“People talking without speaking, people hearing without listening…”. Simon & Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence” was never written about military culture. Yet its central idea has a striking relevance to the modern British Army.
Sometimes the most dangerous sound in an organisation isn’t shouting. It is silence. Silence when someone makes a sexualised joke. Silence when a junior soldier is being humiliated. Silence when a colleague is being targeted because of her gender. Silence when somebody says, “Don’t make a fuss.” Silence when a complaint is made, and people quietly hope it will go away and silence when everyone knows something isn’t right, but nobody wants to be the person who says it.
For the British Army, disturbing that silence isn’t simply a question of culture or wellbeing. It is about operational effectiveness, leadership and trust. The cases surrounding the death of Gunner Jaysley Beck demonstrate why. Beck was 19 when she took her own life in December 2021 following what an inquest described as an intense period of unwanted behaviour. The coroner found that systemic failures contributed to her death.
The case has subsequently resulted in criminal charges against two Army officers relating to their handling of the sexual assault case. There is an uncomfortable question here for every leader: What could have happened if more people had felt able, or obliged, to disturb the silence earlier? That question becomes even more important in light of the recent allegations concerning the Army Foundation College in Harrogate.
In August 2026, former female recruits made serious allegations concerning sexual assault, sexual harassment and a wider culture of misogyny at the college. One former recruit alleged that she was raped by several fellow junior soldiers when she was 17. The Army has acknowledged the allegations and said they will be investigated.
These are allegations, and it is important that they are treated as such. But they are serious enough to demand attention, and they raise an important question: What does it take to create an Army where disturbing the silence becomes normal?
The problem isn’t just the person causing the harm. When we talk about sexual harassment, bullying, abuse or misogyny, our attention naturally goes towards the person responsible. That is necessary but it isn’t sufficient. Harm rarely exists in isolation. It happens within teams, groups, institutions and cultures. The person making the inappropriate comment is responsible for making it but what happens next is influenced by everyone around them.
Does somebody laugh?
Does somebody look away?
Does a colleague say, “That’s not funny”?
Does someone check on the person who has been targeted?
Does a junior soldier feel able to challenge a senior one?
Does a leader recognise a pattern rather than dismissing each incident as an isolated event?
These seemingly small moments matter. This is because culture is built in the space between incidents.
One of the greatest mistakes organisations can make is waiting for behaviour to become serious before taking it seriously. The inappropriate joke. The sexualised nickname. The comments about a woman’s body. The WhatsApp message. The unwanted attention. The humiliation disguised as banter. The colleague being repeatedly excluded. Individually, each incident may appear relatively minor but cultures of harm don’t usually begin with the most extreme behaviour; they develop through a gradual process of normalisation. When nobody challenges the small stuff, people learn something: This is acceptable here and once behaviour becomes normal, challenging it becomes harder. That is why active bystandership matters. It creates an intervention point before harm escalates.
Disturbing silence isn’t about confrontation. This is important. We don’t need every soldier to become a hero who confronts somebody aggressively. Active bystandership isn’t about being confrontational. It is about having the confidence and capability to choose an appropriate action. Sometimes that means: “That’s not okay.” Sometimes: “Mate, leave it.” Sometimes: “Are you alright?” Sometimes it means speaking privately to the person whose behaviour is causing concern. Sometimes it means reporting something and sometimes it simply means refusing to join in.
There isn’t one perfect intervention. There is a choice. See it. Own it. Act. That is what disturbing the silence means.
Military organisations have something that many civilian organisations don’t have to the same extent: hierarchy. Hierarchy is essential to military effectiveness, but hierarchy can also make speaking up difficult. If the person behaving inappropriately is senior to you, challenging them carries a different psychological and professional cost. If everyone around you is senior, silence can feel safer. If your career, reputation or belonging appears dependent upon fitting in, speaking out can feel like disloyalty. This is where leadership becomes critical. Leaders have to make something very clear: Speaking up about behaviour that undermines Army values isn’t disloyal. It is loyalty to the Army. Loyalty cannot mean protecting individuals from accountability.
It must mean protecting the organisation’s values and the people who serve within it.
Jaysley Beck should make us uncomfortable. Not because uncomfortable stories are pleasant, but because discomfort can be useful. The question shouldn’t simply be:
“What went wrong?” It should be: “What can we learn about the conditions that allowed things to go wrong?” and then: “What can we change so that people intervene earlier next time?”
The Army has already made changes following the Beck case, including moving sexual harassment investigations away from the chain of command but structural change alone cannot transform culture. Policies don’t intervene when somebody makes a degrading comment. Procedures don’t check on the person sitting quietly at the end of the table. Governance doesn’t necessarily challenge the inappropriate joke. People do. That is why active bystandership needs to sit alongside formal reporting systems.
The ultimate ambition shouldn’t be to create an Army where nobody ever behaves badly. That is unrealistic. The ambition should be to create an Army where harmful behaviour struggles to survive. Where people notice it. Where people challenge it. Where leaders respond. Where victims and witnesses are supported. Where early intervention is valued. Where speaking up is seen as a strength rather than a threat, and where the person who says “That’s not right” isn’t left standing alone.
The most powerful intervention may not come from the commanding officer. It may come from the person standing beside you. The colleague who says something when everyone else is silent. The friend who checks in. The junior soldier who finds the courage to speak. The instructor who refuses to laugh. The officer who listens rather than becoming defensive. The leader who acts before a pattern becomes a crisis.
That is how cultures change. Not because everyone suddenly becomes courageous. The British Army asks extraordinary things of its people. It asks them to run towards danger. To operate under pressure. To trust one another. To put the team before themselves. To show courage when courage is difficult. Perhaps we should ask the same of them when it comes to culture.
Sometimes the bravest thing a soldier can do isn’t to confront the enemy. It is to challenge the behaviour of the person standing beside them, and perhaps the most powerful message the British Army can send to every young recruit is this: You don’t have to wait until something becomes serious before you act. You don’t have to be the victim to speak. You don’t have to be the most senior person in the room to make a difference. You just have to be willing to disturb the silence.
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