Voice of Silence
Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.
-Abraham Lincoln
The moment we begin to fear the opinions of others and hesitate to tell the truth that is in us, and from motives of policy are silent when we should speak, the divine floods of light and life no longer flow into our souls.
-Elizabeth Cady Stanton
“You shouldn’t have put that status up on Facebook if you knew what was going to happen,” my friend said to me.
I sat with the chair leaning on its back two legs, putting on a show of slight indifference. “I have every right to say what I want there, just like they do. I don’t go on their walls and show so much hatred when they post their statuses, so neither should they.”
“Yeah, I understand, you do have the right to your opinion, but some things are just better left unsaid,” he continued, undaunted.
I thought back to the status I posted the night before. It incited the wrath of the least likely people I could have imagined. Their words drove into me like a freight train just beginning its journey on the track – slow, one by one, but each heavier and more forceful than the last. Hypocrite, asshole, dick, jerk, insensitive, phobic…the insults continued well into the morning.
I thought back to how I felt as I read through the comments, each of them acting as fertilizer for the weeds of unease that grew inside of me, before I deleted the status. My mind was drained as I looked at it one last time.
So New York just passed a law legalizing gay marriage…I hope it gets repealed as quickly as it was passed.
***
We all want progress, but if you’re on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive.
-C.S. Lewis
***
I looked up from the plastic covered Word and Song in my hands and brought my eyes to the face of my pastor. The dregs of our last hymn resonated in my mind’s ear, but I try my best to empty them to focus on his words.
“See how the world has changed? It used to be that man would marry a woman, and woman would marry a man, and they would unite as one body, one flesh, as God intended.”
Mutterings of assent and nostalgia rose from the bodies planted in their wooden soil. A soft seed of “Amen” blew into the wind of their noise.
“But now we have man with many women, or woman with many men. Now we have man marrying man and woman marrying woman. Now we have two men raising children, two women raising children, calling it a family, and expect the world to say that it is right!”
Buds of angry agreements grew from the plants, eager to reach maturity.
“We must pray that they will realize what they are doing is wrong! This lifestyle is that of sin, and sin can only lead to Hell!”
But will they all go to Hell? Doesn’t God take care of everyone with a good heart? Aren’t we all sinners to be looked after? Is this any worse a sin than lying? Or does it fall under the category of lies?
The buds blossom into heavily perfumed flowers, some small, some large, some not at all. Some already start to lose their petals as if winter is drawing near.
I sit there, not a flower, but a simple shrub without bud or scent.
***
If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.
-Proverbs 18:13
***
“So you believe in the Pope, right?” I was asked.
I considered this question carefully. My words were chosen with care. “The Pope is the head of the Catholic Church…” I began.
“So whatever the Pope says is pretty much the Word of God, right? Even though he’s a Nazi?” the questioner inquired.
My feet shoved roots into the floor. In that one tiny clubroom, out of hundreds of rooms of the fourteen floors that comprise my entire social existence, I become a redwood tree, as unmoving as if I was in place from first construction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, about whoever is a Nazi or not. Is there a point to your questions?”
The interrogator gave me a knowing smile, implying that he knew he was already going to win this “argument” before it even became one. “Isn’t it hypocritical of you to follow a Pope who says abortion is a sin when he killed millions of Jewish babies and pregnant mothers with his fellow Nazis? Do you believe abortion is wrong?”
A slow heat began to burn in my chest. I tried my best to stay cool, but the temptation to explode at him was strong.
Flashbacks of the last discussion with my best friend bounce around in my head, rubber balls with multiple trajectories. “Yes, I believe abortion is wrong.” I refuse to elaborate.
If my child has any defect at all I’m aborting it.
You would end a life just because it’s not perfect?
Yes. I would not be able to love it.
Why not just put him or her up for adoption?
I don’t want to give birth to a retard. Why should I go through that pain?
I can’t ever agree to that.
It’s not like it’s your children I’m having anyways.
That’s not the point! You’d be ending a life!
A life that I made, so I get to choose.
Why would you take the choice away from the child before it’s even born?
Because I don’t want it to live when I can’t love it.
That’s just wrong…
I didn’t ask you if it’s right or wrong. It’s not your business anyways; your opinion has no effect on me.
“I believe abortion is wrong.”
***
Silence is argument carried out by other means.
-Che Guevara
***
Chilly wind nipped at my exposed flesh. Try as I might, I could not fit the djimbei – an African drum – across my back comfortably as I listened to the conversation around me.
“I can’t imagine changing genders the way some people do. It doesn’t make any sense.” One voice put forth.
“They do it because they can, and science lets them,” replied another. “I doubt they really feel ‘trapped’ like a bunch of them keep saying.”
“Well some of them could actually feel that way, but that doesn’t mean they were meant to be the opposite gender,” a third voice said.
The sidewalk was mostly clear of its usual inhabitants, loiterers from the recently ended Mass. Unfavorable weather tends to discourage the aged and withered flowers from hanging around and chatting, but the younger, supple trees have more endurance. I gave up on adjusting the straps of my djimbei’s bag and focused on the words in the air.
“I mean, come on, why would I want to be a guy? I was born a girl and I want to stay a girl, even with my period and cramps,” the third voice declared.
But you’re not the person who feels as if they are a boy trapped inside another body, I want to say. You’re not the one who feels that you were born the wrong gender. You’re not the one who is sad and miserable because you can’t reconcile yourself with your identity. As much as I agree with what you’re saying, I can’t judge anyone who wants to go through it. I know what I believe, and I know what I stand for, and it makes logical sense, but…I’m not in anyone else’s position. Only my own.
And you’re only in your own position as well.
The words live out their lifespan in my mind, never crossing the boundary into the concrete and un-retractable. The chilling wind is my only reply.
***
He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth.
-Isaiah 53:7
***
I faced my interrogator once again.
“You’re not a virgin; you must have been molested by your priest at least once!”
I was so sick of it. The same voice. The same mocking tone. The same loud, cynical laugh.
I never seem to be able to escape him. He has continuously dug his fingernails into the ever-tender wounds of my religion and threatens to rip them wide open once more. Every possible scandal, every mistake, every misplaced perception, he knows them all and uses them as battering rams to break down my defensive wall. The thorns I was supposed to have along the stem of my faith has been turned against me one time too many.
How did I answer such hostile humor? With silence.
I stood in front of him, revealing as little emotion as possible, while I berated him in my mind. You stupid jerk, why can’t you keep your mouth shut? Why do you insist, every single time I enter the room, on trash talking my religion? There is almost never a reason for you to bring it up, I never reference it around you at all! You tell me that people are stupid to follow a God who uses cancer to kill evil-doers, but everyone else was talking only about raising money for research – where did you come from? I’ve had enough of your crap and I’m not going to waste my breath answering you again.
With my silence, I gave him all the answer he needed.
***
“Hey Darius, you’re in the choir right?” my friend asked.
“Yes…why?”
“Can you sing me something? I want to hear you sing!”
I gave him a short laugh. “Something like what?”
“That song that was sung in Sister Act, you know what I’m talking about?”
“Oh, that. Sure, it goes…”
Oh happy day…
Oh happy day…
Oh happy day…
Oh happy day…
Hi Darius,
For me, this is your most exciting, energized, layered piece of the semester. I think you took some real risks, particularly risks in confrontation with a difficult subject–and those risks paid off. I like the way you expose yourself as flawed, questioning, searching–even as you also reveal yourself as decided, opinionated, argumentative. It comes off as real, and also a little vulnerable, or at least certainly human. And I think it’s precisely this balance of questioning and certainty that make the essay work, that pull it from the edge of being overly-polemicized and not a product of a human quest for understanding, on a personal level, on a level that takes into accounts all the aspects of what it means to be human, all the different spheres and ages we operate in and across.
When it comes to conservative vs liberal social and religious views, there is precious little REAL conversation. Very little respect. I think your essay takes a step toward conversation and respect. You don’t back off your views or soften them, which I think would be inauthentic, but you don’t attack either.
Thanks for pushing the limits with this one! It’s a good read–very thought-provoking.