Silence. A Key Ingredient for The Proliferation of Violence.

There are a few things in my lifetime that I’ve either read, heard, seen or felt, that have shaken me to the core. Things that have cut through the noise like a forty-foot machete and left me forever marked, and forever changed. I remember where I was when I experienced them, and I remember how I felt at the time.

One of those things came to me last week from Aaron Bushnell.

“Many of us like to ask ourselves, ‘what would I do if I was alive during slavery? Or the Jim Crow South? Or Apartheid? What would I do if my country were committing genocide?’ The answer is, you’re doing it. Right now.”

Just before I read those words, I was scrolling through Instagram on the floor of my bedroom. Despondent. Depressed. Feeling impotent and superfluous. I had spent the last few months in this state of darkness, where I felt like tragedy after tragedy had been stacking it’s weight upon what was left of our humanity in this country. Smothering it. Suffocating it. From climate change, to racism, another mass shooting, a widening wealth gap, an expanding Christian Nationalist movement rooting its hateful rot into our acting government, oh, and our complicity in a fucking genocide. I felt helpless. There was nothing that I could do or say that was going to help anyone.

And for those who may consider that my depression and despondency were the result of my social media use, sure, fair enough. But, I also had spent two months off of the news, and off of social media to ‘give myself a break’. Unfortunately in this instance, ‘out of sight, out of mind’ doesn’t always work as it should. Ignorance isn’t always bliss—despite the departure from the screens—when you see the sunshine beam from your baby boy’s smile in the morning, and you can’t help but think of the THOUSANDS of lifeless little bodies in Gaza and the parents robbed of their very own sunshine. Yes, I’m extremely grateful for what I have, but to know what I have is also to know what others have had ripped away from them in what is clearly the systematic slaughter of an entire population.

Surprisingly, it was getting back on social media for a minute that got me out of the shadows…

When my eyes finally landed on Aaron Bushnell’s words, something inside of me snapped. It felt like I caught a Louisville Slugger to the guts. I froze. I had been called out. Hard.

Here was a man who spoke and acted so loudly that it cost him his life. And here I was,  acquiescing on the floor of my bedroom like a  fucking coward. I hadn’t even said a word about it in months. Why?

Part of me feels like I was just overwhelmed. This genocide is a giant. Two of the world’s top military spenders per capita are absolutely devastating a nation with zero means to defend itself and zero ability for its citizens to seek refuge elsewhere. It’s also apparent that currently no nation can hold them accountable. What could I possibly do or say that is going to change a goddamn thing?

*The answer is ‘something,’ but we’ll get to that later.

Another part of me feels like I just fell in line. It seems like there has been this collective silence in my industry and I hate it. I hate even more that I became a part of it.

Around November of last year, when it was very clear that this was a genocide, I had spoken to a few colleagues about posts we had made about the atrocities committed by the Israeli government in Gaza. Some spoke about the hateful messages they had received in response to their posts. Some were told that they themselves were antisemitic for speaking out against the slaughter of women and children by the IDF. Some were worried that they’d lose clients or work over condemning a genocide. Shit, Melissa Barrera had just lost her role in the Scream Franchise over it, and she was a fucking movie star. So they went silent.

It was bizarre. This was a nauseating violation of human rights, and people were afraid to criticize it. People were being shamed into silence. And to be clear, I wasn’t expecting people to make shouting into a megaphone a full-time job, but these were also individuals and organizations who had been quick to be vocal about the massacre in Paris in 2015, the invasion of Ukraine by Russia, the murder of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, and the attacks by Hamas in Israel on October 7th, 2023. As they should have been; these were all absolute humanitarian tragedies. So yeah, it was wild that the decimation of an entire population was going undiscussed.

But that’s the power of weaponizing words. And when an oppressive power weaponizes a moniker like “anti-Semite” to label any individual that questions their actions—no matter how violent, or oppressive they seem to be—they get to shut you up, and then turn your silence into approval. They get carte blanche to pretty much do whatever they want, as long of course, as they have that money and power.

I have the ability to separate people of Jewish faith from the actions of the Israeli government. The same way that I can separate people of Islamic faith from the actions of Hamas. It’s really not that hard. But still, somehow, I felt like I had put a hand over my mouth. Because I didn’t want to offend the people who either couldn’t make that basic computation, or refused to make that computation because it might derail their entire fucked-up agenda. In essence I, and some of my colleagues, were silencing ourselves for idiots or assholes. And for that I’m sorry.

Or course, it’s also apparent that a lot of the silence in the news, social media, etc. also stems from racism, economics, and hegemony. Essentially, the Palestinian people get little support or attention because they are brown and poor. Just think about how quick the entire world ground to a halt to find five extremely wealthy people in the OceanGate submarine. The response pales in comparison to the attention and media coverage that the Palestinian people have received after four months of bombardment and hunger. But sadly, that’s to be expected. The rich rule.

In mid-February, I attempted to break my silence. I was unsuccessful….

After the Super Bowl, I had made a post on LinkedIn that basically called out the fact that Super Bowl commercials were getting more attention than 13,000 dead children in Gaza. A few  individuals supported my statement, but the overwhelming consensus to the post was that it was a bold move, and that I was just angry. I capitulated. I took down the post. And that is 100% not on them. This was a choice that I made, and a choice that I am 100% responsible for.

I felt sick to my stomach for a while after that. And I couldn’t really pinpoint why. Until roughly two weeks later when I read Aaron Bushnell’s words. It all hit me. I realized that I felt sick not only because of the situation, not only because I felt helpless, but because I had compromised my values.

I had always considered myself an outspoken advocate for human rights. I had started Icarian Airlines years ago as a means to express my thoughts and feelings on social and human rights issues that were important to me through art. Thirty-Seven Centigrade partially derives its name from the fact that it’s also the temperature of the human body; something that we all share. Something that binds us. My long-term goal for Thirty-Seven Centigrade has been to tell stories that bridge hearts. To create a better tomorrow for all humans. To use stories to move us into a more equitable, caring, and just world. Because stories have power to help humans. Speaking out has the power to help humanity.

I couldn’t help but think on that bedroom floor how terribly I was failing. Not only was I failing to act and carry out my missions for either of my entities, I was doing so while cowering in the comfort of my privilege. From the comforts of a full belly, in a warm house, with my family…

As a straight, white, cis-gendered male, in a system consciously designed BY and FOR the benefit of straight, white, cis-gendered males, I’m well aware that I’m privileged as fuck. And part of understanding my privilege is understanding the adversity that others who don’t look like me face. But awareness of that adversity isn’t enough. It’s only half of the equation. The other half is action. And I’ve known that for a while now.

Or, as Lupe once laid out, “If you don’t become an actor, you’ll never be a factor”.

Yes, I was aware of these atrocities, but my silence was almost rendering my awareness pointless. In fact, my silence was adding fuel to the violent fire.

Because the thing about silence, is that it can be contagious. When we don’t hear others speaking up, especially those who we may look up to, we may be hesitant to speak up ourselves. And maybe those who look up to us swallow their words too.  Silence proliferates, and as Dr. King once said, “There comes a time, when silence is a betrayal.” To oppressors, silence becomes approval. Silence becomes condonation.

My silence was a betrayal to me, my principles, but most importantly an absolute betrayal to humanity, and the innocent people of Palestine. And I’m done with it.

On the flip side, speaking up is also contagious. When we see others speaking up, we’re more inclined to do it ourselves. Seeing Aaron Bushnell speak at the loudest volume possible shook me to the core. It reminded me of who I am, and what’s important. It reminded me of the power of words.

It reminded me of moments in time, like the sweltering summer of 2020, when hearts backed human rights in these borders, and we took to the streets and every platform available to vehemently protest the murder of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. We spoke so loud that billion dollar corporations were forced to hear us. And whether their responses were performative or not, I’d like to say that differences were made. Previously unaware people became more aware, and some were becoming actors and advocating for social justice. We forced people and companies who didn’t give a shit to care because apathy and inaction would affect their bottom-line. Did we solve all of our issues? Absolutely fucking not, but we rallied the troops to do battle for a better and more equitable today and tomorrow. We drove change.

So when I asked myself, “What could I possibly do or say that is going to change a goddamn thing?”

The answer is ‘to speak’. The answer is use my voice, my words, my pen, my camera, my art, and whatever else I can to speak out for the people under siege. Because, while I alone am never going to stop two giants from carrying out a genocide, my hope is that the chorus of millions and millions of voices across this country can drive change like we have before. Pressure leaders, pressure organizations, boycott, and in the words of Killer Mike, “plot, plan, strategize, organize, and mobilize.” I can’t force you to care about 30,000 slaughtered in a genocide. I can’t force you to care that 25,000 of them were women and children murdered with bombs paid for by your tax dollars. I can’t make you care about humans perishing from starvation while food remains blocked on trucks just a few miles away. But if you do, I’m simply asking you to say something about it. Loudly.

Some of this may seem angry. And some of it is. So was the post on LinkedIn that I removed. The people who told me I was angry were right. But on the other side of my encounter with Bushnell’s statement, I can’t help but thinking to ask them, “how are you NOT angry about this!?”

I also can’t help but thinking, “is anger really that awful, when it’s constructive? When it’s fueled by love?”

For me, anger and love are two sides of the same coin. My anger is rooted in a love I have for the bonds and connections that we share with our families, our children, our friends. We’re born alone, we die alone, and the most precious thing we can hope to have in this life are those beautiful connections that enrich our existence. And as a loving father, a husband, a son, a brother, and a friend, seeing those connections severed in a slaughter that my country is complicit in carrying out is beyond heart-breaking.

So it is with love, anger, humanity, and humility that I will use my voice, use my skills, my privilege, and whatever else lies within my grasp to create a more caring, equitable, and just world. I apologize for my silence, and I will be silent no more.

Ceasefire now. Free Palestine.

Thanks for your time, and much love.