I was raised to believe there are two subjects you avoid if you want to keep the peace: politics and religion. They spark arguments, divide families, and rarely end with anyone’s mind changed. But sometimes silence does more harm than good, and tonight, I feel compelled to speak—not to convert or condemn, but to share what’s been weighing on my heart.
First, let me be clear: I don’t care who you vote for, what you believe, or how you identify. I don’t force my views on others, and I don’t hate people for seeing the world differently. To me, humanity matters more than ideology. As the Bible says, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” We all walk different paths, and none of us has the right to control another’s.
What I cannot stay quiet about is the growing acceptance of hate and violence. It is never acceptable—under any circumstances—to harm someone because of their race, their politics, their religion, or their identity. It is never acceptable to cheer when someone is attacked, or to excuse cruelty because it happened to “the other side.” Violence doesn’t prove a point; it only erases our humanity.
What troubles me even more are the excuses people use to sweep these acts aside. If someone commits a crime, they should face the consequences. If a loved one is struggling with mental illness and “might snap at any time,” get them the help they deserve before it’s too late. Standing by and doing nothing isn’t compassion—it’s complicity. When we excuse wrongdoing or blame someone else, we become part of the problem.
I’ve seen this division play out in my own life. I’ve been told I can’t understand struggle because I have “white privilege,” even though I was raised poor in rural Louisiana. We lived below the poverty line, relied on food stamps, and often had to borrow money from relatives just to survive. Privilege was not my reality; survival was. I’ve been told I couldn’t be Spanish because I “looked white,” even when DNA tests confirmed otherwise. I’ve been accused of being part of racism and fascism simply because of how someone assumed I voted. In each of these cases, I chose not to fight back with anger or violence. I simply walked away. That was my choice.
The truth is, each of us has choices. We can choose to blame others, play the victim, and repeat the same mistakes. Or we can own our actions, learn from them, and choose a better path forward. Mistakes are part of being human—but when we keep making the same ones, they stop being mistakes and start being the life we’ve chosen.
As a nation, we are choosing division. We are letting political parties, media narratives, and our own prejudices pit us against one another. What started as sparks of disagreement has grown into a wildfire of hostility. If we don’t change course, that fire will consume us all.
But there is another way. We can stop feeding the flames. We can reject hate, resist excuses, and remember that our humanity matters more than our differences. We can choose accountability, compassion, and unity.
If we do, the fire dividing us can still be put out. If we don’t, then—as the old saying goes—we will reap what we sow.
On this day of Remembrance, let us not forget that we hold the power to stand united against the evils of the world. Division, hate, and violence may try to tear us apart, but our humanity is stronger—if we choose to protect it. Do not let someone else’s agenda strip away your compassion, your integrity, or your sense of what is right.
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