The Brave Act of Breaking Silence
In her compelling piece, The Transformation of Silence Into Language and Action, Audre Lorde invites the reader to examine their unique contribution to social transformation and “to recognize her role as vital within that transformation” (43). While waiting for surgery to remove a tumor from her breast, Lorde shares an intimate story of “awakening.” During a time of reflection, she realizes that her greatest regrets are her times of silence.
Lorde examines several truths that come to light during this realization, one being how fear controls us, “fear of contempt, of censure, or some judgment, or recognition, of challenge or annihilation,” and we remain silent (42). She points out different reasons for these fears, and the power these fears hold over us, keeping us in a state of non-action. She points out that we’ve been “socialized to respect fear more than our own needs” (44). We act against our own best interest out of fear. She also examines the ways separation and perceived differences can fuel our silence. She encourages us to unite in our similarities rather than allow differences to divide us or hold us back from speaking out and taking action — as well as stressing the desperate need for us to take action. She writes: “… it is not difference which immobilizes us, but silence. And there are so many silences to be broken” (44).
The importance of these revelations for Lorde, and for me (and for humanity), is that we are in a critical time where change is needed — and that we each have a part to play in bringing about this change. To be silent is to render ourselves powerless and deny our unique call to action. I, too, have been obedient to my fears more often than my will to speak up — fearing criticism, name-calling, standing out, or being dismissed or marginalized. But what Lorde really exposes is not the truth, but the myth: the myth that we are safe, or safer, when we are silent. We are not. We gain nothing when we are silent. We are not protected by silence and other people’s lives are not better as a result of our silence. We must break our silence and take up brave words and acts. One of the points Howard Zinn makes in his writings is that not just activists are bringing about change. In The Possibility of Hope, he writes about the people who attend his talks all over the world. Hundreds of people are coming alongside activists — everyday people, who are concerned and want to hear the truth and take action in humble and small ways. We truly need everyone to create the social change that’s needed.
In my work as a human trafficking advocate I have discovered many truths that need to be spoken about and many myths that need to be dispelled. We must speak out against the objectification and dehumanization of women and girls that leads directly to sexual exploitation. We need to address white male privilege: in the U.S. the majority of buyers are caucasian males, mid-forties (with 32 the average age of their first purchase), income over $140,000 per year, educated, and married. We have to smash the myth that prostitution is a choice.
One truth that needs to come out, possibly the greatest public health threat that we are not talking about, and one that makes me very unpopular when I speak about it, is pornography. Not only does pornography perpetuate violence against women, many of the women are victims of trafficking and controlled by pimps, and forced into these acts. Another detrimental aspect of pornography is that the average age for a boy to accidentally discover pornography is 11 years old. As a result, teen dating violence across the U.S. has increased.
We cannot address human trafficking in a silo. We must speak out about the intersections of race, gender, and class that disproportionately affect victims of trafficking. In Marin County, many of these truths are difficult to speak out about because they confront the County’s liberal identity of being conscious and progressive. Yet, segregation, lack of education, and economic injustice not only proliferate here in Marin, but directly impact trafficking in the entire Bay Area.
Ujima (collective work and responsibility), the third principle of Kwanzaa that Lorde discusses in her writing, is one that could greatly impact our work to end human trafficking here in Marin. The discipline of community members, civic leaders, law enforcement, service providers, organizations, and survivors working together to identify and address the problems that lead to trafficking is essential. Not to problem-solve from individual perspectives but, in partnership, to focus on the issues that allow trafficking to flourish here in the Bay Area. The Coalition is one step toward enacting this principle, but many more voices are needed.
