Let’s be honest for once—we’re a judgmental generation. We judge before we understand. We criticize before we ask. We label people before we learn their story. And somehow, we’ve all convinced ourselves that it’s okay. That it’s normal. That we are “just speaking facts.”
But let’s pause here—are we really?
Let me start by using myself as an example. We see someone with dreadlocks, and boom, he is a bad boy. Wow, what happened? Is it that he smokes weed now? At this rate, no lady would want to settle down with him. Etc.
We see a young woman in tight jeans, and suddenly—she’s cheap or a bad lady or even into prostitution or hook-up.
Someone posts pictures from a vacation or shows a little joy online, and within minutes “He’s doing fraud” or “She has a sugar daddy” or “He/She is just showing off.”
A guy wears earrings—he must be lost or gay.
A girl doesn’t go to church every Sunday—she must be a sinner.
Someone’s quiet—we say they’re proud or don’t like people.
Someone talks too much—we say they’re fake or too known.
Someone’s friendly—we say they want attention or pretending.
Someone minds their business—we say they think they’re better. And when they attempt to speak up for what they think is right, we call them names and brand them as not been respectful.
I have had people tell me I am not professional just because I don’t carry myself in ways they “professional” carry themselves. As if that is what gets the work done.
See? We’ve built a society that crucifies people for simply existing in a way that doesn’t fit our narrow, self-righteous box. We don’t give people a chance. We don’t give them room. We don’t give them grace. Just judgment. Just gossip. Just assumptions. And it doesn’t end there. We go as far as recruiting people into believing our own narrative and opinions of others. Sometimes blocking the chances of people.
And the worst part? It’s not just strangers—we do it to friends, colleagues, or even family. People we claim to love.
When you ask, they will tell you it is for their good. Or that they’re doing that to help them. Or that they care.
Is caring now equal to destroying the image of others?
Is love now equal to speaking ill about people in their absence?
You walk into a room, and conversations go quiet. People start acting weird, dropping hints based on something they heard something you don’t even know about yourself. Your name has gone places your feet have never stepped, all because someone couldn’t handle your light or misunderstood your silence.
But come to think of it, those who believe rumours and spread them without finding out the truth or even giving people the benefit of the doubt are even worse than the person who starts them. They’re the ones to fear.
And then there’s death. Oh, death.
Let someone die today and just wait for the chorus:
“He was a good man.”
“She was such a sweet soul.”
“Only God knows why the good die young.”
But where were you when they were alive? When they were struggling with depression, you mocked them. When they were looking for help, you ignored them. When they tried to be different, you labelled them. When they fell, you laughed. Now they’re gone, and suddenly you’re writing long tributes with Bible verses and filtered photos. Hypocrisy, dressed up in RIP.
Why do we wait till people die to see their worth?
Why do we destroy reputations in life and build monuments in death?
Why do we say things about people we wouldn’t dare say to their face and then pretend we care?
Double standards. Hypocrisy. Noise.
It’s no surprise the Dagaaba say, “Ubatori, Ubatori, Antori” meaning he’s not straight, but who is?
And “Anbataayela” meaning who doesn’t have problems?
We all have our demons. We all have something we’re not proud of. You, reading this—you’ve been through things no one knows. You’ve made mistakes. You’ve been misunderstood. So why act like you’re better than the next person?
When I decided to grow my dreadlocks, I knew I was stepping into judgment’s trap. I didn’t need to commit any crime—my hair became the offence. Some looked at me like I had joined a cult. Others asked me, “So now you smoke?”—as if hair determines character.
But I kept the locks. Not just because I liked them—but because every lock reminded me of how shallow society can be. I kept them because I’ve grown a thick skin over the years, thicker than people’s opinions. But I know many people who weren’t as strong—who caved, who changed themselves just to fit in, to be accepted, to stop the whispers.
We’ve made society so toxic that being different feels dangerous.
But funny enough, some of the most sincere, down-to-earth, and loyal people I’ve ever met are those society looks down on—street vendors, driver mates, that shoeshine boy, the woman selling boiled eggs in the sun. They don’t wear fancy clothes. They don’t speak big English. But they respect their hustle and they respect people. They help without asking for attention. They give what they have, and they don’t judge.
Meanwhile, the people in suits, sitting in boardrooms, wearing crosses on their chests, and quoting scriptures are the same ones tearing others down in gossip, rejecting job applicants because of their surnames, or avoiding people because of their skin tone, tribe, or perceived status.
And speaking of scriptures…
Let’s talk about religious places of worship. As a Christian, let me use the church.
The very place meant to accept all—the spiritual hospital for the wounded, the weary, the wandering. The one place we’re supposed to come as we are and leave whole. What has it become?
The church, for many, has stopped being a place of healing and has turned into a courtroom with stained-glass windows. A place where the sermon ends, but the judgment begins. Where instead of laying hands, they lay gossip. Where tongues speak in praise but also in poisonous whispers. Where the choir sings “Come Just As You Are,” but if you dare come with jeans, tattoos, dreadlocks, depression, addiction, doubts—you’re side-eyed into silence.
Even where they pretend to accept you, you can smell the judgment in the air. It’s in how they look at you. It’s in the way they change the conversation when you walk in. It’s in the fake smile with a prayer attached to it.
I’ve always seen the church as a hospital. Yes, a spiritual hospital. And like any hospital, you’ll find all kinds of people: some newly admitted, some recovering, some just visiting, some confused about their symptoms, and some who came with the sick. Some patients don’t even know what’s wrong with them. Others are in denial. And then there are the nurses—supposed to comfort and care—the lay faithful. And the doctor? The spiritual leader, pastor, imam, priest—who’s meant to diagnose with wisdom, prescribe with love, and operate with compassion.
But what happens?
Instead of healing, they infect.
Instead of love, they judge.
Instead of encouraging you to stay on the path, they push you out the door.
Instead of saying, “Come, let’s walk with you,” they say, “Change before you come.”
And that’s how people bleed quietly in the pews.
That’s how people sit in church and feel alone.
That’s how people who came for healing end up spiritually crippled.
That’s how faith becomes fear and fellowship turns into exile.
Yet we forget Ningsaala Puobabangna—you cannot tell what’s in someone’s stomach. You cannot tell who’s struggling. You don’t know who’s faking a smile. You don’t know who’s holding on by a thread. That brother you mocked could be battling thoughts of suicide. That woman you laughed at may not have eaten in days. That person you said was “too worldly” may be closer to God than all of us combined.
Let people live.
Let people heal.
Let people grow at their own pace.
And stop playing God in people’s stories.
Because in the end, you and I—we’re just patients too. Sick in different ways. Some of us hide it better. Some of us dress it up in perfumes, titles, and verses. But sick all the same.
So maybe, just maybe, we need to stop being so obsessed with other people’s “illnesses” and start checking our own hearts.
Because truth be told, some of the very people you misjudge today might be the ones who show up for you when the whole world turns its back.
Let’s stop the noise.
Let’s stop the fake love.
Let’s stop the silent destruction.
Let’s be better.
Let’s be human.
#Puobabangna
#NingsaalaPuobabangna
#WhoAreWeToJudge
#JudgeLessLiveMore
#SpiritualHospitalNotCourtroom
#LetPeopleHeal
By Victor Raul Puobabangna Plance from Eggu in the Upper West Region of Ghana
