The Unwritten Rules: When Truth Goes Silent

The Unwritten Rules: When Truth Goes Silent

By Chiedza Bodo

Good afternoon, good morning, good evening, wherever you are. From our dusty streets in Highfield to the bustling corners of New York. I've been sitting with a heavy truth lately, something etched into the very fabric of our lives, whether we choose to see it or not. It’s about power, about truth, and what happens when the scales just aren’t balanced. It’s about all the inequality we witness, right here in Zimbabwe and across the globe.

The Weight of a Weapon

Imagine this with me for a second. Two people standing face to face.

If I hold a gun and you hold a gun, yes, we can talk about the law. We can talk about what's legal, what's justified, what the books say in court. There’s a strange understanding then, a shared threat that makes us reckon with the rules.

But what if I have a knife and you have a knife? Now we’re talking about rules – the unwritten ones. The code of the street, the principles of survival. It’s not about the law anymore; it’s about respect, about how we move in this raw reality. My brother, my cousin, they grew up seeing that. You had to learn those unspoken codes fast, or you’d get lost.

Now, picture this: You come empty-handed, and I come empty-handed. That’s when we can truly talk about reason. That’s when we can sit down, eye-to-eye, and let logic and understanding guide the conversation. No threats, no leverage, just the pure exchange of thought. My Sekuru always said, “Real talk has no weapons, just open hearts.”

But here’s where it gets real, where the rubber meets the road. What if you have a gun, and all I have is a knife? Then the truth, my friends, it lies in your hands. My argument, my perspective, my very existence, it becomes secondary to the power you wield. And if you have that gun and I have absolutely nothing? It’s not just a weapon then, is it? It’s my life. It’s every breath I take, every dream I hold, all hanging on your decision.

The Illusion of Equality

You see, the very idea of law and rules is supposed to be built on this foundation of equality. Everyone on the same playing field, right? But the harsh truth of this world, the one they don’t always want to preach in the classrooms, is that when money speaks, truth goes silent. Have you ever seen a righteous cause get drowned out by a wave of dollars? When the pockets are deep, the facts get twisted, the voices of the unheard get muffled. My Gogo always told us, “Don’t let the shiny things blind you to the real dirt.”

And it goes even deeper. When power speaks, even money takes three steps back. Think about it. Authority, influence, control – that’s the ultimate currency. Those who hold the keys, those who pull the strings, they dictate the rhythm. We see it in governments, in big corporations, even in our own neighbourhoods, where some folks have the pull and others just pray for a fair shake. It reminds me of those “unseen pains,” like Dr. Simi talked about in her reflections – the marital abuse, the gaslighting. There's no lab test for that, but the power dynamic still makes the truth go silent.

Chains or Tools?

And that brings us to the rules themselves. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but often, those who create the rules are the very first to break them. They set the boundaries, but they operate outside of them. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

Because for some, rules are chains for the weak. They hold folks down, keep them in check, limit their movement. You see it in places like the story of Josephine Ekasiba, a young mother fighting eviction from the only home she knows, just because of old cultural beliefs or someone else’s power play. You see it when kids, like my own experience growing up in Zimbabwe, are labelled “lazy or slow” just because they learn differently, because the system isn’t built for their truth.

But for others, the strong, the cunning, the connected – rules are just tools. They’re instruments to be manipulated, to be used to their advantage, to further their own agenda. It’s a game, and some folks are just masters at playing it. They’re fiercely competing for every resource, every inch of ground, while others sit idly, just waiting to be given a share. My Uncle Tinashe always says, “The ones with the loudest voice aren’t always speaking the realest.”

The Fight for What's Right

So, what does this mean for us? It means in this world, anything good, anything pure, anything worth having, must be fought for. It’s not just handed to you on a silver platter. You have to earn it, you have to scratch and claw for it, sometimes against overwhelming odds. Like Harriet Afandi shared from Kenya, choosing herself, breaking those generational curses, even when folks tried to curse her money or her path. She fought.

This isn’t about being cynical; it’s about being real. It’s about understanding the landscape we live in, so we can navigate it, so we can make our moves with our eyes wide open. Because when you know the game, you have a better chance of changing the rules. Or at least, learning how to play it better than those who think they run it all.

Our Power, Our Voice

We see this fight every day in the stories shared on platforms like World Pulse. Women like Muniba, bringing light to silent agony. Women like the quiet girl from the story who wrote “I Am Not Born To Be Buried Alive,” proving that a single voice, a single truth, can cut through the noise and spark a revolution. Like the sister said in her message, “Not all heroes are loud. Some write. Some feel. Some heal.”

Our authenticity, our truth, our light – as Noorina reminded us – that’s our real power. It’s the medicine. It’s the revolution in motion. And as Katrina Khan-Roberts shared from Trinidad and Tobago, sometimes that means just looking at your own face, truly seeing the lines, the truth there, and choosing to take care of yourself, not for a facade, but for real, deep strength.

We can’t pour from an empty cup, but as the clinical psychologist reminded us, “together we are a river.” We have to fight, not with guns or knives, but with reason, with empathy, with our truth. We have to listen deeply, like Hawraa Ghandour taught us, so no one’s pain becomes invisible. We have to understand that dreams aren’t free for everyone, as Mubanga said from Zambia, and sometimes we have to create the exposure for others to even know what to dream for.

So, as you walk through your day, I want you to think about this. Where do you stand in this dynamic? What kind of power do you hold? And how will you use it, not just for yourself, but for those who might only have a knife, or nothing at all, in a world where the truth often lies in someone else’s hand?

Let’s make sure our truth isn’t silent anymore. Let’s make sure our collective voice is louder than any gun.

What part of your own journey speaks to these unwritten rules?