Even when we talked about child labor, we were frowned upon. But

Hear the steadfast words of Asma Jahangir, the fearless defender of the voiceless: “Even when we talked about child labor, we were frowned upon. But then you know that you have to speak the truth irrespective of the repercussions.” These words rise like a trumpet blast across the generations, calling us to courage. For the truth is often unwelcome, and those who speak it will be scorned, punished, or cast aside. Yet silence is a greater sin than rejection, and to remain silent before injustice is to betray not only others but one’s own soul.

The ancients knew this well. Prophets, sages, and reformers were seldom greeted with open arms. They stood before kings and crowds, denouncing cruelty and hypocrisy, and they were mocked, imprisoned, or slain. Jeremiah was cast into a pit, Socrates was forced to drink hemlock, and countless others bore the weight of society’s wrath. Why? Because they dared to speak truth when it disturbed the comfort of the powerful. Jahangir’s words remind us that this battle has not ended, for even today, those who expose injustice are met with frowns, jeers, and threats.

Consider the specific evil she names: child labor. In her homeland of Pakistan, countless children were forced to toil in factories, brickyards, and workshops, their hands hardened by labor while their childhoods were stolen. To speak against it was not popular, for it challenged traditions, economics, and the indifference of society. Jahangir and others like her raised their voices, not to win applause, but to pierce the silence that enabled suffering. They were met with resistance, yet they continued, for they knew that the truth, however costly, must be spoken.

History gives us many such examples. Think of William Wilberforce, who fought tirelessly in the British Parliament against the transatlantic slave trade. For decades, he was scorned, ridiculed, and opposed by those who profited from human misery. Yet he refused silence, speaking the truth again and again until the chains were broken. His life echoes Jahangir’s conviction: it is not the reaction of men that defines us, but the courage to speak what is right, even when the world frowns.

Why is this so hard? Because truth carries weight, and weight is uncomfortable. It exposes hidden wounds, disrupts ease, and demands change. Men prefer lies that soothe, illusions that protect their comfort. To speak the truth is to challenge their ease, and thus the speaker becomes an enemy. Yet the wise know that peace built upon lies is only a thin shell, destined to crack. Only truth, however painful, can heal and endure.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not measure your words by the smiles or frowns they receive. Measure them by their alignment with justice and truth. If your voice trembles, let it tremble—but speak. If your neighbors mock you, endure—but speak. If your enemies threaten you, fear not—but speak. For silence in the face of injustice is itself a lie, and lies corrode the soul.

So let this teaching be etched into your heart: speak the truth, even when it is unwelcome. Defend the weak, confront the cruel, expose the wrongs that others would rather ignore. Begin in small things—refuse to laugh at cruel jokes, defend the child who is bullied, question the unfairness you see around you. In time, your voice will grow strong enough to confront greater evils. And know this: though the world may frown, though repercussions may follow, you will stand upright before eternity, clothed in the honor of one who chose truth over silence.