The Chorus Has Left the Theater

Silence, Cowardice, and the Collapse of Moral Witness

Light Against Empire - The Podcast Episodes

Dino’s Homily and Poetry Store

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I. We Who Spoke in Unison

We weren’t the heroes. We weren’t the kings. We weren’t even in the program.

We were the ones who stood between the lie and the silence.
Not rulers. Not rebels.
Just the last ones who could speak while it still mattered.

We barked warnings like dogs chained to the back of the theater.
We named the sins before the stage lights dimmed.
We knew how the story ended, and we begged them not to run it again.

But time passed, and the audience changed.
They didn’t want lamentation. They wanted content.
So we adapted.
We shortened our lines.
We softened our tone.
We ran surveys on audience engagement.

And somewhere in that pivot,
we stopped being the Chorus.

II. The Stage Floods with Blood

The tyrants entered stage left, dragging laws behind them like chains.
The bankers clinked their glasses.
The generals polished their medals.
The mobs wore red hats and smiled for the cameras.

We waited for our cue.

We were told: not yet.
Let the process play out.
Don’t provoke the audience.
Don’t alienate the sponsors.

So we watched.
And we posted.

When the strongman spat on the Constitution, we called it a bold leadership style.
When the traitors stormed the temple, we interviewed their stylists.
“Fascism, but make it fashion,” we joked.
Then we hit publish.

We interviewed the knife and the wound.
“Balance,” we said. “Everyone deserves a voice.”
We hosted town halls with firebrands and called it listening.

We weren’t muted.
We were just… monetized.

III. Rewritten in Passive Voice

The children were taken.
The books were banned.
The ballots were burned.
The truths were drowned.
The witnesses disappeared.

But no one did it.
No one stood trial.
No one resigned.

“Concerns were raised.”
“Decisions were controversial.”
“Chaos unfolded.”
“Events transpired.”
Everything happened, but nobody was guilty.

We once spoke in thundering chorus.
Now we write push alerts.

We called the purge a pivot.
The mob a movement.
The crackdown a complicated moment.

We used to shout fire in a crowded theater.
Now we run a podcast about flame aesthetics.

III.b. The Chorus Gets a Media Deal

The offers came quickly.

One of us landed a multi-platform distribution deal.
Another became the moderate voice of reason on a war crimes panel.

We don’t do stichomythia anymore.
We do webinars.
Sponsored grief summits.
Thought leadership keynotes.

We sold our togas on Substack.
We leased our outrage to hedge funds.

We launched wellness brands.
We sold candles named after the cities we didn’t save.

We pivoted to neutrality.
We pivoted to branded content.
We pivoted to safety.

We told ourselves we weren’t complicit.
We were just… adjacent.
And adjacency pays.

IV. Chorus, Disbanded

They told us to stay in our lane.
So we did.
And then the lane was paved over with bones.

We still stood in the theater.
But we stopped watching the play.
We became ushers.
We guided people to their seats
so they could enjoy the tragedy uninterrupted.

We whispered:
“It’s not our role to intervene.”
“We’re here for analysis, not alarm.”
“Sure, the gallows is onstage, but let’s not be hysterical.”

We don’t chant anymore.
We moderate.
We facilitate.
We align with brand values.

We are not prophets.
We are platforms.

We are not witnesses.
We are widgets.

V. What the Gods See Now

The gods watch from the upper balcony.
They used to hurl lightning.
Now they scroll.
They’ve got better content elsewhere.

They see the banners flying over burnt cities.
They see the cowards posing as conciliators.
They see the thinkers curating their silence.

And they laugh.
Not because it's funny.
Because it’s finished.

Once, we held up a mirror to the audience.
Now we run focus groups on which lies test best.

The gods no longer punish hubris.
They retweet it.

Then they log off.

VI. Postlude (Fragmented)

…who will name the crime if all the scribes are scared?
…who will speak the truth if it must be pre-approved?
…who will mourn the fallen when mourning isn’t trending?
…who will tell the story when the narrative rights are licensed?

We used to bear witness.
Now we beta test messaging.

We used to echo grief.
Now we A/B test empathy.

We used to scream.
Now we stream.

The tyrant improvises.
The people clap.
The actors bow.
The lights fade.

And the Chorus?

Gone.

Not with a roar.
Not with a hymn.
Just a push notification:

“The Chorus has left the theater.
Their final words were sponsored by Chevron.”

Final Note

This was never just a play.
It was a trial.
And we—
We were the witnesses.
The last defense against forgetting.
The first to go when remembering became bad business.

So when they ask what happened—
Why the tyrant won,
Why the people bowed,
Why no one warned them—

Tell them the Chorus had a conflict of interest.

Tell them we stayed on mute.

Tell them we were afraid of losing followers.

Tell them we left the theater
while the truth was bleeding out.

Further Reading: