06/09/2025

SATURDAY | SEPT 6, 2025

18 When silence protects the wrong people T OO many adults carry a secret they never asked to hold. They were touched, molested or assaulted as children. 0 They freeze Faced with fear, the body sometimes shuts down. This freeze or dissociation is instinctive. 0 They are threatened

self-blame. One elderly lady said when she was in her twenties, she was molested on a long-haul flight. She froze. When she told me the story, she asked: “Why didn’t I scream? Why didn’t I stand up and walk away?” Her question is one I hear often. Survivors don’t just carry the memory of what was done to them but also the unbearable weight of what they think they “should” have done. The truth is, they froze – and freezing is a human survival response. It is not weakness; it is biology. Also, many children grow up never being told they have the right to say no. They are taught to keep the peace, to avoid embarrassing others, to prioritise family reputation, hence, speaking up feels impossible. People often ask: why don’t children tell someone? Why don’t they run to their parents? The reasons are painfully clear: 0 They were never taught permission If a child is not encouraged to voice discomfort, they will not magically discover the courage to do so during abuse. 0 They don’t know it is wrong

boundaries. Tell them their body is their own. Teach them that no one – not relatives, teachers, family or friends – has the right to touch them in ways that feel wrong. Encourage them to speak up about anything that makes them uncomfortable. For teenagers, provide resources such as books, articles and safe spaces for conversations. Reassure them that your door is always open, whether they want to talk about something that happened long ago or something happening now. For society as a whole, stop shying away from these conversations. Stop dismissing survivors with, “it’s in the past”. The shame of abuse never belongs to the child. The responsibility does not rest on the adult survivor. Silence is shared by all of us and it protects the wrong people. But courage can protect the vulnerable. If you are a survivor, know that it is never too late. If you are a parent, have the uncomfortable conversations. If you are part of the community, stop looking away. Because every time we stay silent, another child learns to stay silent too, and that silence ends in suffering. NahlanaT. Kreshnan is a somatic psychotherapist and life and executive coach. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com

Some have buried it so deep they barely think of it; others live with the shame every single day. What they share is silence – a silence that protects the perpetrator, never the child. This is a raw and difficult subject but it is one we must talk about. Because as long as it remains hidden, the damage multiplies. Hidden realities When people think of sexual assault, they often picture violent attacks by strangers. But the truth is far closer to home. In majority of the cases, the perpetrator is someone the family knows and trusts: a relative, neighbour, teacher, babysitter, maid or even grandparent. The abuse is often “subtle” – not always violent or physically painful. Sometimes it is just a hand that lingers too long, a touch framed as “play” or a confusing request to keep secrets. Yet, these acts can leave wounds that cut deep – wounds that only reveal their true pain years later, when the child grows into adulthood and realises what really happened. That is when shame takes over. Shame and, its equally toxic partner,

Perpetrators often demand secrecy or threaten harm to the child, their loved ones or pets. The abuse may stop as the child grows older or the perpetrator moves away but the silence does not stop; it follows the child into adulthood, where the real devastation begins. Long shadow of shame As survivors mature, they look back and realise: “That wasn’t affection. That wasn’t play. That was abuse.” With that realisation comes self blame: “Why did I let it happen? I am disgusting. I should have fought back.” This spiral corrodes self-worth, crippling self-esteem. It even allows toleration of mistreatment in adult relationships. The child who once had no choice grows into an adult who believes they deserve the abuse. But the truth survivors need to hear is it was never their fault. It is never too late to heal. Therapy or just talking to someone you trust helps. Saying the words out loud for the first time can be life-changing. For parents and caregivers, it is crucial to educate your children about

“It is never too late to heal. Therapy or just talking to someone you trust helps. Saying the words out loud for the first time can be life-changing.

Many parents avoid talking about bodily boundaries. If children are not told that nobody has the right to touch them inappropriately, not even family, they cannot recognise abuse for what it is. The delicious fear that keeps us alive

THERE is something wonderfully ridiculous about paying good money to be terrified. We avoid fear in real life – checking the back seats of

friend who tells a ghost story, pauses dramatically and then grabs your shoulder at the scariest part – infuriating, effective and addictive.

So when the latest Conjuring premiered on Sept 3, I watched. And once again, I left the cinema with sweaty palms, a racing heart and the unshakable sense that maybe I should not have parked so far from the exit. Walking to my car felt like my own personal horror I N T

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our cars, pretending we did not hear that creak upstairs but the moment a horror movie hits the big screen, there we are, willingly lining up, popcorn in hand, ready to scream. Honestly, it makes no sense. And yet, I can’t stop. P

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movie. But here’s the thing: Hollywood doesn’t have a monopoly on scares. Malaysia’s ghost game is strong. While America gives us Annabelle and demon nuns, we have the Pontianak , who doesn’t need special effects – just a banana tree and the right kind of scream. We have the Toyol , who’ll swipe your cash. The Pocong , hopping its way through the night like the world’s most horrifying pogo stick. And because I’m an Indian, my childhood ghost stories were a mash of both worlds. I grew up hearing about the Pontianak and the Mohini – the vengeful spirit in a white saree, luring men to their doom. There were tales of the pey (ghost in Tamil) that lingered around old trees or the Katteri (vampire-like ghost) that roamed kampung backroads but somehow always made its way into conversations at our dinner table. These stories terrified me and thrilled me all at once. Mixed with Malaysian legends, they spoiled us with nightmare fuel long before Hollywood came along. These were not just stories, either. Ask any Malaysian and someone will swear their cousin’s neighbour’s friend has seen something. Growing up, I would listen to these tales and

I have been hooked on horror for years, though “hooked” may be the wrong word since I spend half the time with my fingers over my eyes, peeking just enough to see what is happening. It is the classic horror movie stance: I’m scared but I must watch. By the end, my popcorn is untouched and my dignity is in tatters. Why do we do this to ourselves? Science says it is the adrenaline rush, the safe way to experience danger. I would say it is because we humans are strange creatures who enjoy screaming together in the dark; it is like karaoke, except instead of singing badly, we are gasping and shrieking in unison. No franchise feeds this masochism quite like The Conjuring . Inspired by the real-life cases of paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren, it delivers scares that stick. Not the cheap, cat-jumping-out of-a-closet kind, but the ones that follow you home. The ones that make you switch on the bathroom light at 3am and whisper a small prayer before sleeping. And then there is James Wan, the director who knows exactly how long to stretch the silence before unleashing a scream. He is like that

Horror movies are not just about the ghosts; they are about the people - the way we bond over fear, clutching each other’s arms in the cinema, laughing nervously afterwards about how we all screamed at the same time. – AFPPIC

point; fear jolts us awake, it reminds us that life is not just about bills and traffic jams but also Pontianaks , Mohinis and parking-lot shadows – the delicious possibility that something is out there, waiting. Because the truth is, we don’t chase ghosts for fear; we chase them for the reminder that our hearts still beat. HashiniKavishtri Kannan is the assistant news editor at theSun. Comments: letters@thesundaily.com

fear, clutching each other’s arms in the cinema, laughing nervously afterwards about how we all screamed at the same time. These were the stories that got passed down, spicing up sleepovers and late-night mamak sessions. Horror makes us feel alive precisely because it brings us close to death while keeping us perfectly safe. Yes, it is absurd. We invite fear into our lives, knowing full well we will regret it at 2am when the floor creaks. But maybe that is the whole

immediately regret it when I had to go to the toilet at night. That faint knock on the window? Definitely a Toyol . The wind howling outside? Pontianak or maybe Mohini . I once even convinced myself the creak of the fridge door was the Kuttichathan , a mischievous goblin from Tamil folklore, looking for a midnight snack. And yet, I keep going back for more. Because horror movies are not just about the ghosts; they are about the people – the way we bond over