Fessing Up to My Silence
I’m responsible for my actions. I’m responsible for my words. I’m responsible for my silence. My silence hurts everyone, including me. When I don’t speak or at the very least raise my hand to agree or disagree my behavior doesn’t show moral responsibility. What it does is maintain the status-quo of hurt for those served and shackled by a system that is broken. It is broken. Ignoring it will not make it go away. Last week I overheard a conversation as I walked down the hill toward the lake. I’ve been temporarily living in northern Michigan with my mother since the pandemic hit. I heard a brief conversation between a gray haired, heavy-set, white man who stopped to talk to two, young, white men sitting on a roof, taking a break from their roofing job. “Blah, blah,”—weather talk between the three. Then the man on the street yelled as he tilted his head back to make his point. “What do you think of my hat?” He proudly turned it in his hand so