Imlisanen Jamir
Shame has a way of silencing us. It wraps itself around us like a suffocating blanket, pressing down until we can’t breathe, let alone speak. In our society, shame isn’t just personal—it’s collective. We live in a world where image matters more than truth, where the fear of tarnishing an institution’s reputation often outweighs the need to protect the vulnerable. And so, victims stay silent, afraid of what might happen if they dare speak their truth.
This is how things like this happen, over and over again. Not because evil is louder, but because fear is stronger. Fear of judgment, fear of rejection, fear that speaking up will only lead to more pain. So, we bury it. We bury the truth, and we bury our hope that things could ever be different.
It’s easy to see how it happens. Institutions, especially those built on ideas of morality and righteousness, are fragile. When cracks begin to show, the instinct is to plaster over them, keep everything looking pristine. The reality is, people are scared. Scared of what will be lost if the truth comes out—reputations, trust, and the image of righteousness we’ve all worked so hard to maintain. In the process, though, we lose something far greater: our humanity.
Shame and guilt feed off this silence, growing stronger with each unsaid word, with each story that remains untold. And the people who suffer most are those who dare to hope—hope for accountability, hope for change, hope that their pain will be acknowledged. But hope, fragile as it is, often gets drowned out by the roar of fear. We protect structures at all costs, even when those structures have failed us time and again.
But the thing about shame is that it doesn’t go away on its own. It festers. It eats away at individuals and societies alike, corroding any chance for real healing or growth. If we are to move forward, if we are to break free of this cycle, we must learn to listen to those who have been silenced, not as threats to the institution, but as people whose pain is real and valid.
Hope, in the end, is not found in protecting the powerful, but in lifting up the powerless. We can’t allow fear to dictate who gets to speak and who must remain silent. True strength, true integrity, lies in facing the shame head-on, in allowing the truth to surface—even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it challenges the very structures we hold dear. Because only then can we begin to heal, as individuals and as a society.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com