EMPOWER Malaysia organised a writing competition to encourage the wider public to "Break the Silence", for themselves & others. This is one of the top entries, written by Miriam D. Samuel.
You.
You are the stranger who thought it was okay to
stand and shout and scream at me while you
held your manhood to my face and threatened rape
in the middle of the road for all to spectate.
You are the sea of men and women who created
borders with your bodies and formed
outlines of a stage
for him to strut and rage
you
you
and as I froze from crushing shame and
tumultuous silence
your gullible appetites
watched and waited with
eyes transfixed and lips smacking against
swirls of vanilla and chocolate
in between the unrhythmic exclamations of
abuse and attack.
You are the first person I called to say what had happened because
I knew you were only two minutes away and
I wanted to believe you would have come and done something
that you would have protected
you would have advised
you would have assured
you would have done what
police officers are supposed to do
but you chose to ask “jadi, apa kamu nak saya buat?”
and I was left with the numbing sensations of
disbelief and torturous realisation
that you were never on our side.
You are the seven policewomen who
laughed and mocked and made me feel small by
telling me I was lucky he didn’t touch me
that maybe he was crazy
that this is not a big deal because
things like this happen all the time
that if only I had given him money
even if it was a single plastic note of blue
then I would not be standing here swallowed within
these hallowed halls
as you sip your teh tarik and giggle over WhatsApp jokes
and the lady beside me holds a baby with
blood dripping down her temple
and you, and you, and you can only
clatter your heels against the tiles of your
corrupt and idle institution.
You are the politicians and heads of departments who
declare and proclaim your honest intentions with
press statements and awareness campaigns and
phrases like “I have been fighting for you all my life!”
but when it comes to rolling up sleeves and dealing with the
pain, the ugly, the murky, the wretchedness of injustice,
you are a clanging cymbal of empty promises
drip
drip
drip
there go the rhythms of your lies
and you are sinking sand.
We.
We are the sisterhood of survivors who
hold and bear and carry and
stand with conviction that
her pain and her wounds are
all our pains and all our wounds and
all our burden for healing.
We are warriors who
are unafraid to draw out the
lexis of one another’s sorrows and bring redemption to the
barren spaces which have plagued our souls until
light shines gentle upon our faces and
rain floods our fields and
strength and dignity take root once more for
courage to bloom and restoration to roll across
our hearts and souls with wings of
love and faith and hope
and when dawn breaks we will know it
with every fibre of our being that
even if traces of you linger
you no longer have power
you no longer take space
you can no longer rob us of
our voice, our identity, and
life in all its fullness
because
we
are
conquerors
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