Not Hyperbole: Learning from the Man Who Waited Too Long

You probably know the famous poem by Martin Niemöller. It’s been quoted so often in speeches, essays, bumper stickers, and memes that it risks blending into the background of our public discourse.

“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.”

Haunting words. But I’ve come to realize that if we stop at the poem, we miss the deeper, more uncomfortable truth: Niemöller wasn’t a clear-eyed resistor from the start.

He supported the Nazis.

Yes, that’s right. The man whose name is now synonymous with moral courage once stood on the wrong side. He was a nationalist. A German patriot. An anti-Semite. When Hitler rose to power, Niemöller saw him not as a threat, but as someone who could restore national pride. He even attended a meeting with Hitler in 1934 as part of a group of Protestant leaders, still trying to figure out where the church fit into the new regime.

I guess you could say he wanted to make Germany great again.

It wasn’t until the state tried to co-opt and control the Church that Niemöller began to push back. Compassion for others didn’t spark his resistance at first. It was self-preservation. But as the regime tightened its grip, as the repression deepened, as he watched friends and colleagues disappear, Niemöller’s eyes began to open.

Eventually, he was arrested and spent seven years in Sachsenhausen and Dachau concentration camps.

When the war ended, Niemöller emerged from prison a changed man. He spent the rest of his life advocating for peace and human rights, opposing nuclear weapons, and traveling the world to speak out against the very nationalism and authoritarianism he once embraced. It wasn’t about politics for him anymore—it was about humanity.

And that’s the part I want us to remember.

Because today, when people raise concerns about rising authoritarianism, about efforts to dehumanize or scapegoat certain groups, the standard response is often: “Don’t be so dramatic. That’s just politics. You’re overreacting.”

But in the 1930s, intelligent, ordinary people said the same thing. They told each other it wasn’t that bad. That it would pass. That the people warning of danger were being hysterical. And so they said nothing. Did nothing.

Until it was too late.

This isn’t about right or left, Republican or Democrat. This goes much deeper than political affiliation. It’s about recognizing that evil doesn’t always announce itself with a swastika or a jackboot. Sometimes it wears a suit and speaks calmly. Sometimes it wraps itself in familiar language—“family values,” “law and order,” “tradition.” And sometimes it counts on good people staying quiet.

The danger isn’t just from the people who shout hate. It’s from the rest of us, if we grow numb to it. If we assume it will all work out without our involvement. If we wait until “they come for me.”

Niemöller’s story reminds us that it’s possible to wake up. To change. To take responsibility. But the cost of waiting can be immense.

And so I ask myself—and you, if you’re reading—where are the places we’re being asked to speak up? What would it look like to resist not out of politics, but out of love? Even out of patriotism, love for the long-held values of this nation?

That’s the phrase the keeps me shaking my head. “Without due process.” I am watching the keystone of American liberty crumbling away.

Those who support the authoritarian regime controlling Washington accuse Democratic lawmakers of trying to facilitate criminals into our country. But that’s exactly the point. They have not been adjudged as criminals. They have faced no court.

For clarity, I am not a Democrat and have no particular regard for them. In fact, some of my own anger in the current situation comes from the obvious destruction of the Grand Old Party, hijacked by RINOs who brazenly label those who disagree with them while upholding the traditional values of the party as “Republicans in name only,” the same audacity behind a new convert to Catholicism lecturing the Pope.

Though relatively few, a growing number of genuine Republicans are joining in the call for stopping the wholesale export of human beings to concentration camps. None on either side of that reprehensible aisle advocate for a highway for criminals. Along with them, I say, “If they are proven to be gang members, then deport them. But PROVE IT. That is not a dare or a doubt. You have evidence of this that goes beyond them having a Hispanic last name? Show your evidence! And if you can, I will be the first to support deporting these people.” Even then, I cannot bring myself to advocate for sending the most hardened criminal to a concentration camp.

But, damn it all, don’t destroy the very basis of American justice. Due process! How simple is that?

I wish I could stay silent in the face of this. I truly do. I would rather just write my stories, nerd out with people about effective communication, enjoy a little down time in what is supposed to be my retirement. But if I don’t speak up, I contribute to the collapse of a system that has even made it possible for so many to retire.

It is not hyperbole to say we are being tested.

Let’s not wait until there’s no one left to speak.

P.S. Notice that the authoritarian regime did not make Germany great again. It devastated it, and took decades to recover. This isn’t politics, folks. Get this wrong, it won’t just go away in four years.

P.P.S. People who have been conned have trouble acknowledging it. Consider Nobody's Fool: Why We Get Taken In and What We Can Do about It by Daniel Simons and Christopher Chabris. It takes courage to admit being wrong.

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