Explain a Rapist - By Prince Ndeunyema

Written By: Prince Ndeunyema

Category: Poetry

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the poignant work "Explain a Rapist," Prince Ndeunyema offers readers a powerful exploration of societal issues and gender dynamics through poetry. Submitted to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this piece delves into the pressing theme of accountability and the pervasive cultural narratives surrounding gender-based violence. Ndeunyema's evocative language and compelling imagery invite readers to confront uncomfortable truths and reflect on the societal structures that perpetuate these issues.

About the Work

"Explain a Rapist" is a profound commentary on the cultural and societal norms that underpin gender-based violence. Ndeunyema's piece challenges readers with its stark, unflinching portrayal of the realities faced by women and children. Through vivid imagery and a rhythmic cadence, the poem questions the societal conditioning that places the burden of safety on potential victims rather than addressing the root causes of male violence. This work is a call to action, urging society to reevaluate and transform its attitudes and teachings.

Explain a rapist

Original Submission by Prince Ndeunyema

Explain a Rapist

it might not be every man

but it’s always certainly a man.

And before you say

“Not all men,”

let me finish.

I KNOW.

I know it is not every father.

Not every brother.

Not every son.

Not every husband.

Not every friend.

I know.

But when a woman screams,

why does the world so often

turn its head toward a man?

When a child is violated,

why is the shadow behind the crime so often shaped like a man?

So explain.

Explain a rapist.

Not to me.

Explain him

to the woman who now checks the lock twice.

Explain him

to the girl who learned too young

that a familiar face

can become a frightening face.

Explain him

to the mother who tells her daughter, “Call me when you get there.”

Explain why that sentence

has become motherhood's midnight prayer. Because she knows.

She knows.

She knows.

And somehow

she is the one being taught

how not to become a victim. Don't walk there.

Don't wear that.

Don't drink that.

Don't trust him.

Don't stay out late.

Don't get into his car.

Don't, don't, don't.

A thousand don'ts

placed on the shoulders

of women and children,

while somewhere

a boy is growing into a man

without ever being taught

the sacred weight

of another person's NO.

That is the conversation.

Not:

“Are all men bad?”

But:

“Why are women still having to learn how to survive men?”

Say her name.

Magdalena Stoffels.

Don't let the name

slide past your tongue

like another headline.

Magdalena Stoffels.

Again.

Magdalena.

Stoffels.

Because a name becomes a wound when a nation remembers it

only long enough

to forget it again.

They are not statistics

when somebody loved them.

They are not numbers

when somebody waited for them.

They are not stories

when somebody still says,

“That's my daughter.”

And there are more.

Names we know.

Names we don't.

Names that reached newspapers. Names that never reached a page.

Women whose stories became whispers because the world was too busy waiting for the next story.

And children.

Always the children.

Little lives

that should have been learning the alphabet,

not the architecture of fear.

A-B-C.

A boy should learn:

Accountability.

Boundaries.

Consent.

Not:

How far can I push?

How much can I take?

Will she tell?

Will anyone believe her?

That is how a culture

can teach a crime

without ever teaching the criminal. And Namibia,

remember your women.

Remember Anna Kakurukaze Mungunda.

Remember the women

who stood beneath colonial violence and still stood.

Women who carried resistance

when history kept handing microphones to men.

Women who marched.

Women who organized.

Women who sacrificed.

Women who said:

This land is ours.

This future is ours.

This freedom is ours.

So tell me,

how can women be strong enough to fight for a nation's freedom

and still be told

to live carefully

inside the freedom they helped build?

That question

should keep a country awake.

Because a woman

should not have to become fearless just to become safe.

And a girl

should not have to become suspicious just to become grown.

And a child

should not have to understand evil before understanding innocence.

So explain a rapist.

Explain the thinking

without excusing the thinker.

Explain the entitlement

without blaming the entitled.

Explain the silence

without making silence the victim's fault.

Explain the culture

that teaches girls

how to hide,

but teaches boys

too little about restraint.

And don't tell me:

“Not all men.”

I know.

I am asking about the man.

The one who did it.

The one who chose it.

The one who crossed the line and then expected the woman to carry the shame.

No.

Give him his shame back. Give him his responsibility back. Give him the question:

Why?

Why her?

Why her NO?

Why her fear?

Why her silence?

Why her body?

Why did you believe

your desire mattered more than her humanity?

And when you cannot answer,

don't ask women

to make the question softer. Say the names.

Magdalena.

Sarah.

Jennifer.

Monalisa.

Charmaine.

Ingrid.

Roswindis.

Beyoncé.

Delysia.

Jaunita.

Mia.

And every woman.

Every child.

Every name

that never became famous enough for us to remember.

Say them

until remembrance becomes resistance.

Say them

until silence loses its throne.

Say them

until a daughter can walk home without calculating every shadow.

Say them

until a boy learns

that masculinity is not permission.

Say them

until a man understands:

your strength is not measured by what you can take.

It is measured

by what you refuse to take.

And perhaps then,

when somebody says,

“Not all men,”

we can answer:

We know.

We never said all men.

We said enough men

have done enough damage

that women have had to become experts at protecting themselves

from people who should have known better.

So don't make this

a debate about your innocence.

Make it a question

about our responsibility.

Because somewhere tonight

a mother is waiting for a daughter.

Somewhere a child

is learning to trust again.

Somewhere a woman

is saying her own name

quietly,

just to remind herself

that it still belongs to her.

And somewhere,

a man has a choice.

Again.

And again.

And again.

So choose differently.

Teach differently.

Speak differently.

Raise differently.

Because it might not be every man, but it is always certainly a man.

And until the day

that sentence stops being so painfully familiar,

we will keep asking:

Explain.

Explain.

Explain a rapist.

Piece by: Prince Ndeunyema

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious event celebrating the power of words in addressing global issues. This competition provides a platform for writers and poets from around the world to showcase their work, fostering a diverse and inclusive space for creative expression. Each entry is a testament to the resilience and creativity of participants engaging with the world through their art.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Prince Ndeunyema for contributing "Explain a Rapist" to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This powerful piece challenges us to think deeply about pressing societal issues and the responsibility we all share in creating change. We appreciate Prince's courage in addressing such a critical topic and look forward to seeing more of their impactful work in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.