In this opinion piece, guest contributor Adebola Aduwo writes on silence, complicity and the cost of betraying solidarity.
Let’s flash back to the BBC “Africa Eye” documentary Sex for Grades (2019), where female administrators implied it was the students’ fault for ‘encouraging’ sexual harassment. Or, more recently, the case of Nigeria’s Senator Natasha Akpoti, who was bullied by colleagues and the general public simply because she dared to demand accountability from her alleged abuser, a man holding a powerful seat in government. These are not isolated cases; they expose a troubling pattern.
We have seen this play out way too often, in Nigeria and virtually everywhere else we look. A woman speaks up, and instead of getting solid support, they leave her hanging, or worse, victimised. Here’s the thing: complacency and victim-blaming are deeply connected. They both feed injustice fat and strengthen the audacity of the parties or systems causing harm.
Sometimes, it is closer to home. Maybe a person we love and respect has a blatant disregard for women. There we are, averting our gaze without a second thought. Sometimes it’s fear. The fear of being denied access (whatever that means to us) or the fear of what comes from being disliked. It doesn’t matter what the reason might be; the result is the same. Harm, abuse, toxicity – all festering in silence.
Staying silent is complacency
Why are we so easily capable of blurring the lines when the story isn’t ours? Many of us are unwilling to acknowledge the harm that has occurred or accept our ability to intervene. Rather than deep introspection, we seek reasons to absolve ourselves of responsibility. In effect, we throw the person who was harmed under the bus. So, I ask again, why does self-preservation trump the safety of another person potentially in crisis?
Perhaps it is because we have grown comfortable ignoring small injustices. After all, they do not directly affect us. Until they snowball, and eventually they do. Exceptionalism is such an amusing concept. Dear reader, if it can happen to the next woman, it can happen to you. We are not as special or as different as we’d like to think.
Every time we brush off a sexist remark, laugh at an inappropriate joke or act oblivious when our input could have made a difference, we betray solidarity. And in betraying solidarity, we betray ourselves.
Read also: The Natasha Akpabio case: How power dynamics silence sexual harassment case
Being neutral is, in fact, not neutral. It is a cowardly choice
We have become dangerously desensitised to these warped dynamics. However, this behaviour is no longer acceptable to me. By normalising these behaviours, we uphold patriarchal norms designed to silence women.
You may choose to ignore the elephant in the room for your ‘comfort’, but it does not make it any less conspicuous. This message may hit a nerve for many men, and if that’s the case, great! My focus here is on women who stay on the fence in the face of injustice. Injustice against your own kind. Women who benefit from proximity to power and use silence as a shield.
Solidarity demands courage. It requires us to risk discomfort and sometimes isolation. It is heavy, but it is also the only way we can make tangible strides towards gender parity. Complacency fails the woman harmed at the moment and subsequently builds the conditions for a culture where more harm is perpetrated unchecked.
The overarching truth: it is dangerous to dismiss these incidents; they are serious time bombs. This is exactly how abuse thrives in plain sight. Especially when we refuse to intervene. We must recognise the importance of being loyal to ourselves. Choosing a side is uncomfortable, and it was never meant to be easy.
So, I ask you plainly: whose side, really, are you on?
Read more: Why calling yourself a feminist still matters in today’s social and political reality
