First-Place Winner of Constantine Cannon’s Sixth Whistleblower Essay Contest: Alexandra Diouk
By the Constantine Cannon Whistleblower Team
A round of applause for Alexandra Diouk, the first-place winner of our Sixth Law School Scholarship Essay Contest. Alexandra will receive a $1,000 award.
About Alexandra
Alexandra has long believed in the necessity of standing up to power. As the daughter of two immigrants (her mother is from Venezuela and her father from the former USSR), she pursued her undergraduate degree in International Studies at American University driven by a desire to advocate for the rights and freedoms of people living under repressive regimes worldwide. After completing her Master of Philosophy (MPhil) in Russian and East European Studies from a prominent university, Alexandra’s passion for advocacy shifted towards the law and helping vulnerable populations here in the U.S. She will be commencing her J.D. degree this fall with the intent of pursuing a career as a public interest litigator upon graduation.
Alexandra’s Winning Essay
Trigger Warning: Mention of SA
In her winning essay, Alexandra recounts an experience as managing editor of a university journal after she refused to cave to the university’s pressure to reinstate an editor disciplined for sexual assault. Alexandra discusses the importance of standing up against misconduct even under intense pressure in an institutional setting.
Importance of Whistleblowers Scholarship Essay
Arriving at university to start my MPhil degree was pure magic. Gazing up at the medieval spires filled me with wonder and privilege, an overwhelming sense of pride at being deemed worthy to pursue my degree at such a hallowed institution. I studied hard during my first year and became deeply involved as an editorial board member of the university’s only peer-reviewed journal of international affairs. When I was elected to become Managing Editor of the journal at the start of my second year, I was overjoyed. My hard work was paying off, and I looked forward to an exciting academic year and a successful tenure at the helm of the journal I loved. I could not have foreseen the critical event, intertwined with my position as Managing Editor, that would soon teach me a critical lesson about fearlessness in the face of institutional misconduct.
Taking on the role of Managing Editor was my first brush with leadership, an opportunity that pushed and excited me while also making clear that my choices as a supervisor affected my entire editorial board and the journal writ large. The very week I began my tenure, a member of the board requested a private meeting with me. As her hands shook, her voice remained steady. One of her fellow editors had sexually assaulted her months prior, she confided. She had reported the abuse with plentiful evidence, and a subsequent disciplinary hearing had just concluded with the university’s administration removing her abuser from the journal’s board. Though the ordeal was over, she wanted me to be aware of it within my capacity as Managing Editor, just in case. I was struck by her “just in case” phrasing in light of a situation that seemed to have been cleanly resolved but, naturally, pledged my support. Within a week, a university administrator summoned me into a sparse office. In a casual voice usually reserved for discussing the weather, she informed me that the assailant had hired an attorney and was threatening legal action if they were not allowed to rejoin the journal. The university was, therefore, requesting that I reinstate them. I was flabbergasted. This individual had been disciplined by the university itself for committing a terminable offense under the journal’s anti-harassment code, I said. I couldn’t ignore the facts and flout a previous university ruling simply because an attorney had been hired. The administrator blinked, not responding to a single word. She asked again if the journal would reinstate them. No, I replied. We would not. And thus began a nine-month pressure campaign during which I would periodically be called into rooms and peppered with niceties that quickly evaporated when it became clear my stance had not changed. I spent weeks researching the potential legal restrictions that might bind the journal’s or university’s hands in this situation. I found none. Presenting my findings to university officials and urging them to use their in-house legal counsel to counter the assailant’s baseless claims had no effect. I was left to reckon with the fact that my university, which was hardly in want of resources, had cowered in the face of a severe-sounding attorney and a crisp firm letterhead.
With the hard work of my editorial board colleagues and the critical support of a deeply empathetic professor, we published the journal without reinstating the assailant. But as I handed the survivor a copy of the latest edition, the joy I felt comingled with a sense of the unfinished. Witnessing a powerful institution nearly brought to its feet with the brandishing of a pen had opened my eyes to the necessity of strength and conviction in the face of institutional intimidation. Though the experience of countering this poison pen had been challenging, it lit a fire that continues to burn brighter each day. Powerful institutions and their supporters often seem to have the upper hand, but it is an illusory concept usually built upon an absence of resistance. Speaking up against misconduct takes nothing less, yet nothing more, than committing to sustain convictions of justice that I believe we all innately hold. Even when your hands shake, as mine did. Because when justice prevails and institutional power fades into empty clauses and forgotten threats, you will also know that you would go back and do it all again if asked. As I do.
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