The sound of silence has a name.
It is synonymous with shame, and the Carolina Panthers know it. Apparently, they've known it for a while.
And now we know it, too, because of the fourth and final item in a series of findings in the investigation into former Panthers owner and founder Jerry Richardson, released by the NFL on Thursday afternoon:
"The investigation also confirmed that the Panthers and its ownership did not report the claims, or any agreements to resolve those claims, to the League Office and that neither the League Office nor the club's limited partners were aware of these matters until they became public in December of 2017."
Failure to report doesn't mean "failure to see."
It means failure to speak. Failure to address an apparent wrong.
The investigation found that not only were the initial allegations of workplace sexual and racial misconduct against Richardson substantiated and other "similar matters that have not been the subject of public discussion" found, all of this also went unreported by the organization.
Where are the voices? Who in that building could have stopped this, if they knew about it?
Who in that building could have broken the silence?
Outside of it, we know at least one alleged victim was angry enough to do so, if she legally could have.
Investigator Mary Jo White recommended to the NFL after sharing her findings that nondisclosure agreements that ultimately keep employees from reporting violations of the personal conduct policy, or any abuse by another league employee, be prohibited.
The league could offer no assistance to those alleged victims of Richardson who wished to break the nondisclosure agreements to help with the investigation, prompting one alleged victim to write in Sports Illustrated in April that the investigation was "a farce."
If real structural change that makes a workplace safer is desired by the Panthers and the NFL, they should listen to White's recommendation.
Nondisclosure agreements silence victims and reinforce the power of the abuser, especially if that abuser has substantial means.
They can seem like a way out of a harmful situation for a victim, but ultimately they perpetuate the ability of an abuser to keep hurting others without repercussions.
The abuse can only be stopped by serious punishment.
Sadly, the NFL's penalty for Richardson does not qualify. A $2.75 million fine levied against a man who just sold the team for $2.275 billion is nothing.
It's not going to help victims. Despite being nearly triple the previous league record for imposed fines, it breaks no ground nor sets the example toward widespread corporate protection of all employees of every race and gender, who might suffer from abuse.
The NFL's fine cannot take away the ripples of pain a victim feels every time they hear of a new perpetrator.
It won't lessen the looming shadow of Richardson's statue outside Bank of America Stadium, which the alleged victim in April's report said makes her "feel violated all over again" when she sees it.
It won't take back the suggestive notes she says Richardson wrote to her.
It won't produce the darker secrets that still hide in the silence, ones we might never know unless the league takes retroactive action to dissolve existing nondisclosure agreements.
And that fine won't crumble the systemic power that turned every head, closed every mouth as the abusive behavior continued.
But there is an opportunity for the NFL to make a difference. Prohibiting nondisclosure agreements between league employees is a start.
The monetary equivalent to a slap on the wrist won't do much to stall a legacy that has plowed forward, collected its billions, gotten shoulder pats, "tearful embraces" and sympathy from the commissioner and other NFL owners, and moved on without a word of public apology or repentance.
But a name is a tangible, lasting thing.
This policy can serve as an antithesis to the legacy of the man whose shame inspired it. It can personify a culture of silence, toxic and thick, and in speaking it, be a reminder of why we must break the silence to do what is right.
It needs a name that can serve as a reminder of what harm can come if we don't.
The Richardson Rule.
