Give them enough rope to hang themselves

 

In a world where each word is a step on thin ice,
Where a stumble can cost you an unrecoverable price,
Where a phrase out of place is a sacred offence,
And the mob lights the torches without recompense,
We speak with a tremor, we measure each breath,
For a sentence misshapen is social death.

Some say this is justice: be careful, be kind,  
If your freedom brings harm, then restrain your own mind.
If fear is the tether that keeps cruelty at bay,
Then let fear be the leash that will force you to stay.
Yet others cry “lynching!” when judgment is swift,
When a slip of the tongue is a terminal rift.

The truth is them both, uneasy, unstill:
Most of us speak without malice or skill.
We fumble with language, we reach for a thought,
But the meaning we grasp is not always that sought.
A moment of anger, a joke poorly cast:
Should one careless instant outweigh all the past?

For some, speech is play, just a game of the mind,
A trollish excursion, all care left behind.
For others, it’s fluid, emotions in flight,
A snapshot of feeling, not lasting insight.
Yet listeners scour for shadows and signs,
For hints of the hatred that lurks between lines.

One wrong note, and the verdict is swift:
The world realigns, resentments uplift.
“You echo the wicked, you mirror their call,
So you must be one of them, guilty of all.”
But a clue is not proof, and a hint is not fate;
One moment alone cannot tell what you state.

Precision is hard: ask the lawyers who write
Hundreds of pages to guard every right.
Words twist and they tangle, you try to speak true,
But a djinn will grant you your wish all askew.
If we treat every sentence as hostile terrain,
We turn interactions to struggle and strain.

Demand certainty in all that we say
And make dialogue brittle, drive friends away.
Pre-judgment is poison; suspicion is fire;
It burns through goodwill and it fuels the ire
Of those who feel hunted, who flee to the side
Where spite masquerades as wounded pride.

My mother would murmur, mind sharp as a fang
“Give fools the rope and themselves they will hang”.
So trust in the process, let conversation unfold;
A bigot will show you the truth when they’re bold.
But harming the harmless to prove you are pure
Is a cruelty righteous folk shouldn’t endure.

So loosen the noose that you tie with your fear;
Let doubt have its space, let intent become clear.
For someone who falters but never reveals
A heart full of hatred is not who you feel.
For lashing at shadows for crimes never real
Turns justice to theatre and virtue to zeal.