Every time I tell my story, I feel that I am taking some power
Every time I tell my story, I feel that I am taking some power away from the terrorists.
Nadia Murad, survivor, witness, and herald of justice, proclaims with quiet strength: “Every time I tell my story, I feel that I am taking some power away from the terrorists.” In these words resounds the defiance of one who has endured horror, yet refuses silence. The terrorists sought to shatter her, to bury her voice beneath fear and shame, but each retelling becomes a sword of light, stripping away the power of lies and reclaiming dignity for herself and her people.
The meaning is profound. The oppressor thrives on silence, for silence hides their crimes and multiplies their power. But to tell the story is to expose darkness, to name injustice, and to reclaim agency. In speaking, the survivor transforms pain into testimony, and suffering into resistance. Thus, Murad shows us that the act of remembering aloud is itself an act of power, for it denies the oppressor the victory of erasure.
History echoes this truth. Consider the voices of the Holocaust survivors, who, like Elie Wiesel, told their stories so that the world might never forget. By sharing their suffering, they stripped the Nazis of their false glory and gave future generations the tools to recognize and resist tyranny. What the killers tried to silence became immortal words of witness, and in that witness the victims claimed a victory beyond death. Murad walks in this same tradition of defiant truth.
Her words also reveal the sacred link between memory and justice. Courts may try criminals, and armies may defeat them, but only testimony heals the wound of silence. Each time Murad speaks, she ensures that the fate of her people—the Yazidis—is not forgotten. In this way, power shifts: from those who sought to destroy, to those who preserve, resist, and inspire.
Therefore, let the seeker of wisdom remember: the telling of truth is a weapon. When the oppressed tell their story, they rob the oppressor of fear’s dominion. To speak is to resist, to testify is to fight, to remember is to conquer. Nadia Murad, in her courage, teaches that even in the aftermath of terror, the voice becomes stronger than the sword, and truth becomes the enduring power that tyranny can never destroy.
KVTran Khoi Viet
What I love about this quote is the quiet defiance in it. It shows that even in the face of horror, there’s agency in truth-telling. But it also raises a question: how can the world honor that bravery without sensationalizing it? Too often, media amplifies trauma rather than the person’s strength. Murad reminds us that storytelling isn’t just emotional—it’s political, a way to dismantle fear and restore humanity’s voice.
HMle hai minh
Hearing this perspective makes me reflect on how memory and storytelling shape healing. By retelling her experience, Murad transforms what was meant to destroy her into a tool for awareness. Yet I wonder how sustainable that empowerment is—does telling her story again and again heal her, or does it reopen wounds? It’s such a delicate balance between using pain for purpose and finding personal peace beyond it.
NHNguyen Hue
This idea fascinates me—the notion that speech itself can be a weapon against violence. Murad’s words seem to strip power from those who tried to silence her. It makes me ask whether every act of remembrance serves as resistance. Can sharing one’s story change not only public perception but also history’s narrative? It’s a reminder that testimony isn’t passive—it’s an ongoing battle for justice and acknowledgment.
TBthao bien
I find this quote deeply moving because it redefines strength. Instead of fighting with weapons, Murad fights with truth. It makes me reflect on how silence often benefits oppressors, while storytelling breaks their control. But I also think about the burden placed on survivors to educate the world—should that responsibility fall on them? Her courage is undeniable, but it also reveals how society relies on survivors to awaken its conscience.
TTKieu Trang Tran
This statement is incredibly powerful—it turns trauma into resistance. It makes me think about how storytelling can reclaim dignity after violence. But I also wonder how emotionally taxing it must be for survivors like Nadia Murad to keep revisiting their pain publicly. Is there a limit to how much one can share before it becomes retraumatizing? Still, it’s inspiring to see how testimony can transform personal suffering into a collective act of defiance.