They'll Probably Come For Me Last

We all have to consider whether to speak out and why

I really appreciated Gov. Pritzker's (D-Illinois) State of the State speech last month. It was a powerful denouncement of authoritarianism, and a call to arms for those ready to stand in defense of American democracy. A lot of excerpts have made their way onto social media platforms, but there's an overlooked sentence in the speech that has stuck with me:

"I'm not speaking up in service of my ambitions but in deference to my obligations."

As our national nightmare continues to play out, there's a lot of public messaging going on, and purveyors of online content need to be interrogating their motives. Some sources post constantly, to build a dependency in their audience — if their page/profile/site can become a regular stop for habitual doomscrollers, the increased engagement and algorithmic payoff gives them clout. Influence feeds the ego and potentially the bank account (assuming banks will still exist in the future … the crypto account, maybe?). To some, the attention is what matters most. The worst among them might even find satisfaction in our daily national trauma, because there’s no shortage of opportunity. If bad things keep happening, they can keep up the constant commentary to their frightened and addicted audience. Incessantly checking followers, likes, and traffic, these people and their mean screens will traffic in whatever info and commentary is necessary to keep people dependent on them.

It’s natural to desire significance. We all want to be acknowledged and heard — to feel like our words matter — but there’s a difference between doing good work for the greater good, and looking for opportunities to feed a fragile ego.

It’s a complicated equation. Most people processing news and information these days are interested in it, and want to be helpful. But the secondary motive of attention can start to eclipse the original intent.

All of this reminds me of a local talk radio host in my community who became an important source for information in 2007 when a devastating ice storm took out power for nearly two weeks in our city. He provided a useful service during that period, but the attention seemed to become addictive. He started to revel in conspiracy theories and provoking mob reactions from his audience.

A year or so later, right before the 2008 Presidential Election, a friend of mine and I had an op-ed in the local paper, where we were arguing against the Christian nationalists supporting McCain, and throwing our support behind Obama.

The morning the article came out, we woke to unleashed rage playing out on the local radio station. The host, who had guided many people through the tragedy of the ice storm, was aggressively insulting our intelligence, our beliefs, and our motives. His callers were full of rage, and I worried we might end up with flaming crosses in our front lawn. None of that is extraordinary, but what I remember the most was the sound of arrogance and self-satisfaction in his voice. It was the power and attention that seemed to be driving him. I never met the guy, and I could have gotten it all wrong, but the feeling seemed palpable.

I don’t like writing about this stuff. I wish I could spend my time on other ideas and creative endeavors, but Gov. Pritzker’s comment resonated with me. My words come from obligation, not ambition (I hope). My audience is small, and I don’t give a shit how many people read my Substack or social media posts. I am speaking out for a few reasons: First, I don’t know what else to do. I wasn’t raised to keep my mouth shut, so speaking truth to power seems like time well spent. Second, I operate better in crisis than in calm. Don’t know why, it’s just how I’m built. Third, there aren’t a lot of things I can do well, but analyzing political and religious situations and messages is something I can contribute. Fourth, I speak out because they’ll probably come for me last. You’re probably familiar with Martin Niemöller’s “First they came for …” quote. As a white, heterosexual man in a red state, they won’t come for me first, or second, etc. I enjoy power and privilege many others don’t. “To whom much is given, much is required,” and I don’t want my first words of resistance to be uttered when there's no one left to hear them.

We all need to spend time considering who we are in this moment, and what we’re going to do. To be honest, I question my resolve and reconsider my commitment every day. It’s a weird time to be alive.

At some point I may go dark — my audience and social reach aren’t significant enough for my family to suffer for my voice — but in the meantime, I hope to continue being compelled by obligation, not ambition.