We Cried Out, But You Laughed

We cried out.

But you laughed.

You said we were hysterical, dramatic, too sensitive, too “woke.”

You said it was just politics. Just jokes. Just satire.

You said it couldn’t happen here.

But we told you—it already was.

You thought fascism wore jackboots and black uniforms.

You never noticed it creeping in with a grin, wrapped in red, white, and blue.

You didn’t recognize the monster because it didn’t look like your history books.

You never expected it would speak English and hold a Bible.

We screamed when they built cages.

You said, “They broke the law.”

We wept when children died behind bars.

You changed the channel.

We told you history was repeating.

You said, “That’s an exaggeration.”

You posted a selfie.

You liked a meme.

You voted for the joke.

We are not surprised anymore.

We are tired.

Tired of whispering warnings into rooms full of deaf ears.

Tired of watching morality traded for likes and retweets.

Tired of being told to “calm down” as the house burns.

Because we know this story.

Some of us were raised on it.

It’s carved into our names, our bloodlines.

The gas chambers, the lynchings, the forced sterilizations, the disappearances—

This isn't ancient history to us.

This is family memory.

This is lived inheritance.

But you thought it was all a costume.

Something safe to learn in school and forget by lunch.

You never realized the monsters were still alive—

That they’ve simply adapted.

Slick suits. Clean smiles. “Traditional values.”

All the while, they build platforms made of bones and bravado.

We shouted, “This is dangerous!”

You said, “Don’t be so divisive.”

We said, “This is hate!”

You replied, “It’s just free speech.”

We said, “This is how it starts.”

You shrugged and shared another video.

Now they talk openly—

Of camps.

Of executions.

Of “cleansing” and “purifying” and “taking our country back.”

And still you hesitate.

Still, you’re silent.

Still, you “don’t want to get political.”

But silence is political.

Silence is complicity.

Silence is choosing the side of power over justice.

And every minute you stay silent,

The ground beneath us shifts further away from freedom.

You say, “It’s not my fight.”

But it is.

It always was.

You are in the story, whether you like it or not.

History has never been kind to the bystanders.

Some of you are waking up now,

Bleary-eyed and frightened,

Whispering, “I didn’t know.”

But we told you.

You just didn’t believe us.

And now?

Now is not the time for whispered regrets.

Now is not the time for “both sides.”

Now is not the time to worry about being polite.

Now is the time to pick a side.

Loudly.

Unequivocally.

With your chest.

With your feet.

With your vote, your voice, your soul.

Because fascism doesn’t ask politely.

It doesn’t wait for consensus.

It doesn’t need your approval—

Only your silence.

We no longer have the luxury of gentle warnings.

We no longer have the patience for your excuses.

We are done pleading with the comfortable.

We are done begging you to see the blood.

If you see what's happening and stay quiet,

You are not neutral.

You are not safe.

You are next.

They will come for you too—

When your silence is no longer useful.

When your privilege runs out of currency.

When the line you drew in your head is crossed.

And no one will be left to speak for you.

So wake up.

Speak up.

Stand up.

Before it’s too late.

Because we’ve seen this before.

We carry it in our bones.

And this time—

This time, we will not go quietly.