Thursday, March 05, 2026

Misogyny in Public Office

This Women’s Month began with a troubling reminder that objectification of women still finds its way into the highest political institutions. When public officials treat women’s bodies as subjects of commentary, it weakens the dignity that public office is supposed to protect.

What a way to begin Women’s Month.

I did not expect to write about this again so soon. Yet here we are, confronting another elected official who seems unable to grasp the basic standard of decency expected in public office.

During the last election season, I wrote about candidates who reduced women to objects, punchlines, or props in campaign speeches. I stressed that objectification is not humor. It is not charisma. It is not harmless.

Apparently, the message still needs repeating.

In a public forum at the House of Representatives, Quezon City 4th District Representative Bong Suntay narrated how he once saw actress Anne Curtis at a mall. He described her beauty and openly admitted that he felt desire for her, adding that it would remain only in his imagination.

For an ordinary citizen, such a remark may be dismissed as crude. But for a lawmaker speaking in an official forum, it becomes public conduct.

Words spoken in Congress are not casual conversation. They carry institutional weight.

This is particularly troubling given that Suntay, during his time in the Quezon City Council, was part of the body that passed the Gender and Development Code and the Bawal Bastos Ordinance, measures meant to address lewd, malicious, and demeaning remarks in public spaces.

Yet in the very institution responsible for crafting national policy, he narrated his sexual imagination about a woman. Clearly, he isn’t living what he preaches as a lawmaker.

A female representative later moved to have his statement stricken from the record. Despite this, Suntay insisted he had done nothing wrong. He even suggested that the actress should take the remark as a compliment.

This response reveals the deeper problem.

When men in positions of power publicly narrate their desire for women, three things happen.

First, it normalizes objectification.

Second, it blurs the line between private thought and public conduct.

Third, it signals that women’s bodies remain acceptable subjects of commentary even in political institutions.

This is not about attraction. Attraction is human.

But a lawmaker speaking in an official forum is not a private citizen in a casual setting. When he speaks, he does so with the authority of the institution he represents. His words help define the standards of conduct in public life.

Politics is not entertainment. And Congress is certainly not a locker room.

The fact that the woman mentioned is a public figure does not make the remark acceptable. Fame does not erase a woman’s right to dignity. Objectification does not become ethical simply because the woman is admired.

This incident was not a minor slip.

Language shapes behavior. The moment private thoughts are spoken in an official setting, they become public speech.

When we tolerate this kind of language in political spaces, we teach the next generation that it is acceptable in public life.

When those in power casually talk about sexual desire, objectification slowly becomes normalized.

And objectification should never be normal.

Without accountability, nothing changes.

After years of discussions about respect, representation, and women’s rights, one would hope we had moved forward. Yet progress, it seems, does not sustain itself without vigilance.

Public officials are entrusted with more than authority. They are expected to lead with dignity and restraint. When that standard collapses, laws and ordinances lose their meaning.

Because dignity is not negotiable.

And if Representative Suntay has any regard left for the office he holds, the honorable course would be to step down.

His response so far suggests otherwise.

I can only hope that the Congress Ethics Committee takes action for his crude and very unethical remarks on Ms. Curtis.

Tuesday, February 24, 2026

When Trust Becomes a Weapon

 I have written blogs on many topics since I started blogging two decades ago. Violence in any form, especially against women and children, affects me the most.

I recently came across the story of Gisèle Pelicot, who spent nearly fifty years with the man she believed was her loving husband. What happened inside that marriage is difficult to comprehend.

In 1973, Gisèle Pelicot married Dominique Pelicot. They were young when they began their life together and went on to raise children and share decades of family life. Their marriage looked like one that survived the usual challenges couples face.

To the outside world, nothing seemed unusual. Even Gisèle herself did not know for years what was happening behind closed doors.

Around 2011, nearly forty years after their wedding, Dominique Pelicot began drugging his wife. He crushed sedatives into her food and drinks and waited until she lost consciousness. Then he invited other men into their home to rape her while she lay heavily sedated. This continued for about nine years.

Dozens of men entered that bedroom. Many saw a woman who was clearly unconscious and proceeded anyway.

Gisèle did not know what he was doing to her. She experienced memory gaps, felt physically unwell, and woke up confused. Like many women, she searched for explanations that did not involve the man she trusted since 1973. When abuse comes from the person you love and trust most, your mind resists the truth.

The abuse did not stop because he confessed or because someone in the family discovered it. It stopped in 2020 when police arrested Dominique Pelicot for a separate crime. He was caught filming up women’s skirts in a supermarket. Police seized his electronic devices and discovered hundreds of videos documenting the assaults on his wife.

As the case unfolded, attention turned to their children. Public reports said there was no evidence the children knew what was happening to their mother at the time. There was also no evidence that they participated in the assaults against her. Investigators found troubling images involving two of the couple’s daughters on his devices, and authorities filed additional charges. The daughters publicly expressed their belief that he may have drugged and abused them as well, though the legal process examined those allegations separately.

The betrayal did not stop with the marriage. When their children learned what their father had done, their sense of safety and trust collapsed. Even though they did not know at the time, they now had to process the destruction of everything they believed about him. That kind of damage does not heal easily, and in some cases, it never fully heals.

The court prosecuted Dominique Pelicot. He admitted that he drugged his wife and organized the assaults. The court convicted him and sentenced him to 20 years in prison, the maximum sentence allowed under French law. His public image as a husband and father ended in that courtroom.

For Gisèle, and victims like her, recovery is far more complicated. Surviving something like this does not mean waking up one day and feeling strong. Recovery from this kind of betrayal and sexual violence requires trauma therapy, medical support, and the slow rebuilding of trust in oneself and others.

She chose to rebuild her life privately and focused on healing and on her children. She faced not only physical and emotional violation but also the collapse of a marriage that lasted nearly forty years before the abuse began. The children, now adults, supported their mother publicly and spoke about the shock, grief, and anger that followed the revelations. They confronted the reality that their father lived a very disturbing life.

Gisèle and her children now live away from him and try to move forward. They carry the weight of what happened, but they no longer live in silence.

What they went through reminds us that trust can be exploited. A marriage that lasted nearly fifty years concealed almost a decade of deliberate abuse. What happened between 2011 and 2020 will always remain part of their history, but we can refuse to ignore what this story reveals.

It should also remind us that abuse can quietly enter anyone’s life in many forms, gain our trust over years, and then shatter it.

If we truly want change, we must begin by taking these steps:

  1. We can believe women when they describe confusion or unexplained harm.
  2. We can take intimate partner violence seriously, even when it contradicts the image of a respectable family.
  3. We can stop assuming that longevity equals trustworthiness.
  4. We should be more aware that the misuse of God’s word to control or silence someone is still abuse. Faith should never become a tool for manipulation or fear.


When abuse is exposed, it rarely affects only one person. It often leaves an entire family trying to stand up again. Trust should never be used as a weapon. When someone betrays that trust, the responsibility belongs entirely to the one who caused the harm. At the same time, recognizing the abuse and reaching out for help is an important step toward safety and healing.

Sources:

New York Times – Coverage of the Gisèle Pelicot case: https://www.nytimes.com/

BBC News - Reporting on the Dominique Pelicot trial: https://www.bbc.com/news

France 24 – Trial and sentencing coverage: https://www.france24.com/

Reuters – Case and sentencing report: https://www.reuters.com/

Saturday, February 07, 2026

When Silence Feels Easier—and Why It Isn’t

Author’s note: This is a piece I’ve carried for a long time, after spending time learning about female genital mutilation (FGM) and its impact. Writing it wasn’t easy, but it felt necessary. I’m sharing it in the hope that it invites openness rather than silence.


I’ve written about many social issues over the years. Speaking out through my blogs has been my way of expressing myself on issues I feel strongly about.

But this is one issue I had not written about before. Not on my blog, nor anywhere else.

Female genital mutilation was something I felt strongly about, yet for a long time I couldn’t express it openly. Not because it didn’t matter enough, but because it felt overwhelming in a way that was difficult to put into words. The reality of it was always there, even when I wasn’t writing about it. There was also a deep disbelief in me that something so horrendous was, and still is, happening to little girls.

But caring deeply, without speaking, does not stop violence.

This isn’t only about finding the right words. It’s also about what we do when something affects us so deeply that silence starts to feel like the easier option. It’s about recognizing that discomfort is often a sign that something needs to be named, not avoided.

If you are reading this, you may recognize that feeling too. The pause before speaking. The question of whether your voice will make a difference.

Know that it will.

Change does not begin with perfect language or expert knowledge. It begins when people refuse to normalize harm. When conversations happen inside families, when women speak to other women, when men listen, an when communities decide that protecting their daughters sometimes means changing long-held traditions.

Ending FGM requires laws, funding, and systems. It also requires voices that are willing to say clearly that this violence is not acceptable.

Organizations like UNICEF work alongside survivors and local leaders to end FGM and support those already affected. Supporting their work matters, and choosing not to look away when this issue comes up matters just as much.

You don’t have to be an expert or an eloquent speaker. You simply have to refuse silence when something you know is wrong. Because every time we choose not to speak, we leave more room for violence to continue.

This year alone, 4.5 million girls are counting on us to ensure they are not the next to be harmed.

Silence is no longer an option.

Sources and further reading