Aksonethip Somvorachit spoke with UN News on the challenges she faced as staff focal point for PSEA.
“Early in my career at the UN, I took on the responsibility of serving as the focal point for the Prevention of Sexual Exploitation and Abuse (PSEA). I acted as a confidential contact for anyone raising a concern, providing them with a safe space to be heard and helping them access help, even when immediate action might seem far away.
At first, I was proud to take on this role. I believed I could make a difference. But very quickly, reality hit me. A young colleague approached me: “I don’t want to report anything. I just need someone to listen to me.
She described flirty comments from external counterparts that her manager had dismissed as jokes. To her, it wasn’t a joke – it put her in danger.
Some colleagues had also started 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 safe space to be heard. Each plea ended the same way: “Please don’t tell anyone.” »
Feeling diminished
I listened, remembering my own experiences. As a young Laotian woman, I had faced similar treatment from my 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 deal with my own challenges while remaining professional and advocating for others.
I tried to guide and help as much as possible. Each revelation weighed heavy. Procedures existed, but without strong internal support, meaningful change was difficult. I had a responsibility to consider these concerns, offer advice and reassurance wherever I could.
My dedication never wavered, but some results were beyond my control. The emotional strain of handling so many stories, while hoping the right support would arrive, was intense.
Eventually, I quit – not because I stopped caring, but because the responsibility of caring for so many people without practical tools to help them became overwhelming.
Faith restored
Yet, in the midst of this struggle, there have been instances that have 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 me the back seat, checking to see if I wanted to rest, and asking the driver to pay attention to 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 reprimanded me in front of others for not carrying my supervisor’s purse. I froze. My boss calmly intervened: “She’s my colleague. I can carry my own bag.” One sentence, one act put an end to the lack of respect.
Then there was the rainy night before a site visit. Almost all the chairs were soaked. Someone said disdainfully: “You don’t need to sit down, do you?” I was about to squat down when my supervisor guided me to sit next to her. This small gesture made me feel included and recognized.
In hindsight, these actions were more than kindness: they were prevention in practice. By being attentive to my dignity, my colleagues and supervisors inadvertently discouraged others from crossing boundaries.
Be valued
When senior managers introduced me as a peer, not “their staff,” external partners took notice. It was a silent but powerful message: she is valued; it must not be diminished.
Without even realizing it, these behaviors put me at less risk of being mistreated or harassed by external counterparts.
These protective actions required no additional training or resources – just mindfulness, consideration, and intentional leadership.
Young female national employees, in particular, can be protected from harm with these thoughtful actions – steps that any supervisor can take without formal programs.
When I later joined the United Nations Resident Coordinator’s office, I felt like I was living in a completely different world. I never felt like “less.” Even the Resident Coordinator – the most senior UN official in the country – introduced me as a colleague and not as “my team”.
This distinction was profoundly important. I never heard anyone call me “little girl, come here” again. Now it’s just, “Sister, can I have your support for…?” A quiet but powerful gesture of respect and trust, replacing the disdain I once endured.
Therefore, with the confidence I found, I joined the PSEA Working Group.
Small acts of recognition create a ripple effect, allowing others to stand up, be heard and take action. What starts as a simple gesture can become a culture of dignity, safety and solidarity for all those around us.
