The Weight of Power, The Cost of Silence: The Lessons Silence Teaches

Mar 15

Hey, Collective,

Some posts drift through the algorithm. Others strike—resonating in a way that signals something deeper, something people have been waiting to say, waiting to name, waiting to process. My recent post about the use of the word “colored” in a meeting and my response has been one of those posts. The engagement isn’t just about that moment—it’s about what it reveals: the slow normalization of harm, the tension between calling out and self-preservation, the way silence itself is a kind of speech.

It makes sense why this post is gaining traction. We’ve been having this conversation for weeks—about naming the harm, the weight of bearing witness, and speaking truth to power. Whether it’s a word uttered in a meeting or the Democratic Party choosing passivity over confrontation, the throughline is the same: what we do not name, we allow.

Silence is not neutral. It never has been. Every unchallenged word, every moment left unchecked, settles like dust, invisible but suffocating all the same. This week, we’re talking about the weight of language—the harm it carries, the silence that sustains it, and the power we hold to disrupt it.

The question is never just what was said? The question is: What will we do with what was said? And more importantly, what does our response—or our silence—teach the room?

The Power of Discovery – Seeing the Patterns, Breaking the Silence

Discovery is not passive. It is the act of peeling back what has been hidden in plain sight, of tracing the outlines of harm that have been softened by time and habit. It is not just seeing the patterns, but recognizing our place within them—whether we uphold or unravel them.

Words do not exist in isolation. They carry history, they carry harm. They tell us what a place allows, what a culture tolerates. When a young administrator used the word “colored” in a meeting about student well-being, it was not just an outdated term—it was a relic, a linguistic scar, the quiet echo of segregation still whispering beneath the surface of now.

Harm is rarely loud—it is insidious. It moves through policy, through microaggressions, through the quiet reassurances of “they didn’t mean it that way.” But we know better.

I was in that meeting—virtual, while the others sat together in the same room. I had been invited as an organizational consultant to support a teacher in reimagining systems for a school under public scrutiny, a school that had harmed its most vulnerable students for too long. I wasn’t expecting the administrator to be there. Even through the screen, I could see his defensiveness in the way he held himself, the way his body refused to soften into the conversation.

And then, ever so casually, his insistence that their systems were already sufficient slipped into something else. A word. A moment. “Colored.”

My jaw tightened. My mind raced.

If I called it out, I knew what would happen. The conversation would shift. His discomfort would take center stage. Accountability would be lost beneath a wave of fragile defensiveness. The urgency of the work—the students who had already been harmed—would be buried under the need to soothe, to explain, to reassure.

So I waited.

Later, I sent him a message: Can you give me a call when you have a moment? I just wanted to make sure I didn’t neglect to follow up about our meeting.

He never responded.

But his teacher did.

"I looked at you, and you didn’t say anything. So I thought it was okay."

And that is why speaking up matters. That is why silence is never neutral. Even when I chose to wait, that choice had an impact.

Because silence also teaches. And what we allow, we endorse.

Eventually, I had to go to his boss to ask him to have his administrator contact me. Then he responded. Not because he wanted to engage, but because he was required to.

And isn’t that the lesson? Some only move when power makes them.

Some will never choose accountability—only obligation.

Power of Discovery Curiosities:

What lessons have I internalized about when to speak and when to stay silent?
In what ways has language been used to maintain power structures, and how do I see that playing out today?
What happens in the spaces where no one names the harm?

The Power of Discernment – Choosing Response Over Reaction

Discernment is the refusal to accept powerlessness as a strategy. It is knowing that response is necessary but choosing how to wield it with intention. It is the difference between reaction and transformation—between calling out for punishment and calling in for integrity.

And in moments like these, I turn to the Learning for Justice Pocket Guide, which offers four key strategies:

Interrupt: Break the flow of harmful language immediately: “I don’t like that word.” or “Let’s not use that kind of language.” Interruption stops harm in real-time. It sets a boundary—not for debate, but for clarity.
Questioning: Instead of immediate correction, ask: “What do you mean by that?” This forces the speaker to confront their own language, to examine what they may have never been asked to question before.
Educate: Offering history and context: “I want to pause here because that term has a painful history. Here’s why.” Education doesn’t coddle—it clarifies. It interrupts harm without escalating defensiveness.
Echo: Reinforce when others speak up: “Thank you for saying that. I completely agree.” or “I appreciate you naming that—it’s important.” When one voice challenges harm, it can be dismissed. When multiple voices echo, the lesson is harder to ignore.

I chose to wait and respond privately, not out of fear, but as a strategic choice. I wanted a conversation, not a performance. But the silence in the moment still taught a lesson I didn’t intend.

This is not just about the choices we make in meetings—it’s about the choices institutions make when confronted with harm. We see it now in how the Democratic Party has handled the budget crisis. They had an opportunity to make a bold, values-driven demand or to hedge their bets, fearing a fight they might lose. They chose the latter.

Because power, when wielded in defense rather than in pursuit, is not power at all. It is retreat. It is resignation. It is an offering of permission to those who would do harm.

Republicans burn everything to the ground and call it strategy. Democrats hold up the crumbling walls and call it pragmatism. Neither approach serves us. One destroys outright; the other watches, helpless, as the fire spreads.

We must name what is happening: The refusal to fight is not caution. It is complicity.

But even as we critique the failures of leadership, we must not fall into despair. We must see these moves for what they are—not as evidence that all is lost, but as clarity on where power is hoarded and how it can be reclaimed.

The lesson is not that institutions will always fail us. The lesson is that we must always be prepared to build beyond them.

Power of Discernment Curiosities:

What response strategies help me feel more prepared to address harm?
When have I prioritized making someone comfortable over naming what needed to be said?
How do I navigate the tension between educating and protecting my own peace?

The Power of Determination – Resisting the Slow Creep of Defeat

Determination is not just resistance—it is the insistence on creation, on continuity, on refusing to let destruction have the final word. It is knowing that what is lost can be rebuilt, but only if we choose to build it.

Angela Rye calls the 60th commemoration of Bloody Sunday a “sobering opportunity to reflect on how far we’ve come and how quickly progress can be rolled back.” This is the lesson of history: nothing is guaranteed. Rights are not safeguarded by memory alone. What is built can be undone. What we assumed was permanent can vanish overnight.

But we also know this: what is undone can be remade.

The question is not whether we recognize what is happening. The question is whether we will resist the narrative that tells us we must accept it.

Institutions will fail us because they were never designed to hold us. But that does not mean we must resign ourselves to their failures. We must organize beyond them, build in spite of them. We must cultivate joy while we fight—because joy, too, is resistance. To endure is not enough. We were meant to thrive.

And here’s where it comes back to us: Where will we place our energy? In lamenting what the Democrats failed to do? Or in constructing the infrastructure for something that will last beyond them?

Power of Determination Curiosities:

How can I shift from waiting for political heroes to (re)claiming power from within my community?
What role does joy play in resistance, and how do I cultivate it?
What is one small act of defiance I can take this week to disrupt the status quo?

Call to Action – Speak, Build, and Sustain

To name the harm is the first step. To disrupt it is the next. To build beyond it is the work of a lifetime.

Speak – Interrupt silence. Whether in a meeting, in policy, or in the stories we tell ourselves, what we don’t name, we allow. Use your voice with intention.
Build – Institutions may falter, but our collective power is not bound by them. Invest in community (like the 3D Power Collective), in organizing, in the infrastructures that will last beyond this moment.
Sustain – Joy is not an afterthought; it is a strategy. Rest, laughter, and love are all part of resistance. We fight not just for survival, but for a future where we can all live.

What will you speak? What will you build? What will you sustain?

In solidarity, action, and love,

Amber

Stay Connected:

Sharing is Caring: Encourage your friends and colleagues to subscribe to my Substack and YouTube channel!

AMBER SESSOMS