Whatever his position on transgenders, Chirayu Rana, the Indian who claims a female executive at JPMorgan made him her “sex slave,” must be wishing he could change his gender right about now. No sooner had he filed a sexual harassment complaint against Lorna Hajdini than the media tore him to shreds.
This is something new. The media have believed way more laughable stories than his.
In fact, we seem to be living through the Golden Age of women being canonized for falsely accusing men of rape, specifically white men—white lacrosse players, white military contractors, white frat boys at the University of Virginia, a white guy at Columbia University, and a white appellate court judge. (From the episodes involving Duke men’s lacrosse, Jamie Leigh Jones, Rolling Stone’s fraternity gang rape, Mattress Girl, and Judge Brett Kavanaugh, respectively.)
Today’s rape hoax trend kicked off in 2006, when a black stripper claimed that white members of the Duke lacrosse team had gang-raped her. The media, the professoriate, and the Democratic Party yipped for joy. This was just the story they’d been waiting for!
Newsweek instantly slapped mugshots of the accused on its cover. Time magazine ran an article titled “Fraternity of Silence,” claiming—falsely—that the players had “formed a Blue line of sorts and stayed mum.” (The article was written by Sean Gregory, who remains a sports correspondent at Time.)
Even after it was known that none of the lacrosse players’ DNA matched that found on the accuser, Time was still droning on about the “classic American sex story: the pretty female slave being summoned up to the big house to sexually satisfy the master.” (Author: Jeninne Lee-St. John, currently editor-in-chief, Travel + Leisure, Southeast Asia.)
Until the bitter end, the New York Times sourced all its information to the prosecutor, Mike Nifong; the lead investigator, Sgt. Mark Gottlieb; and the stripper herself, Crystal Mangum. The paper only began to have doubts around the time Nifong was disbarred and jailed and Mangum stabbed her boyfriend to death. Gottlieb was later forced to quit and committed suicide, (That’s a dinner party!)
Say, aren’t there any executives at JPMorgan who played lacrosse at Duke? Perhaps it would have been wiser if Rana had accused one of those guys.
Naysayers scoff at his allegation that he was drugged with Rohypnol and Viagra before being raped.
The media aren’t usually so untrusting. In 2008, the Times put on its front page Jamie Leigh Jones’s story about being drugged with Rohypnol, beaten, and gang-raped while working for a military contractor in Iraq. Adding to her credibility, she said that, in retaliation for reporting the rape, the contractor locked her in a shipping container guarded by men with machine guns, with no food or water, for 24 hours. (Did they think she’d never go home and tell people?)
So her story had the ring of truth. A violent gang-rape had somehow morphed into the world’s most awesome episode of Storage Wars. Soon, there were sensational reports on Jones’s ordeal on ABC’s 20/20, CNN, CBS News’ The Early Show, MSNBC, National Public Radio, etc. etc., etc.
Why can’t Rana get any reporters to bleat with sympathy about him?
In response to Jones’s allegations, Sen. Al Franken—scourge of male predators everywhere!—pushed an amendment that made it easier to sue military contractors. Any Republicans brave enough to vote against it were labeled “pro-rape.” Can’t Rana get a minor banking regulation passed in his name?
(Update: It turned out Jones made the whole thing up, and was eventually ordered to pay $145,000 in court costs.)
Mattress Girl, aka the Columbia University coed Emma Sulkowicz, got rebuffed by her occasional sex partner, Paul Nungesser, despite sending him such alluring texts as “f— me in the butt” and “i’ve officially had sex with all of [John Doe’]s best friends. . . got very drunk – well anyways – now i have an std”—plus endless, unreciprocated declarations of her “wuv.”
She then filed a misconduct report, accusing Nungesser of sexual assault, and proceeded to carry a mattress on her back for the remainder of her time at Columbia, which constituted her senior thesis. (Seriously.) For this stunning act of bravery, she was fawned over by the Times (“analogies to the Stations of the Cross may come to mind”) and invited by Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand to President Barack Obama’s State of the Union address. After a thorough investigation, the university ended up issuing a statement fulsomely praising Sulkowicz’s alleged rapist and paying him a “very satisfactory” settlement.
Has Gillibrand heard about Rana?
His allegation that Hajdini lifted her shirt and said, “I bet your little Asian, fish head, wife doesn’t have these cannons,” strikes some observers as extremely unlikely.
But that vignette has the feel of Revealed Truth compared to Sabrina Rubin Erdley’s 2014 Rolling Stone article about a fraternity gang rape at the University of Virginia. The anonymous accuser, “Jackie,” claimed she’d been gang-raped for three hours on a floor covered with broken glass. (So, on top of everything else, her attackers were in violation of UVA’s glass recycling policy.)
They also sodomized her with a beer bottle. But she said her friends told her not to go to the hospital because they were worried about not being invited to any more frat parties.
Not convinced? In paragraph five, Jackie is claiming that, as her assailants were pinning her to the floor, one shouted, “Grab its …leg!”
That was the moment when every person who is not a Gender Studies major realized, this is complete horsesh!t. Even the Cultural Anthropology majors didn’t buy it.
Astonishingly, the Times believed it for only two weeks.
Resolutely ignoring every preposterosity about the story, Anna Merlan at Jezebel and Katie McDonough at Salon defended Erdley, attacking doubters as “idiot[s]” and perpetrators of “male sexual entitlement and a culture that protects and enables predators.” (Today, Merlan is a senior reporter at Mother Jones, and McDonough is a senior editor at Curbed.)
Unlike Jackie, who was allowed to remain anonymous, despite her word being the entire basis for Rolling Stone’s defamatory story, we got Rana’s name within hours. (To be fair, “Chirayu Doe” might not have helped much.)
When Christine Blasey Ford tried to torpedo Brett Kavanaugh’s 2018 nomination to the Supreme Court by claiming he’d raped her 35 years earlier at an unspecified high school party, on an unspecified date, all of liberal America stood and applauded.
I’ve been waiting my whole life to unburden myself about what happened that night in 1981, 1982, or 1983. I was at a party, I don’t remember where, in a bathroom—I’m not sure if it was a bathroom, but it definitely had a door. And a ceiling and a floor-ish kind of thing. I just remember thinking “I’m in an enclosed space,” which is why I’ve needed two front doors ever since.
All the usual idiots demanded that the FBI “investigate” Blasey Ford’s accusation.
What exactly would an investigation look like? Was the FBI supposed to go door to door in Northern Virginia and ask everyone who went to high school in the early 1980s, “Do you remember any kind of party?”
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No one was saying, “Wait a minute —this is completely idiotic.” Rather, the consensus was that Blasey Ford had courage up the ying-yang. Does she have police protection? Why has the military not been deployed to guard her?
As ridiculous a creature as Rana is, he’s got to be wondering, where’d all the stout defenders of fake rape victims go?
COPYRIGHT 2026 ANN COULTER
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