When Silence No Longer Feels Ethical

It took me a long time to agree to write this.

Not because I don’t have thoughts, feelings, or opinions—but because I’ve always believed that some things deserve restraint, reflection, and humility. Politics has always been one of those things for me. I’ve never felt particularly qualified to speak loudly about it, and I’ve never wanted my business space to become a place of division or hostility.

But with everything happening in this country right now—ICE raids, immigration policies, harassment, family separations, and loss of life—I reached a point where silence no longer felt neutral.

It started to feel like avoidance.

And as a counselor, avoidance has never sat right with me.

This post is not about persuading anyone to think like I do. It’s not about “winning” an argument. It’s about naming where I stand, why I’m standing there, and why—ethically and personally—I felt compelled to speak.

Politics Has Never Been My Forte

I’ve never loved politics.

I don’t follow it closely. I don’t enjoy debating it online. I don’t feel energized by arguing talking points or engaging in comment-section warfare. And I’ve certainly never wanted to make political content part of my professional brand.

For most of my life, politics felt distant—loud, messy, and often disconnected from the everyday human experience I care most about.

But here’s the thing:

I’m not just a person scrolling the news anymore.

I’m a counselor.

And the American Counseling Association (ACA) Code of Ethics is very clear about advocacy:

When appropriate, counselors advocate at individual, group, institutional, and societal levels to address potential barriers and obstacles that inhibit access and/or the growth and development of clients.

Counselors are expected to advocate at the individual, group, institutional, and societal levels to promote changes that improve the quality of life and remove potential barriers to the provision or access of appropriate services.

(ACA Code of Ethics, Section C & A.7.a — Professional Responsibility & Advocacy)

https://www.counseling.org/docs/default-source/default-document-library/ethics/2014-aca-code-of-ethics.pdf

Where I Stand Politically (And Why It’s Complicated)

I’ve lived in the United States since 2005.

I’ve only been eligible to vote since 2020.

Even before I could vote, I had beliefs—values shaped by lived experience, immigration, culture, and community. For most of my life, those beliefs have aligned more closely with the Democratic Party.

I admired Barack Obama—not because he was perfect, but because of how he spoke, how he led, and how he represented this country. Leadership mattered to me. Humanity mattered to me.

When Donald Trump first ran for office, I was genuinely stunned.

I didn’t care that he wasn’t a politician. I didn’t care that he was a businessman. I cared about how he treated people, how he spoke about minorities, how he mocked others, and how he carried himself as a leader.

Leadership, to me, is not just policy—it’s character. And often times, the first thing I look in a politician.

Did he do some things right during his presidency? Probably.

Are there flaws on every side of politics? Absolutely.

But for me, I’ve always believed in choosing the lesser of two evils, and Donald Trump has consistently felt like the greater one—based on leadership, January 6th, ongoing legal issues, and the broader impact on marginalized communities.

That said, I’ve never rooted for the country to fail because of who was in office. I’ve never protested for the sake of protesting. I’ve never wished harm on leadership I disagreed with.

I wanted this country to succeed—because we all live here.

But what’s happening now crosses a line for me.

When Policy Becomes Personal

What we’re seeing today isn’t abstract politics.

It’s families being torn apart.

It’s people living in fear.

It’s communities grieving.

It’s Americans—yes, Americans—being harmed in the process.

And when harm becomes visible, widespread, and ongoing, I can’t pretend it’s “not my place” anymore.

As a counselor, I may not be an expert in immigration law or political systems—but I am trained in understanding trauma, grief, fear, loss, and human dignity.

That’s what I’m speaking from.

The Cost of Speaking Up

I won’t lie—writing this is uncomfortable.

Many of my friends and family believe differently than I do. And for the most part, we’ve always coexisted respectfully. We tease each other. We debate. We listen. We move on.

I’ve learned a lot from people I disagree with. I respect their right to their beliefs, even when I don’t share them.

But lately, something has shifted from some.

The tone has hardened.

The language has become crueler.

Disagreement has turned into name-calling and dehumanization.

And while those comments may not be directed at me personally, they land personally.

It’s hard to speak when you know it might cost you closeness.

It’s hard to speak when silence feels safer.

It’s hard to speak when you don’t want to lose people you care about.

But ethics sometimes ask us to tolerate discomfort.

You’re Allowed to Change Your Mind

One thing therapy teaches us is this:

Humans are complex.

Growth is nonlinear.

And changing your mind is not failure—it’s reflection.

I know some people who voted one way and now feel uneasy about what’s happening. Others won’t admit that out loud. Some will carry that quietly forever.

And that’s human.

Acceptance doesn’t require agreement.

Reflection doesn’t require public confession.

But respect should always be mutual.

I don’t believe one side is purely right and the other purely wrong. Harm exists everywhere. Dehumanization exists on both ends.

What I believe in is knowing your line—and respecting other people’s lines too.

This is mine.

Why I’m Writing This Anyway

I’ve seen countless posts online—some thoughtful, some reckless—shared by people with large platforms and very little understanding of what they’re speaking about; or sometimes shared by people with no platform or experience on these topics.

We live in a time where anyone can say anything, and it can go viral in seconds. That doesn’t make it informed. It doesn’t make it ethical. And it certainly doesn’t make it helpful.

But I’m not speaking as a political expert.

I’m speaking as a counselor who believes deeply in human rights, human dignity, and ethical responsibility.

And according to my profession’s code of ethics, advocacy is part of the work.

Closing

This is my stance.

I don’t agree with what’s happening.

I don’t agree with how people are being treated.

And I don’t agree with fear being used as policy.

My role is not to tell people what to think or who to vote for.

My role is to remain grounded, curious, and clinically neutral in the therapy room—to challenge thoughts, explore perspectives, and support growth regardless of political beliefs.

I'm well eqipped to work with people across both parties.

I listen. I ask questions. I help clients unpack their experiences, values, fears, and contradictions—without judgment and without agenda.

That is the work.

Holding my own values does not prevent me from holding space for others. In fact, it strengthens my ability to do so with integrity, boundaries, and care.

You don’t have to agree with me.

But I needed to say this—once, clearly, and honestly—because staying silent no longer felt ethical.

If you’re someone who feels grief, fear, confusion, or inner conflict around what’s happening right now—especially adolescents and young adults trying to make sense of a fractured world—you’re not alone.

Therapy can be a place where those complexities are explored safely.

Where differing beliefs are examined thoughtfully.

This is where I stand.

And this is how I practice.

Sincerely,

Vitor Caetano de Souza