The world continues to be a volatile place.

And I’ve been having conversations with people across different spaces, communities, and sectors. Sometimes people thank me for speaking. Other times, they ask why I haven’t. Or they demand that I speak more.

It stays with me.

Because speaking is not a neutral act. And it is not the same for everyone.

I find myself calculating where and when to speak. Trying to minimise the harm that might reach me after I do, and to maximise the difference I could make if I do.

I’ve been thinking a lot about voice lately.

Voice as risk.
Voice as reclamation.

And between these two possibilities lies a whole world of lived realities, opportunities, and consequences.

We talk a lot about voice in our work. We encourage it. We invite it. We celebrate it.

“Speak up.”
“Share your thoughts.”
“We want to hear from everyone.”

But we don’t talk enough about what happens next.

Who is actually heard. Whose words land. Whose words change something.
And whose words disappear into the room without consequence.

We are not just dealing with who speaks. We are dealing with who is heard, who is believed, and who is acted upon.

Because voice is not just about expression. It is shaped by power.

Some people speak and are seen as insightful, articulate, leadership material. Others speak and are seen as difficult, emotional, disruptive, too much. The same words can be received in completely different ways, depending on who is speaking and who is listening.

So when we talk about encouraging people to speak, we have to ask a deeper question. What does it cost them to do so.

For some, speaking is participation.
For others, speaking is exposure.

Exposure to judgement. To being misunderstood. To being labelled. To subtle or direct consequences that may not be visible in the moment. And sometimes, worst of all, to being used as decoration. A nice add-on that, once it has done its job, is completely ignored, forgotten altogether, while the existing power structures quietly reassert themselves.

All of this accumulates over time. Over years. Over generations. And we carry it with us, in and through our voices.

This is where March’s question lingers. Safety for whom.

Because voice does not exist outside of safety, and safety is not evenly distributed.

We encourage people to speak without always examining the risk they are carrying as they do. And then we wonder why some people stay quiet.

But silence is not always absence.

Silence can be awareness.
Silence can be strategy.
Silence can be protection.

Silence can be a deeply informed decision about what this space can hold, and what it cannot.

So when we interpret silence as disengagement, lack of confidence, or lack of contribution, we miss something important. We miss the relationship between voice and consequence.

And even when people do speak, being heard is not guaranteed. Some voices are welcomed. Others are managed, softened, redirected, explained away. Sometimes even thanked, without anything actually changing.

Because we often treat listening as passive. As something that simply happens when someone else is talking. But being heard is not about sound. It is about what happens after.

Does anything shift.
Is harm acknowledged.
Are decisions reconsidered.
Is power moved, even slightly.

Or does the conversation move on, leaving the words behind.

And again, the room reorganises itself. Not around truth. Not around justice. But around maintaining what is already in place.

This is why speaking is not enough.

If we are serious about voice, we have to pay attention to what happens when voice enters the room.

Who responds.
Who feels discomfort.
Whose discomfort is prioritised.
Whose words are carried forward, and whose are left behind.

Because being heard is not about volume. It is about power.

As facilitators, leaders, and people who hold space in different ways, this matters.

Holding a space is not about inviting everyone to speak. It is about understanding what is at stake when they do. It means noticing who can speak freely and who is calculating the cost of every word. It means paying attention to how different voices are received, not just whether they are expressed.

It means resisting the urge to move on too quickly when something uncomfortable has been said, and instead asking what needs to shift for that voice to be taken seriously.

Because voice without consequence is performance.
And listening without change is extraction.

If we are serious about equity, about justice, about transformation, then we have to move beyond encouraging people to speak. We have to examine what happens when they do.

Who is heard.
Who is believed.
And what, if anything, changes as a result.

So the next time you invite people to share their thoughts, it might be worth pausing.

What does it cost them to speak here.
And what will happen if they do.

This is the fourth blog in my Power Awareness series.

More to come in May.

© Reem Assil 2026, All rights reserved

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash