An Open Letter To My Silent Friends
To whom the shoe fits,
It is a struggle not to discard our friendship given your silence since the election. “But that’s unfair,” “You let politics ruin your friendships,” “It’s not that serious,” you might say.
Using this kind of rhetoric demonstrates your lack of understanding as to how the pernicious nature of this administration exceeds politics. More than likely, your family isn’t being deported; you’re not at risk of losing the healthcare that kept or keeps you alive; you’re not planning your reproductive health in accordance to when you’ll no longer be able to get a safe abortion; you’re not sitting in a refugee camp with a pending asylum case; your places of worship have not been vandalized or destroyed; you don’t have a suddenly-emboldened young White girl screaming ‘nigger’ at you on the street.
My silent friends — especially my gay/straight, White, male friends — your silence is deafening. I am trying not to add to the divide by viewing you as dispensable. I am desperately trying to divorce what I perceive as your indifference or neutrality from how I feel about you. However, memory serves both as testimony and as self-preservation.
In the future, this era will more than likely be regarded as a multifaceted assault on our so called democracy. It will be remembered by several communities, especially those who are undocumented, working class, queer, and/or of color, as times rife with danger and uncertainty. I do not want to testify to your perceived indifference. I do not want to be forced to recall your silence. I will march and fight for your rights just as hard as I do my own, but if your silence remains, then suffer no delusions: You are no friend of mine.
Sincerely,
Isaiah Du Pree
