When does our silence become complicity?

A few decades ago, I had the opportunity to travel to Germany and visit several sites related to the Holocaust. As part of a large group and responsible for a dozen young people, these experiences were moving but not as impactful as I had imagined they would be.

In contrast, while I was in seminary—also a long time ago, I stumbled across the Holocaust Memorial in downtown Boston. The memorial features six tall glass towers etched with numbers representing the six million Jewish victims. Visitors walk over grates with steam rising from below, where small lights twinkle from an unseeable floor. Visually austere, the memorial caught me by surprise, bringing tears to my eyes. It was also the first time I encountered German theologian and pastor Martin Niemöller’s poem about the complicity of people very much like him during the rise of the Third Reich.

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

While I often find direct comparisons to historical moments unhelpful, especially in the charged political environment that we live in, Niemöller’s words were some of the first that came to mind when I read about the abduction of Tufts University doctoral student Rümeysa Öztürk—detained by masked Homeland Security agents without explanation, with security footage from a nearby building capturing the disturbing incident.

Öztürk was legally here in the United States on a student visa, which was revoked with no prior notice by the State Department. As I write this post, the only explanation from the government for Öztürk’s unusual arrest is an allegation of her support of Hamas. While there has yet to be evidence offered of her support of Hamas, she did co-author an op-ed in a student newspaper respectfully critical of her university’s reluctance to take a stand against the war in Gaza and the thousands of Palestinian lives lost. Her friends describe her as someone focused on her research and not engaged in the protests that occurred on campus.

Unless and until the government provides a better explanation for her detention and the revocation of her visa, the situation presents as one of several seemingly designed to intimidate those exercising free speech, something which used to have near-universal support in the United States. At the minimum, it should raise concerns around whether the rights to due process enshrined in our country’s constitution and guaranteed for all people are being followed.

I’m white, straight, male, and my ancestors first came to America on the Mayflower. Yet, I am distressed enough by stories like that of Rumeysa Öztürk’s detainment that I paused as I was writing to consider the risk of speaking out. I can only imagine the caution and fear others feel who don’t have all of the privilege I often take for granted.

Still, this is the very point of Niemöller’s poem. Authoritarian governments don’t typically start by taking away the rights of those with tons of privilege. They begin by eroding our collective rights by dividing people and targeting vulnerable groups. Recently I learned that Niemöller was not only silent but actually supportive of many of the Nazis’ early actions. That caused me to consider his words again in a different way.

As I said earlier, direct historical comparisons can often be unhelpful. We are not living in Nazi Germany today, but that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t be disturbed or that our silence might not become complicity. Demanding accountability and appropriate transparency from those with power and authority is not and should never be a partisan issue. Americans are entitled to different beliefs and positions on the social and political concerns of the day. Still, we should all defend our rights to argue and advocate for those beliefs and positions. 

As a matter of faith, I have specific values and concerns that I don’t expect everyone to agree with. As grounded as I understand my beliefs to be in the teachings of Jesus, I know and respect that other Christians may hold differing beliefs. 

That said, I think we all can learn something helpful from Niemöller’s story. Sometimes, it’s important to put aside our differences and focus on our shared humanity. If we can’t respect each other’s dignity, even as we advocate for our beliefs and understandings, then we may be missing the point.

Put another way, if we only support free speech when we agree with it, and due process when it benefits us, we actually don’t support either.

May God help allow us to be disturbed when appropriate, embolden us when we need to speak and give us ears when it is better for us to listen.