I’ve heard it countless times. I’ve said it countless times! 

“I want to be a voice for the voiceless.” 

I would then think about how noble and amazing my cause was. *cue pride bubbling up to the surface in unhealthy quantities*

Before I get started, a disclaimer: I’m not intending to instigate conflict, or hurt feelings with the ideas I’m about to present. My hope is to provide an alternative way of thinking about that phrase and that become more intentional about when and how we use it.

When we talk about the “voiceless,” who are we most often talking about? Maybe people experiencing homelessness, children, people living in impoverished counties, refugees? We tend to describe people who are oppressed, vulnerable, and generally disregarded by a large portion of our society. 

Often they are people who feel unheard, unimportant, and powerless. 

Here’s the big scary question:

What if being ‘a voice for the voiceless’ isn’t actually helping them?

What if by being the one to tell their story, we are actually perpetuating a culture in which their stories are only taken seriously when told by a person of privilege, and they continue to be viewed as incapable, less than, etc.?

When someone feels unheard and a person with more resources, more education, more support, and so on steps in to be a ‘voice’ for them, the message they might receive is that they do not have the capability to speak for themselves. 

In conversations I have had with my clients I have learned that they know and can share their stories better than I ever could. I had a false sense of importance, like they needed me, like I needed to speak for them because they couldn’t. How prideful of me! 

Those experiences did the necessary work of knocking me down a peg or two (or 12), and elevating my clients to a place of competence and worthiness.

What if, though our intention is to empower them, or to help their experiences be taken seriously, we strip them of their power and autonomy?

Through speaking for them, we may be making the heartbreaking (and I would argue, false) assumption that they don’t have a voice. It’s a fallacy—by calling them the ‘voiceless,’ even when we don’t really mean to do so, we are communicating that they don’t have a voice. But that’s not the issue. They have a voice! It’s just that no one will listen to them. 

They likely don’t have the platform that we have; to speak and actually be listened to.

There is absolutely a place for advocacy, particularly in situations where it might not be appropriate or beneficial for someone to describe the trauma or struggle they have experienced. I know a lot of absolutely incredible people doing that work every day, and it is so beautiful. 

I also know a lot of people who want to tell their story, but have not been given the opportunity to do so. 

What have I learned from this process?

First, language is important. The words we use to describe someone, while well-meaning, can disempower and cause more damage in the long run. 

Second, that I have privilege. The kind of privilege where when I share something—a concern, a frustration—people listen and take the time to truly hear me. 

Third, that it may be more helpful to use the platform that my privilege provides me as a stage for vulnerable and oppressed people to stand on to bravely share their stories. Stories of hurt, of struggle, of injustice, of strengths, and of triumphs. 

I hope to always remember that though society may view some people as being voiceless, I have the opportunity to recognize their humanity, and in doing so empower them to use their voice and boldly tell their stories.