Echoes Unbroken: A Voice Against Silence

I don’t feel safe. I walk like a shadow, quick, silent, watching my own back. I shrink when footsteps echo behind me. I flinch when someone sits too close. I smile less because even kindness gets mistaken. I don’t feel safe in daylight, And I definitely don’t feel safe in the dark. Because safety isn’t a place anymoreNot for girls like me. Sexual assault isn’t just a moment It’s a memory that refuses to die. It comes as rape. As molestation. As “don’t tell anyone, okay?” It doesn’t always wear a weapon. Sometimes it comes with a smile, With a title, With respect in the community The teacher, the uncle, the neighbor. And yet… When it happens, the questions begin: What were you wearing? What did you say?Did you smile too much? Were you alone? And suddenly, the blame slides from the rapist To the ruined. To the broken. To the victim. But tell me What was the baby wearing when she was raped? What signal did the toddler give? How did the 3-year-old flirt? You dress modestly, and still it happens. You cover up, and still it happens. Because the problem is not the clothing. The problem is the rapist. The monster in plain sight. The predator dressed as a person. Still, the world hides him. Photos of victims flood the news. But rapists? Faceless. Nameless. Protected. Because shame has never been placed where it belongs. Society sharpens its blame and hands it to survivors. And so we grow silent. We bury our stories. We bleed quietly. We smile while breaking. Because silence is safer than shame. Because speaking up feels like being assaulted all over again. And this silence… This silence has taken lives. Like Ochanya. Eight years old when it started. Brutally abused by her uncle and his sonFamily. The ones meant to protect her. For five years she endured. From eight… to thirteen. Until her body broke. Until VVF consumed her. Until her little light dimmed… forever. She died. But they walked free.Because justice sleeps when the victim is a girl. Because money speaks louder than her cries. Because society would rather protect its men Than protect its daughters. Seven years later, We still carry her name like a wound we refuse to let heal. Because we are not done. Not until every rapist is behind bars. Not until no girl dies in silence. Not until her story is more than a hashtag. Ochanya would have been 20 today But instead, she’s a memory. A warning. A reason to rise. So we speak now. Loud. Unapologetic. We speak for Ochanya. For the silenced. For the broken. For the walking wounded. Because this is not just poetry. This is protest. This is pain with a purpose. This is the echo of every girl who never got to scream. End gender-based violence. Justice for Ochanya. Justice for us all.

Other insights from Quietly Loud

Referral Earning

Points-to-Coupons