The Unheard Sound of Silence

I’ve been thinking about something for a few years now. How the art of reply seems to be slipping away and with that silence comes with a big price tag. Whether it’s between colleagues, between organisations or the interactions from governance to grassroots, it eats trust, slows progress, and leaves the door wide open for frustration to build.

Something extraordinary happened this week. I got three emails, all from the same organisation, all saying the same thing in different ways: thanks, but no thanks. What made it extraordinary was that they took the time to reply in a clear, respectful way. It wasn’t just a quick “hit reply” moment either. They responded to a letter, so it was a conscious act.

I’ve been on both sides of the fence where a slow creep through business, institutions and various organisations means silence is becoming a standard response. So, I was expecting silence…because nowadays silence is a myriad of things. Sometimes the difficult answers, the uncomfortable response, the leadership overload all mean that silence is deployed more frequently than ever. How often do we receive silence…when we’re a constituent, a stakeholder, a partner in change, or just a voice in the wind?

Rolling up driveways and saying “Gudday” was part of the trade in my stock agent days, the odd bugger off was expected along the way, but you’d normally get a yarn.  You’d win some, you’d lose just as many. What I saw in those three replies this week was an organisation that obviously understood something simple… and a very similar principle to what I learnt as a stock agent as did those farmers that had a yarn. That perceptions and relationships are built on a conversation regardless of who the recipient is, or the outcome.

Rural communities keep telling central and local government the same thing: “We’re not being heard.” Maybe it’s more than just about listening. Maybe the real problem is that no one’s replying. A reply is more than a courtesy; it’s proof that the voice landed. That effort was seen and that the relationship matters.

I consistently hear “We don’t care if a decision goes against what we want, but we do want to feel like we’ve been heard.” When the reply disappears, it’s easy to feel unheard, even when someone’s “engaging” in theory. Maybe there is a sound to silence, and in some contexts, that silence doesn’t just echo, it carries.

While it’s easy to assume non-reply is about time or workload, it’s often about priorities, approval processes or someone terrified of saying the wrong thing. What organisations choose to value, and when reply disappears at scale, it signals a breakdown between governance and the people it’s meant to serve. But individuals within those organisations can also make a conscious choice to reply or not, and culture is shaped one choice at a time. That’s where change really happens. Why is that important?

When someone takes the time to engage, not a rant on social media, but a considered letter or email, they’re extending trust. When that trust is met with silence, it doesn’t just disappear, it becomes something else entirely. Democracy isn’t built on ballots alone. It’s sustained by dialogue, and a reply is simple yet incredibly powerful.

I’ve also sat on the other side of the fence when public service crafts the no reply as a weapon and a form of control…but it creates something quieter, and more corrosive, disillusionment and doubt. Is it right to use silence to avoid accountability, to stall or to hold control over the conversation?