Silence Is Not Powerlessness (Part 1)

I REMEMBER A moment from the 1980s that has never left me.

We were children, playing in a school yard, when one child pinched another, knowing full well that the child she pinched was non-verbal. I do not know if it was cruelty or curiosity. Perhaps it was a test. A question disguised as an action: Will anything happen if I do this?

What happened next shaped my understanding of accountability long before I had language for it.

The non-verbal child erupted in sound, loud, raw, unmistakable, and drew the attention of the adult who had brought her to the yard that afternoon.When the guardian approached, the child pointed, signalled, and made it clear who had hurt her. The guardian did something unexpected. She motioned back, telling the child to pinch the other child in return. Justice, in that moment, was swift.

But what lingered with me was not the retaliation. It was the assumption that came before it: the belief that silence meant incapacity. That lack of voice meant lack of consequence. That someone without language had no agency.That assumption is not confined to childhood playgrounds.

It follows us into adulthood. It matures. It dresses itself in titles, policies, and power. And it shows up quietly, in offices, institutions, and leadership spaces, where people assume that those without influence, authority, or proximity can be acted upon without repercussion.

Silence is often misread. In workplaces, silence is frequently mistaken for agreement, for weakness, for lack of awareness. Leaders assume that because no one is speaking up, nothing is wrong.That because feedback is absent, harm is minimal. That because people comply, they consent.

But silence is rarely empty. Sometimes silence is survival. Sometimes it is calculation.

Sometimes it is patience. And sometimes, it is simply the absence of a safe place to speak.

Those who occupy the margins- junior staff, contract workers, newcomers, those without networks or protection- often learn quickly when speaking carries risk. They observe instead.

They learn the landscape. They store experiences quietly. They note who is favoured, who is protected, and who is invisible. And they remember.

One of the most dangerous assumptions people in authority make is believing that those without voice have no memory. That those without power lack discernment. That those who endure quietly are unaware of what is being done to them. But silence does not erase experience. It records it.