Silence is something I don’t recall experiencing much of as a child. Raised in an overcrowded house in North West London, silence—like space—was at a premium. As I reflect on it, it’s only when I went to university that I had my own room, with its associated feelings of agency when it came to accessing both personal space and silence.
As a child, and later as an adult, my intolerance of silence has taken various forms. Most often, it looks like my prompt filling of silences in conversations or meetings with jokes and throwaway comments. All in an effort to appease others, to avoid potential conflict, to feel ‘safe’ and prevent discomfort of self and others. This, of course, is at the cost of silencing myself.
Reflecting on my own work experiences and that of my clients, coping with racialised trauma in the workplace often demands a level of self-silencing. Impromptu or ad hoc sharing creates exposure to racism, so not volunteering what is actually being thought or felt is used as a tool to mitigate risk. When there is any sharing of the internal mind or state this is done with a learned hypervigilance to the reactions, perceived acceptance or external validation from the dominant groups.
This makes sense given that intergenerationally the survival of racialised groups has required the centring of the dominant White norm, for example through assimilation and approximation to these ideals. This strategy also needs high levels of self-policing (of behaviours, words and actions that may not uphold the White dominant norm). This is, of course, at the cost of silencing the true self.
As a South Asian woman working in the White male-dominated workplace of prisons and corrections, this survival strategy of keeping my head down, working hard and not seeking attention was a double-edged sword. Although this strategy was used as an attempt to secure some feeling of protection, it was weaponised against me. I, like many others, was seen as representing the model minority myth, which stereotypes certain minority groups—particularly Asian communities—as uniformly hardworking, compliant and successful, flattening diverse experiences into a monolithic narrative. This myth is also a great example of whiteness in action (that is, the way dominant norms and power structures quietly reinforce themselves without needing to be openly stated). It distracts from the need for survival and/or perceived success that often drives some marginalised folks to engage in a heads down, compliant way of being in the workplace. Sadly, this also by design helpfully benefits whiteness by pitting one group against the other. For example, by holding up some minorities as ‘model’ workers and using that comparison to dismiss or undermine the experiences of others.
So how is the self-silencing maintained and at what cost? I offer that a primary tool for the survival of trauma is disassociation—the same as a common sign of an oppressed identity. Disassociation to body, mind and spirit. The productivity disease (a requisite for capitalism) is another common strategy, which manifests by keeping oneself ‘busy’. We all know the common experiences of the never ending to do lists and the need to constantly identify things to ‘fix’. No time allowed or dedicated to being in the moment, listening to one’s inner self and/or fully associating or connecting with self and others. After all, this is a waste of time and wouldn’t do much for upholding the myth of meritocracy—another maintainer of whiteness, capitalism and inequity.
As a cis-gender female Indian, I recognise that I have been socialised into being a status quo maintainer or discomfort avoider, which often means using silence as a tool for the centring of White comfort. Whilst historically I have stayed silent about my achievements, injustices and challenges as an unconscious survival response, it is now conscious and a strategy I still adopt on a daily basis, unless, on the rare occasion, I feel my comfort has space without a cost i.e. the White dominant norms is not being centred. This tendency toward self-silencing is not unique to my experience; research on communication across cultures suggests that those in hierarchical or dominant contexts may soften or withhold direct speech in order to avoid challenging authority or creating discomfort. For example, Malcolm Gladwell uses the Avianca Flight 052 crash in Outliers (2008) to show how people may silence themselves in high-stakes situations. In the chapter “The Ethnic Theory of Plane Crashes”, he describes this as mitigated speech, where a person softens or hedges what they really mean rather than speaking directly. In this case, the Colombian pilots did not directly state the extent of the fuel emergency to the American air traffic controller, instead using indirect language that failed to clearly convey the urgency of the situation. I propose this to be part of an intergenerational learned strategy for many racialised groups, in which indirect and or softened language is used as a means to downplay a potential challenge (and its associated ill consequences) to the dominant group or norm, or to minimise the potential for the creation of discomfort. There is also an overlapping role of Hofstede's concept of Power Distance—the degree to which unequal power relationships are accepted within a culture—where the Colombian pilots may have perceived themselves as subordinate to the American Air Traffic Controller, and thereby deferred to them.
Content warning: The following section includes references to sexual violence.
Another example of how silence can emerge in response to perceived authority is depicted in the film Compliance, which is based on a series of real incidents in the United States known as the ‘strip-search phone call’ scams. In the film, a fast-food restaurant manager receives a phone call from a man claiming to be a police officer investigating a customer complaint about an employee named Becky. The caller instructs the manager to detain Becky and follow a series of investigative procedures while he allegedly coordinates the investigation. As the conversation continues, the requests become more invasive, including searches of Becky’s body and instructions that escalate into humiliating and abusive acts. Although several people involved express hesitation or uncertainty, they continue to comply because the caller presents himself as a legitimate authority figure and repeatedly reinforces the idea that they are assisting a police investigation. In this context, discomfort, doubt, and moral hesitation are suppressed in deference to perceived authority. This dynamic can be understood as a form of situational self-silencing, where people mute or minimise their objections and unease rather than openly challenging the legitimacy of the instructions they are receiving. The interactions in the film also show related communication patterns such as mitigated speech, in which uncertainty or disagreement is expressed indirectly or cautiously, and wider power dynamics, in which participants defer to a figure they believe holds institutional authority.
I propose that such silencing can also function as an avoidance strategy in order to reduce the risk of being seen as troublesome, non-compliant and unhelpful.
For many racialised people, not conforming to expectations associated with the ‘model minority’ stereotype can carry the risk of being labelled as angry or difficult. The navigation of this needs to be carefully mitigated. I have lost count of the number of times people have shared their experiences of receiving unsolicited comments such as “you clearly feel very emotional about this” or “your tone is aggressive”, when they have been assertive in behaviour or expressed a non-dominant view which challenges White comfort. More often than not, I have experienced and seen this lead to informal or formal complaints about allegedly overstepping. I have encountered similar dynamics in my own workplace. For example, on one occasion I asked a colleague to use their office (whilst on leave) and I was subsequently summoned to my managers and advised that ‘people’ had been complaining that I was taking ownership of the office as my colleague was leaving the workplace soon. My colleague had agreed to me using it, there was no inconvenience to anyone, he was the same grade as me and the aim was to work with reduced noise for writing complex reports. Nevertheless, I was told to remove my things from the office immediately, and when asked who the complaints were from was advised they did not want to share and proceeded on a walk of shame to gather my things. This is also a great example of how silence (of the complainant) is weaponised to avoid accountability.
Experiences such as this invite reflection on how seemingly minor workplace interactions can become sites where wider power dynamics are reproduced. Research on workplace microaggressions suggests that racialised professionals are often subject to heightened scrutiny and selective incivility, where behaviour that might otherwise pass without comment becomes interpreted as overstepping or inappropriate. In such contexts, assertiveness or initiative can be read through racialised stereotypes that frame minority staff as aggressive, entitled or difficult. At the same time, organisational mechanisms such as anonymous complaints can shield the complainant from scrutiny while leaving the person complained about exposed to managerial intervention. Silence therefore operates unevenly: racialised staff may have to carefully regulate their behaviour and expression, while others can bring up concerns without similar exposure or accountability.
The emotional labour of this is real and accumulates with intersecting minoritised identities, such as race, gender and sexual identity. In 25 years of working as a psychologist I cannot recall a single female client who has not spoken about feeling a childhood expectation of playing the role of conflict avoider, peacekeeper or appeaser at the expense of honouring their own needs, rights and wants.
Within many contexts, conformity and compliance tend to be rewarded, while those who question dominant norms risk being labelled disruptive. The ‘model minority’ stereotype illustrates how such dynamics operate: those who remain hardworking and non-confrontational are praised, whereas those who challenge the status quo may face social or institutional consequences. Over time, these patterns teach people when speaking carries risk and when silence is safer. Importantly, these dynamics do not operate only at the interpersonal level. The same social mechanisms that encourage people to moderate their tone or suppress dissent can also shape collective responses to injustice. However, silence does not arise from the same pressures for everyone. For those who occupy marginalised positions, silence may function as a strategy of self-protection within environments where challenging dominant norms can carry real consequences. For those closer to dominant social positions, including many White people in the West (‘the West’ here refers not simply to geography, but to places shaped by colonial histories in which whiteness has been constructed as the cultural and institutional norm), the risks of speaking may be less immediate, yet silence can still persist through the desire to preserve social comfort, avoid controversy or remain aligned with prevailing cultural narratives. When dominant institutions, media narratives and political frameworks define certain issues as controversial or uncomfortable, silence can become normalised across society. In this sense, silence is not merely personal restraint but a social phenomenon, shaped by power, belonging and the perceived costs of speaking out.
I am left reflecting on Martin Luther King’s words and the deafening silence when it comes to the occupation of Palestine, the apartheid regime created and maintained by Israel and the genocide of the Palestinian people. And more recently the illegality of the war on Iran perpetrated by Israel and the USA. If we are to live in a fair and just world, then how does this show up in how we support, fight for and uphold the value of all lives, ensuring that human rights are for all versus a privilege afforded to some?
Consider the famous story of Anne Frank, and how celebrated and revered the helpers who saved her life were. Also known as the six helpers, these people courageously risked their lives to protect the lives of Anne Frank, her family, the Le Pell family and Fritz Pfeffer. The home in Amsterdam remains a popular tourist attraction today, and in 1973, at Otto Frank's request, all the helpers of the Secret Annex also received the high Israeli award Righteous Among the Nations.
So why is it that in 2026, a time when one could argue there are more accessible resources and less risky ways of protecting the lives of those being targeted as part of a genocide, is there so much silence? The partner of Fritz Pfeffer, Charlotte Kaletta, provided an interesting perspective on silence that may be relevant for these times also. She recounted: “We lived in Berlin. My husband was Jewish; I am a Catholic. We would speak about the matter when speaking made us feel better, and we would say nothing about it when silence made us feel better.”
So how do we create friendship with silence and ensure it isn’t a foe?
I invite you to create consciousness about your habitual and default uses and misuses of silence. This is with the aim of understanding it with curiosity and compassion.
I invite you to consider the below as a starting point.
Observe the why and when of silence (being chosen)
Am I choosing silence ….
- as a self-soothing tool i.e. ‘to feel better’
- to avoid discomfort within myself
- to centre the comfort of others
- to continue receiving the benefits of being silent
- to not stand out and put myself at ‘risk’
- to protect myself, family, livelihood, reputation, status
- to keep friends, family members in my life
As a final note, in my work as an anti-racist therapist, leadership coach, consultant and trainer I am also on a journey of reflection about how I perpetuate this ‘silence’ in my work. For example, with the use of language, namely Diversity, Equity and Inclusion. But more on this in my future musings.
