The attacks on Edwina H. Jamiru following her response to the First Lady of Sierra Leone have exposed something far deeper than a disagreement between a young woman and a public figure.

They have revealed a national blind spot – our persistent inability to recognise neurodiversity, to extend empathy, and to interrogate the cultural norms that shape our reactions to those who do not conform.

Having worked in UK schools, including with children and young people who have Special Educational Needs and Disabilities (SEN/SEND), I have learned that not every difference is visible. Not every struggle announces itself in ways the public immediately understands. Many Sierra Leoneans, through no fault of their own, have never been exposed to environments where neurodevelopmental conditions are recognised, assessed or supported. As a result, we often fail to consider possibilities beyond what we can physically see.

From accounts shared by those who attended school with Edwina, she has long been described as highly intelligent, the kind of child who, in a more developed educational system, would likely have been assessed for spectrum traits. Although not a professional by any means, I remain convinced that she may be neurodivergent, possibly a highly functioning autistic individual. But in Sierra Leone, unless a disability is obvious or severe, it is rarely acknowledged, let alone supported, and even when it is acknowledged, mockery becomes centre-stage.

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Despite these challenges, Edwina is currently pursuing a law degree, a field that demands analytical thinking, discipline, and intellectual rigour. She expresses herself more articulately than many of her peers on social media, yet even this has become a source of mockery. Instead of celebrating a young woman who speaks confidently and with clarity, people ridicule her English dialect, as though eloquence were something to be ashamed of.

This reaction is rooted in a cultural expectation that children and young adults must not talk back or clap back at adults. That they must know their place. In Sierra Leone, respect is often not measured by the content of one’s words, but by one’s silence. It is within this framework that Edwina’s assertiveness has been judged. Many see her response to the First Lady as disrespectful, not because of what she said, but because she dared to speak at all.

It is also impossible to ignore the fact that Edwina has lived much of her young adulthood under intense public scrutiny. Her personal struggles, family challenges, and deeply sensitive experiences that would break many people, are in the public domain. Instead of receiving protection, she has often been met with ridicule. Instead of support, she has been met with judgment. A society that witnesses a young woman navigate trauma, instability, and exploitation should respond with compassion, not with the cruelty we continue to see.

Reports circulating online suggest that Edwina was arrested and held in a cell overnight. I cannot independently confirm her current status, but the fact that such an outcome is believable speaks volumes about our society’s relationship with power, dissent, and vulnerability. And, as we have seen many times before, we will likely reach the familiar stage where the First Lady publicly refutes any involvement in her arrest. That predictable distancing does not erase the reality that a young woman was humiliated, mocked, and possibly detained simply for expressing an opinion in a manner our society has not yet learned to understand.

What troubles me most is how quickly empathy evaporates when someone challenges authority. The same people who once praised Edwina’s intelligence now mock her, shame her, and strip her of dignity. We are so quick to condemn behaviour without asking what might lie beneath it. We are so eager to defend authority that we forget the humanity of the person on the receiving end. We are so conditioned to silence that we treat any deviation as a threat.

This is why I emphasise the possibility of neurodiversity, not as an excuse, but as a lens of understanding. In societies with stronger support systems, someone like Edwina would be assessed early, supported appropriately, and protected from public humiliation. In Sierra Leone, she is punished for being different, punished for being outspoken, punished for being intelligent in a way that unsettles people.

Sierra Leone must grow in this area. We must learn to hold two truths at once: that someone can be intelligent and neurodivergent; articulate and vulnerable; outspoken and misunderstood. We must stop using mental health as a punchline. We must stop weaponising cultural norms to silence those who think differently. And we must cultivate a society where compassion is not conditional on obedience.

Edwina deserves dignity.
Neurodivergent people deserve dignity.
And we, as a nation, deserve the opportunity to evolve beyond reflexive punishment and inherited ignorance.
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