Commands of Silence
This essay is written from my perspective as a mixed-blood, Anishinabe/White woman who survived childhood sexual abuse and family violence. Through my many privileged years of formal education, I learned to read and write in the tradition of my White, male oppressors. In this essay, I utilize those skills against the patriarchal power structure in an effort to challenge and subvert it. It is here that I break the command(s) of silence and speak out as a marginalized Other.
Wanting to do everything else but write down these experiences. Fear. Fear of speaking. Terror. So many things to express and terrorized by the thought of articulating them.
Seven years old. I feel the cold metal bars. Arms tied behind my back to a chair. The pink and white nylon rope my mother bought to exercise with cuts into my tiny wrists as I am tortured in the dining room. My birth father and I are the only ones home, as is always the case when incidents such as these occur. A few days or weeks earlier, I had tried to tell of his crimes against me. He was made aware of my attempt to speak and delivered a lasting command of silence with a wooden stick, painted yellow, and sawed into sections. What once was a broom handle my mother pushed around sweeping his floors, an instrument of her oppression, inherited as mine. Struck on the head fifteen times, maybe more, maybe less. Stopping only as blood dripped from my ears; the ultimate arousal for his ejaculation.
Lights whizzed. Sound cracked.
Don't you ever speak of this again or I'll bust your fucking head open and feed your lack of brains to the dog. Nobody believes you anyway. Why? Because they all know you are stupid. Stupid-bitch-whore. Lies. You don't know anything about what is happening, what you make me do to you. You don't even know why you are getting this beating.
Crack.
I'll knock some sense into you.
Crack.
Eyes rolling around in my head, side to side, as he jerks my hair in between strikes.
Don't you ever talk. Not once. Not ever. Keep your stupid mouth shut unless I'm sticking my dick into it.
Crack.
Hitting me in the same spot repeatedly, over and over until I am no longer conscious of the pain.
Nobody will listen to you. Liar. Fucking liar. Stupid drone. Talk one time and I will kill you, or better you kill yourself and be spared the torture I will inflict. Made myself clear? Now open up you mouth and take this.
After the long days during which I try to write these words, I find myself out in the yard at twenty-seven years of age, feeling closer to seven, trying to run from him. Creeping out of bed in the middle of the night, away from my partner and out the back door. Scaling the fence in my nightshirt, staring off across the road, crying uncontrollably. Other nights, fumbling through the tool shed searching for a clothesline to make a noose. Climbing a tree to kill myself in an effort to stop the words from flowing and obey the command of silence.
While not all women and all children experience a sexual or physical assault within their lifetime, all are oppressed within the social structure and are commanded into silence. Each of us has a distinct story to tell about our oppressed position within the patriarchal society in which we reside. Telling these stories and speaking the experiences of our lives challenges the universalized experience and knowledge of the privileged white male and, in doing so, confronts the power inequities of patriarchy and serves as an act of resistance and defiance against oppression. It subverts oppressive structures of domination by exposing them as subjugating, colonizing, discriminatory, and violent.
The telling of our life stories as marginalized individuals poses a threat to patriarchy and for this reason we are forced into silence, our voices crushed. Silence serves as a mechanism that guards patriarchy by suppressing societal awareness of the totality of harms committed within it. Without public knowledge of the extent of suffering under patriarchy, an awareness that comes from breaking silence and voicing our life experiences, there can be no public challenge against social, political and economic hierarchies and, thus, the repression of Others is maintained.
My first lasting command of silence is not an aberration; it is similar to those experienced by other marginalized individuals. Some of us are beaten with sticks and raped, while others are suppressed in less intrusive but equally efficient ways. We are forced into silence largely through intimidation and fear of reprisal, for to tell our life experiences and speak out against patriarchy is to challenge the institutions of government, family and church. Challenging these institutions can bring serious and often life-threatening consequences, for the powers inherent in these institutions can be waged against us. Speaking one's life experiences as a challenge to patriarchy can deliver physical and social ramifications including: defamation, loss of employment, physical assault, imprisonment, and even death.
An individual challenging the command of silence does not necessarily face a physical or social harm. These most blatant forms of intimidation are evoked only as a last resort because they are more visible and open to public scrutiny (Spender 1980). The more widespread means of silencing are less obtrusive; however, the outcome is the same, that of suppressing the speaker. The more implicit means of speech control include limiting physical places for speech to occur and discrediting and rebuking the individual once she has spoken (Spender 1980). Bell hooks (1992) describes the latter, the discounting and rejection of voice, as a "psychological terrorism" used to coerce Others into silence.
Speaking one's life may also spark interpersonal conflict with those closest to us who do not question the social order and, therefore, find our words threatening. Bell hooks (1989, 4) reminds us of women of color who write and publish pieces in defiance of patriarchy, "having nervous breakdowns, being made mad because they cannot bear the harsh responses of family, friends and unknown critics, or becoming silent, unproductive." Rejection by family is similarly experienced by women who use their own personal incest experiences to speak out against the patriarchal family structure. It is common for incest survivors to be ostracized by family members during the times they most need family support.
Without support from individuals in our personal lives the challenge of speaking out can be overwhelming. Often I have allowed my own fear of these social and interpersonal consequences to speak and act for me in continued silent compliance. Fear speaks for me when I sit quietly, hesitant to challenge a White colleague in a faculty meeting; as I turn choosing not to confront racist, sexist, or homophobic comments in public; when I refuse to present a paper in anticipation of the antagonistic reactions of the audience; when I obey the command of silence.
Over the years my fear does not wane even though I have already endured great pain and suffered many losses. In speaking my own life, mentors have dismissed me, family members and close friends have ceased communications and lovers have left. As I continue to challenge patriarchal power with words, I face further rejection from those I love who continue to live their lives entrenched in silence. Often I am tormented, wondering, "Will they reject me for a narrative or poem they find too explicit, too telling?"
Why do you say these things about our father? Why can't you just forget about the past and get on with your life?
I say them because they are true; they happened to me; they still haunt me; and the same things ARE happening right now to others like me.
You will drive our mother insane if you keep saying he did these things to you. Why can't you think about her for a change? Don't you think she would have noticed any lumps on your head?
She did. Softly pressed the bumps with a frozen cloth I prepared for myself. She dabbed the crusted blood with warm water swabs and said, "Stop playing so rough and banging your head into walls." What he wouldn't let me say then, I must speak and write now.
Well.... I don't think you should see the kids until you get over this stuff. It's not good for the family, you know, all this...talking.
When we do not voice our oppression under patriarchy, we exist in distressful isolation, detached from the experiences of Others. We endure behind individual walls of silence, coping in solitude with the oppression that defines our daily lives. We live alone with our painful experiences. When we do not speak our lives we are left in seclusion to search for the meaning and understanding of our oppression. When isolated it is difficult to see the extent to which our exploitation is rooted in patriarchy. As a result, we may blame ourselves, believing that surely no other person shares similar experiences when, in fact, many do. This internalization works to the benefit of patriarchy, for when we blame ourselves for our powerless positions in life, we no longer hold those with power accountable for their crimes against us.
When oppression is internalized within the mind, body and soul of the powerless, forced silence is no longer required, for we now believe the falsehoods of White male dominance and contribute to our own exploitation by conforming to his norms. As silence pervades, society remains unaware of the totality of harm experienced under patriarchy and continues to support the exploitation of Others rather than challenge political, social and economic imperialism. In turn, outlets for expression are further blocked, ensuring our powerlessness. Silence then must be broken on all fronts: within ourselves, privately with those close to us, and publicly for all.
Marginalized individuals, such as myself, who speak our life experiences and defy the command of silence are able to do so because we are privileged with certain social or personal advantages. These advantages must always be recognized and must never be assumed when discussing Others coming to voice, for those with greater privileges suffer less and are less disenfranchised than those who endure with fewer benefits.
Prior to coming to voice, often a process of healing, coping and understanding must occur. We must remember our experiences and feel the pain associated with them before we can disclose them to others. Often victims of violence suffer post-traumatic amnesia and are unable to recall their experiences. Others who do remember may disassociate from the distress related to their experiences and deny the harm done to them. Coming to voice, then, involves both the "privileges" of memory and feeling the oppression endured in one's life. For those without memory and feeling, the oppression of patriarchy remains unspeakable.
Another privilege necessary to defy the command of silence and come to voice is that of physical space, for, literally, we must have a place in which our speech can occur in private. When such a place exists, another condition necessary is to first speak out to those individuals who are emotionally supportive and empathetic of our struggles. If we confide first in listeners who are not understanding or are discouraging of our speech, further isolation may result, pushing us back into silence.
Once we have received support in the private arena of those who are empathetic, it becomes easier to tell our lives privately at any time, at any place and with those who do not want to hear us and do not support our speech. We must speak our lives to our children as we ride the bus across town, to sisters and mothers as we prepare dinner, to other women in the laundromat, and to neighbors across front porches; for, as a friend once said, these things must be discussed openly because somewhere a woman who has never spoken her oppression is waiting for the talk to begin. She is right! Many times I have disclosed my own childhood sexual abuse to acquaintances who then revealed their shared experiences, some of them for the first time ever.
Speaking our lives must go beyond a private demand, for in order to challenge oppressive power structures we must also raise a public discourse. However, once silence is broken and shared with our friends, sisters, mothers, lovers, and neighbors, an even more difficult task is gaining access to and utilizing public mediums through which our stories can be shared as societal critiques and heard by all. Writers including bell hooks (1989) and Patricia Hill Collins (1991) contend that, for generations African American women have been talking their lives privately with one another as an act of resistance; however, their access to public forums that challenge the dominant power structures remain blocked.
Often it seems as though the consequences of confronting those in power are greater than any potential benefits. For this reason it is necessary to identify the challenges that speaking our lives can wage against patriarchal power.
Public Awareness Is Raised. When individuals begin speaking out about our oppressive life experiences, the very method of our oppression, that of silence, is defied and our oppression is no longer hidden. Speaking out creates an awareness of the totality of harm experienced by Others under patriarchy, and this awareness is heightened as the speech of Others increases.
Problematizing Patriarchy. As public consciousness is raised, individuals awaken to the explicit nature of abuse, injury, and violence inherent in the power structure, thereby exposing that power structure as subjugating and unjust. As the public is made aware of the oppressiveness of patriarchy, the power structure then becomes problematized in the minds of individuals who otherwise may have accepted it without question.
Educating the Public. As public awareness of the oppressive nature of patriarchy increases, individuals understand that the harms experienced by Others can no longer be viewed as anomalies, that such harms are not merely possible, but rather probable. In addition, myths and stereotypes about marginalized groups are falsified. For example, large-scale social awareness of the true extent of childhood sexual abuse would dispel the myth of the so-called "false memory syndrome."
Collectives Are Formed. As marginalized Others speak out about our lives, our voices reach Others with similar experiences, encouraging them to break their own silence. As the public becomes increasingly informed of the oppressive nature of patriarchy, collectives of people, outside those who experience oppression first hand, will also form. As these groups develop, actions that subvert the power structure become possible because they will be supported by greater numbers of individuals.
Renaming the World. As marginalized Others gain voice we can begin to interpret and encode our world(s) in light of our individual life experiences. As women encode our own meanings to match our experiences, we can define the world outside of imperialist, White, male knowledge, thereby introducing perspectives that subvert dominant hegemonic ideologies, which have traditionally excluded Others (Spender 1980).
On talking...
My niece is coming to visit me alone
for the first time in over two years.
The last time we were threatened
never to see each other again.
Because together we talk.
We talk of the pain of living.
About my father, her grandfather.
About her mother, my sister.
And how the entire world suffers amnesia
of the cause of scars hers and mine.
How our physical bodies carry proof
helping us remember.
Deep down inside it tears me apart
that we must have these talks.
That we know these silenced truths
and the lies they use to cover them up.
That this is her only chance to speak.
And when we are together we will talk it all.
Taboos broken.
Tears uninhibited.
Because we want a better world.
- Collins, Patricia Hill. 1990. Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness and the Politics of Empowerment. New York: Routledge.
- hooks, bell. 1989. Talking Back: Thinking Feminist,Thinking Black. Boston, Massachusetts: South End Press.
- Spender, Dale. 1980. Man Made Language. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
