The Bystander’s Choice: From the School Gym to the Halls of Power
In elementary school, our gym class played a brutal game of bombardment—something straight out of Squid Game. The gym was a perfect square, no cover, no escape. Except for one place: a tiny vestibule housing the drinking fountain. I was the smallest kid in my class, and I knew what that meant. If I stepped into the game, if I dodged and threw like the others, I’d get crushed. So I hid.
I’d crouch behind that fountain, small and silent, waiting for the storm to pass. It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t clever. It was avoidance—a hope that if I stayed quiet enough, still enough, I wouldn’t get hit.
I thought about that moment as I watched Trump stand before Congress and call Sen. Elizabeth Warren “Pocahontas.” And I thought about it even more when I heard the laughter. Because the real story wasn’t just the slur—it was the people who laughed. The ones who smirked and played along. The ones who cowered behind their own drinking fountains, afraid to stand up.
DEI Might Be Disappearing—But Basic Decency Shouldn’t
Let’s be clear: this is not just about DEI programs disappearing. Rolling back diversity initiatives is bad enough—but we are well past that now. We are at the point where racist slurs are being openly embraced on the floor of Congress.Where a former president can mock an entire group of people, and half the room laughs. This isn’t just about opposing progress. This is about normalizing cruelty. About making it acceptable—expected—to degrade people in public spaces.
But here's the truth: Just because DEI is going away, basic civility should not. You don’t need a workshop to know that slurs are unacceptable. You don’t need a corporate training to know that mocking an entire race isn’t a joke. And you certainly don’t need a policy guide to know that laughing along makes you complicit.
Why Do We Keep Letting This Happen?
Because standing up is hard. Because confrontation is uncomfortable. Because we have been taught, over and over, that it is easier to go along than to push back. That saying nothing is safer than making a scene. That laughing is better than being the one to call it out.
But here’s the thing: avoiding the fight doesn’t mean you won’t get hit. It just means you’ve left everyone else to take the blows.
And that’s exactly how power wins. Not just through the loudness of the bully, but through the silence of the crowd.
How Do We Change This?
So what do we do? How do we stop the cycle of complicity? How do we make sure the next time something like this happens, the room isn’t filled with laughter—but with resistance?
We name it. No softening, no hedging. “That was racist.” “That was sexist.” Say it plainly, so there’s no room for confusion.
We hold people accountable. The problem isn’t just Trump—it’s the people who laughed. The ones who went along with it. Make them own that choice. “If you laughed, if you did nothing, that was a choice. And it was the wrong one.”
We refuse to play along. Cruelty only thrives when it’s treated like entertainment. If people know they will be called out every single time, that changes the cost of complicity.
We get comfortable with making people uncomfortable. Racism is uncomfortable. Sexism is uncomfortable. If someone is making jokes at the expense of entire communities, let them sit in the discomfort of being confronted. Stop worrying about keeping the peace—the peace is already broken.
We stop pretending people can’t change. Not everyone in that room laughed because they’re irredeemable. Some laughed because it was the easy thing to do. Some laughed because silence felt like complicity, and joining in felt safer. Those people? They can be reached. But only if we try.
Winning People Back Means Making Them See the Harm
This is where restorative justice comes in. It’s not just about punishment—it’s about forcing people to see the impact of their actions. Because racism thrives on distance. It’s easy to laugh at a slur when you don’t have to look into the eyes of the people it harms.
So instead of just saying, "That was racist," take it further:
"Imagine you're an Indigenous kid watching this at home. Imagine hearing a leader mock your entire identity, and then hearing a whole room laugh along."
"Imagine what that tells you about your place in this country."
We don’t just call it out. We make them feel it. We force them to sit with it. Because sometimes, the ones who laughed can be the ones who change. But only if we make them see what they did.
No More Drinking Fountains
I spent my childhood thinking that hiding was survival. That if I just stayed small enough, I wouldn’t get hurt. That illusion shattered the moment I realized that the game was never about winning or losing—it was about who had the power to decide the rules.
So, no more drinking fountains. No more sideline seats. No more pretending that silence isn’t a choice.
Because when the bully steps up to the mic, when the laughter erupts, when the moment calls for courage—where will you stand?
