I Want to Rage

I want to rage.

I want to scream.

I want to pound my fists in staccato rhythm and shake the foundations.

For too long, the loud have won.

For too long, the wrong have figured out how to be the loudest.

The proverbial ‘Squeaky Wheel’ gets the grease…

…whether it deserves it or not.

Sometimes the wheel squeaks, not because it needs grease, but because it is broken and needs to be replaced.

A man ranted online to his millions of followers with many factual data errors to support his

broken argument…of thinly-guised hate.

When I pointed it out, the reply was:

But, he’s passionate about his beliefs. You have to respect that.

No. I don’t.

Fuck that.

Fuck him.

I don’t have to respect anyone because they are passionate.

Being passionate does not mean you are right.

It just means you are willing to fight for something.





The amount of passionate despots this world has seen is legion.

And all it took was for people to convince themselves that because this person was so aggressive in their beliefs, charismatic in their presence, eloquent in their rapid-fire high-pressure delivery, that they MUST be right.

That has to stop. Stop being polite when someone says ‘homie’ or ‘darky’ or God forbid ‘nigger’ under their breath, assuming that you are part of…

THEIR team.

No. You shut that down. You stop it. You say something right then and there. It can be done.

And when you do, my friend, it is liberating.

When I used to sling drinks, we ran a game, ‘Stump the Bartender’.

You start a joke, and I could finish it.

One guy walks over, hoping to stump me for a free beer.

He leans toward me.

He looks over both shoulders.

First one. Then the other.

Then, he licks his lips and says to me…

“How many ni—”

He never got a chance to finish.

I told him if he had to look over his shoulder to tell a joke,

then it wasn’t a joke. And maybe he shouldn’t be telling them.

He got embarrassed and tried to explain that he wasn’t racist…

Then I stopped him again and said, “Yes, but you assumed I was.”

He never came back to my bar. And I never missed him.

But this goes beyond skin color.

It’s about money, class, culture, beliefs, faiths, sexual preferences, and yes, skin color.

It’s about sitting back and watching quietly as one group shits on another group.

And not calling them out on it.

If you say nothing…then, you are compliant.

How many people were ruled by those passionate despots,

who secretly hated their leaders,

but sat in fear because they were afraid of being


How many of those same leaders would have stopped being leaders if everyone pointed out that the king was indeed, naked?

Yes, but if we are loud too, then our loudness mixed with the other loudness just drowns out everything in a din of noise and chaos…

Then, don’t be loud. Be right.

With conviction. With steadfast hope. With patience.

With FACT.


I want to rage.

I want to scream.

I want to thrust my fists…

So, I type.

What will you do?