Stories from the Voiceless

Stories. Our life is made up of hundreds, thousands of stories. And sometimes, certain types of stories come to you and hold storage in your mind more than others.

Like the time an India-based colleague said in a conference call: “You people don’t know the business like we do. That’s why we send people there. Let me talk to your male counterpart. I speak to you no more.” Know that professionally I have 7 years more relevant professional experience, have had more training and education both locally and internationally and outrank him by a job grade. This happened a month into me joining the company where I had more questions than answers. The objective of the conference call was for me to get acclimatized to operation’s training framework and standards. Naturally one would expect that questions would be entertained. Alas, I was mistaken.

My India-based colleague had 3 things going for him: a company tenure spanning 7 years, an innate sense of assertiveness (if not a misplaced sense of self-confidence) and a keen pride that he is male. When I told my boss about the incident, he promised to keep the guy on notice. In the end, my boss simply just reprimanded my “male-counterpart” for “not defending my honor”.

Or the time when two male colleagues and I were discussing ways to motivate new hires we were training to further raise sales. We decided to be more creative and not rely on the usual spiffs: merchandise giveaways and merit badges. Then in the midst of the brainstorming one of them exclaimed: Why not have a siren sound! Then let’s have sexy, scantily-clad girls be kept in curtain-covered cages! When someone makes a sale, the curtain would fall away and the girls would give the top-seller, a lap dance. For each up-sell the agent did, they’d be given money to put into the dancing girl!

The one who suggested the idea then eyed me and said: Of course, sa mga lalaki lang ‘to. Ikaw na mag-isip kung anong gusto ng mga babae.” (You be the one to think of one for the girls) And then they guffawed.

Or the time when I was still starting off with my career where I was in a crowded MRT on my way to work. A time when there were no special carriages exclusive to women. A guy constantly kept brushing against me. In naturally tight spaces, this would have been fine. But his hands were positioned near my chest. He could have put them down. He could have positioned them somewhere else. But when his hands finally grazed my chest, I told him to back off loud enough so others could hear. He then got mad, told me that he wasn’t interested in me and I shouldn’t act like I owned the train car. He added that I probably shouldn’t give myself too much credit because I wasn’t pretty to be fondled anyway. “Hindi ka maganda para manyakin”. I muttered and called him a pervert. Fortunately, I found a small space by the door far away from him. I was so incensed. There were even other guys in the train car who made snide comments like “Oh, ingat kayo. Baka madaplisan nyo sya, tawagin kayong manyak”. (Be careful. You touch her, you’ll be called a pervert.) One woman whispered to me and said: Umiwas ka na lang sa susunod. (Next time, just get away.)

Or the time when as a fresh graduate I went to an interview. The branch manager gave my resume a cursory glance, asked me a few questions on my family, where I lived, and where I saw myself five years down the road. He eyed me for what seemed like an eternity. His gaze boring into me like lasers. It made me so self-conscious. I told myself that perhaps I should’ve borrowed clothes from my sister rather than wear my mother’s blouse. He then asked me to stand up, made me walk from the door of his office to his desk and back. He then asked me to lift my skirt which fell a little below the middle of my calves, to a few inches above my knees. His said it with such a silent power that I felt compelled to follow. He then nodded and asked me to go back to the Bank’s head office to tell them I start work the following week. I didn’t go back. That day I went home and fought back tears of confusion. When my Dad asked me how my interview went, I told him I said I didn’t get the job.

There are far too many similar stories. Sadly too many. The common thread that binds all these together was when I failed to truly speak up. That I allowed others to take my power. That I hid behind others to defend me. Or I would simply rationalize and say that men make sexist jokes and that I should not be too sensitive. In times when I’m feeling unsure, it is these voices that resound inside my head, telling me that I am not worth much. I am not enough. That I am the one at fault.

There are countless other women who have fallen into far even worse situations. All because they were rendered voiceless. And I wonder that I may have also contributed to propagating the silence. I apologize for not having enough courage to fight for us, to ensure that the probability of any woman not having to go through these is lessened.

So in the struggle to regain one’s voice, I realize that the battle starts from within. Speak. Even if to quell the booming, deafening voices in my head that continue to tell me, and sometimes convince me to let it go, offer it up, forget about it.

So in moments when I regain my voice, I shall take the stand, any pulpit or arena where I am emboldened to speak. Rally against disgusting, belittling acts even though they seem small. Demand swift, due and equitable action for acts of human disrespect whether they be targeted or subtle misogyny. To work with men who can help us educate, drive change and come with compassion and a sense that we are all deserving of respect. Not just in big ways but in small ones too.

To end the silence and embrace our own courage. Voiceless, no more.