately with a boy in the shower. He disappeared in 2005.

Ronald Schreffler, a campus detective, was told in 1998 to close the case on Sandusky.

Jerry Lauro, an investigator with the state Department of Child Welfare, interviewed Sandusky on the 1998 incident.

Thomas Harmon was director of campus police in 1998, when Sandusky was investigated.

Ralph Ralston, another campus police officer, worked on the Sandusky case in 1998.

Dr. Jack Raykovitz, executive director of The Second Mile, allegedly was notified of the anal sex incident in 2002.

Wendell Courtney was university counsel during the 1998 investigation and remains counsel for The Second Mile.

________________________________

Follow Jodi Jacobson on Twitter @jljacobson

Analysis Human Rights

Living in the Shadow of Counterterrorism: Meet the Muslim Women Taking on the National Security State

Kanya D’Almeida

In a three-part series, Rewire will share some stories of the families of the accused and explore how multiple intersecting issues converge around allegations of terrorism in post-9/11 America.

This is the first article in Rewire’s “Living in the Shadow of Counterterrorism” series. You can read the other pieces in the series here.

For the past 15 years, stories of Muslim Americans arrested on terrorism charges have been splashed across newspapers and television screens.

Less visible, and largely hidden behind the headlines, are the families of the accused. Numbering in the hundreds, these families are living under a dark shadow, often in obscurity and sometimes in poverty, following trials and convictions that brand them and their relations as “terrorists.”

They say the label is heavy with stigma, almost impossible to shake.

Like This Story?

Your $10 tax-deductible contribution helps support our research, reporting, and analysis.

Donate Now

For well over a decade they’ve been challenging discriminatory policing, unfair trials, and draconian sentencing of Muslims charged under terrorism laws passed in the aftermath of 9/11. A once-scattered population of fractured families and organizations working on their behalf has coalesced into a movement, in which activists, lawyers, and scholars are all standing shoulder to shoulder with impacted families under the banner No Separate Justice (NSJ).

The movement’s leaders, by and large, are Muslim women.

One of them is Zurata Duka, an ethnic Albanian immigrant from Macedonia whose sons Dritan, Shain, and Eljvir were arrested in 2007 on conspiracy charges. Zurata lives in a quiet suburban neighborhood in New Jersey with her husband, surrounded by their grandchildren. But her charming home and easy smile belie the fallout from her sons’ arrest, which laid waste to their dream of putting out roots and building a sturdy future for themselves in America.

The Duka brothers now count among hundreds of people, primarily Muslims, prosecuted for terrorist activity since September 11, 2001. The precise number is difficult to ascertain, but a 2014 Human Rights Watch (HRW) report estimated that in the decade between 2001 and 2011, the federal government convicted approximately 500 individuals of terrorism, amounting to about 40 per year.

Informants, paid and unpaid, played a critical role in at least half of these cases, the report found. High-ranking government officials like New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie (R) also used these cases for their own political gain, according to reports. Often, allegations of terrorism have prompted the arrests of Muslim Americans like the Duka brothers, based on wholly fabricated plots, trumped up by federal authorities eager to show they are combating “homegrown terrorism.”

For the Duka family and many others, the HRW report only echoed what they’d known for years: that the FBI’s post-9/11 counterterrorism machine has slowly eaten away at Muslim Americans’ civil liberties and constitutional protections.

According to organizers with NSJ, this erosion amounts to what is essentially a separate justice system for Muslim Americans, one that runs parallel to the protections enshrined in the Constitution, and one that appears to equate adherence to the Islamic faith with a propensity toward violence.

In a three-part series, Rewire will share some of their stories and explore how multiple intersecting issues converge around allegations of terrorism in post-9/11 America.

An Accidental Advocate

Zurata Duka arrived in the United States in 1984 with her husband Firik and their three sons.

They moved around, living first in Texas and then in New York City, where the family added two members, a daughter named Naze and a fourth son, Burim. Eventually they bought a house in a mixed-ethnic, suburban neighborhood in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, which Zurata and Firik believed was a safer choice for their kids than Brooklyn, where they often came home bloodied or bruised from fights with other boys, according to the Intercept.

They did well, establishing two successful roofing businesses, which counted department stores, schools, and even the local fire department among their clients. To all who knew them, they were the veritable poster family for the American dream: self-made, hardworking, prosperous.

All that changed on May 7, 2007—Zurata Duka’s 49th birthday—when a team of armed FBI agents burst into her home screaming at her to get down on the ground.

She conjures up the incident like it was yesterday: “I was washing the dishes,” she tells Rewire in an interview in her home, “when I heard this sound like a bomb. I grabbed a chair because I saw people running in, and got behind the refrigerator. People were yelling at me to put the chair down, and then I felt a gun in my stomach.”

She recalls begging to be allowed to put on her head cover, and requesting a female agent to handcuff her. For hours she sat in the kitchen while the team ransacked her house. One agent seemed particularly agitated, she says, running up and down the stairs and asking repeatedly about her sons’ whereabouts.

Zurata says the years following her sons’ arrest have been a blur of caring for her grandkids and fretting over bills. The family’s roofing businesses, which once enjoyed six-figure earnings, have fallen on hard times, with only her youngest son Burim and her husband (who is pushing 70) to run them. An increasingly tight household budget also means that visits with her sons, who are flung across the country in various federal detention centers—Dritan in West Virginia, Shain in Kentucky, and Eljvir in a maximum-security prison in Colorado—are nearly impossible.

Zurata is also an advocate—though she never uses that word. Over the past eight years she has cultivated a close circle of allies who raise awareness and organize around her sons’ case. She herself has traveled the country speaking publicly on their behalf, often with her oldest grandchild in tow.

 A “Separate” Justice System for Muslim Americans

The No Separate Justice movement began in 2009 as a campaign around a Pakistani-American student named Fahad Hashmi, who at the time was being held in pretrial solitary confinement on terrorism-related charges. Over time, it formed a kind of umbrella over various groups and families who were challenging post-9/11 human rights abuses.

These included organizations working against police surveillance, like the City University of New York’s Creating Law Enforcement Accountability & Responsibility project; Palestinian rights’ groups like Al-Awda NY; the direct-action collective Witness Against Torture, whose aim is to shut down the U.S. military prison in Guantanamo; Desis Rising Up and Moving (DRUM), an organization of South Asian workers and youth; and nonprofits like the Center for Constitutional Rights (CCR).

Among them these groups’ members have decades of experience organizing around civil liberties, but the movement’s most active participants are women like Zurata Duka, many of whom had never known a day’s activism until the state snatched away their kin.

The FBI first learned of the Dukas in 2006 when an employee at a Circuit City in Cherry Hill turned over tapes of what appeared to be Muslim men shooting guns in the woods while saying “Allahu Akbar,” Arabic for “God is Greatest.” The Dukas themselves had recorded that footage while on a family vacation in the Pocono Mountains, where they’d also ridden horses and gone skiing. What had started out as a weekend of winter sports turned into a lengthy FBI investigation: Over a period of several months, the bureau went to great lengths to involve the men in a plot to attack the Fort Dix military base in New Jersey, enlisting two informants to secure recordings of the brothers’ support for the scheme.

As the Intercept detailed in a January 2015 piece titled “Christie’s Conspiracy”—about how Chris Christie, then the U.S. attorney for New Jersey, rose to prominence in the wake of Zurata’s sons’ arrest and subsequent trial—the informants never approached the Duka brothers directly about this plan, instead attempting to incite vague verbal commitments to acts of violence by showing them jihadi videos and playing tapes of lectures by radical Islamic scholars. Court transcripts and video recordings have shown that all three men explicitly rejected the idea of engaging in violence, repeatedly telling one informant, Besnik Bakalli, that “jihad” for them meant working hard to support their families, or fighting personal vices like greed and lust.

It is clear from the criminal complaint that the only link between the Duka brothers and the Fort Dix plot was a series of statements that Eljvir’s brother-in-law, Mohamad Shnewer, made to another paid FBI informant, Mahmoud Omar, in which he falsely claimed that the Dukas had agreed to the plan. These claims were subsequently disproved in court, according to the Intercept, when Omar admitted during cross-examination that the Duka brothers had no idea about the alleged plot to kill military personnel at the Navy base.

Though the prosecution was unable to provide proof of a formal agreement—written, oral, or otherwise—that showed the Duka brothers had entered into a conspiracy to attack the military base, the jury delivered a guilty verdict. Both Dritan and Shain received life sentences plus 30 years. Eljvir was sentenced to life without parole.

In January, they presented a motion for retrial based on ineffective counsel before New Jersey District Judge Robert B. Kugler, the same man who presided over the original trial and sentenced the brothers back in 2009. The case is still pending.

As the HRW report makes clear, the Duka brothers’ story is not an anomaly. By analyzing the U.S. Department of Justice’s public records, as well as data secured through Freedom of Information Act requests, HRW concluded:

All of the high-profile domestic terrorism plots of the last decade, with four exceptions, were actually FBI sting operations—plots conducted with the direct involvement of law enforcement informants or agents, including plots that were proposed or led by informants. According to multiple studies, nearly 50 percent of the more than 500 federal counterterrorism convictions resulted from informant-based cases; almost 30 percent of those cases were sting operations in which the informant played an active role in the underlying plot.

In some cases, the report found, the FBI “may have created terrorists out of law-abiding individuals by conducting sting operations that facilitated or invented the target’s willingness to act.”

Sting operations are the cornerstone of a legal strategy that groups like the National Coalition to Protect Civil Freedoms (NCPCF) have termed “preemptive prosecution,” which essentially licenses the government to charge and incarcerate Muslims who have never committed a crime on the basis that their very thoughts pose a threat to national security.

Preemptive prosecutions have given rise to a troubling pattern of innocent persons being incarcerated and families being separated, often in cases manufactured entirely by the government. Experts on “homegrown terrorism” say the alleged fear driving the counterterrorism machine is exaggerated. According to Peter Bergen, author of the United States of Jihad, the risk of “homegrown terrorism” is actually a lower-level threat than the dangers of gun violence or climate change.

In the years after September 11, the New York Times reported Bergen as saying, “an American residing in the United States was around five thousand times more likely to be killed by a fellow citizen armed with a gun than by a terrorist inspired by the ideology of Osama bin Laden.”

As the NCPCF documented in a 2014 report, preemptive prosecutions often involve material support charges, which allow the government to interpret free speech or charitable giving as “support” for international terrorist organizations; the use of conspiracy laws to treat relationships and associations as criminal enterprises, and their members as guilty by association; and the use of confidential informants to ensnare individuals in criminal plots fabricated by the government.

NCPCF Legal Director Kathy Manley told Rewire in a phone interview that of an estimated 399 terrorism cases between 2001 and 2010, approximately 94.2 percent were preemptive prosecutions, or included elements of that strategy.

By analyzing a list of the Department of Justice National Security Division’s unsealed terrorism cases, NCPCF researchers concluded that 72.4 percent of convictions between 2001 and 2010 were based on suspicion of the defendant’s “perceived ideology,” rather than criminal behavior, while a further 21.8 percent of cases represented individuals whose non-terrorist criminal activity was “manipulated and inflated by the government to appear as though they were terrorists,” according to the report.

Families like the Dukas say the legal terminology doesn’t come close to capturing the chilling reality that lurks beneath it: that the federal government is willing to tear asunder scores of Muslim-American families—whose members may have done nothing more than fire guns at a shooting range while evoking God’s name—under the guise of fighting the elusive threat of “homegrown terrorism.”

NCPCF is now in the process of filing commutation petitions—appeals for executive clemency—on behalf of ten victims of preemptive prosecution. One of these petitions, Manley told Rewire, involves a man named Shahawar Matin Siraj who was convicted in 2006 on terrorism conspiracy charges and sentenced to 30 years in prison.

Matin’s story represents a classic case of preemptive prosecution and illustrates how this legal strategy affects entire families.

Turning Mothers Into Advocates

Shahina Parveen lives with her husband, Siraj Abdul Rehman, and their daughter, Sanya Siraj, in Jackson Heights, a bustling immigrant quarter of Queens, New York. Anyone who has visited them knows the apartment is not so much a home as it is a workspace dedicated to exposing the truth behind the case that changed their lives a decade ago.

“You see all this?” Parveen asks, pointing to a stack of books and papers stashed in a corner of the one-bedroom apartment. “This is my office. I have read 4,000 pages about my son’s case. It’s all lies.”

She tells Rewire that when she moved her family from Pakistan to the United States in 1999, escaping daily violence in her native city of Karachi, she couldn’t read or speak much English. But when the NYPD sent an informant after her son in 2003 and then arrested him for allegedly plotting to blow up a train station in Manhattan in 2004, she forced herself to learn so she could understand how Matin—who had always seemed “more interested in video games than in religion”—had been labeled a terrorist.

Through reading court transcripts and watching C-SPAN, she learned the details of how an Egyptian-American NYPD informant named Osama Eldawoody befriended her son by posing as a terminally ill man with a deep knowledge of Islam. Over several months, Eldawoody exposed Matin to the results of the United States’ military exploits overseas, showing him photographs of abused Muslim prisoners at the Abu Ghraib prison complex in Iraq and eventually suggesting that they detonate a bomb at the 34th Street station.

Though Matin refused to plant the bomb in the subway, Eldawoody pressured him into acting as a lookout for the operation, she says. According to a report by the Center for Human Rights and Global Justice at the New York University School of Law, Matin appeared to grow more and more reluctant with the plan, at one point telling the informant he needed to “ask permission” from his mother before going any further.

At his trial, the report states, the prosecution sidelined Matin’s reluctance to participate in the plot and highlighted instead what they called his ”predisposition” toward the crime. The predisposition argument makes it virtually impossible for a defendant to invoke the entrapment defense—an affirmative defense in cases where the government induces a particular crime, through an informant or other means—because the burden is on defendants to prove that they lacked the predisposition toward certain criminal conduct. In terrorism cases, disproving predisposition is a particularly arduous task, given the triggering effects of terrorism cases, which often involve, according to advocates, federal prosecutors inciting jurors’ emotions by presenting evidence of the human toll of other, unrelated terrorist attacks.

According to the Center for Human Rights and Global Justice, the entrapment defense has yet to succeed in court.

A jury found Matin guilty and sentenced him to 30 years. He is currently held at the Federal Correctional Institution at Otisville in upstate New York.

For Parveen, the trauma resulting from his arrest and lengthy trial has been constant.

“The government made us beggars,” she tells Rewire, explaining that much of the Muslim community and large swathes of her own family shunned them after her son’s arrest. She remembers walking the streets trying to solicit funds to pay legal fees; she recalls her daughter, Sanya, being told by prospective employers: “No one will hire the sister of a terrorist.” Neighbors who’d lived side by side with the family for 15 years refused to even step inside their apartment.

“At one point, I was paralyzed from the trauma,” Sanya tells Rewire. “One half of my body just stopped working.”

One of Parveen’s clearest memories of that period is her family being arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement officials the day after Matin’s sentencing—possibly in connection with their pending appeal on a political asylum claim—and the 11 nights they spent in an immigrant detention center in Elizabeth, New Jersey.

“I saw with my own eyes how human beings are treated in detention centers. I saw a young woman being physically separated from her newborn baby, and it was like watching my own son being torn away from me,” she explained. One day, inexplicably, immigration officials separated Sanya from her mother and kept them apart for two days. Parveen remembers spending sleepless nights in the detention center, crying, and praying, until suddenly something inside her snapped.

“I had been quiet for three years, from the day my son was arrested until he was sentenced,” she says. “And I was still being abused. I told myself if I am going to be abused even when I’m silent, then I might as well speak out about his case.”

It was the beginning of a long commitment to activism that continues to this day. Through DRUM, Parveen joined the No Separate Justice campaign. She is a powerful orator, and though she personally dislikes the spotlight, she has become a prominent face in the movement against post-9/11 civil rights violations.

She attends vigils and protests. She marches at May Day rallies, keeping alive the call of justice for Muslim prisoners like her son. She is always a phone call away, ready to answer questions about Matin’s case, or talk for hours into the night about his “rubbish” trial. She is quick to get her hands on the latest literature relating to the national security state: She piles books, reports, and clippings from newspapers onto her fragile hopes that one day her family will be vindicated.

“Before my father died, he told me that this was my job now,” Parveen tells Rewire. “He said, ‘Nobody else is going to do this for you—you’re the only one who can fight for your son. I pray that people will show up and support you, but you’re the mother and you have to fight, even on days when you’re fighting alone.’”

She says he died the day before his grandson, Matin, lost his appeal. It was almost as if he knew, Parveen says, that they stood no chance.

“But the last time I spoke to him he told me, ‘No day is the same. Sooner or later, the sun has to rise. You have to fight until the sun rises for Matin—you have to stand; don’t fall.’”

Investigations Violence

Victims of Rape and Sexual Assault, Failed by Criminal Justice System, Increasingly Seek Civil Remedies

Sofia Resnick

Unlike criminal trials, which require the prosecution to prove the defendant’s guilt “beyond a reasonable doubt,” civil trials have a much lower bar, requiring only that a plaintiff persuade a judge or jury that it is more likely than not that the events occurred.

This article contains graphic descriptions of sexual assault.

Alfredo Simón, a former pitcher for the Detroit Tigers who is now a free agent, is big for a baseball player.

The 34-year-old stands 6 feet 6 inches tall and weighs 265 pounds, according to his official stats. Simón’s stature may be imposing on the field, but it seems even more so when reading through a civil complaint lodged in 2014 that accuses him of rape.

According to his accuser, the assault occurred when Simón was in Washington, D.C., playing with his old team, the Cincinnati Reds, in a game against the Washington Nationals. The 29-year-old woman, who in court documents is named Jane Doe, says she met Simón at a club, where she consumed several drinks and became intoxicated. Doe left with Simón in the early morning hours of April 28, 2013, and they started making out in his hotel room.

Like This Story?

Your $10 tax-deductible contribution helps support our research, reporting, and analysis.

Donate Now

But then things turned.

Simón, she says, held her down despite her resistance, and anally raped her. Each time she tried to flee, she says, he would push her back onto the bed. Doe says he eventually yanked her by her hair and ejaculated in her face.

A forensic nurse examiner recorded Doe’s injuries in the sexual assault exam she took at the hospital later that day. Four days later, Doe reported the assault to police. According to the court documents, the rape kit detailed vaginal and anal abrasions and anal tears—injuries that, forensic medical experts would later testify in the civil case, corroborated her story. These injuries were not, however, recorded in photographs. Doe declined the nurse’s offer to snap images of her injuries, perhaps not understanding their potential value in bolstering her version of events.

Instead, an image that did make it into Doe’s police file was a photocopy of her cell phone exchange with the friend she had gone out with that night. Doe told her friend she was leaving the club to go “fuck the baseball player.” In her initial interview with police, Doe explained that she had intended to have sex with Simón. But, as noted in her civil complaint, she withdrew her consent once Simón “started to get rough with her.”

Police did not interview Simón, according to court records.

Ultimately, the evidence gathered wasn’t enough for the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the District of Columbia, which prosecutes crimes that occur in D.C. The prosecutors presented this case to a grand jury, but notes from Doe’s police file indicate it was the U.S. Attorney’s Office that made the decision not to file charges against Simón, citing “insufficient evidence” and “good defense.”

Historically, that would have been the end of the matter, at least from the defendant’s perspective.

But Doe did not accept the state’s view as the final say on her case. Instead, she filed a civil lawsuit against Simón, claiming $10 million in punitive damages for assault, battery, and intentional infliction of emotional distress, and $5 million to compensate her for medical expenses and lost wages. The case ultimately settled for a fraction of that amount—$150,000, Simón’s attorneys told USA Today—and Simón did not admit any wrongdoing.

William Miller, a spokesperson for the U.S. Attorney’s Office for D.C., would not comment on Doe’s case. “We are legally barred from providing information about confidential grand jury proceedings,” he said in an email.

Legal experts told Rewire that by suing her alleged attacker in civil court, Jane Doe joined the ranks of a growing movement in the field of sexual assault.

Though there is no comprehensive national database that tracks the number of civil cases brought against alleged perpetrators of sexual assault, anecdotal evidence suggests a trend in the United States for victims to seek civil redress.

Every year, thousands of cases involving allegations of sexual assault are abandoned in the United States due to a range of reasons. These include lackluster police investigations, lack of forensic evidence, a victim’s unwillingness to testify, and, according to a recent White House report, because “law enforcement officers and prosecutors are not fully trained on the nature of these crimes or how best to investigate and prosecute them.”

Indeed, rape is notoriously difficult to prosecute and harder to prove. Even after decades of criminal justice reform and dedicated efforts from survivors and advocates, prosecutors are generally reluctant to go after alleged persecutors aggressively, often fearing they won’t win a conviction. Trials can also be traumatic for victims, who frequently face juries biased by cultural assumptions about rape.

“We [in society] generally don’t second-guess people who say that they were burglarized or say that their car was stolen or who say that they were assaulted, but we absolutely second-guess people that claim that they were sexually assaulted,” former special victims prosecutor Roger Canaff told Rewire in a phone interview. “We either are skeptical of the truth of the allegation or we look to blame that person.”

Unlike criminal trials, which require the prosecution to prove the defendant’s guilt “beyond a reasonable doubt,” civil trials have a much lower bar, requiring only that a plaintiff persuade a judge or jury that it is more likely than not that the events occurred.

For many victims, it is easy to see the appeal of choosing a venue where they are at least held to a more attainable burden of proof than in a criminal court. Sometimes they file a civil suit in addition to pursuing criminal charges, or they only make a civil complaint.

Civil rights attorney Gloria Allred, whose Los Angeles-based firm has specialized in representing women who have been victims of various types of sexual abuse and harassment, says she is seeing increasing numbers of women consider civil remedies as a form of justice after they have been sexually attacked.

“More and more, I think victims are very seriously considering the civil option, because it’s empowering,” Allred told Rewire in a phone interview. “You’re moving from being a victim to a survivor to a fighter for change.”

This shift in mentality is especially apparent in the civil claims against Bill Cosby, who has become the face of one of the most high-profile cases of sexual assault allegations in the past decade. Allred’s firm—Allred, Maroko & Goldberg—represents about half of the nearly 60 women who have so far come forward with claims, reaching as far back as the ’60s, against the man formerly known as “America’s Dad.” Coverage of the claims against Cosby has intensified over the past two years, but the fact remains that the fallen Hollywood star has yet to serve time for any of the allegations against him. Cosby faced his first criminal charges in one of these cases only very recently. Prosecutors in Pennsylvania charged him with sexual assault in late December for allegedly drugging and sexually assaulting a woman in 2004.

For his accusers, Allred says civil court offers women another opportunity for justice. And she says the civil route is empowering because, unlike criminal prosecutions where the state is in charge, civil cases enable victims to decide whether and how to proceed in their case.

“It’s the case of the victim, not the case of the people of that state,” Allred said. “As [people] see women standing up and not being afraid to fight back, it does have a ripple effect, and it does inspire other survivors to think, ‘Well, if she can do it, maybe I can do it, too.’”

Suing to Change the System

The trend of rape-related civil lawsuits has been building over time, as University of Arizona law professor Ellen Bublick documented in 2006. In recent years, increased recoveries from plaintiffs have stemmed from sexual abuse lawsuits against Catholic priests and on college campuses, with settlements for rape-related lawsuits often averaging half a million dollars.

Rewire’s review of dozens of federal civil lawsuits involving sexual assault filed since 2012—available in public court databases and the National Crime Victim Bar Association’s civil case database—indicate that outside of a handful of deep-pocketed athletes and celebrities, most sexual assault survivors are seeking damages from third parties. The trend appears to be especially apparent with complainants at schools and in institutions, particularly correctional facilities, where prisoners are vulnerable to sexual assaults at the hands of prison guards and fellow inmates, and often have little recourse outside of civil redress.

Perhaps the most prominent use of civil laws to win justice for sexual assault victims has been by college students, who have forced universities to take campus sexual assault more seriously via cases filed under a 1972 civil rights law known as Title IX. The law requires educational institutions to take proactive action to ensure that students are not subject to sexual discrimination, including rape or other forms of sexual assault, such as harassment and sexual touching—or groping—that falls short of penetration.

Over the past few decades, survivors and advocates have leveraged the law’s requirements in order to build awareness of the problem of assaults on college campuses and in public high schools. A glowing reception at the Sundance Film Festival of the documentary The Hunting Ground, about on-campus rape, has only propelled momentum for solutions to combat attacks at universities.

And student advocates are explicit about the advantages that Title IX can have over criminal prosecutions.

The group Know Your IX, started in 2013 by a group of sexual assault survivors and their supporters, explains on its website that “many victims of sexual violence don’t want to turn to the criminal justice system.”

The group states: “[Victims] may fear skepticism and abuse from police, prosecutors, or juries; they may not want to go through the ordeal of a long trial; they may fear retaliation from their assailant, who will most likely not end up prosecuted, let alone convicted; and they may be hesitant to send their assailants to prison. But even survivors who do report to the police are often abandoned by the system.”

By contrast, Title IX requires schools to investigate every report of sexual assault. And as with all other civil claims, the victim must prove that it is more likely than not that the alleged assault occurred, rather than that the crime occurred “beyond a reasonable doubt.”

Like Title IX activists seeking cultural change in the way institutions manage sexual assault cases, some victims have used a similar approach to spur action on the processing of rape kits.

Between 2012 and 2014, seven anonymous women from Harvey, Illinois, sued the Chicago suburb for the county’s failure to process and test rape kits that had been collected after they reported rapes between 1999 and 2008.

Like many jurisdictions in the United States, Harvey’s police had not begun testing the kits, even though they contained evidence collected from victims who had endured forensic exams that often last hours and can be invasive and distressing.

One of the victims, known as Jane Doe I, first reported being raped by her stepfather in 1997, when she was 11 years old. She submitted to a rape kit exam, which found semen in her vagina.

According to court records, Doe I’s mother reunited with the stepfather, Robert Buchanan, early into the police investigation, and asked her daughter to blame the assault on a schoolmate. Doe I recanted, as is common in sexual assault cases involving minors and family members, and police closed the investigation without attempting to match the DNA sample to Buchanan or to conduct further investigation, according to the complaint and subsequent court records.

In the civil case, Doe I testified that Buchanan went on to assault her for several years. She estimated that he raped her more than 100 times between 1998 and 2004, but her previous experience deterred her from reporting the crimes to police. Police tested her rape kit in 2007 and found a match to Buchanan’s DNA. City attorneys finally convicted Buchanan of sexually assaulting a minor in 2012 and sentenced him to six years in prison.

The City of Harvey awarded Jane Doe I $1.2 million and awarded the remaining six plaintiffs a combined $241,250, according to the Chicago Tribune. Together, these women, many of whom were minors at the time of their assaults, filed a total of three class action lawsuits that centered in part on the county’s failing to process or preserve more than 200 rape kits. Cook County prosecutors discovered these abandoned kits after raiding Harvey Police Department headquarters. Of these kits, only 50 were deemed viable for testing—including those of the anonymous plaintiffs in these cases—and led to charges against 14 individuals.

Monetary Justice

Toward the end of 2014, Mattie Bright desperately searched for a new high school for her daughter.

In November 2014, Bright’s then-15-year-old said three boys raped her in the middle of the school day in an abandoned classroom at Rosa Fort High School, in rural Tunica, Mississippi. Though police apprehended the alleged perpetrators, they returned to school two days later. One of the boys continued to ride the same bus as Bright’s daughter for months.

The criminal case is still pending, but last summer Bright sued the Tunica County School District in civil court, seeking damages to compensate her daughter’s psychological and emotional distress. Tunica is a rural town, and Bright cannot afford the hefty tuition of an all-girls private school, one of the closer options, said Stephanie Morris, the civil attorney representing Bright and her daughter.

The costs associated with this traumatic event continue to swell, Morris told Rewire.

“She has been severely depressed and having chest pains,” she said, of Bright’s daughter. “She needs counseling, extensive counseling. Quite naturally, this is something that affects women for years and years to come. Some people need counseling for the rest of their lives.”

While many states do offer some form of compensation to victims of violent crimes following a criminal conviction, they tend to only cover a limited range of expenses.

However, civil lawsuits allow victims to fight for compensation for the full range of their injuries—medical and psychological—and in that way, these suits can better reflect the true damage inflicted by rape and sexual assault.

According to the complaint Bright filed in August, she is suing the Tunica County School District and school officials for not taking proper action after the alleged rape occurred and for acting indifferently to the verbal and online sexual harassment her daughter allegedly experienced following the assault. The complaint claims that only when local media began reporting on the alleged attack four months later did the school take any independent action, firing two teachers and expelling the students implicated in the attack.

Katherine Kerby, the attorney representing the Tunica County School District and other school officials, declined to comment on the case.

Bright is also seeking punitive damages, as well as a requirement that the school district implement steps to prevent sex-based discrimination and harassment and to fully investigate these incidents as they occur. The amount of damages sought is unspecified.

“The school district was so indifferent to what had happened to this child,” Morris said. “So, punitive damages would be appropriate just to deter them from this type of response, or non-response, in the future.”

Entrenching Inequalities

While the civil route offers some advantages, legal experts warn that it cannot take the place of robust criminal prosecution. Not only does it fail to remove dangerous individuals from society, but it also only works against defendants or institutions with deep pockets, a reality that excludes the majority of sexual assault cases.

After all, civil lawsuits are only an option for those whose perpetrators happen to have enough money to make them worth suing, a glaring inequality that lawyers and experts say will limit the extent to which civil action can be used to combat sexual assault.

University of Oregon law professor Tom Lininger in his 2008 Duke Law Journal article “Is It Wrong to Sue for Rape?” argues that lower-income defendants are more likely to serve time than rich defendants, who are more likely to pay for their crimes in civil courts.

Allred says that inequality is simply an unfortunate reality of an imperfect system.

“As the old saying goes, ‘You can’t get blood out of a stone,’” she said. “You know, is it worth it to spend hundreds of hours in a civil lawsuit against a perpetrator who has no assets? Where is the justice in the end?”

For LW, a resident of Washington, D.C., the fact that her alleged attacker did not have substantial assets was just one of the factors that ruled out civil proceedings in her case.

In an interview with Rewire, LW, who asked to be identified by her initials, said she was drugged and raped by a man she met at a concert in October 2012. She said the man, a friend of a friend, offered her a vodka and Red Bull, which, she said, knocked her out almost immediately.

LW said she awoke the next morning to a bed covered in vomit and blood, faded memories, and the realization that she was no longer a virgin. LW was convinced she had a solid case, a prime piece of evidence being that her rape kit matched the offender’s semen.

LW’s victims’ rights attorney, Bridgette Stumpf, confirmed the facts LW laid out about her case with Rewire but said she could not reveal any privileged information about her client’s case. Stumpf is the co-founder and co-executive director of the Network for Victim Recovery of DC, a nonprofit that since 2012 has offered free legal, case-management, and advocacy services to all victims of crimes in the District.

LW said the U.S. Attorney’s Office told her in July 2014 that her case was not strong enough to go trial. Months later, after filing a Freedom of Information Act request for LW’s police file, Stumpf and LW learned that her alleged rapist had changed his story. Initially, he denied raping LW and claimed he had simply brought her home. But when told his semen was found in a rape kit, LW said, he shifted his story, claiming they had had consensual sex. The U.S. Attorney’s Office declined to comment on LW’s case.

LW seriously considered filing a civil lawsuit against the alleged attacker but ultimately decided against it.

“I decided it wasn’t for me,” LW said in a recent email. “It may seem that civil suits are ‘easier’ to win and are better at getting justice, but that comes with a price tag. The cases can be dragged out for a long time, the victim is put through intense questioning, sometimes even psych evals, and you have to re-live the whole experience. Plus, in a civil case, it is all about punitive damages. Most perpetrators don’t have money to pay to the victim, let alone anything else that you could sue for.”

And on top of that, even a successful civil suit would have failed to deliver the results LW said she most wanted. LW, like other rape survivors who spoke to Rewire, believes her alleged attacker has likely assaulted other women, or will again. LW is not alone in this thinking. Sexual assault researchers have found that many rapists, including so-called date or acquaintance rapists, are repeat offenders.

“For me, I realized that what I wanted most was for my perpetrator to face criminal charges,” she said. “I wanted him to get jail time and be registered as a sex offender, and have his DNA in CODIS [the FBI’s national criminal database]. The statute in DC for criminal charges in rape cases is 15 years. I have hope that one day, my perpetrator will face criminal charges for the rapes he has committed, but civil charges wouldn’t help me sleep at night.”