This Is Not About Politics

I have two things I want to say today.

I’ve been thinking about them for several days. At one point, I almost didn’t post this. That hesitation, my quiet internal voice warning me I might be criticized or attacked.

And then I realized: that is exactly why I need to say it.

There are many people right now who should be speaking up when something goes wrong. For a range of reasons, they remain silent. I’ve written before about being a whistleblower and the devastating consequences that can follow.

This isn’t that.

At this stage in my life, personally and professionally, I have very little to lose. What I’ve learned is this, regret comes from staying silent when you know you shouldn’t.

But there is something else I have learned, both from lived experience and from what we now know through research and organizational studies:

Silence is never neutral.

Silence shapes culture.

So here are my two points.

First

I am Canadian. I wanted both the women’s and men’s Olympic hockey teams to win gold. They both played exceptional games as did their opponents from the United States.

But what followed days later was something that felt both predictable and deeply disappointing.

The American women, athletes who have achieved extraordinary success since women’s hockey was finally included in the Olympics in 1998, were openly mocked by a group of men who behaved as though the women’s achievements were something to be tolerated rather than celebrated.

To the women of Team USA:

In that moment, you represented far more than your country. You represented women everywhere.

When you chose not to sit at a table where disrespect was being served, you showed strength without theatrics. You demonstrated self-respect without aggression. You refused to “play along” simply because something was framed as a joke.

That mattered.

Little girls saw that. Young women saw that. Women like me saw that.

You reminded us that dignity does not require permission.

Second

To the men involved:

Perhaps you hoped your legacy would mirror the 1980 Olympic team, remembered for excellence and character. But legacies are shaped in small moments, not just championship ones.

I lived a 26-year career in policing a male-dominated profession where, more often than I’d like to admit, I tolerated behaviour that should never have been normalized. I was frequently the only woman in the room. Support was not always there.

I dedicate an entire chapter of my book Tightrope to this reality.

Over the years, men have asked me, “How do I be an ally?”

Here is how.

When you are in a room full of men even if no woman is present, your silence is not neutral. It is acceptance. Full stop.

If you want to be an ally: Don’t laugh to keep the room comfortable. Don’t look away. Don’t rationalize it as “just a joke.”

Because when you stay silent, you signal approval.

If you want to be an ally: Say something. Do something. Stop something.

This is about all women, your mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, colleagues, friends.

Why Silence Matters More Than We Think

We often assume harm comes only from overt behaviour. But decades of workplace and social research tell us something different: cultures are not defined by the worst actors. They are defined by what everyone else allows.

When inappropriate comments go unchallenged, they become normalized. When disrespect is laughed off, it becomes embedded. When bystanders remain quiet, the message to the target is clear: You are on your own.

This has measurable impacts.

Women in environments where these behaviours are tolerated report:

• Lower psychological safety — meaning they are less likely to speak up, innovate, or challenge risk.

• Higher levels of burnout and withdrawal.

• Greater likelihood of leaving the profession entirely.

• Reduced trust in leadership, even when leaders personally disagree with the behaviour.

And organizations suffer too.

Cultures of silence:

• Suppress dissent and critical thinking.

• Allow misconduct to escalate rather than stop early.

• Create reputational risk.

• Undermine the very values organizations claim to stand for.

In policing, we talk constantly about courage. But courage is not only physical. Cultural courage, the willingness to challenge peers, is far rarer, and far more consequential.

I have since learned that five members of men’s Team USA reportedly declined to attend an event that began with mocking the women’s team.

To those five men:

You are getting it.

You demonstrated that character is what you do when the room expects you to go along. The world noticed. Women noticed. So did young boys watching what manhood looks like.

Because allyship is not declared. It is demonstrated often quietly, often at personal cost.

If you believe we’ve achieved equality, that women have made strides in inclusion, pay equity, and opportunity, then understand this: progress in public spaces does not always reflect reality in private ones.

Locker rooms. Boardrooms. Offices. Text threads.

Even in an age of cameras and accountability, people still reveal their true beliefs when they think it’s safe.

Let’s stop pretending everything is “fine.”

The moment we assume the work is done is the moment we discover we’ve simply become better at hiding attitudes instead of changing them.

When we excuse conduct as: “It’s just a joke.” “It’s boys being boys.” “It’s locker room talk.”

We ignore the very real dotted line that can connect that mindset to objectification, harassment, bullying and worse.

Small behaviours create permission structures. Permission structures create culture. Culture determines outcomes.

This is not a political post. This is not a post attacking men.

This is about women who know their worth and refused to diminish themselves and about the men who stood beside them.

I’ve seen many women speak about this. But what has moved me most are the men who have spoken up.

To those men: thank you.

You get it.

And we are watching.