Silence has a side…

I have been reading about the alleged sexual assault at Cornell University, and I cannot stop thinking about one part of this story: the people who knew something was happening and did nothing.

A former Cornell student alleges that she was drugged and sexually assaulted by multiple men inside a fraternity house. The case and the allegations surrounding what others may have known or witnessed have forced people to ask a disturbing question: How can people know that something terrible may be happening and do nothing?

The allegations remain subject to the legal process, and accusations are not the same as a finding of guilt. But reading about this case triggered something much bigger in me. It made me think about silence. About the people who know. The people who hear. The people who suspect. The people who see enough to understand that something is terribly wrong—and choose comfort over courage.

And especially, it made me think about families.

We often talk about sexual abuse as though there are only two people involved: the victim and the person accused of hurting them. But there is often another group whose choices matter enormously—the people who learn what happened afterward and decide how they are going to respond.

The family member who says, “I don't want to get involved.” The relative who worries about what people will say. The person who tells the victim to move on because confronting the truth would divide the family. The people who continue inviting the person accused of the abuse to weddings, dinners, holidays and celebrations while the person who says they were harmed is expected to sit quietly and watch.

What message does that send to a survivor?

Your pain is less important than our comfort!

It says keeping this family together matters more than what happened to you. It says maintaining appearances matters more than standing beside you. And sometimes the most devastating wound isn't only what happened behind a closed door. It is what happens afterward, in plain sight. It is watching people who say they love you laugh, eat, celebrate and socialize with the person you say harmed you.

Families need to understand something: neutrality can feel like abandonment to a survivor.

You don't have to be the person who committed the abuse to contribute to a culture that allows silence around it. Silence can protect it. Denial can protect it. Looking the other way can protect it. Protecting a family name can protect it. Pressuring a survivor to “keep the peace” can protect it. Continuing life as though nothing happened can protect it.

We teach children to tell someone if they are ever sexually abused. We tell them, “Come to us. Tell us. We will protect you.” But those words mean nothing if, when they finally find the courage to speak, the adults around them become more concerned with embarrassment, relationships, reputations and family harmony than with the person standing in front of them.

What are we teaching the next generation when a survivor speaks and everyone else simply returns to dinner? What are we teaching our daughters? What are we teaching our sons? And what are we teaching people who commit abuse?

We are teaching them that silence may be available. That people may look away. That families may protect relationships rather than confront painful truths. That eventually everyone might simply move on.

Families must do better!

If someone tells you they were sexually abused, listen. Take them seriously. Help them find appropriate support. Don't dismiss them simply because the truth they are telling you is inconvenient. Don't ask them to sit at a table with someone they say violated them simply because “we are all family.” Don't make the survivor carry the burden of keeping everyone comfortable.

And don't confuse silence with peace.

Peace built on someone else's silence is not peace.

The Cornell allegations have caused outrage in part because people are asking how others could allegedly know something was happening and fail to intervene. But we should be willing to ask that question outside fraternity houses too. We should ask it in our communities. In our places of worship. In our schools. And yes, inside our own families.

Because it is easy to condemn strangers for failing to act. The harder question is: What would you do if the person accused were someone you loved?

Would you still stand beside the person who says they were harmed? Would you risk an uncomfortable Thanksgiving? Would you risk upsetting relatives? Would you risk breaking a family tradition? Would you stop socializing as though nothing happened? Would you be willing to say, “I love my family, but I will not participate in pretending this did not happen”?

Courage is easy when the person accused is a stranger. Courage becomes real when standing up for what you believe costs you something.

Maybe it costs you a relationship. Maybe a family gathering becomes uncomfortable. Maybe someone stops speaking to you. Maybe people accuse you of dividing the family. But before asking what speaking up will cost you, ask another question: What is your silence costing the survivor?

That is where our principles are tested!

Sexual abuse thrives in secrecy. It thrives when victims believe speaking will destroy their families. It thrives when everyone knows enough to be uncomfortable but nobody wants to be the person who says something.

So this is my message to families: Stop asking survivors to carry your silence.

Stop protecting appearances. Stop treating the person who speaks up as though they are the person who created the problem. Stop asking them to sacrifice their emotional safety so everyone else can enjoy an uncomplicated holiday, wedding, dinner or family gathering.

And stop believing that doing nothing means you didn't make a choice.

When someone is hurting and everyone around them chooses comfort, silence can become its own kind of betrayal. You may not have caused the original wound. But when a survivor reaches for their family and finds everyone looking the other way, you can create another one.

Believe enough to listen. Care enough to ask questions. Love enough to stand beside someone when standing beside them is uncomfortable. Have enough courage to break the silence.

Because someday a child in your family may be deciding whether it is safe to tell you what happened to them.

Make sure the way you live today tells them the answer is yes!!!