There is a glaring inconsistency in American law: while murder has no statute of limitations in most states, child sexual abuse often does. This means that a person who commits the most heinous crime—raping a child—can escape prosecution if enough time passes, a protection not afforded to murderers. This disparity persists despite widespread agreement across the political spectrum that child rape is among the worst offenses imaginable.
In 2008, the Supreme Court struck down the death penalty for child rape in Kennedy v. Louisiana, but Justice Samuel Alito's dissent argued that “in the eyes of ordinary Americans, the very worst child-rapists are the epitome of moral depravity.” Then-candidate Barack Obama echoed that sentiment, acknowledging the severity of the crime. Yet, in more than half of U.S. states, civil and criminal statutes of limitations for child sexual abuse are tied to the victim's age, often expiring by the time the victim reaches 24 to 55 years old. Once that deadline passes, survivors lose the ability to bring charges—and in some cases, speaking out can expose them to defamation lawsuits.
This legal framework ignores the reality of how survivors cope. Studies show that more than half of victims do not come forward until after age 50. Abusers often threaten children with dire consequences if they tell, and the shame and trauma can silence them for decades. Unlike murder, where a body triggers an investigation, child sexual abuse requires the victim to report the crime themselves—often while still under the abuser's control.
Lara St. John, a violinist and filmmaker, knows this firsthand. At age 14, she was raped by her violin professor at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. She stayed silent for months, then asked the dean for a different teacher—only to be dismissed. After a suicide attempt, she left the school. It wasn't until 2019, decades later, that she went public in a Philadelphia Inquirer cover story. Pennsylvania had just extended the statute of limitations to age 55, but only for new cases. For St. John, the deadline had passed when she was 16—just two years after the assault—when she was emotionally and financially broken.
Child rapists are acutely aware of these legal loopholes. They target vulnerable children and exploit the system's gaps. Institutions that harbor abusers also understand exactly how little they are required to do under existing laws. This is why federal legislation is necessary to close these loopholes and harmonize the patchwork of state statutes that currently protect predators.
There is no moral ambiguity here. No one can justify raping a child, while murder can sometimes be legally defensible (e.g., self-defense). The only opposition to reform comes from narrow institutional interests seeking to limit their financial liability. That is not a legitimate reason to shield criminals.
Congress must act. Survivors deserve the same chance at justice as the families of murder victims. The current system is a betrayal of the public trust and a failure of political will.
As St. John's documentary Dear Lara highlights, the time for change is now. Lawmakers should heed the consensus across the aisle and eliminate these arbitrary barriers once and for all.
