Recently I was on a plane during boarding when a woman slotted into the row in front of me. While she stowed her bag and gathered up her stuff, I got a chance to read the back of her t-shirt. It went something like this:
Why be racist, sexist, bigoted, homophobic, and transphobic when you can just be quiet?
Those words were intended for folks like me, and they were no big surprise. We all know how today’s opponents of Christian/natural/traditional views on sex, marriage, the family, and the nature of the human person reduce those views to nothing more than vicious bigotry and phobias. And we know that there’s a battle raging in our culture over these issues, the outcome of which is likely to have a profound effect on religious freedom and the place Christians will have in public life.
I was still taken aback, though, by the brazenness of the shirt’s message—its threat, really. It was essentially a variation on the old quip: “‘Shut up,’ he explained.” I’m aware, at least in theory, that elite liberal opinion has become less liberal, less tolerant of dissent and less interested in debate. Still, some part of me wanted to believe that reasonable debate and human connection are possible even between people of radically different viewpoints. But the lady with the t-shirt just wanted me to go sit in a dark hole.
As I sat there on the plane, my memory drew a connection to another time, decades ago, when I experienced a similar disappointment. I was in a courthouse where a group of pro-lifers were being railroaded—er, tried—for failing to “disperse” from a protest at an abortion clinic. During a break in the action, I approached the young male stenographer, fascinated by his arcane profession. I asked him in a friendly way how his stenotype machine worked and if it was hard to learn.
His eyes widened in surprise, his face swelled and turned red, and he twitched a little as he struggled to find words. Finally, with a rush of air like a bursting paper bag, he managed to push a reply over his lips: “Just . . . whatever!” Then he turned his back to me, conversation over.
A leper in the temple would have gotten a warmer reception. I was one of those crazy “anti-choice” people. We weren’t supposed to be humanized or dialogued with. We were supposed to be quiet. But I wasn’t being quiet, and this guy couldn’t even.
All these things are floating around my mind today, as we mark another solemn anniversary of the September 11 attacks. Among the many details of tragedy and heroism from that day, one lesser-known piece was the message from the terrorists aboard American Airlines Flight 11, meant for the passengers but accidentally broadcast to air traffic controllers:
Just stay quiet and you’ll be okay . . . If you try to make any moves, you’ll endanger yourself and the airplane. Just stay quiet.
No one knew at that point what was unfolding on that dreadful day. There was no desperate pushback from that plane. The passengers stayed still and stayed quiet. And just twenty minutes later, Flight 11 struck the north tower of the World Trade Center.
Silence, enforced through the projection of fear: this is a core tactic of control. Whether it’s terrorists intent on death and mayhem or activists who want to suppress religion and re-engineer our culture, they can’t abide pesky resistance from people who should just shut up. (The latter bunch are not, of course, the moral equivalent of murderous terrorists; the point here is to note a shared aim or tactic.)
So, as we reflect on this sad day, let us also recall one of its lessons: do not let yourself be silenced.
First, because speaking the truth is not hate.
Of course we shouldn’t be bigots. And by all means, let’s cultivate a habit of gentleness and charity when we speak, imitating the Lord and the saints. We don’t have to be cranked up to eleven all the time—we should learn to pick our spots and to moderate our words as circumstances warrant. But we must also be bold, and not let ourselves be cowed by social pressure—at the point of a knife or the back of a t-shirt—to keep our God-talk and unfashionable moral opinions to ourselves because the elite opinion-makers now in control of the plane have deemed them intolerable.
Second, because the other side lies.
The 9/11 hijackers said the passengers would be okay. The foes of faith and right reason in our culture make similar empty promises. Just sit quiet and let us have our way in this school/courtroom/state capitol/library/workplace/parish council/public square, and we’ll make sure you keep a little safe space for your personal convictions.
But silence never buys lasting peace; it just empowers the silencers. Instead, only our courageous speech and example, in and out of season, will fulfill our baptismal duty to make disciples and, as Lumen Gentium charged the laity, to “work for the sanctification of the world from within, as a leaven” (31).