https://www.ted.com/talks/clint_smith_the_danger_of_silence?language=en
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,
in a 1968 speech where he reflects
upon the Civil Rights Movement,
states, "In the end,
we will remember not the words of our enemies
but the silence of our friends."
As a teacher, I've internalized this message. Every day, all around us, we see the consequences of silence manifest themselves in the form of discrimination, violence, genocide and war. In the classroom, I challenge my students to explore the silences in their own lives through poetry. We work together to fill those spaces, to recognize them, to name them, to understand that they don't have to be sources of shame. In an effort to create a culture within my classroom where students feel safe sharing the intimacies of their own silences, I have four core principles posted on the board that sits in the front of my class, which every student signs at the beginning of the year: read critically, write consciously, speak clearly, tell your truth.
And I find myself thinking a lot about that last point, tell your truth. And I realized that if I was going to ask my students to speak up, I was going to have to tell my truth and be honest with them about the times where I failed to do so.
So I tell them that growing up, as a kid in a Catholic family in New Orleans, during Lent I was always taught that the most meaningful thing one could do was to give something up, sacrifice something you typically indulge in to prove to God you understand his sanctity. I've given up soda, McDonald's, French fries, French kisses, and everything in between. But one year, I gave up speaking. I figured the most valuable thing I could sacrifice was my own voice, but it was like I hadn't realized that I had given that up a long time ago. I spent so much of my life telling people the things they wanted to hear instead of the things they needed to, told myself I wasn't meant to be anyone's conscience because I still had to figure out being my own, so sometimes I just wouldn't say anything, appeasing ignorance with my silence, unaware that validation doesn't need words to endorse its existence. When Christian was beat up for being gay, I put my hands in my pocket and walked with my head down as if I didn't even notice. I couldn't use my locker for weeks because the bolt on the lock reminded me of the one I had put on my lips when the homeless man on the corner looked at me with eyes up merely searching for an affirmation that he was worth seeing. I was more concerned with touching the screen on my Apple than actually feeding him one. When the woman at the fundraising gala said "I'm so proud of you. It must be so hard teaching those poor, unintelligent kids," I bit my lip, because apparently we needed her money more than my students needed their dignity.
We spend so much time listening to the things people are saying that we rarely pay attention to the things they don't. Silence is the residue of fear. It is feeling your flaws gut-wrench guillotine your tongue. It is the air retreating from your chest because it doesn't feel safe in your lungs. Silence is Rwandan genocide. Silence is Katrina. It is what you hear when there aren't enough body bags left. It is the sound after the noose is already tied. It is charring. It is chains. It is privilege. It is pain. There is no time to pick your battles when your battles have already picked you.
I will not let silence wrap itself around my indecision. I will tell Christian that he is a lion, a sanctuary of bravery and brilliance. I will ask that homeless man what his name is and how his day was, because sometimes all people want to be is human. I will tell that woman that my students can talk about transcendentalism like their last name was Thoreau, and just because you watched one episode of "The Wire" doesn't mean you know anything about my kids. So this year, instead of giving something up, I will live every day as if there were a microphone tucked under my tongue, a stage on the underside of my inhibition. Because who has to have a soapbox when all you've ever needed is your voice? - Clint Smith
What is it that immobilizes you? What is it that keeps you from speaking out against an injustice that you have witnessed? What is it that keeps you from challenging a discriminatory or stereotyped opinion?
Fear.
Sometimes you fear what other people will think of you. Sometimes you fear getting into trouble. Sometimes you fear conflict. Sometimes you simply fear the unknown of what comes after you speak up. Surely not all of us know innately how to effectively direct any given situation we may find ourselves in. We can however develop our abilities by ensuring that we remain calm and without emotional reaction and then testing out how to direct the situation from there.
Deliberately creating conflict by barging into a situation or someone's (albeit misguided) opinions won't get anyone anywhere. You are more likely to worsen the situation. Your first step should always be to take a deep breath and assess yourself: whether you are experiencing any kind of emotional upheaval or thoughts that tend to lead to an emotional experience - the next step is to clear those reactions and make sure that you are stable, level-headed and calm. By doing this you ensure that you are in the best possible state of mind to be able to direct the situation effectively.
It may sound simple enough, but if you look at the world around you you will recognise that this seems to be quite a difficult thing for most people to do. Spending some time with your family should give you enough evidence of this - but if it doesn't then just watch a few movies in order to see the kind of mind set that is being promoted (and accepted) in our society. Apparently TV shows and movies cannot be entertaining without adding all sorts of ridiculous drama - all of this is then watched and absorbed by the youth of the nation and all of a sudden the next generation is a bunch of neurotic, self obsessed sociopaths. Somehow we keep missing that connection...
Most of our interactions with each other in this life involve a dance of sussing each other out: are you judging me? Are you validating my judgements about myself? How will you react when I act in this way? - It's all about conflict avoidance to try and make the best impression possible and hide your perceived faults. In the end the entire dance is driven by your fears - it's pretty unusual to have a conversation with someone who is completely open and grounded in who they are in that moment with you.
These fears seep out and poison so many parts of our lives and society. They keep us from doing the things we know are best. They keep us from making peace with ourselves. They keep us from developing meaningful and honest connections. They keep us from creating a world of true beauty and compassion.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,
in a 1968 speech where he reflects
upon the Civil Rights Movement,
states, "In the end,
we will remember not the words of our enemies
but the silence of our friends." As a teacher, I've internalized this message. Every day, all around us, we see the consequences of silence manifest themselves in the form of discrimination, violence, genocide and war. In the classroom, I challenge my students to explore the silences in their own lives through poetry. We work together to fill those spaces, to recognize them, to name them, to understand that they don't have to be sources of shame. In an effort to create a culture within my classroom where students feel safe sharing the intimacies of their own silences, I have four core principles posted on the board that sits in the front of my class, which every student signs at the beginning of the year: read critically, write consciously, speak clearly, tell your truth.
And I find myself thinking a lot about that last point, tell your truth. And I realized that if I was going to ask my students to speak up, I was going to have to tell my truth and be honest with them about the times where I failed to do so.
So I tell them that growing up, as a kid in a Catholic family in New Orleans, during Lent I was always taught that the most meaningful thing one could do was to give something up, sacrifice something you typically indulge in to prove to God you understand his sanctity. I've given up soda, McDonald's, French fries, French kisses, and everything in between. But one year, I gave up speaking. I figured the most valuable thing I could sacrifice was my own voice, but it was like I hadn't realized that I had given that up a long time ago. I spent so much of my life telling people the things they wanted to hear instead of the things they needed to, told myself I wasn't meant to be anyone's conscience because I still had to figure out being my own, so sometimes I just wouldn't say anything, appeasing ignorance with my silence, unaware that validation doesn't need words to endorse its existence. When Christian was beat up for being gay, I put my hands in my pocket and walked with my head down as if I didn't even notice. I couldn't use my locker for weeks because the bolt on the lock reminded me of the one I had put on my lips when the homeless man on the corner looked at me with eyes up merely searching for an affirmation that he was worth seeing. I was more concerned with touching the screen on my Apple than actually feeding him one. When the woman at the fundraising gala said "I'm so proud of you. It must be so hard teaching those poor, unintelligent kids," I bit my lip, because apparently we needed her money more than my students needed their dignity.
We spend so much time listening to the things people are saying that we rarely pay attention to the things they don't. Silence is the residue of fear. It is feeling your flaws gut-wrench guillotine your tongue. It is the air retreating from your chest because it doesn't feel safe in your lungs. Silence is Rwandan genocide. Silence is Katrina. It is what you hear when there aren't enough body bags left. It is the sound after the noose is already tied. It is charring. It is chains. It is privilege. It is pain. There is no time to pick your battles when your battles have already picked you.
I will not let silence wrap itself around my indecision. I will tell Christian that he is a lion, a sanctuary of bravery and brilliance. I will ask that homeless man what his name is and how his day was, because sometimes all people want to be is human. I will tell that woman that my students can talk about transcendentalism like their last name was Thoreau, and just because you watched one episode of "The Wire" doesn't mean you know anything about my kids. So this year, instead of giving something up, I will live every day as if there were a microphone tucked under my tongue, a stage on the underside of my inhibition. Because who has to have a soapbox when all you've ever needed is your voice? - Clint Smith
What is it that immobilizes you? What is it that keeps you from speaking out against an injustice that you have witnessed? What is it that keeps you from challenging a discriminatory or stereotyped opinion?
Fear.
Sometimes you fear what other people will think of you. Sometimes you fear getting into trouble. Sometimes you fear conflict. Sometimes you simply fear the unknown of what comes after you speak up. Surely not all of us know innately how to effectively direct any given situation we may find ourselves in. We can however develop our abilities by ensuring that we remain calm and without emotional reaction and then testing out how to direct the situation from there.
Deliberately creating conflict by barging into a situation or someone's (albeit misguided) opinions won't get anyone anywhere. You are more likely to worsen the situation. Your first step should always be to take a deep breath and assess yourself: whether you are experiencing any kind of emotional upheaval or thoughts that tend to lead to an emotional experience - the next step is to clear those reactions and make sure that you are stable, level-headed and calm. By doing this you ensure that you are in the best possible state of mind to be able to direct the situation effectively.
It may sound simple enough, but if you look at the world around you you will recognise that this seems to be quite a difficult thing for most people to do. Spending some time with your family should give you enough evidence of this - but if it doesn't then just watch a few movies in order to see the kind of mind set that is being promoted (and accepted) in our society. Apparently TV shows and movies cannot be entertaining without adding all sorts of ridiculous drama - all of this is then watched and absorbed by the youth of the nation and all of a sudden the next generation is a bunch of neurotic, self obsessed sociopaths. Somehow we keep missing that connection...
Most of our interactions with each other in this life involve a dance of sussing each other out: are you judging me? Are you validating my judgements about myself? How will you react when I act in this way? - It's all about conflict avoidance to try and make the best impression possible and hide your perceived faults. In the end the entire dance is driven by your fears - it's pretty unusual to have a conversation with someone who is completely open and grounded in who they are in that moment with you.
These fears seep out and poison so many parts of our lives and society. They keep us from doing the things we know are best. They keep us from making peace with ourselves. They keep us from developing meaningful and honest connections. They keep us from creating a world of true beauty and compassion.
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