The Cost of Silence
By BoJenn
Author’s Note:
In times like these, when truth feels buried under the weight of politics and pride, it’s hard to stay silent. As our government stalls and people struggle, words begin to pour out—not as anger, but as witness. What follows isn’t just a rant; it’s a letter to a friend, to America, and to anyone still awake enough to see what’s happening behind the curtain.
The Cost of Silence
By BoJenn
Thank you, Jan Being.
Today the words are flowing—
not from peace, but from frustration.
Our leaders, once meant to serve, have turned government into a battleground of ego.
No one meets in the middle anymore.
No one listens.
You and I both see what’s happening—
the quiet refusals, the political games,
the refusal of Mike J to swear in Adelita Grijalva.
But that’s only the beginning.
Once the curtain lifts, more will be revealed—
not just one man’s truth,
but the tangled corruption of those seated in power.
Meanwhile, the government is shut down.
Families wait for checks that never come.
People go without, while the “so-called president” plays golf on taxpayer dollars.
He brags about giving up his $400,000 salary,
but spends millions each year to escape responsibility.
It’s a theatre of arrogance—
a golden dancehall for the privileged,
where the chandeliers gleam and the sins hide in plain sight.
Children are exploited.
Parents remain silent.
And somehow, the news cycle keeps moving,
as if morality were just another channel to switch away from.
There’s so much to say—
so much truth clawing its way to the surface.
Maybe that’s why we keep speaking out,
even when it feels like no one’s listening.
So, Jan—thank you.
Thank you for reading.
For caring.
For knowing.
Your words remind me that not everyone is asleep inside this illusion we call democracy.
Closing Note:
We live in a time when silence can no longer protect us.
The cost of staying quiet is far greater than the fear of speaking truth.
If enough of us keep talking—keep writing—keep seeing,
then maybe the noise of awakening will finally drown out the hum of corruption.
Maybe… perhaps so
My Art
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