Silence That Screams

There’s a sinking feeling I haven’t been able to shake. In fact, it’s put me back in counseling again. Because it’s not just a passing worry or a moment of unease - it’s something deeper. A quiet alarm, faint but persistent, echoing through history and whispering, “You’ve seen this before.”

I don’t say this lightly, and I don’t write it for shock value. I understand the weight of the comparison I’m about to draw, and I understand how easily it can be dismissed as exaggeration or hysteria. But when I look around at what’s happening in North America - and throughout much of the Western world - I see troubling echoes of a past we swore we’d never repeat. 

It reminds me of the story of Eva Katchadourian - the mother in We Need to Talk About Kevin. She knew something was wrong. Long before the worst happened, she saw it unfolding in quiet moments, in small, unsettling ways. She tried to raise the alarm. She tried to speak. But no one wanted to hear it. People dismissed her, blamed her, told her she was imagining things. And when it was too late, they looked back with horror and asked, “Why didn’t someone do something?”

That question haunts me. Because what if we’re Eva now?

I’ve had that feeling before. Many times. But the experience that sticks out the most is when I was thirteen. I started hanging out with boys who were much older than me - some of them in their late teens, some in their twenties. Deep down, I knew something was wrong. I knew it was unsafe, inappropriate, dangerous. But I ignored my instincts. I didn’t want to seem dramatic or immature. I wanted to be cool, accepted, grown-up. So I stayed quiet. I pretended everything was fine.

But it wasn’t. I ended up getting badly hurt - hurt in a way that completely altered the course of my life. One of those boys raped me.

That experience taught me something I’ll never forget: when we silence the voice of warning, whether it’s our own or someone else’s, we open the door to consequences we may never be able to undo.

And now, looking around, I feel that same instinct stirring. That low hum of unease. That sense that something is unraveling around us - and that if we don’t speak now, it may be too late to speak at all. 

This post is not about fearmongering. It’s about vigilance. It’s about remembering that liberty is not a permanent condition - it is a fragile, living thing that depends on the courage of those who protect it.

So I ask you to walk with me, gently but honestly, through the past and into the present. Let’s talk about what we’re seeing, why it matters, and how to recognize the early steps on a road we should never take again.

Historical Parallels

When people think of Nazi Germany, they often picture the end: the concentration camps, the swastikas, the war. But it didn’t start there. It started much quieter than that.

In the early 1930’s, Germany was a wounded nation - humiliated by WWI, burdened by debt, fractured politically, and desperate for stability. The people were angry, afraid, and vulnerable. And that’s when the shift began - not through brute force, but through the slow, deliberate erosion of freedom, truth, and dissent.

The Nazi rise to power didn’t begin with genocide. It began with language. With propaganda. With re-educating the public to believe that some ideas were too dangerous to tolerate. That questioning the party line made you an enemy of the people. That national unity required ideological conformity. 

Books were banned. Journalists silenced. Education restructured. The media was brought under control, and people were taught - slowly, methodically - that there was only one correct way to think. Those who asked questions were viewed with suspicion. Those who didn’t conform were painted as threats to peace and progress.

And for the average German, this shift didn’t come with flashing warning signs. It came with a feeling of relief. Of order returning. Or a fractured nation finally coming together with a sense of purpose. Many people didn’t see it as the death of freedom. They saw it as the beginning of something better.

Children were among the first targets of this “better.” The Hitler Youth program didn’t just teach loyalty to the state - it rewired how young people thought, felt, and related to their country, their families, and themselves. It groomed them to believe that obedience was virtue, that ideology was truth, and that turning in your parents could be an act of moral courage. Indoctrination was disguised as education. And it worked.

We like to think we’d recognize something like that today. That we’d never fall for it. But look closely, and you’ll see how similar tactics are already at play.

In North America, we’ve allowed parts of our education systems to be influenced - sometimes directly, sometimes insidiously - by extreme ideologies. Groups with political, religious, or even foreign interests have found their way into our institutions, shaping curriculum, funding research, and influencing what is - and isn’t - taught.

Take Qatar, for example. Over the past decades, Qatari foundations have quietly funneled hundreds of millions of dollars into Western universities, including in Canada and the U.S. While some of that funding may appear benign on the surface - grants, partnerships, scholarships - it has come with influence. Influence over research direction. Influence over public discourse on sensitive topics like terrorism, human rights, and religious criticism. Influence over what gets silenced.

At the same time, we’ve watched as activist groups - often under the banner of justice or progress - reshape education to fit rigid ideologies. Children are being taught what to think before they’re given space to learn how to think. Parents who question curriculum are accused of bigotry or ignorance. Dissent is pathologized. Conformity is rewarded. And students are encouraged to act as watchdogs - not just of institutions, but of each other.

It’s not the same as Hitler Youth. But the pattern - the strategy - is familiar: influence the young, and you shape the future. Undermine the family, and you remove the first line of resistance. Control education, and you control the narrative for generations.

History doesn’t repeat itself exactly - but it does offer warnings. And right now, those warnings are getting harder to ignore.

The Tactics Repeating Today

We don’t have to guess what authoritarian creep looks like. History already showed us. And if we’re willing to look honestly at our current moment, we’ll see that many of the same tactics are already being used - quietly, systematically, and often under the banner of safety, progress, or justice.

Censorship Framed as Protection

We’ve begun to accept the idea that certain viewpoints are too dangerous to be heard. That disinformation must be redefined not just as incorrect, but immoral. 

Of course, truth matters. Lies can be dangerous. But so can the belief that a central authority should decide what truth is, especially when that truth conveniently always supports one worldview.

From shadow-banning to deplatforming to “misinformation” labels applied to medical opinions, scientific debate, election concerns, or foreign policy dissent - we’ve seen how fast the line between safety and silencing can be blurred.

Narrative Monopolization

Governments, institutions, and media have become increasingly aligned - not just in what they report, but in what they ignore. There’s less diversity of thought in legacy media than ever before, and questioning dominant narratives is now associated with extremism.

Remember when “trust the science” became a club instead of a conversation? When questioning policy - on vaccines, lockdowns, education, race, or gender - was labeled “harmful,” regardless of the quality or intent of the questions?

The result: fear of speaking up. And silence, not because people agree, but because they’re exhausted, afraid, or unsure who they’re allowed to be.

Control Through Language

New terms are introduced constantly - many rooted in good intentions, some not. But all seem to demand rapid, unquestioned adoption. If you hesitate, you’re labeled.

Language is no longer just descriptive - it’s prescriptive. We’re told there are right words and wrong words, and that using the wrong ones reveals not ignorance, but character flaws. Suddenly, intent doesn’t matter. Only adherence does.

This isn’t compassion. It’s control.

Vilification of Dissent

Those who don’t comply aren’t just mistaken - they’re dangerous. Selfish. Toxic. Alt-right. Extremist. Even when they’re centrists. Or leftists. Or apolitical moms and dads at school board meetings.

We’ve seen doctors lose licenses for questioning mandates. Teachers fired for not following ideological scripts. Journalists blacklisted. Students bullied. Comedians cancelled. Neighbors reporting each other. People losing jobs, reputations, and relationships over a Facebook post that challenged the wrong narrative. 

This isn’t healthy debate. It’s social punishment for deviation.

The Weaponization of Empathy

Perhaps the most dangerous tactic of all is how these controls are wrapped in emotional language. We’re told that silence is violence. That to disagree is to hate. That if you’re not with us, you’re against the vulnerable.

Empathy is beautiful. But when it’s weaponized, it becomes a tool of coercion. People are shamed into silence not because they lack compassion, but because their compassion has been hijacked by fear. They don’t want to hurt anyone. They don’t want to be the bad guy. So they stay quiet. Or comply.

That’s not what empathy should look like. 

This isn’t about claiming that Western societies are fascist or that we’re headed straight for 1940s-style authoritarianism. But the tactics - the playbook - is familiar. And when you see the same moves happening again, you don’t need to wait until the final act to know where the story could go.

Why Good People Stay Silent

Most people in the west are not extremists.

They’re not hateful or ignorant. They don’t want to control others or burn down democracy. They want to be kind. Thoughtful. Fair. They want to do right by others. They want to raise their kids in peace, go to work, speak their mind respectfully, and live in a world where people can disagree without destroying each other.

So why, then, do so many good people stay silent when things start to feel off?

The answer isn’t cowardice. It’s conditioning.

We’ve been taught that speaking out - especially on controversial issues - makes us a problem. That questioning dominant ideas means you’re on the wrong ”side”. That you must be racist, or transphobic, or anti-science, or right-wing, or left-wing, or dangerous. That your motives don’t matter - your labels do.

So good people hesitate. They self-censor. They try to “keep the peace” by keeping their thoughts to themselves. They try to navigate an ever-shifting social terrain where one wrong word can cost you a friendship, a job, a reputation.

And over time, that silence becomes normal. The pressure becomes internal. We start pre-editing our thoughts before we even speak. We learn to “read the room” before expressing concern, to check which way the wind is blowing before daring to suggest an alternative view. Even if we feel something is deeply wrong, we tell ourselves it’s not our place. That it’s not that bad. That someone else will say it.

But silence is rarely neutral.

History shows us that the early warning signs of authoritarianism don’t go unrecognized because people are blind. They go unchallenged because people are afraid.

Afraid of what they’ll lose.

Afraid of being misunderstood.

Afraid of hurting someone.

Afraid of being hurt.

And in that silence, the damage grows.

If this resonates with you - if you’ve stayed quiet even when something in your gut said, “This isn’t right” - know this: you are not alone. You are not broken. You’re human. And you’re living in a time that’s making it incredibly hard to speak freely without being vilified.

But now is the time to start speaking anyway.

We don’t need to scream. We don’t need to be cruel. But we do need to stop pretending that silence is the moral high ground. It’s not. Not when it allows truth to rot and fear to reign.

The world doesn’t need more perfect people - it needs more honest ones.

What We Can Do Now

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed when the truth feels murky and the noise is relentless. It’s easy to feel small. Powerless. Outnumbered.

But history didn’t just give us warnings - it gave us examples. 

Sophie Scholl

Sophie Scholl was 21 years-old when she was executed by the Nazis for distributing anti-Hitler leaflets with a small resistance group called the White Rose. She wasn’t loud or militant - just brave. She and her brother Hans were students. Ordinary young people. But they couldn’t ignore what they saw: the indoctrination, the lies, the cruelty disguised as patriotism. So they wrote. They copied. They passed leaflets by hand. Quiet resistance, rooted in truth.

On the day she was sentenced to death, Sophie said, “How can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to give himself up individually to a righteous cause?”

It cost her everything. But her courage outlived her. The world remembers her name.

Not all of us are called to pay that price - but all of us are called to see, to speak and to resist the slow creep of tyranny. Sophie didn’t wait until it was “safe” to act. She acted because her conscience said it was time.

We don’t need to be loud to make an impact. We don’t need millions of followers or positions of power. We only need to start paying attention and be willing to act when our conscience speaks.

So what can we do - today, now?

Listen to Your Gut - Then Trust it

You may not be able to explain why something feels off right away. You may not have the words or the data. But if something in your body tightens - if your instincts whisper, this is not okay - don’t dismiss it. That’s where courage begins: with noticing.

Speak - Even Quietly

Speaking doesn’t have to mean debating strangers on the internet or shouting into the void. Sometimes it’s as simple as starting a conversation with a friend. Or asking a thoughtful question. Or voicing your disagreement respectfully.

Every time you do that, you make space for others to do the same. Silence can be contagious - but so can courage.

Make Room for Complexity

The truth is rarely found in extremes. Real life is messy. Real people are layered. Sometimes good people do bad things. That’s why propaganda thrives on division - it makes the world feel simple: us vs them, good vs evil, right vs wrong.

Push back against that. Practice nuance. Make room for disagreement without dehumanization. Refuse to flatten people into one label or one opinion.

Defend Speech - Even When You Disagree With It

Free speech matters most when it protects the speech you dislike. If only certain ideas are allowed, we don’t have freedom - we have permission. And that permission can be revoked at any time.

You don’t have to agree with everything you hear. You just have to believe that truth doesn’t need to be protected from challenge - it needs to be tested by it.

Reclaim Community

Isolation breeds control. Tyranny doesn’t flourish when people feel seen, supported, and connected - it flourished when people feel alone, afraid, ashamed.

So find your people. Build trust. Gather in person when you can. Create circles where honest questions are welcomed and disagreements aren’t punishable offenses. This is how resistance grows - quietly, relationally, rooted in truth and belonging.

None of us can fix this alone.. But we’re not supposed to. The work of protecting freedom, dignity, and truth has always belonged to all of us - not just politicians, activists, or experts.

The world doesn’t need more rage or more noise. It needs more grounded people. More discerning minds. More thoughtful courage.

It needs people like you - willing to feel afraid and still speak. Willing to stand in discomfort. Willing to choose truth over tribe. Willing to look back at this moment one day and say:

I didn’t stay silent.

A Personal Note

I didn’t write this to scare you.

I wrote it because I know what it’s like to ignore a gut instinct - and live with the consequences. I know what it’s like to stay silent because I didn’t want to be difficult, dramatic, or dismissed. I know what it’s like to feel something is wrong but look around and wonder if I’m the only one who sees it.

I’m not the only one. And neither are you.

There is something deeply unsettling happening in our world right now. In our politics, our media, our classrooms, our conversations. And while it may not look exactly like the 1930s, the patterns are familiar enough to stir something ancient in the bones of those paying attention.

If you feel that stirring too - listen to it.

You don’t need all the answers. You don’t have to be certain. But you owe it to yourself, and to the people who come after you, to stay awake. To stay curious. To stay brave enough to question even the things that come dressed in virtue.

Silence may feel safe in the moment. But history reminds us that silence is rarely safe in the long run.

This isn’t about picking a side. It’s about protecting the space where truth can still live. Where dialogue can still happen. Where people are still free to disagree, to grow, and to remember that being human matters more than being right.

Speak. Even softly.

Pay attention. Even if it hurts.

Stand up. Even if you’re shaking.

We don’t need a revolution of rage. We need a revolution of clarity, conscience, and courage.

Let’s start with that.

Ⓒ August 2025. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.