The Scream by Edvard Munch
They walk among us.
They are our friends and neighbors, and even members of our family. They look just like the rest of us. They smile and laugh with us, and chat with us about inconsequential things. And they can be delightfully charming. Unless you knew, you might never know, not from just from looking at them, anyway. Most of them hide it very well.
You all know some of them. You may even be one of them. They are the bigots, the haters. They hate those who are unlike themselves. Whether the difference be that of color, race, religion, nationality, sexual preference, political party, or economic status, anyone who wear that difference so that it shows will be at risk of suffering their bigotry.
They breed and they raise their children to see the world as they do, to hate as they do.
They vote for people who share their hatred.
It terrifies me.
When people I once respected open their mouths and vitriol spews forth, I feel loss.
When my country's elected officials legislate based on hate, I feel shame.
When I see the result of all this hate every day in the newspaper, on the television, and on the streets, I feel fear.
As Goethe said, “There is nothing more frightful than ignorance in action.”
Be afraid. Be very afraid.