“Your silence will not protect you”

Audre Lorde reminds us that silence in the face of injustice is complicity. And this week, it would be tone-deaf of me not to acknowledge the aggression and threats directed to my community, my fellow LGBTQ+ Americans—especially our transgender and non-binary friends.

The first day of the new U.S. administration was a difficult one. 

I, like many of you, avoided both traditional and social media. It was simply too painful to witness the outcomes I had feared and resisted. That resistance to acknowledging reality shaped my emotions the last couple of days. But everything shifted when, on Tuesday evening, a non-binary friend asked me to pause and breathe with them. 

This friend was reeling from the administration’s new executive order, which claimed to “defend women’s rights” and “protect freedom of conscience” by enforcing policies rooted in the notion that “women are biologically female, and men are biologically male.” The language was clear: it aimed to erase the identities of non-binary and transgender people. 

As a gay man who grew up during the late 1980s and early 1990s, I was reminded of another time when the federal government turned against its citizens—this time to the AIDS epidemic. Their refusal to act effectively condemned countless people to agonizing deaths. Back then, I coped by distancing myself, numbing my emotions, and armoring my heart. In fact, it kept me from coming out fully as a gay man. Literally, I lost two decades of sharing my full self with my family. 

Those old patterns reemerged this week. I’ve spent years working to recognize and break those habits, but they’re wired in deep. It wasn’t until after my friend’s call that I realized I was falling into them again. 

During the call, I struggled to empathize. Bewildered by their pain, I defaulted to “fix-it mode,” mentally searching for solutions. Fortunately, I kept those thoughts to myself, simply holding space as they spoke. But later, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with my reaction. 

That evening, I got curious: Why wasn’t this landing for me? Why was I struggling to connect? That’s when I realized I was numbing and armoring myself—trying to hold back the flood of anger, fear, and pain. 

The truth is, my distancing was a defense mechanism. It’s a normal response to overwhelm, one that helps create space to process emotions. But if it becomes a permanent response, it can cut you off from your humanity. That’s what happened to me years ago. It’s what was happening these last two days: my protective armor blocked me from empathizing with my friend and, worse, from confronting the injustice of what had happened. 

By closing myself off, I also distanced myself from my values—what I know to be right. I had started to feel powerless, a victim of circumstances I couldn’t control. And that’s exactly what this administration’s “shock and awe” tactics are designed to do: paralyze us. 

Initially, I rationalized my detachment as self-preservation. But, in truth, I was using it to bypass my emotions entirely. Distancing, numbing, and armoring had pulled me into a state of victimhood, where I felt powerless to support the people I care about. 

When I recognized this, I made a conscious decision: That’s not who I am, and it’s not who I want to be.

Two questions helped me reclaim my power:

• What if I knew how to support the non-binary and transgender people in my life?
• What if I assumed I already knew? What would supporting them look like?

I sat with these questions and repeated them until my thoughts began to shift. My sense of powerlessness gave way to clarity, and I started to reconnect with my voice—the voice I had temporarily lost to an old pattern.

That’s when I began to empathize with my friend who had asked me to breathe with them. A few hours later, I started identifying ways I could help. First, I reached out to a transgender family member to offer my support. Then, I resolved to write about this experience here in this newsletter. 

I’ll admit: I found Audre Lorde’s quote while writing this, with the help of ChatGPT. But it’s a sharp reminder that we can’t afford silence in the face of injustice. 

You might wonder how this relates to life or business. The truth is, we all encounter moments when we resist realities we don’t want to face. It’s human nature. But while it’s normal to feel overwhelmed, it’s dangerous to stay there. Whether in life or as entrepreneurs, giving in to powerlessness can paralyze us. 

When I recognized my resistance, I chose to shift. By asking myself those two questions, I began reclaiming my agency. 

Audre Lorde wasn’t the only one to advocate against silence. I also asked ChatGPT who else has used the concept of “making noise” to fight for justice—both in the LGBTQ+ and African American communities. If you’re curious to learn more, here’s what I found. 

Injustice thrives on silence, but power begins with one small act: speaking up, connecting, and taking action. Whether it’s showing up for a friend, expressing support, or fighting for systemic change, every voice matters. As Audre Lorde reminds us, we cannot afford to stay quiet. 

Remember you always have the choice to use your voice.

Photo by Aiden Craver on Unsplash