Silence is violence. Silence perpetuates violence and normalizes it. Like many, the news of the death of Andrea Bharatt in neighbouring Trinidad shook me. Her story is just a single drop in an ocean of violence that seems to always be at high tide and unfortunately it is something that is not uncommon even in our beloved Guyana.
I can recall the brutal deaths of 19-year-old Monica Reece in 1993, Kescia Branche in 2017 and just last December, Caroline Kennedy and her two young children who met their death while asleep in their home when an angry husband lit it on fire. I often ask myself how things arrive at death’s door without us seeing any of the signs. Why is it that things have to get this brutal before we recognize something is really wrong with the violence meted out to women for it to only happen again and again?
Why is it that the lives of women seem so disposable to men? Why is it that they feel so comfortable to make demands freely without fear or repercussions? The truth is the answer is right under our nose and it is not singular. It is steeped in religious dogma and the reality that unpaid labour and care work from women isn’t factored into our economies. It is punctuated in our social lives through raunchy rap, soca and dancehall lyrics that we all wine our waists to in parties.
It is then further projected in parenting strategies, where across many Caribbean homes the shortcomings of sons are excused. While girls are expected to be gentle and silent, boys are consciously and unconsciously encouraged to be tough and discouraged from expressing emotions that don’t show macho strength.
I read Andrea’s story and thought of my own brushes with abuse from former partners that had the potential to reach the stage of physical violence. I recall the absolute hatred one partner had about me being on Facebook. He was also the same partner who asked what I would do if he hit me. I remember feeling powerless with another partner as he raised and raised his voice when I asked him to leave. His complete disregard when I asked to lower his voice led me to set off my smoke alarm so the building management would automatically show up.
In our culture, violence and control over women are often met with the flawed reasoning that they are just acts of passion and love. In reality, they are bright red flags. I thought about why it was so easy for me to leave without an ounce of regret. It was because I wasn’t financially dependent, neither was I ever out of a place where I could find love, despite coming from a violent home myself.
My late Godmother always offered me refuge and counsel. I was always reminded and counselled about how deeply damaging exposure to violence is. I was always taught to report it even when the source of the violence was my dad.
There was never an excuse, because silence always leads to some form of exposure to violence for us all and it will continue until we refuse to be silent in the ways we perpetuate it in all facets and norms of society.
