She was a health worker—quiet, diligent, devoted to her calling. All she wanted was to serve with dignity. But to her superior, she was not a colleague. She was prey.
Day after day, he invaded her space, disguising his advances beneath the cloak of authority. People noticed. They chose silence. She resisted with grace—pushing him away gently, requesting a change of schedule, trusting the system to protect her. But the system betrayed her. Her pleas dissolved into the void.
Then came the night shift. The day after Valentine. She entered the common room to discuss a patient’s report. He ignored her words. His hand reached for her breasts. In that instant, her patience shattered. She slapped him—not out of anger, but out of sheer survival.
His rage exploded. Blow after blow fell upon her. Yet the cruelest strike was not his fists—it was the betrayal that followed. Her colleagues, even women who knew about the situation and should have understood, dismissed her pain. They called her dramatic. They urged her to drop the case. Not because she was wrong, but because her courage threatened the fragile comfort of their complicity.
This is the anatomy of a broken environment: a place where lawlessness no longer shocks, even within religious circles. Where wrongdoing is witnessed, but ignored—not from blindness, but because it reflects the open and hidden impulses of those watching.
In such a place, forgiveness is twisted. It is not celebrated for its beauty, but applauded because it reassures wrongdoers: “If she forgives, then my own wrong deeds will also be excused when I am exposed.”
But when a victim dares to resist, suddenly the community remembers its ideals. We preach restraint, dignity, forgiveness—not out of care for her, but because her defiance forces us to confront our own contradictions. Her slap was not just against her superior. It was against the entire culture of silence and hypocrisy. And that is what unsettled us most.
The truth is stark: environments shaped by normalized wrongdoing distort morality into a grotesque mirror. Forgiveness becomes a shield for corruption. Resistance is painted as rebellion. Both are manipulated to protect the crowd from accountability.
Breaking this cycle—especially in a season when love and lust intertwine—requires more than one woman’s courage. It demands collective healing:
– Naming wrong for what it is, instead of burying it under silence.
– Refusing to celebrate wrongdoers, instead of excusing them with “that’s just how they are.”
– Honouring forgiveness as strength and healing, not as a loophole for repeated misconduct.
– Standing with victims in empathy, so their pain is never dismissed as drama.
– Building new norms where accountability is not feared, but embraced as the path to growth.
God’s justice confronts wrongdoing and restores the wronged. His mercy invites repentance. His grace transforms without erasing accountability.
And so, in a society so deeply religious, we must ask: where are the Nathans bold enough to confront the Davids of our present day? When will we reflect the image of our Maker by choosing truth over tyranny, courage over complicity, healing over harm?
Isn’t it time to break the cycle? To rise into a new story—one of dignity, justice, and hope?
