Silence. Power. Betrayal.
Sexual violence does not happen in a vacuum. It thrives in systems—both formal and informal—that permit, overlook, rationalize, and even reward abuse. Behind every predator is a constellation of enablers: families who look the other way, friends who make excuses, institutions that protect reputations over people, and communities that choose silence over disruption. The predator may be the one who harms, but the enablers are the ones who ensure that harm continues. This is not only about individual failure—it is a deeply entrenched, historical system of violence that prioritizes power, preservation of hierarchy, and the comfort of the collective over the safety and dignity of the victim.
To understand how predators persist, we must first look at ignorance and negligence—perhaps the most insidious and common forms of enabling. There is often a willful blindness when someone we know, admire, or depend on is accused of harm. Many people, especially those in power, don’t want to believe what they hear. It’s easier to doubt the victim, to dissect their motives, to wait for more “proof,” than to face the cognitive dissonance of reconciling a beloved figure with violent behavior. But as history has shown—from clergy abuse in the Catholic Church to high-profile cases like Jeffrey Epstein and Harvey Weinstein—delayed action is not neutral. It is protective. Not of the survivor, but of the abuser.
Beyond passive inaction, active enabling behaviors also play a critical role. These enablers may not commit the abuse themselves, but they smooth over the damage. They redirect blame. They interfere with investigations. They “handle” the situation behind closed doors, prioritizing image, legacy, or relationships over justice. Often these are colleagues or family members who believe they’re doing what’s best, not realizing they are perpetuating harm. While many of these individuals do not start out as villains their absence from taking action is complicity.
Our institutions are not immune to this complicity. In fact, they are often the most powerful engines of protection for abusers. Schools that hide faculty misconduct, workplaces that suppress harassment complaints, police departments that don’t believe victims, and courts that issue lenient sentences for “promising young men”—all send a clear message: the well-being of the predator matters more than the life of the victim. These failures are not merely bureaucratic; they are personal betrayals that compound the original trauma, and often deter future disclosures. For survivors, the system that was supposed to protect them becomes another source of violence.
Cultural attitudes also fortify this structure. In many societies, including our own, there is a long-standing tolerance—sometimes even celebration—of male dominance, conquest, and control. Women, children, LGBTQ+ individuals, and other marginalized groups are often objectified, disbelieved, or blamed for their own victimization. In these environments, speaking up is not only discouraged—it is punished. Victims are shamed, ostracized, and discredited. Enablers, meanwhile, are rewarded for their loyalty to the status quo.
The psychology of enabling is complicated. Sometimes, it stems from fear—of losing social standing, financial security, or emotional connection. Sometimes, it’s a lack of moral courage, or an inability to grasp the slow erosion of one’s own ethics. Master manipulators—predators with charm and influence—rarely show their true face all at once. They operate gradually, incrementally pushing boundaries, testing loyalty, and desensitizing those around them.
In cases of high-profile predators, such as Epstein, power and narcissism draw in a different kind of enabler: the opportunist. These individuals may not abuse directly, but they derive value from proximity to power. Their concern isn’t with morality—it’s with status. Victims, to them, are collateral. And in a society where cruelty is often equated with strength, and vulnerability with weakness, their rationalizations are socially acceptable.
This normalization of abuse is particularly dangerous in pathocracies—systems where those with psychopathic or narcissistic traits climb into positions of leadership. The same mind control techniques used by cult leaders—flattery, coercion, isolation, fear—are also used by abusers and authoritarian figures to control and manipulate not just victims, but entire networks of enablers. The longer they remain unchecked, the more their behavior escalates.
Is there a path to dismantle the culture of enabling that protects predators and abandons victims? I believe there is.
First, we have to confront an uncomfortable truth: most people are not wired to be whistleblowers or change makers. It’s easier to look away and stick with the herd. But comfort is not a virtue. And silence, when someone is being harmed, is a form of violence. Systemic change is necessary, yes—but it begins with individual courage. It begins with speaking up, even when it’s hard, even when it costs something.
We must also reframe what it means to be “protective.” Too often, families and friends stay quiet out of shame or complacency, thinking they are “keeping the peace.” But what they are really doing is protecting a predator’s access to future victims. Survivors are not just hurt by the original violence—they are devastated by the betrayal that follows. When the people who were supposed to love and believe them choose loyalty to the abuser instead, the wound becomes a chasm.
The explosion of the #MeToo movement cracked open facades. It made visible what so many of us had endured in silence. It exposed the web of complicity that allowed abuse to flourish—from Hollywood to hospitals, from politics to private homes. And it made clear that this is not just about individual monsters. This is about systems—familial, cultural, institutional—that prefer the preservation of power over the protection of people.
If we are to build a future where survivors are heard and predators are held accountable, we must do more than punish the abuser. We must break down the barriers that continue to protect them. That means calling out enablers, challenging our own biases, and creating a culture that values empathy over allegiance. We must stop mistaking silence for safety. And we must understand that every time we choose comfort over truth, we are not just failing the victim. We are inviting the abuse to continue.
Sexual violence is not just about broken individuals. It’s about a broken system. And we are all part of that system—until we choose not to be.
