I Will Never Put My Life on the Witness Stand
I have been a feminist for as long as I can remember, even before I knew the word existed. How I came to embrace it so unapologetically we will someday explore. My skin grows cold when I see injustice, especially men’s violence against women. It’s a familiar cold, born from growing up in a typical African society, where every morning or night, or even during the day, I would witness mamas and papas fighting or mamas and papas beating their children in the name of discipline.
Some people will tell you that such discipline “helped” them, that it shaped them and even strengthened them. But there are those whom it could not save.
I have always had a rebellious spirit and questioning mind. I used to think things like, instead of shouting at your children every day about things that feel meaningless, why not sit with them and discuss topics that matter, like self-esteem, self-confidence, how to make money, how to navigate relationships, how to court, how to care for oneself, how to be socially savvy?
These are conversations I always wanted to have with my elders, even my parents, but we never did.
When I sit with my friends, our conversations often go places people might not expect. I ask them, how does sex feel for you? Sex with men in particular, is it pleasurable? And if not, do you ever complain? Do you negotiate for what you want? Do you masturbate? Who or what do you center when you masturbate?
Many of my friends say no. They just let men take control, convincing them and themselves that it’s fine. And I have always had an issue with that. I tell them, you should ask for what you want. If it isn’t pleasurable, why should you hide it? When they ask me if I do, and I say yes, some look at me as if I’m outrageous. How dare you? That man will never come back. You’ve bruised his ego. You should act like you’re enjoying it.
But why should I? We’re not always having sex to procreate. It’s for connection, pleasure, intimacy. I deserve that too.
Some don’t masturbate at all. But I often wonder, how can you know what you like when you don’t spend time exploring your own body?
Sometimes I ask; how do you think your upbringing shaped the woman you are today? Did you receive the tools you needed to navigate the world?
These conversations lead sometimes to laughter, sometimes to tears, sometimes to revelation. My mind is a battleground. I am always juggling ideas, ruminating, exploring, assessing. I am endlessly curious about human nature. My experience of the world is unique, and there is joy in listening to how others navigate theirs.
I share these thoughts freely in intimate spaces with friends, with mentees, with clients, and with victims of abuse. The motive is not to impress, but to connect. To show them they are not alone. To give them the tools I know can help them navigate what they face. That is when I share my vulnerabilities, my stories, my experiences.
While I do not lay my life bare for public scrutiny, I engage in these difficult, bold, and sometimes troubling conversations with friends, mentees, mentors and those navigating abuse, because true understanding comes from both reflection and dialogue.
But online, on social media, or in public discourse? Never. I have never felt the need to put my life on the witness stand for people to cross-examine in order to validate my opinions. I have never felt the need to recount personal anecdotes, to prove my credibility, or to demonstrate my lived experience so that others will believe me.
Why? Because men are not held to the same standard. Men can write about abortion, about menstruation, about women’s bodies, about sexual violence and no one ever asks them: have you ever been pregnant? Do you menstruate? Do you have a vagina? Their opinions are automatically valid, regardless of their lived experience.
If a man passionately speaks against abortion or writes about women’s reproductive rights, no one questions his authority to have an opinion. If he critiques menstruation, calls it “disgusting” or “burdensome,” no one stops to ask, should he be talking about this at all? No one. Ever.
And yet, the moment I write passionately about these issues, about sexual violence, domestic abuse, or how men exploit power to demand sexual access in exchange for opportunities there is always someone commenting, asking, are you a victim?
Why? Must I have been a victim to be worthy of speaking? Must I have experienced abuse firsthand to be allowed to form a conviction, to articulate it, to challenge the system?
Of course, I do love to turn these questions back. I ask: have you ever been a perpetrator? Have you raped someone? Are you the type of man that opposes abortion even when it is necessary? Are you a murderer? I put them on the spot, because if they are going to scrutinize my lived experience, I will scrutinize their actions too. And when they answer sarcastically, dismissively, or arrogantly, I match their energy.
This is why I will never put my life on the witness stand for public validation. I will never feel the need to recount personal trauma or experiences just so my opinions will be considered “credible.” I will never justify my existence or my convictions to make others comfortable.
I am a public intellectual. My ideas stand on their own merit and I shall not tolerate anyone who questions my authority in public discourse by asking me to put my life on the witness stand to satisfy their need for validation.
We must stop demanding survivors, thinkers, and women place their lives on the witness stand just to be heard.
