Weekend descended, somewhat reluctantly, on Cornell University.
As the evening sun set on Ithaca, N.Y., students across campus dropped their backpacks and headed for the doors. Some lingered over beers at quiet cafes. Others swiped on mascara and laced up their boots, headed for the noise of the city’s bar scene. Still others stayed tucked out of sight in the library’s dense stacks.
But by all accounts, it was a weekend like none other.
As new information emerged this week about Cornell’s internal investigation into allegations of a 2024 sexual assault on campus, the Ivy League university has been consumed by the incident, its tentacles reaching nearly every corner of the sprawling upstate New York campus.
A wave of anger and horror has gripped the school, as students question the university’s handling of sexual assault allegations against seven male students at the Chi Phi fraternity house, and what they see as its failure, both then and now, to properly meet the moment.
There have been public meetings. Event moratoriums. Informal gatherings of support. There have pleas for accountability and university statements that have only ignited more anger. And there have been conversations, seemingly endless ones, in classrooms and living rooms, over lunch and on the phone.
Earlier this week, fraternity presidents voted to suspend nightlife for the weekend, scrambling plans on a campus where Greek culture has long been a key, if troubled, fixture. Off-campus gatherings and trips to bars in Ithaca’s downtown lulled, too.
Still, after a week of revelations that seemed to bring the university to a halt, students, from eager-eyed freshman to world-wary seniors, grappled with how to spend their nights off.
“It felt like you had to take a break from it — the story has kind of been all- consuming,” Hal Stokes, a Cornell senior, said from his perch at a metal table behind Collegetown Bagels, a local hangout that serves food and coffee and operates a small bar. Mr. Stokes said he had come to the cafe with his friend, Anna Diorio, in search of a low-key night.
Around him, in a courtyard behind the shop, students chatted over glasses of pale pink sangria and plastic cups of beer. The mood was mellow, tired even, though still warm under the glow of string lights above.
“I think that it’s going to be a quieter year,” he said, reflecting on the pause on Greek life this weekend. “The vibe is different, at least for us. I would be very surprised if in a week, two weeks, three weeks, we were back to normal.”
“It’s hard to guess, though,” Ms. Diorio interjected. “Given how Cornell seems to respond to these situations, I wouldn’t be totally surprised if they didn’t enforce any regulatory things on Greek life.”
Nearby, dozens of students huddled together, debriefing the week. Most said that a sense of heaviness felt across campus had drawn them to their closest friends and roommates, rather than large parties. That, combined with the start of preliminary exams and the approach of fall break next week, had kept plans light.
But many said they couldn’t remember a weekend on campus this quiet — at least not since Nov. 8, 2024, when Cornell sent out an email alerting the student body that a female student had reported being sexually assaulted.
Despite the cloud hanging over campus, Ms. Diorio said she was still trying to find moments of levity this weekend.
“I really do think people are just, we’re living our lives,” she said. “Life moves on.”
One block away, on Eddy Street, evidence of that life was everywhere.
Outside two bars on the block, a growing crowd of students surged the width of the sidewalks, waiting to squeeze through the cramped doors. Young women in made-up faces zigzagged gleefully through the mass to find their friends. Young men waved vapes and, in one case, an inflatable beach ball, high in the air. They laughed. They gossiped loudly about their love interests and their hopes for the night.
The crowd, some students said, seemed larger than usual and more diverse. Members of fraternities who would normally throw parties seemed to have flocked to the area to blow off steam, as had several upperclassmen. The energy was high and tinged with a certain intensity.
“It’s so packed,” a group of girls could be heard saying as they made their way toward the gaggle of students.
In downtown Ithaca, where a smattering of bars typically draw students at night, things were notably quieter.
Just before 1 a.m., at Moonies Bar & Nightclub, neon lights flashed and bass lines rumbled into a deserted room. The bar is usually filled with students from Cornell and Ithaca College, which is a mile south of the city’s downtown. In her lawsuit, Jane Doe claimed she made an early stop there on the night of the assault and was served alcohol, even though she was underage.
But on Friday, two women, clad in boots and black outfits, bobbed and swayed on an empty dance floor. Two men floated around the room. A bartender said about half the number of usual patrons had come in.
“I’ve heard people say they’re being more cautious,” Sasha Belogortsev, a Cornell senior, said after emerging from Lot 10, a nearby nightclub.
Others said the sudden spotlight of national attention on Moonies and nearby establishments had made students more reluctant to visit.
Back on campus, outside the black-trimmed Tudor that was once home to the Chi Phi fraternity before it was barred from campus, a small commotion interrupted the quiet night.
A group of young men standing side by side stared up at the house, yelling and cursing at the defunct fraternity and the seven former members whom Jane Doe accused of assault. One of the men threatened to throw a rock through a window before his companions hustled him away.
The group moved on. But when they crested the hill, the man hurled a small rock down the center of the empty street.
It tumbled down, and down, past the thicket of trees, the house and all it has come to represent.
The post After Week of Turmoil at Cornell, a Heavy Cloud Hangs Over Student Life appeared first on New York Times.
