I used to believe that being part of my community meant I truly understood what was going on. My friends and family would make me feel so connected to them that I felt everything was fine and this is how life is. Living in this bubble made me less aware of how systems work and reminded me that my experience is just one piece of a bigger picture.
As a child, I spent a lot of time at church and thought the world was split into good and bad, with my side being the better one. Without taking time to reflect, I could’ve missed the realities around me for years. Over time, I learned to ask: What is different, and why? I remember a marriage counselor once said, “Marriage is about celebrating differences.” That idea stuck with me and taught me to examine my own thinking and recognize that everyone is different.
Our beliefs can push us to make choices we do not need to make and can limit what we understand, often because we want to protect ourselves or feel in control. In my culture, questioning is not encouraged, especially for girls, and asking the right questions is even less common. This might come from a fear of facing hard truths or wanting to keep the peace. Growing up in the global south, I know what it is like to live in a culture of silence and hesitation to ask tough questions. This pattern still shows up in many stories in our society today.
Everything shifts
On October 4, Hurricane Matthew made landfall on the southwestern tip of Haiti as a Category 4 storm. It was the strongest hurricane the country had faced in ten years. The storm affected 2.1 million people, about 19 percent of the population, anddisplaced 175,500 people into more than 300 temporary shelters. Among those affected were 546,000 women of reproductive age, and over 10,000 women and girls were found to be at higher risk of sexual violence. At that time, 41percent of Haitian households were led by women. The community I thought I knew was not the one I saw after the storm. Things change, and proper analysis or research should show what is really happening on the ground. But how do we know who is most affected, and how do we ensure we place the evidence in the right context? While I agree that women and girls are often the most affected in these situations, deciding whether to act on what we know or to take time to understand more is a choice that has real impact. The aftermath of the 2010 earthquake also showed this, especially in the harsh conditions of displacement camps, where gender-based violence and abuse were common, often carried out by armed groups or prison escapees. Looking at these risks women and girls face in these camps, we can find ways for international law and humanitarian aid to better protect them and address gender-based violence. These are design decisions I had never seen from the inside. Investing in understanding the context and how power works adds value and saves time. As things change, you learn where you need to adjust.
Here is another example. In a different settlement, we arrived with our own assumptions: we thought girls did the household work while boys played. We were completely wrong. In that place, most of the displaced boys were doing household chores, and the girls were going to school. What does this tell me? You do not know until you ask questions. You do not know until you talk to the communities you serve.
I could share many more stories, but the main point is this: gender analysis might seem repetitive or like the first thing to cut when budgets are tight. But cutting it means you risk missing important insights.
Being close to those realities does not mean you know it all.
When being close to a situation, feeling like you belong, and cultural norms that discourage questions all come together, important issues get silenced before anyone can talk about them. This might make the analyst feel good and reassure the funder, but ultimately it can do harm if you are not aware of your own bias. Here comes the gender analysis that helps break out of the bubble.
In cases where the team is budget-limited, the first instinct is that gender analysis seems like something the team already understands. But what is truly lost is the question that could have shown you your assumptions were wrong.
What my grandmother taught me
Dèyè mòn, gen mòn. (For an english version: Behind mountains, there are mountains). That is what my grandmother’s generation used to say about a situation where she felt she did not have everything and that there was always something bigger that we thought was in the first place. She meant that some situations never reveal themselves all at once, so you have to give more to understand, or you know this is bigger than you and don’t pretend you know it all. Based on that proverb, we can easily learn that there is always another ridge, another village, another way of life you have not seen yet. So every story shared here is another mountain. The beliefs I held kept me from looking, and the silence around us meant no one pointed them out.. So instead of removing your gender analysis from the picture, I would opt for other scenarios, such as an integrated analysis with gender-specialist expertise.
So I want to ask you: If you write, fund, evaluate, or design, where do you stand? What did you believe about the situation that kept you from asking questions? What went unquestioned in your last meeting because everyone already agreed? What mountain is behind the one you thought you had already climbed?
You do not know until you ask questions. You do not know until you talk to the communities you are responsible for.