In a world drowning in noise, where everyone feels compelled to offer an opinion—qualified or not—silence has become tragically underrated. We live in the era of endless talk, where everyone’s an overnight philosopher, and even your neighbour’s cat seems to have something to say on social media. Yet, the most powerful, mature, and compassionate response we often overlook is silence. And no, this isn’t about passively ghosting responsibilities or tiptoeing around hard truths. It’s about making the intentional, strategic choice to say nothing—when saying something would do more harm than good.
Let’s be honest: if you don’t know the full story, maybe sit this one out. Half-truths and speculative gossip are a dangerous cocktail. They’ve destroyed friendships, careers, and mental health more efficiently than any scandal ever could. Would you judge a novel based on its cover blurb? Then why treat someone’s life story like a tabloid headline? There’s immense dignity in admitting, “I don’t know enough to speak on this.” That’s not cowardice—it’s integrity. Silence, here, is a testament to intellectual humility—a trait in scarce supply these days.
Then there are those moments when emotions threaten to hijack your rationality. Your heart is racing, palms sweaty, and you feel the urge to say something you’ll rehearse painfully in your head later. That’s your cue. Pause. Breathe. Step back. Words born from emotional chaos rarely deliver clarity. More often, they launch verbal missiles you can’t recall and won’t be able to fix with a ‘sorry’ and a nervous laugh. Silence, in these moments, isn’t weakness. It’s self-mastery. It’s like taking your tongue for a walk while your brain catches up.
Anger, particularly, is a tempting trickster. It tells us we’re justified, that now is the perfect moment to ‘say it like it is’. But words said in anger are like toothpaste squeezed from the tube—good luck stuffing it back in. They linger, sting, and often leave scars longer than the moment lasted. Choose silence. Not forever, but until you can speak from clarity rather than combustion. If you need to vent, write an unsent letter, scream into a pillow, or narrate your drama to the bathroom mirror. Just spare the human relationships. Even your mirror might cringe less.
Now think about that critical point in a relationship or friendship, when you’re hanging by a thread, one sharp comment away from ruin. You might be right. You might have the perfect argument. But is that the battle you want to win if it means losing the war for connection? Sometimes silence is not suppression—it’s salvation. A decision not to burn the bridge you may want to walk across tomorrow. In such moments, silence becomes the unsung hero of emotional intelligence.
We also need to talk about what happens when we open our mouths without knowing the topic. The Dunning-Kruger effect is alive and well. Confidence without competence is a public epidemic. And while ignorance is forgivable, loud ignorance is downright exhausting. If you don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t talk—learn. Be the curious person who listens, not the self-appointed expert dishing out nonsense with flair. Google is free. Humility, however, is not.
Equally important is how we respond when others open their hearts. When someone is grieving, scared, or vulnerable, your job isn’t to fix it with trite one-liners or inspirational fluff. “It could be worse” is not the balm you think it is. Be quiet. Be present. Let your silence hold the space their pain needs to breathe. Healing often begins not with words but with being heard without interruption. Even Job’s friends were wise—for the first seven days.
Yelling, on the other hand, is the illusion of communication. It may feel satisfying in the moment, but it seldom invites understanding. If your volume is doing the talking, your message probably isn’t landing. Silence, in these cases, can serve as a reset button—a reminder that shouting matches rarely produce winners, just noise-fatigued casualties. In fact, the loudest room isn’t always the wisest—it’s often just the most insecure.
Then there’s the recent JAMB results glitch that affected thousands of students from the South East—a glitch so “minor” that it turned dreams into nightmares overnight. What did we hear from the South East Governors and the South East Governors Forum? Crickets. A silence so profound you’d think they were auditioning for a role in a mime troupe. Now, one might expect leaders to rise, speak out, and defend their future generation with the fervor of a soap opera climax. But no—apparently, silence is the new strategy. Maybe they thought if they said nothing, the problem would just vanish like the missing results. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
This dead silence is not just a missed opportunity—it’s a dangerous precedent. When those entrusted with the region’s welfare shrug off their duty to challenge injustice and systemic failures, it fuels a sense of abandonment and deepens the frustration of students and parents alike. Worse still, it risks turning educational advancement into a punchline rather than a priority. If silence is golden, then this silence might just be fool’s gold—shiny but ultimately worthless. Because when the voices meant to protect you go mute, who do you turn to? It’s a stark reminder that leadership isn’t about waiting for a perfect moment to speak; it’s about standing up even when the moment is messy, uncomfortable, or inconvenient. Otherwise, the price paid is far beyond just a few delayed results—it’s the future of an entire region.
Then there are those fragile moments when your silence becomes the last act of love. Maybe your spouse is overwhelmed. Your child just made the same mistake again. Your colleague dropped the ball. You could explode. But choosing silence isn’t defeat—it’s a gesture of grace. It’s saying, “I value this relationship more than my need to be right in this moment.” That kind of silence has the power to disarm defensiveness and keep bridges intact. And let’s face it: sometimes, biting your tongue is a greater show of strength than flexing your vocal cords.
And let’s not pretend we’re always noble. Sometimes we talk just to boost our ego, fish for applause, or dominate the spotlight. That’s not connection—it’s performance. Before speaking, ask: “Am I adding value or just inflating my self-worth?” If it’s the latter, save us all the performance and keep it to yourself. The applause isn’t worth the aftermath. If you’re talking only to be seen or praised, perhaps you should try mirrors instead of microphones.
Now, let’s discuss the sacred matter of trust. When someone opens up to you—offering secrets, pain, dreams, fears—they are handing you a fragile gift. Don’t stomp on it with careless chatter. Betrayal isn’t always loud; sometimes it slips out casually, disguised as gossip. Silence, in these moments, is the fortress where trust is preserved. Loose lips might not just sink ships—they can drown souls.
Leadership, too, demands a mastery of silence. Great leaders know when to speak and when to listen. The boardroom does not reward those who fill silence with noise but those who use silence to invite wisdom. Leadership isn’t always about having the loudest voice in the room—it’s about having the clearest one. In diplomacy, the pause before a reply can speak volumes. Nations have avoided wars not by clever words, but by strategic silences. True leadership is not performative; it’s perceptive.
Parenting is another sacred arena where silence speaks louder than a thousand lectures. Children are always watching, always absorbing. Sometimes, your calm silence after their mistake teaches more than any punishment ever could. It’s in these quiet moments that values sink in. Yelling might gain temporary compliance; silence often builds long-term conscience. Remember: children may forget what you said, but they won’t forget how your silence made them feel safe—or ashamed.
Religious teachings across faiths revere silence. In Christianity, Jesus often withdrew to solitary places, not merely to escape, but to commune with divine wisdom. “Be still and know,” the Psalms advise—not “shout and convince.” In Islam, silence is a form of worship. In Buddhism, silence is a road to enlightenment. Across Yoruba, Igbo, and Hausa traditions, silence is both a strategy and a spiritual code. The elders knew: the one who speaks less is often the one who knows more.
Even in personal experience, we remember those moments when silence transformed us. That time you stood beside a grieving friend, saying nothing, just being present. That time you walked away from a fight you could’ve escalated. Or that moment you listened, truly listened, and someone felt seen for the first time. Silence, used wisely, doesn’t isolate—it connects. It creates sacred space for reflection, empathy, and transformation.
Silence has deep cultural roots and spiritual reverence. The Stoics saw it as the gateway to inner peace. In African wisdom, we hear, “A wise man never knows all, only fools know everything.” Monastic traditions across Asia and the West built entire paths to enlightenment around silence. It’s not just a communication tool—it’s a discipline, a practice, a philosophy. In fact, silence has often been the starting point of revolutions, revelations, and reconciliation. It is where clarity begins.
Modern science agrees with what sages knew centuries ago. Silence reduces stress, sharpens memory, aids decision-making, and allows the brain to reset from overstimulation. In a world where we are bombarded with information, silence becomes an act of self-care. It is neurological nourishment. Even the brain needs a power nap—and silence is how it dreams awake.
Think back to the last time you wished you had held your tongue. Think back to when silence could’ve preserved peace, dignity, or a friendship. Now, recall a time when being silent led to regret. There are few, aren’t they? Because silence, more often than not, is the wisdom that words can’t reach. It’s the pause that saves the sentence—or the relationship.
So, choose silence—not always, but often. Not to avoid truth, but to honour it. Not to suppress your voice, but to preserve its power. Speak when your words can heal, help, build, or uplift. Otherwise, embrace the grace, the strength, and the depth of simply saying nothing. Because sometimes, silence isn’t empty—it’s everything. God is with us!
Prof. Uba is a Development Economist
