Aksonethip Somvorachit spoke to UN News about the challenges she has faced as a staff focal point for PSEA.
“Early in my UN career, I took on the responsibility of serving as the Prevention of Sexual Exploitation and Abuse (PSEA) focal point. I acted as the confidential contact for anyone raising a concern—providing a safe space to be heard and helping them access assistance, even when immediate action might feel distant.
At first, I was proud to take on the role. I believed I could make a difference. But soon, the reality struck me. A young female colleague approached me: ‘I don’t want to report anything. I just need someone to listen.’
She described flirty comments from external counterparts that her manager had brushed off as jokes. To her, it wasn’t a joke – it made her feel unsafe.
Some coworkers had also begun making remarks behind her back: ‘She only got the job because of her looks,’ or ‘She’s just being dramatic to get attention.’ She wasn’t asking for an investigation – she just needed a secure space to be heard. Each plea ended the same way: ‘Please don’t tell anyone.’
Feeling diminished
I listened, recalling my own experiences. As a young Lao woman, I had faced similar treatment from external counterparts – being looked down upon, asked to fetch drinks, or called ‘little girl’ – behaviors that left me feeling diminished.
It was mentally exhausting to manage my own challenges while remaining professional and advocating for others.
I tried to guide and assist wherever possible. Each disclosure weighed heavily. Procedures existed, but without strong internal backing, meaningful change was difficult. I bore the responsibility of holding these concerns, offering advice and reassurance wherever I could.
My dedication never wavered – but some outcomes were beyond my control. The emotional strain of managing so many stories, while hoping the right support would arrive, was intense.
Eventually, I stepped down – not because I stopped caring, but because the responsibility of attending to so many without practical tools to help became overwhelming.
Faith restored
Yet, amidst that struggle, there were instances that restored my faith.
On my first official mission, it was just me, a senior colleague, and our driver. I was anxious and uncertain. Yet he treated me as an equal – offering the backseat, checking if I wanted to rest, and asking the driver to be mindful of me. At the border, he queued for all of us, passports in hand. He didn’t have to – but his thoughtfulness and consideration spoke volumes.
On another assignment, a partner organization scolded me in front of others for not carrying my supervisor’s handbag. I froze. My supervisor calmly intervened: “She’s my colleague. I can carry my own bag.” One line, one act, ended the disrespect.
Then there was the rainy night before a site visit. Nearly all chairs were soaked. Someone said dismissively, “You don’t need to sit, do you?” I was about to crouch when my supervisor guided me to sit near her. That small gesture made me feel included and acknowledged.
Looking back, these actions were more than kindness – they were prevention in practice. By being attentive to my dignity, colleagues and supervisors inadvertently discouraged others from crossing boundaries.
Being valued
When senior staff introduced me as a peer, not “their staff,” external partners noticed. It was a silent but powerful message: she is valued; she is not to be diminished.
Without even realizing it, these behaviors put me at less risk from being mistreated or harassed by external counterparts.
These protective gestures required no training, no extra resources – just mindfulness, consideration, and intentional leadership.
Young national female staff, in particular, can be shielded from harm through these thoughtful actions – steps any supervisor can take without formal programmes.
When I later joined the UN Resident Coordinator’s office, it felt like a completely different world. I was never made to feel “less.” Even the Resident Coordinator – the most senior UN official in the country – introduced me as a colleague, not “my staff.”
That distinction mattered profoundly. I never again heard anyone call me “little girl, come here.” Now, it’s simply, “Sister, may I have your support to…?” A quiet but powerful gesture of respect and trust, replacing the dismissiveness I once endured.
That’s why, with the trust I’ve found, I’ve rejoined the PSEA Task Force.
Small acts of recognition create a ripple effect, empowering others to stand up, to be heard, and to act. What begins as a single gesture can grow into a culture of dignity, safety, and solidarity for everyone around us.”
