"Everybody Knew" vs. "Not My Story To Tell"

Earlier this week, a flurry of sexual misconduct allegations emerged against Democratic Rep. (and California gubernatorial candidate) Eric Swalwell, including at least one woman (a former staffer) who alleges that Swalwell raped her while she was intoxicated.

I don't think there's any question that Swalwell must drop his campaign for Governor and resign from the House. Testimony is evidence, and a bunch of people have now come forward to testify as to a pattern of misconduct by Swalwell. In a court of law, it's possible that more evidence would be necessary to secure a conviction, but the assignment of political power and opportunities does not and should not obey the federal rules of evidence. I have no interest in dwelling on this point beyond that.

Shortly after the story broke, I saw several journalists and DC insiders immediately chime in with some version of "open secret" or "everybody knew". And that, in turn, caused many people to emit the "hmm" emoji, since if all these journalists and insiders already knew ... why wasn't the story ever reported? To that, the counternarrative I heard (ironically, from someone who was giving "hmm" vibes but also was trying to cabin it) was a variation of "not my story to tell." The women in question had told the stories, but in confidence; they had made clear (up until now) that they did not want to go public, and the persons they told it to felt obliged to respect that choice. 

And so we face a quandary: when nobody talks about what everybody knows, therein lies the space for known abusers to run free. But to take it upon oneself to override the wishes of the victim and put them and their trauma under an inevitably horrible spotlight -- that is a great and terrible thing to do. I don't think the confidant's silence can be chalked up always or solely to a desire to preserve an omerta protecting the powers-that-be. There's more to it than that.

So how do we resolve that quandary? What are our instincts as between the competing force of "everybody knew" and "not my story to tell"? Kate Manne in her work has written about her own experience being abused by a powerful older man, how she begged those she confided in not to pursue, and how now, in hindsight, she wishes that her confidants had not listened to her and spoken out. That instinct, perhaps, is what motivates mandatory reporting laws (such as the ones professors like myself are often subject to). Without necessarily disagreeing with her stance, the issues no doubt land differently for the victim in the moment or in hindsight versus the confidant they report to.

Anyway, I'm curious what others think on this, and how it should be resolved.