Know My Name

The Night of the Assault

In 2015, Chanel Miller was a young professional living a quiet life in Palo Alto. She describes herself as a naturally shy person, the kind of child who was cast as grass in a school play and grew into an adult who avoided drawing attention to herself. On a Saturday evening, her sister Tiffany and a friend invited her to a fraternity party at Stanford University. Growing up in the shadow of the campus, Miller felt at home there. She dressed in a charcoal-gray dress and boots, drank whiskey with her sister, and headed to the party.

At the fraternity, the atmosphere was loud and chaotic. Miller recalls drinking vodka and dancing on a chair before the night dissolved into a total blackout. Her memory ends on a patio near the house. While she was unconscious, she was sexually assaulted by a stranger. Two bystanders passing by realized something was wrong, chased the attacker down, and intervened. Because Miller had no identification on her, she was taken to the hospital as a Jane Doe, an unknown body found alone.

Miller woke up in a hospital hallway with bandages on her hands, initially believing she had simply fallen. She found herself surrounded by a police officer and a Stanford dean, both watching her with intense, worried expressions. When they told her they believed she had been sexually assaulted, she felt a sense of detached confusion. The reality of the situation began to sink in during a visit to the restroom. When Miller reached for her underwear and felt only skin, she experienced a brutal awakening. She noticed pine needles and dirt in her hair and blood on her hands, physical evidence of a struggle she could not remember.

At a specialized facility, Miller underwent a grueling forensic exam. She stood naked as nurses photographed every inch of her body, documenting abrasions with rulers and cameras. They collected DNA evidence, combed through her hair for debris, and performed invasive internal exams using chemical dyes. Despite the clinical and painful nature of the process, Miller felt a profound sense of warmth from the nurses. Their kindness provided a gentle armor that kept her from falling into despair. She was given donated sweatpants and a sweatshirt to wear home.

Following the exam, Miller met with Detective Kim. She walked him through the mundane details of her evening until she reached the point where her memory cut off. The detective informed her that two students had found her behind a dumpster and chased down a man who had been acting suspiciously. When he asked if she wanted to press charges, Miller said yes, believing it was a simple formality to support the police. She had no idea that this single word would trigger a legal battle lasting years, or that the legal process would soon make her feel ignored under the court-assigned name Emily Doe.