In the heart of a frosty December, Santa Claus sat in his workshop. His eyes scanning the pages of his magical list. It was a heavy year; kindness seemed scarce, and the world became fractured in ways he hadn’t seen before. One town in particular tugged at his heartstrings—Silver Pines, nestled in the Appalachian Mountains. Its beauty hid a darker reality. The LGBTQ+ community, especially gay individuals, faced judgment and outright abuse. Yet, in the face of such adversity, they showed remarkable courage. Letters from people in Silver Pines painted a picture of sorrow, isolation, and a longing yet to be seen.
Santa set down the list with a deep sigh. “No mistakes,” he whispered, stroking his snowy beard. It was a mantra he had held onto since the dawn of time. Every soul was crafted perfectly. Its existence was a thread in the fabric of humanity. His mission was to remind others of this truth.
The night of Christmas Eve was crisp, the air biting but alive with the hum of anticipation. Santa’s sleigh cut through the sky, its bells jingling softly. His bag was lighter than usual. It was not because he carried fewer gifts. His offerings weren’t wrapped in paper this year.
He landed in Silver Pines just past midnight, his boots crunching on the snow-covered streets. Despite the hour, the town was still. He began his journey with his signature magic. He quietly stepped into homes where letters had been written. He spread warmth and comfort to those who needed it most.
At the tiny home, Santa left a handwritten note. Liam and Paul were a gay couple who had faced the brunt of the town’s scorn. It read:
“You are seen. You are loved. You are perfect as you are.”
In another house, a young teen named Oliver found a shimmering snow globe under his tree. He had been wrestling with the fear of coming out. When he shook it, it revealed a rainbow that shimmered against the glass, and inside, a message:
“Your truth is your strength. The world needs your light.”
Throughout the night, Santa wove love into every corner of Silver Pines. He touched the hearts of allies, planting seeds of courage to stand against hatred. He left dreams of acceptance in the minds of those who harbored prejudice. His gifts weren’t toys or trinkets. They were powerful reminders of humanity’s shared essence. Each one carried the potential to transform hearts and minds.
By dawn, the town began to stir. Liam and Paul awoke to find the note, their hearts swelling with hope they hadn’t felt in years. Oliver clutched his snow globe, feeling a new resolve to embrace who he was. The day unfolded slowly. The spirit of Santa’s gifts began to ripple. This ripple ignited a wave of change. This wave would soon engulf the entire town.
People who had once turned away from their neighbors now questioned their biases. Conversations began, tentative at first but growing bolder with time. Acts of kindness, like inviting a marginalized individual to a community event, replaced judgment, and barriers began to crumble.
Santa watched from a distance, his eyes twinkling. The journey wasn’t over—true change would take time—but the seeds had been planted. As he climbed back into his sleigh, he whispered into the cold morning air:
“There are no mistakes in my Father’s design. Love is the gift I give, but it is also the gift you must carry ahead.”
And with that, Santa soared into the sky, his mission not finished but well underway.
In a quiet forest stood a skinny cedar tree, so different from all the others. The tall, majestic cedars around him stretched their lush branches high. In contrast, the little tree looked scrawny. It had sparse needles and a slightly crooked trunk.
People often came to the forest to select the perfect Christmas tree, always passing him by.
The other trees whispered and rustled in the wind, teasing him.
“Look at you, Herbie,”
They said, giving him the nickname that stuck.
“No one’s ever going to want you.”
Herbie tried to stand tall, but he knew they were right. Year after year, Herbie remained as the big, beautiful trees were chosen and taken away. The forest changed around him. He stayed in his lonely spot. He dreamed of what it would feel like to be wanted.
Then, one crisp winter morning, the tree cutters came again, their saws buzzing. Herbie didn’t expect to get noticed, but this time, something different happened. As they cleared their path, one of the workers stopped, scratched his head, and said,
“Well, let’s take this little one, too. Someone might like it.”
Herbie felt the sharp blade cut through his trunk. Before he could fully understand what was happening, he was bundled with the others and taken to the city.
A sea of magnificent Christmas trees surrounded Herbie at the tree lot. Their branches glistened with dew, and they stood tall and proud. Compared to them, Herbie felt even smaller, and his crooked trunk made him look even more awkward.
Shoppers strolled by, admiring the grand trees and taking them home individually. Herbie overheard a nearby pine whisper,
“Face it, Herbie, you’re not cut out for this. No one’s going to pick you.”
The lot grew emptier daily, and Herbie’s hope dwindled. By Christmas Eve, he was the only tree left, standing under the dim glow of a street lamp. The wind whistled through his sparse branches, and Herbie prepared for the inevitable—being tossed away, unloved.
But just as Herbie’s spirits hit their lowest, a tiny voice broke through the cold night air.
“Mama, look! That one’s perfect!”
Herbie lifted his branches slightly in surprise. A little boy with messy hair and bright, eager eyes was pointing at him.
“Are you sure, Tommy?”
His mother asked, crouching beside him,
“This tree is so small. And, well, it’s not exactly full.”
––––
“Exactly!”
Tommy said with a grin.
“It’s different, just like me. We’ll make it the best Christmas tree ever!”
Herbie’s heart soared as Tommy and his mother carefully carried him home. Tommy got to work in their cozy living room, stringing popcorn and cranberries across Herbie’s branches. His mother tucked shiny ornaments into every gap, and finally, they placed a glowing star on top.
Herbie couldn’t believe it. For the first time, he felt truly beautiful. He wasn’t just a funny-looking tree anymore—a Christmas tree.
On Christmas morning, Herbie watched with joy as Tommy tore through his presents, his laughter filling the room. The warmth of the fire danced on Herbie’s branches, and he realized he had never felt so happy.
When the holiday ended, Herbie feared getting thrown out like many trees before him. But instead, Tommy’s family carried him to their backyard.
Tommy said, patting his trunk as they planted him firmly in the soil.
“You’re part of our family now, Herbie,”
Year after year, as Herbie grew taller and fuller, Tommy would decorate him anew, even in the coldest winters.
Herbie learned that it wasn’t about how perfect he looked or how he compared to the other trees. The love and care he received—and gave—made him truly special.
And so, Herbie stood proudly, knowing he would always be part of something wonderful: a family.
This Story Originally Appeared On November 1st, 2025. On November 26th a shooting resulted in Washington D.C. It looks as if it resulted from pressure placed on an individual. A person identified from a sect or community. You can read the story connected to that event here. then consider the contents of this story and decide for yourself. It is not difficult to have predicted. More will come.
10–16 minutes
In every generation, the United States stands at a crossroads of its own making. From the outside, our country can look unstoppable. From the inside, we often feel the push and pull of competing values. These include hopes and fears. Beneath the headlines and politics are real people—neighbors, families, workers—trying to live meaningful lives. When pressure builds in a society, it rarely announces itself with fanfare. Instead, it creeps in quietly, showing up as worry, disconnection, or a sense that something familiar is shifting. This story isn’t about sensational headlines but about those quiet pressures—economic, social, and cultural—that can change a nation’s future.
Deportation, Prejudice, and the Risk of History Repeating
When governments treat specific communities as disposable, they create wounds. These often fester into something more dangerous. Today in the United States, many Hispanic families live under the shadow of deportation. They are sometimes sent to countries that are not their place of origin. Worse still, many are denied fair hearings or meaningful access to justice before being removed.
This pattern, though uniquely American in its details, has historical echoes elsewhere.
Lessons from Israel and Its Neighbors
Globally, people are voicing similar worries. Inflation, poverty, unemployment, and corruption rank highest worldwide. Local details differ, yet the underlying pressures on ordinary families are strikingly alike from one country to another.
In the Middle East, decades of restrictive policies have shaped the relationship between Israel and its neighbors. Palestinians have endured travel restrictions, settlement expansion, home demolitions, and barriers to full participation in civic life. While not every individual responds with violence, these systemic grievances have fueled a climate where radical groups gain traction. Street shootings, bombings, and attacks on innocent civilians are, in part, the tragic outcome of exclusion and marginalization.
When justice is denied, resentment grows. History shows us what happens when exclusion takes root. Will the U.S. repeat Israel’s mistakes?
The lesson is not that oppression always leads to terrorism. Yet, when large communities feel silenced, denied justice, or stripped of dignity, it becomes easier for extremism to take root.
The American Parallel
For many Hispanic communities in the U.S., there is growing concern that the same cycle begins here. Families who have lived in this country for years are uprooted without warning. Children who know no other homeland are deported to countries where they have no ties. Legal safeguards that should guarantee fairness are often bypassed through expedited removal or administrative shortcuts.
Deportation without dignity doesn’t just break families—it risks breaking society. Lessons from abroad show what happens when whole communities are silenced.
The danger is not only humanitarian—it is practical. Alienation breeds resentment. Resentment, left unchecked, can lead to anger that is so strong it erupts in harmful ways. If citizens and residents consistently feel betrayed by the very government meant to protect them, feelings of betrayal grow. Over time, these feelings lead to instability akin to that seen in other parts of the world.
A Cautionary Reflection
The United States faces a choice. It can double down on policies that treat Hispanic people as outsiders. Alternatively, it can recognize that fairness, dignity, and due process are not luxuries—they are stabilizers. By ensuring justice and compassion, the U.S. can protect both its people and its principles.
History reminds us that exclusion never produces lasting peace. Inclusion does. If America forgets this, it risks repeating a painful lesson already written across borders far from its own.
Exclusion never creates peace. Inclusion does. The United States must choose which future it wants.
As this report was being prepared on September 10, 2025. Conservative activist Charlie Kirk was fatally shot during a speaking event at Utah Valley University in Orem, Utah. He was addressing an audience as part of his “American Comeback Tour.” When a gunman, described as wearing tactical gear, opened fire from a nearby building. The event was not just violent in its outcome. It’s now being discussed widely as an example of how political tensions, rising polarization. Public rhetoric can set the stage for tragedy. AP News+3Reuters+3People.com+3
This shooting stands as a stark reminder of what happens when communities feel threatened, unheard, or unfairly treated. When specific policies—like deportations without fair hearings, rhetoric that pits “us vs. them,” or laws that strip rights from people—are merged with public disdain, alienation can grow. As with Kirk’s death, violence doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It is often preceded by months or years of escalating division, distrust, and dehumanizing language toward some group.
If similar pressures continue—where people feel they are being denied justice. Or they will be forced into exile, or silenced—the risk is not only that isolated individuals will lash out. More of these attacks will spill into public spaces, become more common, and target more people. Charlie Kirk’s shooting is tragic and shocking. Still it also foreshadows a pattern we’ve seen before elsewhere: oppression + exclusion + inflammatory rhetoric = violence.
THE QUESTION NOW FACING THE UNITED STATES
The U.S. be trailing a path? Is government policy and public rhetoric pushing some communities to a breaking point? Exclusion and injustice be more than grievances, becoming catalysts for violence?
Israel offers a stark example. It shows what can happen when a nation attempts to dominate or control another people or region. Despite decades of military action, surveillance, imprisonment, and harsh policies, the country faces ongoing terrorist attacks. These actions occur within its own borders. History shows that no matter the tactics, attempts to subjugate or marginalize an entire population often breed resentment. Such approaches lead to cycles of violence rather than lasting security.
Recent polling reveals Americans’ top worries focus on daily life basics. These include the economy, healthcare costs, inflation, and Social Security. Economic anxiety has become the leading stress point—and understanding it is key to shaping effective public policy.
In the United States, millions of people belong to the LGBTQI community—transgender, gay, intersex, and beyond. If laws or court rulings increasingly target these groups with discriminatory restrictions or hardships, the effect won’t just be legal. It will erode their existing rights and impact them deeply on a human level. People who feel cornered, threatened, or stripped of dignity often turn to protest, activism, and self-defense. Families, friends, and allies of LGBTQI individuals will stand with them. History shows that when marginalized communities are pushed too far, their collective response grows stronger. They become more determined, whether through the courts, the ballot box, or public action.
There are case studies in why inclusion and fairness matter. Disenfranchisement can occur across many lines. These include ethnicity, religion, gender, disability, or economic status. Prevention starts with recognizing early warning signs. It involves pushing for fairness and empathy. Other groups and individuals will be targeted in this sweeping of Americans’ rights.
1. Immigrant and Refugee Communities Beyond Latin America
People from African nations, the Middle East, or Asia sometimes experience parallel challenges. They face deportation, limited due process, and suspicion tied to their nationality or religion. Policies that reduce refugee admissions, delay asylum processing, or tighten visa rules disproportionately affect them.
2. Religious Minorities
Muslims, Sikhs, Jews, and other smaller faith groups have seen spikes in harassment or targeted legislation. Surveillance, mosque or temple zoning battles, and hate crimes all increase when public rhetoric frames these groups as”others.”
3. Indigenous Peoples
Tribal communities continue to face legal battles over land, water, and sovereignty. Changes to federal protections or environmental rules can undermine their rights. This fuels deep distrust and potential standoffs (for example, Standing Rock and other pipeline protests).
4. People With Disabilities
Budget cuts or shifts in healthcare, accessibility regulations, or education funding can affect people with physical or cognitive disabilities. Without legal protections and enforcement, they risk losing access to accommodations and services they depend on.
5. Women and Reproductive Rights
If policies continue restricting reproductive healthcare and bodily autonomy, many women feel increasingly alienated. This is especially true for those in rural and low-income areas. Such feelings lead to organized protest. It also heightens tensions.
6. Workers in Precarious or Gig Jobs
With unions weakened and worker protections often rolled back, low-wage and gig-economy workers are also vulnerable to systemic neglect. Economic insecurity can create fertile ground for unrest, especially if merged with racial or immigration-related grievances.
On a hot summer’s day, if you stir any of these pots, something unhappy will happen. Similarly, if you keep someone locked out on a cold winter’s day, the outcome will be negative. It used to be the explosive reaction we referred to as Cabin-Fever when someone no longer can take the pressure. When so many groups are pushed to the point of not being capable to handle it. What happens? America already has more firearms than any country in the world. It shouldn’t take much research to realize that becoming Palestine-Israel would be easier than ever. It would also be more violent than people thought.
Exclusion never creates peace. Inclusion does. America must choose which future it wants.
There are Americans who are also to be considered part of the LGBTQI community. If laws or Supreme Court rulings turn against the transgender, Gay members, or Intersex community, these laws can cause hardships. Further restrictions can come into their lives. At some point, they and their families, friends, and supporters are going to find ways to defend themselves.
Yes — beyond the Hispanic and LGBTQI communities already discussed, there are several other groups. Experts and advocates often recognize these groups as vulnerable. These groups are often affected by shifts in policy, public sentiment, or legal rulings. Here’s a quick overview:
How Many Transgender People Have Been Mass Shooters?
This chart shows just how rare transgender or nonbinary mass shooters are in the U.S.—less than 1% of cases compared to an overwhelming majority by cisgender men. It’s a clear reminder that public narratives blaming LGBTQ+ people for mass violence are unsupported by facts.
How many trans shooters are there in real life?
Officially, the short answer: very, very few. Credible databases don’t systematically record gender identity. Still, the best available analyses show well under 1% of U.S. mass shooters have identified as transgender or nonbinary—i.e., only a handful of cases across many decades. Social Sciences and Humanities College+1
A few notes for context:
The Violence Project’s long-running database (public mass shootings, 4+ killed) shows hundreds of incidents since 1966. Researchers and fact-checks confirm that transgender perpetrators account for less than 1% of cases. This is in the low single digits in total. The Violence Project+1
News reporting that tries to tally specific incidents similarly finds just a few cases. It also cautions that many official datasets code by sex, not gender identity, which limits precision. Newsweek
Independent fact-checks conclude that claims of a “rise” in transgender mass shooters are unsupported. The vast majority of mass shooters are cisgender men. Reuters
Bottom line: Exact counts are hard to pin down because of data limitations. The evidence consistently shows that transgender people make up a vanishingly small share of U.S. mass shooters.
“Fewer than ten transgender athletes out of 510,000 NCAA players.
Yet, they’re at the center of a multi-million-dollar political storm.”
This makes sense—transgender people represent a very small part of the population, and their visibility often makes them targets. Out of more than 510,000 NCAA college athletes nationwide, it’s estimated that fewer than ten are openly transgender. Historically, families—including our grandparents and their grandparents—have coexisted with transgender individuals without controversy. Only in recent years have political attacks escalated, turning a once-private aspect of life into a public battleground. These attacks have generated hundreds of millions of dollars. Groups and politicians use transgender people as a wedge issue. They target individuals who are simply trying to live their lives.
What We Know (or Think We Know)
According to the Williams Institute at UCLA, about 300,000 youth aged 13–17 recognize as transgender in the U.S. Williams Institute
Of those, some studies suggest ~40.7% of transgender high school students play on at least one sports team. Applying that to the population estimate gives around 120,000+ transgender high school student-athletes Williams Institute
Nonetheless, when it comes to more specific breakdowns (e.g. how many play in women’s teams, or how many are in college/pro sports), the numbers are much smaller. For example, GLAAD reports that among ~510,000 NCAA college athletes, there are fewer than 10 known transgender athletesGLAAD
Key Takeaways & Limitations
Small in relative terms: Tens of thousands of transgender youth join in high school sports. Still, they are still a very tiny fraction of all athletes.
Very few at higher levels: At the college or professional levels, the known, openly transgender athletes are very rare (under 10 in the NCAA among all those athletes, per recent reports) GLAAD+1
Data gaps: Many sports associations don’t track gender identity carefully. Privacy concerns, inconsistent reporting, and changing eligibility rules make precise numbers hard to nail down.
Exclusion never creates peace. Inclusion does. The United States must choose which future it wants.
Yet even in times of strain, The United States of America greatest strength has always been its capacity to self-correct. Communities do not simply absorb pressure—they also adapt, innovate, and rise to meet challenges. We have the chance now to choose empathy over division, solutions over rhetoric, and inclusion over exclusion. If we remember that the country’s heart beats strongest when its people are treated with fairness and dignity. Then the same forces that threaten to divide us can also become the sparks that unite us. This is not just a warning—it’s an invitation to hope.
This content was originally intended to be posted on September 11, 2025. Due to unfolding events at that time, its publication was postponed until November 1, 2025. The research began weeks before events on September 10, 2025 in Utah. If extra events have occurred since then, this report reflects the level of concern. It highlights the growing sense of unease emerging across the United States.
About the Author:
Benjamin Groff is a former police officer and radio news anchor. He has hosted programs for CNN and ABC News affiliates in Colorado and Wyoming. His career in law enforcement began in 1980 and lasted more than two decades. This gave him firsthand insight into the criminal mind and public safety. Moreover, it provided him with an understanding of the human stories that often go untold. His writing draws on these experiences, blending street-level truth with a journalist’s eye for the bigger picture.
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They called it Eden’s Key — though nothing about what came next resembled paradise.
Five families pooled their fortunes to buy a remote private island. They were unrelated and united only by ideology. The island is miles from any shipping lane. Their goal was singular and chilling. They wanted to build a bloodline so ‘pure’ it would never produce what they considered deviation. This included homosexuality, bisexuality, transgender identity, or anything that threatened their narrow vision of human perfection.
These pilgrims to the island had checked and rechecked each other’s families. There had been no known, reported, or openly known LGBTQI+ members in any of the families. There had also been no mental healthcare admissions involving anyone belonging to the family trees going to the island. There would have been seven families in total but two families didn’t pass the bloodline background. The group was made up of a doctor, chemist, preacher, farmer, carpenter, and a dentist. The plan was for each profession and trade to pass these skills to children. Children who were to be born into families on the island.
They constructed homes of pale stone and imported perfect soil for perfect gardens. Children were raised with strict doctrine. They were taught that love came only in prescribed forms. Anything else was seen as a contamination from a broken world.
And for the first generation, it appeared to work.
The island thrived. Crops grew. Marriages were arranged. Babies were born. And the elders congratulated one another on their success, believing they had outwitted nature itself.
But nature is patient.
Subtle fractures began to surface by the time the third generation came of age. There were lingering glances. Forbidden letters were exchanged. Hands brushed too long in passing. Whispers floated through palm-lined walkways. A daughter cried in secret over feelings she did not understand. A son locked himself in his room for hours. He stared at the ocean, hoping it can answer questions no one else can.
The Council called it sickness.
They tightened rules. Curfews sharpened. Surveillance increased. Shame became the island’s true currency.
Each new generation revealed an undeniable truth. The same percentage of LGBTQI+ identities emerged as existed beyond their shores. The very diversity they sought to erase bloomed organically within their controlled experiment.
The elders gathered in panic, pouring over family trees and blood records, searching for a contaminant that did not exist. The realization crept in slowly and bitterly — they had not escaped the world. They had recreated it.
And worse, they had bred it themselves.
Years later, a young woman named Elia stood on the highest ridge of the island. She held the hand of another girl. Both were trembling. Both were defiant. They were not sick. They were not broken. They were simply human. The ocean wind tangled their hair as the sounds of distant arguments echoed below.
“We were never the disease,” Elia whispered. “Fear was.”
When the first boats began to arrive — outsiders, journalists, doctors, activists — the island’s mythology unraveled. The story of Eden’s Key became a caution whispered across the world. It reminds us that identity can’t be engineered out of humanity.
The families who once prized isolation now faced the same reckoning their ancestors had tried so desperately to avoid.
And from the ruins of control rose a new truth, written not in doctrine but in courage:
You can’t uproot what lives in the soul.
Somewhere on that windswept island, between salt air and forgiveness, a generation finally chose love over fear. In doing so, they found a freedom their founders never imagined possible.
The town coroner was also the same man who delivered most of the people’s babies in town. He was nearly 97 years old and still doing business. His name was Dr. Doodley. Dr. Doodley began working as a doctor when he graduated from Medical School at age thirty in 1957. He made his home in Meadowview. He had a significant other. He was a gentleman Dr. Doodley had met in college. Together, they raised Dr Doodley’s two nephews. They were the sons of Dr. Doodley’s brother, who got killed in an auto accident along with his wife. The community never questioned the couple’s union. They never questioned the children raised by the two men. Everyone welcomed the couple as they joined in events.
Dr. Doodley was the only doctor in the county. He was on call twenty-four hours a day. He would be available seven days a week. With such a schedule, it was common for the family only to see the older family member on the go. He was known for delivering nearly every child in the county for over 70 years. In as much, he declared dead nearly everyone who passed away in the county. This spanned the past 71 years. He had brought into the world and seen many of the same people leave it. He was known to many as an indirect member of their family for his declarations.
On a foggy Tuesday morning, Dr. Doodley received a call for his services. It was from a lady twelve miles from town. At the home, there was also a man. His wife was gravely ill too. It wasn’t until Dr. Doodley arrived that he discovered two other expecting mothers were present. There was also an older man who appeared about to die.
Dr. Doodley was 97 years old and thought to himself, ––
“I hope I am up to this chore. If all these people require my services, I will have my hands complete.”
A young lady at the home received Dr. Doodley, took his hat, and directed him to the kitchen. She had prepared several pans of hot water, clean towels, and sticks there. Dr. Doodley always required those three things to be available. He liked to have hot water for cleaning. Towels for drying and sticks for placing in people’s mouths to bite down on and grit through pain.
The doctor was known to use the sticks himself on occasion to avoid using curse words when he was stressed.
Mildred was a big lady. She was also Dr. Doodley’s first patient and was expecting twins. Her water had broken, and she was about to deliver. The conditions at the home were not ideal for privacy; there was only one room, and everyone was in it.
Mildred yelled ––
It is happening. They’re coming!
Dr. Doodley crunched his 97-year-old body down while Mildred sisters held her hands, trying to do breathing exercises.
Dr Doodley said to Mildred ––
Honey, you have to push, push like there is no tomorrow.
Mildred yelled ––
I’m trying. They’re fighting.
Dr. Doodley trying to soothe Mildred replied ––
They’re not fighting. They’re just taking their time.
Dr. Doodley smiled and, with a cough, shouted.
Looky here, they are here. Mildred! You did it! You got three! Boy, Girl, Boy!
Mildred, exhausted and sweating, shocked stewed back
What’s that, doc? Did you say Three? I was expecting two. Where is the third one from?
Dr. Doodley smiled and laughed,
Mildred, the third one is from you. You had a little hider in you—what a surprise!
The doctor went to announce the new arrivals to the rest of the family. Upon hearing that Mildred had triplets, two of the older family members dropped dead.
The triplets were the first ever born into the family since the 1800s. It was a blessing of riches for the family to get them. An old Irish family tale had always suggested such. The doctor tried to revive the two family members, but their aged bodies were nonrevivable. So he put on his Coroner hat, declared them dead, and called for the funeral home.
Dr. Doodley turned to the family. He told them their two older family members, Elmer and Magnolia, had passed away. He offered his condolences. As he explained the situation, Mildred’s sister, Ethel, entered labor.
Ethel was bigger than Mildred and only slightly smaller than Minnie, her twin sister, who was also expecting. Neither sister knew what they were expecting. They wanted to keep it a surprise for their families. It was also a surprise for the doctor.
Dr. Doodley barely had time to catch his breath before Ethel’s cries filled the room. With a weary but determined look, he wiped his brow and prepared for the next round. He had seen many things in his 97 years. Yet, he had a feeling that today would be one for the books.
Ethel’s contractions came fast and fierce. Dr. Doodley quickly realized that this delivery would be anything but ordinary. He moved swiftly, calling for more towels and hot water, his voice steady despite the chaos around him.
Ethel, gripping her sister Mildred’s hand, screamed out as the first baby appeared.
“Push, Ethel, just a little more,”
Dr. Doodley encouraged. To his astonishment, another head was crowned instantly after the first.
“Twins!”
He announced, but as he cradled the two newborns, he felt another tiny foot.
“Wait—triplets!”
The room buzzed with excitement and disbelief. But Ethel’s labor still needed to be done. With one final push, a fourth baby emerged, making history in the small town of Meadowview.
“Quadruplets!”
Dr. Doodley gasped, his voice cracking with the thrill of the moment. The room erupted in cheers, even as Minnie, the third sister, began to feel the unmistakable pangs of labor herself.
Dr. Doodley was now running on pure adrenaline. He had delivered quadruplets in his nearly seven decades of practice, but never had he faced such a succession. As Minnie’s labor intensified, he steeled himself for what was to come.
Minnie, the largest of the three sisters, began laboring with a determination that matched her size. The room grew quiet, anticipation thick in the air. The first baby arrived, the second, then the third, and when a fourth followed, the room collectively held its breath.
But Minnie wasn’t done. To the astonishment of all, a fifth baby emerged, followed by a sixth. Dr. Doodley, his hands trembling, delivered each child with care, his heart pounding with the sheer impossibility of it all.
“Six babies!”
He declared, his voice a mix of awe and exhaustion. Minnie lay back, breathless but smiling, as the room buzzed with the excitement of the extraordinary event.
Then in the back of the room a cousin named Sissy screamed ––
Doc I think I need you!
As the doctor walked back to her, he could see she had given partial birth to a child, and he said ––
Oh dear, lets get this corrected, and cleaned up. Lay back and hold your aunts hand while we help you!
And that is when the last baby of the night entered the world.
By the end of that foggy Tuesday, Meadowview had welcomed fourteen new babies. It made history in the sleepy little town.
Dr. Doodley, despite his age, had once again proven why he was the most revered doctor in the county. As he looked at the fourteen newborns swaddled and cooing, he couldn’t help but smile. It was a significant day in the history of Meadowview. An elderly man, nearly a century-old, delivered a miracle. No one would ever forget this event.
There comes a time in every nation’s history when silence becomes more dangerous than speaking. We are living in such a time now. Books are being banned, lessons erased, and truths rewritten to serve new agendas. What once stood as collective memory is being scrubbed clean, leaving behind a shell of what was. But history, real history, lives in the people who lived it — and that means you.
If the history of your people, your town, your family, or your country is under attack, write it down. Don’t wait for permission. Don’t assume someone else will record it for you. Every letter and every diary is a piece of the truth. Every recollection of how life was is also a piece of the truth. This includes the food you ate and the songs that played on your street. This truth is something that no one can erase.
Print it. Bind it. Keep it in a box, a drawer, or a chest. Place it anywhere it can be found by those who come after you. Share copies among your family members. Hide one in a place that time itself will forget. Digital memories are fleeting; servers fail, passwords vanish, and what is “deleted” online is often gone forever. But paper endures.
We have the power, still, to protect the soul of a free people — not through politics, but through preservation. Keep the banned books. Read them. Understand why they were silenced. They are often the keys to liberty’s locked door. The stories, poems, and records we save are not only for nostalgia’s sake. They defend against those who claim freedom was always fragile. They made it seem that way to future generations.
When freedom falters, truth is what leads us back. Write your book. Tell your story. Save it as if your grandchildren’s liberty depends on it — because one day, it just will.
The Howard family always seemed so functional to their neighbors in Bessieville. Their home glowed warmly in the evenings. The paint was always fresh, the hedges trimmed. To the outside world, the Howard’s — Frank, Lois, and their three boys — were the picture of American perfection.
Frank Howard worked as a supervisor at the local airplane plant. Lois split her time between home and the grocery store checkout. Their sons, Mark, Tim, and John, were the type of kids people admired. Others often said, “Now there’s a good family.”
So when Lois stumbled across the box in John’s room, she felt her stomach drop. Inside were pamphlets, flyers, and web printouts — literature no parent ever expects to find.
Frank walked in just as she was holding one, her hand trembling. “Ann,” he said, “what’s going on?”
“I—I hope this is for a school paper,” she stammered. “I don’t know why he’d have this stuff. There’s so much of it!”
Frank thumbed through the stack. “Holy hell. Does he even know what this thing does to people? We raised him better than this.”
Moments later, Mark dropped by to visit. Seeing his parents in his brother’s room, he asked, “What’s up? You two look like you just found a body.”
Ann handed him a pamphlet. Mark’s eyes widened. “Where’s he get this? Do you think he’s…?”
Both parents answered in unison: “No! God no!”
Before they speculate further, Frank’s phone buzzed. It was their middle son, Tim. “Hey Pop, I’ve been calling the house — Ma not answering again? Everything okay?”
Frank hesitated. “We just have… a situation. Did you ever notice your brother getting into anything strange lately?”
Tim laughed. “What’d he do, join a cult?”
Ann shouted from across the room: “Yes! That’s exactly what it looks like!”
Within the hour, Tim was racing home. A few fraternity brothers were in tow. He called them his “Frat-Team.”
When they arrived, Frank showed them the contents of the box. One of the frat boys, a computer science major, said, “Let’s check his laptop.” Within minutes, they uncovered a disturbing digital trail. When they turned the screen toward Frank, he muttered, “I need a drink.”
By now, the grandparents had arrived. The house was full. They decided to wait for John’s return, convinced they “save” him from whatever this was.
At 8:30 sharp, the back door creaked open. “Hey,” John said, stepping inside. “What’s with all the cars? Mom selling Tupperware again?”
“Sit in the yellow chair,” Frank said. His voice left no room for argument. “And don’t say a word.”
John sat, confused. “Son,” Lois began, “are you… flirting around with extremists?”
John blinked. “What? Ma, I don’t think so.”
Frank held up one of the pamphlets. “Then what’s this?”
Suddenly, John’s tone hardened. His face twisted with anger. “You people are blind! You sit here preaching love and tolerance while the country rots from the inside out. You call it compassion — I call it weakness!”
The room fell silent.
Grandpa Howard stood, slapped his knee, and gasped. “My God — he’s a conservative!”
Grandma wailed, “Frank! Ann! You’ve got yourselves a Republican!”
Mark leaned back in his wheelchair, groaning. “It’s worse. He’s been indoctrinated. He’s deep into it — the algorithms, the podcasts, the memes…”
Ann sobbed. “How did this happen? We raised him right. We had PBS, not Fox!”
Frank gritted his teeth. “We can fix this. There’s a camp that reverses it. Teaches kids empathy again.”
The frat boys nodded. “Or we can bring him to a few Pride Parades,” one said. “Exposure therapy.”
That’s when John exploded. He cursed his family. He hurled coasters across the room. He shouted about “real patriots” and “fighting the deep state.”
No one noticed the faint red light blinking on one frat boy’s phone. They’d been recording the whole scene.
Moments later, two uniformed officers stepped inside — Toby and Rex. Toby, a family friend, looked bewildered. “Good Lord, what’s going on here? Is he possessed?”
Rex shook his head solemnly. “No. I’ve seen it before. Same thing happened to my parents. They started watching those ‘news’ streams online. By Thanksgiving, they were threatening to burn our pronoun mugs.”
Ann gasped. “Oh sweet Jesus.”
Frank turned toward his son, voice trembling between rage and heartbreak. “John, listen to me. We can still get you back. But we have to act now. Before it’s too late.”
John sneered. “Too late for what? To stop me from voting?”
And with that, he stormed out the door, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Grandpa finally muttered, “Well, guess the boy’s all grown up now.”
The family sat frozen — the hum of the refrigerator filling the void where laughter used to live.
In the background the local television news reported bloody attacks on black students leaving a GED Class that evening. The suspects identified as young white males. Who used Molotov cocktails yelling white power and God chooses a white America as they escaped on bicycles.
Outside, the streetlight flickered over the Howards’ perfect little home. It was still warm and still well-kept. Now, forever, it is just a little bit haunted.
By Benjamin H. Groff II | Truth Endures / The Story Teller
3–5 minutes
A Decade After Obergefell
Will You Lose Your Rights To Marry Who You Love?
Ten years after the Supreme Court’s landmark Obergefell v. Hodges decision recognized same-sex marriage as a constitutional right, America finds itself again revisiting questions many thought were settled.
The Court’s ruling in 2015 declared that marriage, in all its forms, is protected by the Fourteenth Amendment. This includes guarantees of liberty and equal protection. As new petitions rise, the conversation has returned to the surface. Shifting public attitudes also contribute to this discussion. Who holds authority over marriage — the individual, the state, or the Constitution itself?
The Current Question Before the Court
A pending petition related to former Kentucky clerk Kim Davis has reignited national attention. Her case asks whether local officials refuse to issue marriage licenses on religious grounds. It also questions whether Obergefell overstepped by forcing states to recognize marriages they once prohibited.
The Supreme Court has not agreed to hear the case. Still, its presence on the docket is enough to open old wounds. It also raises new questions. Some legal analysts believe the current Court will not directly overturn Obergefell. Yet, it will narrow its reach through religious-liberty rulings. It also does so through state-level exceptions. Others assert that stability — not upheaval — best serves the nation and the families already bound under its promise.
Two Visions of Marriage and Rights
One side views marriage equality as part of America’s long arc toward inclusion. They view it as a civil institution that, once granted, should not be rescinded. They see equality before the law as non-negotiable. They fear that revisiting the issue will fragment the nation’s sense of fairness.
The other side argues that Obergefell disrupted centuries of state authority. It affected religious conscience. They believe that restoring local decision-making better reflects democratic process. They point to the tension between personal faith convictions and federal mandates as a conflict yet unresolved.
Between those poles lies a broad middle. These are citizens who do not agree on doctrine. They understand that marriage, whether between a man and woman or same-sex partners, carries profound human meaning. Many simply wish to preserve stability, protect liberty, and allow space for faith and freedom to coexist.
Faith, Law, and Living Together
Scripture has long influenced how societies view marriage. For some, biblical passages define its structure and purpose; for others, they offer moral insight without prescribing civil law. The tension between religious belief and constitutional law is not new. This tension echoes past debates over interracial marriage, divorce, and women’s rights.
In every era, society has had to ask two questions. What happens when faith and law collide? How do we live together without tearing the fabric of our community apart?
Why the Debate Still Matters
Even if the Court declines to hear new challenges, more than two dozen states have laws banning same-sex marriage. These laws are dormant on their books. If Obergefell were ever overturned or weakened, those statutes will return overnight, affecting benefits, inheritance, adoption, and family recognition.
At the same time, many Americans share a common belief. Conservatives and liberals alike think the government shouldn’t dictate the deepest personal choices of its citizens. This belief runs deep in the country’s DNA. – Barred from Hospital Rooms – Declined Visits By Family Funerals – Loss of Shared Property.
A Time for Reflection, Not Division
It is that America is less divided on love than on language. Many citizens who believe marriage is sacred still believe in equal dignity; many who support equality still respect faith’s voice.
The challenge before the nation is to find balance. This also is a challenge for the Supreme Court. It involves preserving both religious liberty and individual freedom. This must be done without sacrificing the dignity of either.
Marriage remains one of the few institutions that bridges our private and public lives. It does this whether one calls it a covenant before God or a contract under law. The real question is not who can marry. It is whether we can continue to respect those who see it differently. Is it a divine institution? One which a person be married and divorced five times, as long as it is to the opposite sex. Or, is it a civil contract between two people which protects their lives, property and future? Capable of being entered into by any two people.
Closing Thought
History rarely moves backward. Nonetheless, it does pause to consider and to recalibrate. It also reminds us that liberty requires both conviction and compassion. As this conversation unfolds, we argue less to win and more to understand.
We are living in a time when critical issues are being tossed around like poker chips in Washington. These include health care, Social Security, disability support, and the rights of the LGBTQ+ community. The game has gotten meaner, the stakes higher, and the players more reckless. But if history teaches us anything, it’s that ordinary Americans can outshine the biggest machines of power. They can outlast them when they work smart and stay focused.
This isn’t about red or blue. It’s about who gets to live with dignity and who doesn’t.
1. Protecting What We’ve Paid For
Let’s start with the basics: Social Security and Medicare are not entitlements—they’re earned benefits. Working Americans paid into them every payday of their lives. Yet, each election cycle, someone in Congress floats the idea of “sunsetting” or “restructuring” them. That’s political code for cutting.
The smart move? Make every elected official—Republican or Democrat—go on record promising no cuts to Social Security and Medicare. It’s a winning issue across party lines because nearly every voter depends on it, or soon will. The average monthly advantage for retirees is about $2,000. You can’t afford to lose that—and neither can your parents.
2. The Health Care Frontline
Medicare drug price negotiations are already law, and they’re starting to bite down on Big Pharma. Those savings need to be expanded and defended. Keep the issue local—talk about your neighbor’s insulin cost, your pharmacy’s long lines, and your doctor’s limited hours. These stories hit harder than any campaign ad.
If you live in a state that still refuses Medicaid expansion, that’s another battle worth fighting. States like Oklahoma and Missouri proved that when citizens put Medicaid expansion on the ballot, it wins—even in conservative territory. It keeps rural hospitals open and saves lives. Simple as that.
3. Disability Rights Are Human Rights
For millions of Americans, especially seniors and people with disabilities, Medicaid is the real safety net. It funds long-term care, home health aides, and community services. Most people don’t realize that these programs face constant threats. This occurs at both the state and federal levels.
It’s time to make disability policy visible again. Discuss the waiting lists. Talk about the family caregivers working without rest. Tackle the closures of group homes that once kept people safe. Every one of those stories is a vote for compassion and common sense.
4. Standing Up for the LGBTQ+ Community
Across the nation, hundreds of anti-LBGTQ+ bills have been introduced under the banner of “protecting children.” But what they really do is threaten the safety and rights of already vulnerable people—students, families, and workers.
The answer isn’t more shouting matches. It’s telling real stories. These are parents who want their trans kid to live without fear. There is a teacher who wants to keep their job. Or a couple wants the same hospital visitation rights as anyone else. When the conversation becomes personal, hearts shift—and politics follows.
5. Building Alliances That Win
You don’t win these battles alone. You build coalitions that surprise people. Seniors and veterans defend Social Security. Small business owners back drug price reform. Nurses and church groups advocate dignity in care. That’s how movements grow—through unexpected allies who realize they’re all fighting for the same thing.
The revisionist thrives on division. A winning strategy thrives on unity.
6. How to Get Loud, Smart, and Effective
Use your voice locally. County health boards, school boards, and hospital districts make real decisions about care and coverage. Attend those meetings.
Tell your story. A 30-second video of your experience with health care or benefits will reach more people than a dozen speeches.
Learn it. Agencies post new rules all the time—public comments matter. Gather friends, go to Regulations.gov, and leave thoughtful, factual remarks. Bureaucrats read them.
Stick to clear messages:
“Protect what we’ve paid for.”
“Keep care close to home.”
“Freedom to make personal medical decisions.”
“Dignity for every family.”
7. The Bottom Line
The fight for affordable health care, strong social programs, and equal rights isn’t about party loyalty—it’s about survival. You can’t eat ideology, and you can’t pay for prescriptions with political slogans.
The people who built this country deserve to live out their years in peace, not fear. The next generation deserves to inherit something more significant, fairer, and more human.
That’s how we win. We don’t hate what’s broken. Instead, we protect what still works. We fight like hell to fix what doesn’t.
Antifa, short for “anti-fascist,” is a decentralized, far-left political movement that opposes fascism, racism, and other forms of far-right extremism.
It is not a single, unified organization with a national leader or headquarters. Rather, it is a loose network of autonomous local groups and individuals. They share a common ideology.
History
European origins: Modern anti-fascist movements have historical roots in early 20th-century Europe. Groups like Germany’s Antifaschistische Aktion fought against rising fascism and Nazism in the 1920s and 1930s.
American development: In the United States, groups like the Anti-Racist Action (ARA) influenced the modern movement in the 1980s. They confronted Neo-Nazi skinheads at punk rock concerts.
Resurgence: Antifa gained significant public attention and saw a revival in activity after the 2016 U.S. presidential election. This was especially true during clashes with far-right groups. These occurred at events like the 2017 “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville, Virginia.
Beliefs and ideology
Anti-authoritarianism: Adherents subscribe to a range of left-wing views. These include anarchism, socialism, and communism. They hold anti-authoritarian and anti-capitalist positions.
Direct action: The movement prioritizes direct action over electoral politics. They believe it is necessary to disrupt what they see as hateful and oppressive activities. These disruptions are crucial before such activities can grow.
Confrontation: Supporters believe that hate speech is not free speech and advocate for the active suppression of fascist organizing efforts.
Tactics
Antifa tactics range from nonviolent to militant and vary widely among autonomous groups.
Nonviolent techniques: These include community organizing, publicizing the activities of far-right groups (“doxing”), and distributing flyers.
Militant techniques: Some adherents use confrontational tactics, including physical violence and property damage, which critics condemn as counterproductive and dangerous.
“Black bloc”: During protests, some activists engage in “black bloc” tactics. They dress in all black with their faces covered. This is done to keep anonymity and solidarity.
Controversy and criticism
Terrorist label: For several years, President Donald Trump has said he would label Antifa as a terrorist organization. As recently as September 2025, he reiterated this stance. Still, legal and civil rights experts have stated such a designation would be unconstitutional. They argue it is challenging to apply to a decentralized movement rather than a structured group. Former FBI Director Christopher Wray has also described it as an ideology rather than an organization.
Use of violence: Antifa’s use of violence has been condemned by both Republican and Democratic politicians. Some critics draw false equivalencies between Antifa violence and far-right extremist violence.
Misinformation: The movement has often been the topic of persistent disinformation campaigns. Right-wing groups and social media accounts promote false rumors and hoaxes about its activities.
Right now in U.S. politics, “Antifa” is not a formal organization. Instead, it is a loosely applied label meaning “anti-fascist.” It refers to people who oppose far-right extremism. In recent years, some political figures have used the term as a catch-all. Donald Trump is included among those who use it this way. They apply it to anyone who protests or opposes their policies. That means the word is often used more as a political weapon than a precise description.
If someone opposes the GOP or criticizes Trump’s policies, that alone does not make them “Antifa.” Certain media outlets or political figures call them that. It’s a rhetorical strategy to stigmatize opposition. This labeling is not a reflection of an actual membership or affiliation. Historically, in the U.S., dissent against a party or president has always existed without being automatically labeled as extremist.
So, in short: at the “current rate” of framing, you are called Antifa if you oppose Trump. Nonetheless, that’s a label applied by others. It is not an actual classification or legal designation. It’s essential to recognize the difference between rhetoric and reality.
We all know words can inspire, connect, and excite—but they can also alienate, offend, or sound tired. Daria Knupp, Sr. Content Marketing Manager at Personify, recently published a thoughtful article. It lists 10 words and phrases we should stop using in the events industry. We should consider avoiding them everywhere. Her list stopped me in my tracks—and it will surprise you, too.
We use these terms often at conferences, in meetings, and in our everyday work to convey intelligence, wit, and creativity. Nevertheless, some have roots in stereotypes, outdated social theories, or even deeply offensive historical contexts. Here are highlights from Knupp’s list. I also include my own reflections on why they matter. Additionally, I explore how we can do better.
Phrases Worth Rethinking
“Guru” Originally, the title of the highest spiritual leaders in Hinduism and Buddhism. Using it casually—“event planning guru”—can trivialize a sacred role. Try “expert” or “specialist” instead.
“Pow Wow” is not just a “quick meeting.” It’s a sacred Native American gathering of community and celebration. Try “meeting” or “collaboration.”
“Tribe” is often used to describe a network or support, but it is tied to outdated and harmful stereotypes. Swap in “team,” “group,” or “cohort.”
“Nitty Gritty” Commonly meant “the essentials,” but it was rooted in references to the slave trade. Use “details” or “essentials” instead.
“Hold Down the Fort” Seems harmless, but it was initially tied to colonial conflicts with Native Americans. Consider “supervise” or “manage.”
“Tipping Point” was popularized by Malcolm Gladwell, but historically referred to racial “thresholds” in neighborhoods. Try “pivotal moment” or “milestone.”
“Rule of Thumb” Linked—to wife-beating folklore. Safer to say “general guideline” or “industry standard.”
“Crazy” or “Insane” Using mental illness terms casually undermines efforts to destigmatize. Replace with “absurd,” “outrageous,” or “ridiculous.”
Buzzwords like “Synergy,” “Leverage,” and “Bandwidth” Overuse makes you sound like a cliché. Switch it up with plainer language.
Hyperboles. Nothing wrong with exaggeration—but when overdone, it can make you less credible. Mix in metaphors or puns for variety.
Personal Reflection: A Lifelong Connection
I’ve had very close Native American friends who have been like family to me for nearly fifty years. Through countless conversations, shared meals, and life’s ups and downs, similar concerns about language never arose. We always spoke openly and comfortably with one another, and I thought we understood each other fully.
Now, reading about the origins of these words and their potential to harm, I have to ask myself—was I wrong? Did I unintentionally cause pain, even to the people I love and respect? This personal reflection can make the audience feel empathetic and introspective. Did my long-held assumptions give me a sense of being “above” the issue when in reality I wasn’t?
This is why articles like Daria Knupp’s matter. They challenge us to reevaluate. They help us check our blind spots. They make us confront how easy it is to inherit language without questioning it. This can make the audience feel motivated and empowered. I hope that in sharing this, readers will pause. I hope they think: if language is so powerful, what can we do to use it better?
Why This Matters
As Knupp points out, we interact with thousands of attendees, exhibitors, colleagues, and friends. Every word choice carries weight. Being mindful of language isn’t about being “too sensitive”; it’s about making sure everyone feels respected and included. And honestly? It makes us sound more intelligent and up-to-date.
For me, this list was surprising because so many of these phrases have been normalized. Seeing their origins laid out in one place makes me rethink my own habits. It also makes me curious—what other everyday expressions are we using without realizing their history?
The Takeaway
Language evolves, and so can we. By phasing out these outdated or offensive terms, we show ourselves as thoughtful professionals and better human beings. Words shape experiences. They can also change them—for the better.
NOTE: We live in a time when there’s a relentless push to roll back equality. Efforts aim to undo hard-won progress toward balancing the scales between the haves and the have-nots. Reports like this stand as a vital reminder. There will always be voices, somewhere, willing to rise for decency, fairness, and moral courage.
Midnight came with a storm. The people surged into the square, led not by weapons, but by sheer will. They banged pots, rang bells, and carried torches. Harper stood at the front, her vest pockets heavy with rocks, ready for the only weapon she trusted—humiliation over bloodshed.
The guards pushed ahead, but when the first stone struck a helmet, ringing like a bell, the crowd roared. Pebbles, words, laughter—it all became a wall the Council couldn’t breach. The guards faltered. For the first time, they looked uncertain. Some even turned and fled.
By dawn, Haven’s Reach was not free—but it was different. The Council still ruled, but the people had tasted their own power. Harper knew the road ahead would be long. She also knew this: fear never again be the island’s only ruler.
By the time autumn winds rolled across Haven’s Reach, something in the air had shifted. The Council’s decrees were no longer whispered with unease. They were shouted from wooden platforms. The decrees were painted on walls and nailed to doors. “Obedience is Freedom,” one sign read. “Order Before All,” declared another. The rules had once been tolerated as minor irritations. Now, they pressed down like a boot on the neck of the people.
It began with curfews. Families were ordered indoors at dusk, lanterns extinguished by the ninth bell. Then came the bans. First, there was one on foreign books. Next, gatherings of more than five were forbidden. Finally, music played in public squares was banned. One by one, pieces of life that had once defined Haven’s Reach fell away. The Council insisted it was “for safety.” But everyone knew better—fear was safer for rulers than for the ruled.
Harper saw it most clearly when her younger brother, Eli, vanished. One evening, he was at the bakery kneading dough by her side. The next morning, his cot was empty. Blankets were folded neatly as though no one had ever lived there. Whispers reached her ears: Eli had spoken too freely about the Council in the market, and someone had reported him. Now he was “detained for questioning.” No one who had been questioned ever came home the same.
Harper’s grief sharpened into something more complex. She began wandering beyond her bakery’s door after curfew, listening at corners, watching shadows. That’s how she stumbled across The Quiet Ones. It was a ragtag circle of neighbors, merchants, and teachers. They took it upon themselves to preserve what the Council feared most: memory. They hid forbidden books in flour sacks. They scribbled children’s rhymes on the backs of ledgers. They whispered songs under their breath in defiance.
When Harper revealed her brother’s name, the Quiet Ones did not look away. An older man with ink-stained hands touched her shoulder and said,
“You’re one of us now, whether you meant to be or not. The fight isn’t about one boy. It’s about all of us.”
The fracture had come—not just between ruler and ruled, but within the people themselves. Some chose silence and survival. Others, like Harper, chose risk and resistance. Haven’s Reach was no longer simply an island under rule. It was a tinderbox, waiting for a single spark to ignite.
After the whispers of resistance spread through hidden gatherings, Brant Harrow and his Council acted swiftly.
One by one, the most outspoken citizens began to disappear. A fisherman dared to complain about rationing. A mother had asked too many questions at the weekly assembly. A teacher was rumored to keep forbidden books. They were gone.
No public trials. No explanations. Only empty chairs at family tables and unlit lanterns where homes once glowed in the night. The Council claimed these people had “chosen exile.” But no one had ever seen the boats return. Children asked where their neighbors had gone, and parents whispered a single warning:
Don’t ask too loudly.
For those who remained, the silence was deafening.
Even the ocean seemed to hush its waves against the shore, as if the island itself held its breath. Fear kept voices low. In the dark corners of Haven’s Reach, a few brave souls began to wonder. If the voices of truth were vanishing, who would speak for them when the Council came knocking next?
By the time autumn winds swept across the island, Brant Harrow’s “First Rules” had been etched into daily life. They weren’t written on parchment or stone, but repeated so often that they became second nature.
“No theft, no violence, no waste, no words outside the Council.”
At first, the people complied out of respect. Later, they complied out of habit. And slowly, they began to comply out of fear.
It started small. A fisherman’s wife was overheard criticizing the Council for rationing nets unfairly. Days later, her family’s hut was mysteriously stripped of its lantern oil. Her husband’s catch was rejected at the communal market. There was no official punishment or public decree. It was just a quiet reminder of who held sway.
Families learned to whisper in the dark, if they whispered at all. Children were warned not to repeat what their parents said at home. Laughter around the fire grew more careful, guarded, as though shadows themselves carried ears.
Yet not all were cowed. A young teacher named Elara began meeting secretly with her students in the caves near the shoreline. She reminded them of the island’s first days. During those times, the people worked freely together. Voices rang out with no fear of reprisal. She called it
“The Memory.”
“Don’t let them take The Memory from you,”
She urged.
“Because when the memory dies, so do we.”
Above them, in the Council chamber, Brant Harrow and his circle drew lines on a map of the island. They were dividing it into districts.
“Control the land,”
He muttered,
“And we control the people.”
Unseen and unspoken, the first embers of resistance flickered in Haven’s Reach.
The island had been buzzing with a quiet energy. Families were settling into huts near the shoreline. Farmers had begun turning fertile soil into gardens. Fishermen reported an abundance of food from the sea. For a brief time, it felt like paradise was within their grasp.
But no paradise, it seemed, live without Order.
The elected leader, Brant Harrow, stood on a makeshift platform in the town square. His voice carried over the crowd like the tide: calm, confident, and commanding.
“We are a community now,”
He declared, “and no community can survive without rules. These rules are not punishment, but protection. They will guide us. They will keep Haven’s Reach strong.”
The first rules were simple enough: no theft, no violence, no waste. At first, the people welcomed them. After all, who can argue against peace, honesty, and thrift?
Yet Brant added one more:
“All voices must flow through the Council before being spoken to the community. This ensures unity.”
Some shifted uneasily at that, but most nodded. They wanted peace. They wanted Order. And Brant gave them just that—or so they believed.
That night, lanterns glowed along the shoreline as fishermen mended their nets. Farmers laughed over bowls of stew. Children ran between the huts, playing games under the moonlight. The air was filled with a fragile joy.
But inside his quarters, Brant sat with a small group of men.
“It begins here,”
He told them.
“Control the speech, control the thought. The rest will follow.”
Haven’s Reach was still blissfully unaware. It took its first quiet step toward becoming something far different. It was unlike the dream its people had imagined.
What difference does it really make — who we are or who we love? We accept without question that some people like black hair, others like blondes, and some like redheads. Some are tall, some are short, some are in between. Yet history shows us how quickly an innocent difference can become a target.
Imagine if tomorrow there was an eruption of public hatred toward blondes. They dye their hair to avoid detection. Or if short people were suddenly ostracized, they try to stay inside except during “short hours.” Many people already camouflage parts of themselves—how they speak, dress, or behave—to stay safe in public. But not everyone can change.
That’s what today’s reflection is about: What do we do with differences that can’t be hidden or changed? When does society’s discomfort become cruelty? Should people who can’t “blend in” be cast aside, alienated, or worse? We’re at our best when we challenge these questions. We must remind ourselves that our shared humanity matters far more than our differences.
A Hopeful Call-to-Action
If differences can be used to divide, they can also be used to unite. Every person you meet carries something unique—something you can’t see at first glance. Rather than asking people to blend in or hide, we can create a world where authenticity is safe and celebrated. Each act of kindness is important. Each open conversation contributes to understanding. Each refusal to judge by appearance fosters inclusivity. These are steps toward a society that values humanity over uniformity. The question isn’t how we can camouflage ourselves—it’s how we can build a place where no one needs to.
I often go back through the archives and reread old stories I reported on. Some are small, dusty pieces that barely made a ripple. Others grab you by the collar and refuse to let go. This is one of those stories.
On a summer day in 1993, construction worker Donald Wyman, 37, found himself trapped. He was in the woods of Jefferson County, Pennsylvania. A fallen tree had crushed his leg so severely that he couldn’t free himself. After an hour of pain and helpless screaming, Wyman realized time was running out.
With no other choice, he made a tourniquet out of a shoelace and a wrench from his power saw. Then, with a courage most of us can barely imagine, he amputated his own leg. Using a seven-inch pocketknife—cutting through muscle, skin, and nerves to seize his survival.
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Badly wounded, he dragged himself to his bulldozer, and drove—bleeding—to his pickup. Once in his truck he managed to reach a neighbor’s farm half a mile away. The neighbor, John Huber, called rescuers, who later found Wyman’s leg still pinned under the tree, boot and all. Thanks to his grit and quick medical response, Wyman survived and was upgraded from critical to stable within days.
Had he hesitated, his story would have been reduced to a one-paragraph obituary in his hometown paper. But Wyman wasn’t a victim—he was a survivor. He did what had to be done.
And that’s the lesson. You may never face a tree crushing your leg. Yet, you may face toxic relationships. You might meet negative influences or habits that hold you back. Sometimes survival means cutting away the very thing that’s dragging you down. You may face a country that has appeared to have turned against you. It won’t be easy. It may hurt. But in the long run, it can save your life—so you can live fully with those you love.
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