Walls Have Ears: Closing the Circle of Oppression

 A reflection on oppression as an inner voice, a social structure, and an awareness of self and others.

For as long as we can remember, we’ve heard the saying “walls have ears.”
And when we reflect on it, we realize we live in a world whose power stems from imagination—
the imagination of how others see us, and our own imagination of what might happen if we speak, move, love, or even simply express ourselves.
This isn’t just innocent imagination—it operates as a foundational structure of life: shaping our feelings, our steps, even our dreams, and at times our entire life path.
Over time, we respond to this power not only as victims but as actors within the circle of oppression. And thus, the circle closes in—on itself, and on us.

In my late twenties, my voice changed noticeably.
I became more understanding—and at times more obedient—to the teachings of “social protection.”
As time passed, I felt that my voice no longer came from me, but was an extension of other voices, belonging to people I did not even know.
Voices telling me what is allowed, when to be silent, and how to appear “reasonable.”
It took me a long time to critique that old voice—the one that once carried free imaginings of love, freedom, and experimentation.
From that moment on, I felt I had partially lost myself, standing in the middle of a path:
between global and local imaginations, and between my own understanding of things—a self that is still taking shape.

With the closing of the circle of oppression—the gap between our true voices and the voices of “society and people”—we begin to confuse oppressor and oppressed.
We revolve in a circular orbit, asking ourselves:
Am I only oppressed?
Or do I sometimes play both roles at once—oppressed and oppressor in the very same moment?

And from this reflection comes another:
Is the oppressor even aware of their position and their impact on us? Do they recognize the pain their power inflicts?

Sometimes I remember situations in which I was the one who frightened others.
I used the same fearful imagination that once oppressed me in order to silence my friends.
I overstepped their right to choose, to love, to experiment—because I too was afraid.
And without realizing it, I reproduced the very oppression I was trying to escape.

The Brazilian educator Paulo Freire, in his book Pedagogy of the Oppressed, describes oppression not only as an external act but as an internal cycle where the oppressed can sometimes become the oppressor—without even intending to.

He argues that the first step toward liberation is recognizing the role I play within this cycle—
to see how the oppressor’s voice can settle inside me, and how I might repeat it to myself or onto others.

I once believed oppression always came from the outside: from the state, from society, from the family.
But the truth is, sometimes oppression grows within me—through my own voice, through my own hands.

In our experiences as queers within our communities and families, we face different forms of oppression.

Let us begin to trace the circles of oppression we live in, and understand how they shape us,
so that we can recognize our place within them, and ask ourselves:
How can we stop ourselves from reproducing new forms of oppression?

Let us participate in creating new, free, intersectional imaginations—imaginations that hear us and build upon our own expressions of self.

Imaginations not driven only by the desire for safety, but nourished by hope in a different space—one that can hold us.

A space where fear is not the starting point.

This article is part of a series exploring our relationship with ourselves and others through multiple concepts.