Day of Silence

Bullying is suicide. It's not harmless fun and games. It's not just a normal teenage teasing, or something we can turn a blind eye to. It exists, and it's all around us. And it needs to stop. It needs to stop before more people lose thier lives.

Today was my first year of celebrating Day of Silence. I wore duct tape over my mouth, and not a single word emerged from my throat. My vocal cords were not just asleep, but hibirnating. And although I couldn't speak, sometimes I truly wished that I could. Just a single person would ask the question. It was that one fatal question that made me want to spill my feelings out like paint from a bucket. It made me feel like ripping the duct tape off, and telling them how I felt. The question still rang in my mind like a bell.

What's being silent going to do?

When today started, I didn't know what to expect. I looked pretty foolish walking around with a big wad of blue tape on my face. In the morning, I got some strange glances from people wondering what planet I was from. I got a threat from a stranger. As I walked past, they yelled at me that they were tempted to rip the tape off my face. I didn't respond. I couldn't respond.

People would ask me questions, and I would stare at them blankly like they were speaking a foreign language. Sometimes I would nod or shake my head. If I had some paper on me, I would quickly jot down my thoughts, but it was difficult to do so. My mouth was tightly fixed into a straight line. I couldn't smile, or let out laughter. In class, a religious girl noticed me, and gave me a look of disgust. She turned to one of her friends beside her, and whispered as if it were gossip, "What's the Day of Silence for? To support faggots?" I looked down at my desk. I said nothing.

At lunchtime, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I quickly spun around to see a boy with dark hair whom I hardly even knew. My eyes were instantly drawn to his mouth—black tape. He gave me an encouraging look, and his expression held a thousand words. My expression reflected his like a mirror. It was as if we had known each other forever, even though it had been a simple gesture. At Biology class, I scribbled down some notes to my teammate. He was a boy with curly brown locks that was in our group. I passed it over to him. He had been chatting away before, but once he read my note, he didn't say a word to me. His eyes didn't land on me once. In fact, he fished out a pencil in his bag and wrote back to me. We passed the note several times, scribbling back and forth quickly like a contest. But we weren't competing by any means. We were on that same level of the universe again. That level of understanding, and compassion, that one feels when they truly belong or when they cry out of happiness. Even though we talked about light topics such us spring break and how awful Rebecca Black was, it was a relief to have a conversation with someone. At the end of school, my attention was drawn with a lovely girl walking past me. She wore duct tape as well. We locked eye contact for a moment. Her hazel eyes speckled with respect, and we both nodded, as if it were some secret code. No sign language of any sort. It was just a nod. She walked away, and I didn't see her again. I probably won't ever see her again. But I'll remember that.

I know the answer to that question now. We are silent because victims are silent. Victims do not smile or burst out in laughter. When someone challenges them, they may feel hurt or angry or torn apart in every way imaginable, and yet all they can do is stare. They are not silent for one day, but every day. This pain they must endure overflows to a knife, or to a gun at the temple. It causes them to walk in shame, and to feel isolated and alone, trapped in a cage of society. No matter what happens to them, they are like animals that cannot speak up for themselves. The only time they can find a ray of sunshine in this cruel world is when they are given support. It's when someone taps them on the shoulder, or writes them a short letter, or even just gives them a nod of encouragment.

Today was not a contest to see who can be quiet the longest. It was to put us in the shoes of those who are actually duct taped, and who face the same discrimination every second of their lives. Silence is as painful as death, and yet it reunites people on a level that words could never do. They bravely face the world, and stick together, knowing that they are not alone. It will take a long time for the world to catch up to them.

For now, those victims stay in the shadows. They sit in silence. And they patiently wait for the day that they can take the tape off and can finally speak again.