When decorum is repression, the only dignity free men have is to

Hear the voice of Abbie Hoffman, a rebel of his age, who cast words like thunderbolts into the silence of fear: “When decorum is repression, the only dignity free men have is to speak out.” This saying is not the murmur of a philosopher at leisure, but the war cry of one who saw that politeness, when wielded as a weapon, becomes a chain. What men call decorum—obedience, quiet, and conformity—may sometimes be but a mask for tyranny. And when the mask grows heavy, when silence becomes suffocation, then the highest act of dignity is not to bow the head, but to raise the voice.

For what is decorum, if it commands a man to betray his own soul? To remain silent when truth burns within the breast? To smile at injustice and call it peace? Such decorum is no virtue; it is slavery wrapped in fine garments. The ancients taught that the tongue was given not for flattery but for truth, and that silence in the face of evil is itself a kind of evil. Thus Hoffman reminds us that speech, bold and untamed, is the last shield of the free.

Consider the tale of Socrates, the wise man of Athens. The city demanded decorum—to bow to custom, to cease questioning the powerful, to stop stirring the youth with inconvenient truths. But Socrates refused. He drank the hemlock rather than muzzle his voice. His death was bitter, but his words lived on, igniting minds for millennia. In this we see the teaching: that dignity is not in silence or obedience, but in the courage to speak out, even when the cost is dear.

So too in the march of Martin Luther King Jr., who faced a nation crying for “patience,” for “decorum,” for order that meant continued oppression. But he knew that such order was repression. He knew that the call for silence was the enemy of justice. And so he thundered with sermons, filled the streets with voices, and taught the world that dignity lies in defying silence. His dream was born not from submission, but from a people who dared to cry out.

The wisdom here is timeless: when the structures of power demand silence, when the chains are polished to look like jewelry, then rebellion becomes sacred. The cry of truth is no longer a choice, but a duty. Better to risk ridicule, exile, or death than to live as a silent prisoner of lies. For words, once spoken, cannot be caged. They soar, they seed, they ignite. They make tyrants tremble and the oppressed stand tall.

Take this lesson to heart, O listener: never mistake decorum for virtue if it demands that you deny your truth. If you see wrong and remain silent, you become its accomplice. If you feel the fire of justice and smother it for fear of offense, you betray your own soul. To live with dignity is to be unafraid of your own voice. To live with courage is to remember that truth spoken aloud is stronger than silence enforced.

Therefore, practice this in your daily life: speak honestly, even when your voice shakes. Stand beside those whose voices are weak, and lend them your strength. Refuse to dress oppression in the clothing of politeness. Know the difference between kindness and complicity. Let your words cut chains rather than weave them. This is not mere rebellion for its own sake—it is the preservation of freedom, the defense of dignity, the sacred task of all who wish to remain human in the face of power.

So remember this teaching for the ages: when the world commands silence, let your soul command speech. When decorum becomes repression, raise your voice like a blade of light. For to speak out is not only to defend yourself, but to defend the eternal flame of liberty that burns within all men. And though bodies may fall, words endure. Though tyrants may rise, voices outlast them. And in the end, it is the cry of the free that will echo louder than the silence of the enslaved.