I have been known for some time as a person who speaks the truth

Cindy Sheehan, a mother who became a voice of conscience, once declared with the sharpness of fire: “I have been known for some time as a person who speaks the truth and speaks it strongly. I have always called a liar a liar and a hypocrite a hypocrite.” These words, unflinching and unsparing, reveal a soul unwilling to bow before the idols of silence and compromise. To speak the truth is one thing; to speak it strongly is another, for strength invites resistance, and resistance brings suffering. Yet Sheehan embraced this path, knowing that truth without boldness is a seed never sown.

The origin of her words is rooted in grief and defiance. When her son, Casey, was killed in the Iraq War, Sheehan turned her pain into protest. She confronted leaders, not with polite murmurs, but with accusations as sharp as arrows. She demanded accountability, and in doing so, she called out liars and hypocrites, those who cloaked war in the language of freedom while sending the sons and daughters of others to die. Her truth-telling was not abstract; it was born of blood, of loss, of the unbearable weight of a mother’s heart.

History has always remembered those who dared to name deceit directly. Consider the prophet Nathan, who stood before King David after his betrayal and declared, “You are the man.” In that moment, Nathan risked his life to call a king to account. Or think of Martin Luther, who nailed his theses to the church door, calling indulgences what they were: lies and hypocrisies. These figures, like Sheehan, refused to soften their words. They knew that to wrap truth in gentleness when faced with corruption is to betray it. Truth must sometimes thunder, else it be ignored.

Yet such boldness is costly. The world is uneasy when confronted by plain speech. Those who call a liar a liar are accused of rudeness; those who expose a hypocrite are accused of cruelty. But Sheehan’s example shows that this cost must be borne. For silence, however polite, strengthens the hand of deception. It is only when truth is spoken with power that the masks of falsehood are ripped away. History honors not those who kept peace by silence, but those who disturbed false peace with courage.

The heart of Sheehan’s words is also a lesson in integrity. To call things by their true names is the foundation of justice. A lie must not be renamed as “misstatement.” Hypocrisy must not be cloaked in “strategy.” When language is corrupted, reality itself is obscured. To protect truth, we must protect the courage to name it directly. This is what Sheehan embodies: a refusal to participate in the polite disguises of corruption, a commitment to pierce through illusion with plain words.

The lesson for us is clear: if we would live as people of truth, we must speak it boldly, even when it offends. Do not call evil good, or falsehood error, or hypocrisy mistake. Use the right names. Let your words cut through the fog. This does not mean speaking without compassion, but it does mean speaking without compromise. For those who bend the truth to keep peace will find that they have kept only the peace of graves and silence.

Practically, this means cultivating both honesty and courage. In your daily life, do not shy away from naming what you see. If a friend lies, do not excuse it as “forgetfulness.” If a leader deceives, do not disguise it as “strategy.” Practice truth in small things, so that in great things you are ready. And when your truth comes with a cost—as it will—remember that silence costs more, for it feeds the very falsehood that enslaves.

Thus Sheehan’s words echo with timeless power: to speak the truth, and to speak it strongly, is the duty of those who would live with integrity. To call a liar a liar and a hypocrite a hypocrite is not cruelty, but courage—the courage that breaks illusions, honors the dead, and preserves the living. Let us, then, be strong in our speech, and let our truth thunder where silence once reigned. For only in such strength can justice breathe.