Enough Is Enough
Why silence has become a form of surrender
There is a kind of silence that troubles me more than shouting ever could — not the silence of absence, but the silence of withheld conviction.
It is the silence of political leaders who hesitate, calculate, and defer.
It is the silence of ordinary people who sense danger but do not dare to name it.
And yes, it is largely a European silence — polite, procedural, and increasingly anaesthetised.
I have had enough of it.
What makes this silence so persistent is not ignorance, but justification. It is explained away as prudence, as balance, as the need to remain calm and reasonable. Moral hesitation is reframed as depth. Fear presents itself as sophistication.
What strikes me is how easily religious and spiritual language is invoked to give moral hesitation the sheen of wisdom.
The non-duality I feel at home with is often used to legitimise this quiet. Everything is one. All things arise and pass. Judgement is ego. Resistance is division. It sounds elevated. It is not. When power causes harm, when institutions are hollowed out, when cruelty is normalised, neutrality is not wisdom. It is surrender.
Donald Trump is dangerous.
Not complex. Not misunderstood. Dangerous.
Dangerous because he openly claims to be limited only by his own morals. Dangerous because he treats law, truth, and restraint as inconveniences. Dangerous because his influence does not stop at national borders, and the damage he causes will long outlast his time in office — geopolitically, economically, and ethically.
To say this is not hatred. It is clarity.
Non-duality does not mean accepting everything that happens. It means seeing clearly without self-deception. Compassion does not dissolve boundaries; it requires them. There are moments when refusing to draw a line is not spiritual maturity but moral collapse.
I am not calling for violence. I am calling for responsibility.
Responsibility means naming danger without euphemism.
It means legal removal where possible.
It means political and economic isolation when a system refuses to restrain its own worst impulses.
It means refusing to normalise what should never be normalised.
We like to tell ourselves that restraint is virtue, that silence keeps the peace, that history will take care of things. It will not. History records what people tolerated.
There is a Zen story of a ship’s captain who acts decisively to prevent catastrophe, knowing that inaction would be the greater harm. I would urge you to look it up. Compassion, in that story, is not gentle. It is sober. It accepts responsibility for consequences.
Enough should be enough.
Not as a slogan, but as a recognition that there are thresholds — and that allowing them to be crossed without response is itself a choice.
Non-duality is not neutrality.
And at this point, silence is no longer innocence.