whispers drowned in flame
it is in our nature to pay attention to the loudest noises. but so much evil depends upon whispers.
malicious plots are hatched in whispers. the seeds of incitement are planted in whispers. insidious lies are born in whispers — trial-tested, tweaked, and trafficked through whispers — long before they reach the megaphones of demagogues.
and when wicked words are projected from those megaphones, their resonance again relies on whispers — this time, those of muted opposition.
this is how the ugliest demons of our history reassert themselves to wreak new havocs. It isn’t with a lion’s roar. they slither from dark corners to public squares, and their hiss swallows the whispers of cowardly dissenters.
as vicious racism seizes our nation once again, we must be clear: overcoming evil requires not a timid string of whispers, but a mighty chorus.
after all, whispers led us here in the first place. this president is merely barking that which had long been the ‘quiet part’ for right-wing politicians. the voters they were courting once felt obliged to whisper too. now they chant.
send her back! send her back!
they’re only echoing the president’s words. which echo his last racist screed and the one before that. which echo his last racist policy and the one before that. each time, he’s further emboldened by the ever-quieting whispers of dissent.
to those ‘leaders’ who feel blameless because no smears have come from your mouth; who take solace in believing there is no hate in your heart; who pat themselves on the back for inadequate, inaudible dissent — don’t. you are no antidote to this virus. you are a carrier.
you get no credit for closed-door repudiations, private concerns, or anonymous quotes. no credit for calls to civility, or condemnations of both sides. no credit for statements steeped in equivocation.
there is no middle ground.
if you refuse to speak out loudly and clearly in the face of overt racism, you are furthering it. hate will continue to spread like spilled gasoline, soaking the nation in its noxious stench, poised to ignite with the fury of a tiki torch — our whispers drowned in flame.
