#complicity
When the chips are finally
down,
and the smoke has
cleared,
We will remember those who kept silent.
For silence is complicity.!
ahmed ali
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 8:40 AM UTC
This is not a classroom.
But we are learning.
Not a lesson plan.
But a lesson lived.
Not a curriculum.
But a crisis.
And still—this is pedagogy.
Because something is always teaching us.
Power.
Silence.
Grief.
Resistance.
This is the Pedagogy of All—
where every subject is also student,
and every student is also suspect,
and every suspect is also story.
We do not enter this space as experts.
We enter as echoes.
As contradictions.
As half-formed questions
looking not for medals,
but for mirrors.
Here, the oppressed are not romanticized,
and the oppressors are not erased.
Here, we sit in the discomfort
of knowing we are both—
sometimes in the same breath.
In the Pedagogy of All,
we don’t pass exams.
We pass judgment.
On ourselves.
On our systems.
On the stories we’ve inherited
and the silence we’ve curated.
We do not teach from podiums.
We teach from wounds.
From the trembling hand that holds a passport.
From the cracked voice that still says, “peace be upon you.”
Our classroom is a border.
A protest.
A detention centre.
A refugee camp.
A sidewalk memorial.
A kitchen table.
Our texts are not neutral.
They are redacted.
Rewritten.
Resisted.
They bleed.
And if you listen closely,
you’ll hear Paulo Freire whisper:
“If the structure does not permit dialogue…”
“…the structure must be changed.”
So come.
With your broken grammar.
With your fractured maps.
With your complicity.
With your confession.
There is no moral exemption here.
No opt-out clause from history.
No syllabus that does not implicate.
This is the Pedagogy of All—
Where learning is unlearning.
Where knowledge is relational.
Where ethics is not abstract—
but embodied.
We will not get a certificate.
We will not get closure.
But if we get it right,
We may walk away with a conscience
we can all live with.
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 12:48 PM UTC
Everything was dark
in our house
but our home was safe and sound
and we were laughing
like Gods had nothing on us
and life was fulfilling for us
and the night would go on
for hours on end
without us felling tired
and our wishes had been granted
Oct 6, 2021
Oct 6, 2021 at 5:34 AM UTC
If you're complicit
It's not illicit
To keep your mouth closed.
But, know you this,
When women are dissed
With words like ***** and **
You're surely committing
Sins of omission,
From your head
Down to your toes.
You left no doubt,
When you didn't speak out,
You're spineless
And missing marrow.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 1:30 PM UTC
Rushing into love
What is this urge to get comfortable?
Crashing seems so inevitable
We prevent the dove
From ever taking off
Feelings come to fear rising up
As soon as they show up, they are caged inside
It’s never enough, it always needs to be otherwise
Our thoughts often go against our deepest desires
We’re in such a hurry to build something stable
We don’t even take the time to find something suitable
For the both of us
We’re in such a hurry to be completely dependent
We forget how to complete each others sentence
I’d just like to discuss…
With you like a child.
I don’t want to hold my breath trying to be
The love that’s missing in our lives
My heart says it wants to go slowly.
The dove only meets with the skies
When the wind blows smoothly
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 6:49 AM UTC
Acaso
criou o caso
que nós criamos
Sintonia, simpatia
A mão leve e o riso frouxo
Fantasia
Dos que vem
Dos que vão
Dos que vivem
Vivemos,
Vivemos bem
Apesar de outros alguéns
E do imaginário que nos retém
A cumplicidade sutil
Dos olhos que sabem
Que não se verão mais
Que sabem dos momentos de paz
E da vida quando está à mil
O carinho na base
Dos sentimentos puros
Na positividade
Do desconhecido, do não vivido
E ainda assim natural
Na pureza, na conexão
Daquilo que não cria o mal
E que aprendeu a entender
Como se comporta um igual.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
A shock of venom
oh, succulent hate
like honey to the most avid tongue.
We could turn away
carve a shallow life from the thin bone of oblivion
construct intricate vortices in which to endlessly swirl.
We could withdraw
terminal distrust gradually withering our lives
it would not still the voices screaming.
I seek the source of my own complicity
backtrack to the point at which I swung
from disillusioned to disengaged
my apathy mistaken for acceptance.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC