We need to talk about rape. Again.

What was she wearing?”

“What did she take?”

“Why did she take so long to come forward?”

“What did she agree to?”

“Why was she there?”

These are just a few of the questions stubbornly resurfacing again and again in discourse surrounding the case of Jane Doe and the Cornell Seven, as they resurface in so many cases of rape and sexual assault. Such questions seem much more popular in such cases than questions aimed at the perpetrators and social norms that allow these horrific instances to occur:

How could someone do such a thing?

Why is there no fear of accountability, of social shaming?

How could one look at, talk about, another human being that way?

Why do we need such constant reminders not to blame the victims who are brave enough to come forward?

But truly, there is only one question that matters when we confront a situation like this one: Do we want to foster a world where women, girls and victims feel safe to exist, or a world where rapists feel safe to violate and harm others when the desire strikes?

Right now, we live in the latter. A world in which young men allegedly coordinate gang rapes in group chats while women are chastised for the lengths of their skirts, for missing the moment something gets slipped into their drink. A world in which shame is woefully misplaced time and again, falling on the shoulders of those tasked with protecting themselves rather than those they need protection from.

Onlookers to cases of rape and assault often enjoy pointing out the “promising futures” that will be ruined by accusations. All the while, the person standing up to make those accusations has already had their future derailed. Their capacities for trust, for intimacy, for feelings of freedom and love — so many of the things that we cherish in life — may never be the same.

Yet so many people fail to ask themselves what the victim must be going through, how hard it must be to relive the events of their assault repeatedly in hope that justice is served. Instead, victims are expected to be “perfect.” To come forward at the “right” time. To never falter on the minutest details while retelling events that trauma and fear have muddled in the brain. To convince the public that whatever happened wasn’t their fault, that they should be allowed to exist freely and attend parties and wear what they want without fear of harm.

And while victims face these impossible standards, they also often face harassment. Threats. They must look on as strangers on the internet pick their story apart, weigh in on it like they might on a football game, casually debating the logistics of their right to exist freely, to demand justice. They must try to protect themselves and their anonymity as people try to drag their names and personal details into the light. Those whose identities become public face scrutiny about their appearances, their wardrobes, their makeup.

It is impossible to heal in that environment, under those circumstances. And in that environment, the culture that allows rapes and assaults to happen continues to fester, to feed on itself. So we must have this conversation again, and ask ourselves the difficult, uncomfortable questions again. We must do these things so one day, hopefully, we won’t have to.