We call ourselves the human race.

Yet the way we treat the voiceless is anything but humane.

 

This is my journey with Ella, a stray dog who lived peacefully in her territory—until fear, provocation, and power dynamics turned her into a scapegoat.

 

What followed was not concern or a fair process, but an FIR that completely misrepresented me and questioned my character. After the FIR was filed, I became the visible point of association with Ella because I continued to be present in her territory—sitting with her, cleaning her, and spending time with her—refusing to abandon her.

 

Then something even more disturbing began.

 

I was surrounded in public spaces.

Walkers, senior citizens, and groups gathered around me.

I was questioned, pointed at, and spoken to in raised voices.

 

I felt intimidated, cornered, and unsafe.

 

At the same time, my privacy was repeatedly violated.

I was secretly recorded.

Photographs and videos of me were taken without my consent.

I was watched, documented, and monitored in ways that felt deeply intrusive.

 

As a woman, this was frightening.

Being surrounded, filmed, and targeted in public spaces creates real fear—

fear for safety,

fear of escalation,

fear of what could happen next.

 

Not because I had harmed anyone.

Not because I had broken any law.

But because care and compassion were treated as provocation.

 

Whispers turned into accusations.

Accusations turned into public intimidation.

A narrative was deliberately constructed around my name.

 

Yesterday, Ella was picked up and taken to the animal hospital.

 

For a traumatised stray, this is what that means:

the overpowering stench of urine,

dogs crying and screaming through the night,

animals caged, confused, and terrified—

with no understanding of where they are or why.

 

This is not care.

This is punishment.

 

Ella was given no hearing.

No compassion.

No context.

 

Because she is a stray.

Because she has no voice.

And because it is easier to silence the powerless—and intimidate those who stand up for them—than to question authority.

 

Today, I choose to stand up.

Even if it makes people uncomfortable.

Even if intimidation is the cost.

 

Not just for Ella,

but for every voiceless animal,

and every woman who has felt unsafe, watched, or targeted for standing her ground.

 

If being human means abandoning empathy,

then it is time we redefine what humanity actually means.

 

🐾 This is a call to stand up for the voiceless

🐾 Silence is also violence