If Everyone Chooses Peace, Who Will Choose the Truth?
The soft corrosion of choosing only yourself
Hi my lovelies,
After I was severely doxxed on X for my political and humanitarian beliefs this past week, a lot of people reached out to me with the same kind of advice.
"Choose peace."
"Think about your life, your family, your pets."
"Don't put yourself in danger over things you can’t control."
They weren’t wrong.
I do have a life. I have a family. I have animals who trust me to come home every day. I have a body that’s already carrying more than its fair share of anxiety and chronic pain.
Choosing peace sounds like the smart thing.
The safe thing.
But there’s a tension I can’t shake: what happens to the truth when everyone chooses peace?
We are living in a world where blatant violations of human rights are unfolding in plain sight.
Not in history books. Not in distant places.
Here. Now. Everywhere.
And yet, so many of us have been taught to look away.
To shrink our outrage into “personal boundaries.”
To drown our discomfort in self-care checklists.
Light a candle. Take a breath. Protect your peace.
But at some point, you have to ask:
Peace for whom?
At what cost?
Choosing peace without choosing justice first is not peace.
It’s survival for some, and suffocation for others.
There’s a difference between protecting your energy and abandoning your humanity.
There’s a difference between genuine safety and moral sedation.
When you numb yourself enough that only your comfort matters, you haven’t found enlightenment. You’ve just made yourself easier for oppressive systems to manage.
They want you to choose peace.
They need you to stay quiet.
They count on your exhaustion.
I am not saying burn yourself to the ground.
I am not saying every battle is yours to fight.
But I am saying this:
There will always be people whose very existence is politicized, criminalized, erased.
If everyone chooses peace, who will choose them?
Who will choose the messy, uncomfortable, complicated truth?
Who will stay present when it would be easier to dissociate?
Who will speak when silence would cost them less?
I don’t have neat answers today.
I don’t have a 5-step plan to save the world without feeling anything.
But I do know this:
Feeling is a form of resistance.
Staying awake is a form of resistance.
Choosing truth, even when it hurts, is a form of love.
And in a world built to numb and divide us, that love might be the most radical thing we have left.
Still feeling, still fighting—with you always,
Ananya