They Are a Force. He Is Nothing. And Now?

“I just signed your death warrant,” Judge Aquilina said. To the women who offered their accounts in her courtroom, she said: “You are no longer victims. You are survivors.”

Had Judge Aquilina described the women as “champions,” I don’t think anyone would have argued. After all, the hammer on Nassar started falling years ago, when a small group of women began bravely speaking out. They persisted even as the institutions in power seemed disinclined to act. The candor of these women—and the work of The Indianapolis Star, and reporters like the Journal’s Rebecca Davis O’Brien and Louise Radnofsky—would eventually push a staggering case of sexual abuse into public.

One-hundred and fifty-six women wound up offering testimony. Survivor after survivor stood up, faced their former doctor, and explained, often in heartbreaking detail, what he had done, how he had repeatedly violated their bodies and trust.

But as they articulated why Nassar deserved to be punished to the fullest extent possible, they also pointed out that he had failed, because he was sitting there, banished, a shell in a jumpsuit, and they were there, in the open, survivors, still rising.

“This group of women you so heartlessly abused over such a long period of time—are now a force, and you are nothing,” Olympic gymnast Aly Raisman testified. “The tables have turned, Larry. We are here, we have our voices and we are not going anywhere.”

The final testimony came from Rachael Denhollander, the first gymnast to come forward and tell what Nassar had done.

“How much is a little girl worth?” Denhollander asked—not just to the courtroom, but to everyone watching the proceedings.

“This is what it looks like when the adults in authority do not respond properly to disclosures of sexual assault,” Denhollander continued. “This is what it looks like when institutions create a culture where a predator can flourish unafraid and unabated.”

If you haven’t seen Denhollander deliver her remarks, I urge you to. It is a staggering moment of courage.

“Your sister survivors and I thank you,” Judge Aquilina said to Denhollander. “You are the bravest person I have ever had in my courtroom.”

There is a tendency to view a sentencing in a criminal trial as a moment of triumph, a measure of closure for the survivor of a crime. I think it’s wiser to never dictate how a survivor should respond. Justice is complicated emotion, often never truly “closed.” I think that’s what Biles—who did not testify, but revealed her own abuse by Nassar in a statement last week—was getting at with those tweets early Thursday. How could anyone not be torn that way—simultaneously empowered by strength of women who brought a monster to justice, but also grieving at the damage done?

Meanwhile, the institutions that employed Nassar—and, athletes like Raisman have charged, prevaricated when allegations were raised—are starting to crumble. Over the weekend came news that three members of the board at USA Gymnastics resigned. “This step will allow us to more effectively move forward in implementing change within our organization,” said the USAG’s president, Kerry Perry. Late Wednesday, Michigan State’s president

Lou Anna Simon,

announced her intention to step down.

“As tragedies are politicized, blame is inevitable,” Simon wrote in a statement in which she continued to defend the university’s handling of Nassar. “As president, it is only natural that I am the focus of this anger.”

These departures seem like a bare minimum start. Much more examination is essential—in public, by unattached parties. Michigan State is pushing for a review by the state’s attorney general, and the United States Olympic Committee has announced its intention to launch an investigation, which hopefully will take a sharp look at the USOC itself. The NCAA is moving in, though the NCAA’s investigatory history does not inspire great confidence. Ditto Congress, which could also take a look.

That can’t diminish the mission, however. A thorough, ruthless accounting of what happened—or, more specifically, what didn’t happen—is not just necessary, but owed. This has been obvious as institutions connected to the case have tried to explain their response. Much was made about Michigan State trustee

Joel Ferguson’s

vigorous defense of President Simon, her legacy as a sports fundraiser and his statement that “there’s so many more things going on at the university than just this Nassar thing.” The comment was tin-eared, to say the least—and Ferguson quickly apologized—but still an insight into how institutions actually think, rationalize, compartmentalize.

This Nassar thing. It look 156 women standing up in a courtroom to trigger an appropriate rage and response. Until a few days ago, Simon spoke like an official with zero expectation of leaving. Until a few days ago, USA Gymnastics had not announced its intention to close Karolyi Ranch, its training facility where some of Nassar’s abuses are said to have occurred. On Wednesday,

AT&T

suspended its sponsorship of U.S.A. Gymnastics. U.S. Olympic Committee CEO Scott Blackmun acknowledged the organization had not been “direct enough” with athletes, and should have had a representative in court in Michigan.

“We are sorry for the pain caused by this terrible man, and sorry that you weren’t afforded a safe opportunity to pursue your sports dreams,” Blackmun wrote in an open letter. “The Olympic family is among those that have failed you.”

We have been here before, sadly. As Rachael Denhollander alluded to, this is what happens. This is what happens when institutions choose self-preservation over transparency, quiet settlement over uncomfortable truth.

At the same time, it cannot be denied that this is a culture historically conditioned to diminish—and disbelieve—the voices of women. That is hopefully beginning to change. The truth is too uncomfortable, the voices are empowered. One hundred and fifty-six women spoke truth in that courtroom, and they are coming. They are indeed a force.

Write to Jason Gay at Jason.Gay@wsj.com