History is not just a record but a warning and to dismiss it is to court disaster. Violence may seemingly break out in an instant, but it has been tilled; it’s planted, watered and grown in the soil of words.

Before machetes were swung in Rwanda, radio hosts were calling Tutsis “cockroaches.” Before Hitler’s armies marched, Jews were smeared as “vermin” and “parasites.” In the Balkans, which has since become my second home, neighbors were primed to see each other not as fellow citizens but as existential threats. In each case, in every case, words were the seeds that softened the ground for violence, planting cruelty until it felt ordinary and preparing ordinary people to accept extraordinary brutality. Words that manipulated, stripped away empathy and replaced it with fear.

In recent years, our own politics have escelated from disagreement into outright demonization. When leaders call the press “the enemy of the people,” when immigrants are painted as “invaders,” when lawmakers tweet that an entire population “deserves death” — these are not slips of the tongue. They are sparks. And sparks, in the wrong conditions, burn.

We’ve seen what happens when rhetoric spills from the podium into the streets. Charlottesville in 2017 wasn’t just a rally — it became a battlefield. The Pittsburgh synagogue shooter in 2018 echoed “invasion” conspiracies before opening fire. On January 6, 2021, thousands stormed the Capitol because they were told democracy had been stolen. And in Brazil in 2023, the same narrative fueled mobs that ransacked Congress and the Supreme Court.

Plenty of today’s figures continue to push the boundaries of rhetoric. Donald Trump turned “enemy of the people” into a household phrase. Florida lawmaker Randy Fine declared “Gaza must be destroyed,” describing civilians as “demons.” Commentator Ann Coulter posted, “We didn’t kill enough Indians.” Senator Kirsten Gillibrand falsely linked a colleague to “global jihad.” The contexts vary, but share a common thread: words not meant to persuade, but to reduce whole groups of people to something less than human.

The internet doesn’t just carry our words, it magnifies them. Social media rewards the harshest insult with likes and shares, turning cruelty into currency. Behind screens, people grow bolder, saying things they would never dare face-to-face. Anger races across timelines faster than empathy ever could, and the endless stream of vitriol wears us down. What once shocked us now feels routine. We’ve grown numb, sometimes even entertained by hate.

The law protects offensive speech, and rightly so. But legality is not the same as wisdom. Just because we can say something doesn’t mean we should. A society can allow free expression while still demanding responsibility from its leaders and citizens. Too often we forget that speech isn’t just noise — it’s fuel. And in the wrong hands, it sets fires that no constitution can easily put out.

For many Americans, it feels as though the ground is crumbling beneath them, the nation sliding toward catastrophe. Each election is portrayed as a final reckoning. Every rival becomes an enemy to be destroyed. Each headline tolls like an omen of the end. It is suffocating and it is perilous. Because when politics turn into a war of annihilation, it is only a matter of time before someone reaches for more than a microphone.

There is another path. Politicians can clash fiercely over ideas without shredding the humanity of their opponents. Media companies can stop profiting from rage bait and begin lifting up truth and context. Institutions can create guardrails that shield those most often targeted by hate. And the rest of us — ordinary people, you and me — can pause before we post, resist the cheap satisfaction of mocking our enemies, and demand arguments built on substance rather than slogans.

Democracy does not depend on consensus. It depends on recognizing each other’s humanity and history leaves no doubt — once that recognition fades, disaster is close behind. This is not a partisan issue, this is an American issue.

So here’s the real test of leadership today: Not who can deliver the sharpest insult, but who can stand up and say: “We can fight for our future without tearing each other apart.” Leading with kindness isn’t weakness, It’s survival. Because words are matches, and if we keep striking them against the walls of democracy, we shouldn’t be surprised when the house goes up in flames.

April Seidel Berisha lives in Longwood and grew up in Central Florida.

https://www.orlandosentinel.com/2025/09/14/commentary-the-high-cost-of-reckless-rhetoric/