Eastern vs. Western Rhetoric: The Value of Silence vs. Voice

Growing up in Nepal, I was taught that silence was a virtue. Questioning authority—whether parents, teachers, or bosses—was seen as disrespectful, rebellious, or even dangerous. Knowledge was often treated as absolute, handed down by elders, religious texts, or societal norms. To challenge it was to invite suspicion.

This cultural conditioning creates a society where conformity is rewarded and dissent is suppressed. The danger? A single, unchallenged “truth” dominates, leaving no room for dialogue or growth. As James Berlin’s socio-epistemic rhetoric suggests, knowledge is not absolute but socially constructed through exchange and debate. Yet, in many Eastern traditions, questioning is discouraged, and those who speak up—like me myself and Punya Sagar Marahatta and a few others—are labeled as troublemakers.

In Western rhetoric, however, silence is often viewed with suspicion. Leaders are expected to articulate their positions—when they don’t, they are criticized for hiding their true intentions. When Mark Carney, the future potential Canadian Prime Minister, briefly left the election campaign trail for the third time recently to return to Ottawa and discuss Donald Trump’s proposed tariffs with other world leaders, the move was interpreted with deep significance. Yves-François Blanchet, leader of the Bloc Québécois, seized on Carney’s absence, accusing him of hiding from public scrutiny. Blanchet’s implication was clear: Carney preferred conducting high-stakes negotiations behind closed doors rather than engaging openly with voters.

But this distrust of silence extends beyond politics: in workplaces, employees who don’t speak up in meetings are seen as disengaged; in classrooms, quiet students risk being overlooked; and in social circles, prolonged silence is often misinterpreted as disapproval or disconnection. The Western ideal of participatory democracy and open discourse leaves little room for comfortable silence—it demands vocal engagement as proof of presence and commitment.

But is silence always negative? Cheryl Glenn’s Silence: A Rhetorical Art argues that silence can be more powerful than speech. The Romantic poet John Keats wrote, “Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.” There is profound meaning in silence—but also danger.

The Double-Standard of Silent Disapproval

When I write about Nepali community issues—whether real estate exploitation, political hypocrisy, or unethical business practices—many agree privately but fear public association. After I wrote about Bijay Paudel’s Conservative Party alignment, some applauded me in private messages but hesitated to talk about it publicly. They feared backlash, revealing a deep cultural reluctance to openly dissent.

This silence is deceptive. Those who remain quiet while privately disapproving are more dangerous than outspoken critics. At least with critics, you know where they stand. But silent dissenters maintain a façade of loyalty while nurturing resentment. For example, let’s take an example of Nepali community members’ support for Bijay Paudel this Canadian Federal Election. Bijay likely interprets the photo-ops and crowded campaign office as genuine support, unaware how many attend just for free food, social clout, or fear of being seen as “disloyal” to the community’s perceived unity. The tragedy isn’t just the hypocrisy, but how this culture of performative allegiance silences meaningful debate about whether supporting any Nepali candidate—regardless of their politics or integrity—truly serves our collective interests.

The Cost of Being Truth-Tellers

Looks like Punya Sagar and I are often labeled as “disruptive” or “controversial” because we refuse to stay silent. Whether exposing fake refugee schemes, diploma mill exploitations, community and political hypocrisy, exploitation of community sentiments for business, and wrong real estate practices, we bring these issues into the open—not to divide, but to spark necessary conversations. At minimum, we strive to make our community aware of practices that ultimately harm us all. Yet when we ask these difficult questions, why are we so often treated as adversaries rather than allies in progress?

The answer lies in a painful truth: unhealthy communities mistake harmony for health. They prioritize the illusion of unity over accountability. But a society that grows stronger does so through open dialogue, not enforced silence. The real obstacle to progress isn’t those who speak up—it’s those who privately acknowledge problems yet publicly remain quiet, allowing harmful norms to persist through their inaction.

Why Our Community Needs More Than Silent Support

In our community’s ongoing journey toward meaningful change, writing stands as one of our most transformative tools – capable not only of critiquing but also of healing and reshaping perspectives. This realization became especially clear to me when Chitra Pradhan responded to a comment on Punya Sagar’s post about Prashanta Dhakal that had dismissed the value of writing. While some contended that financial support for Nepali candidates was more immediately important, Chitra eloquently articulated writing’s unique power: its capacity to preserve truths, alter viewpoints, effect change that outlasts election cycles, and offer alternative perspectives (a favorite concept of Chitra) on social and communal matters.

These alternative perspectives serve as crucial instruments for dismantling the idea of a singular truth in our era of multiple, coexisting truths. They help individuals understand that their personal truths may not align with others’ realities. Truth’s multiplicity encompasses whose truth we’re considering, when it applies, where it’s valid, and how it comes to be accepted as truth.

This cultural shift, though gradual, is unmistakable. Increasing numbers of community members are now engaging in this collective knowledge-building. Punya Sagar’s Facebook posts, for instance, regularly spark active discussions among Nepalis both in Canada and worldwide. Punya himself and Chitra Pradhan stand out as particularly engaged contributors to these dialogues. Observing this evolution fills me with hope. Through my own extensive writing about our community’s social, cultural and political challenges, I’ve witnessed writing’s unique capacity to ignite conversations that years of silent conformity failed to produce. Writing does more than reveal problems – it sows the seeds for their resolution.

Conclusion: Breaking the Culture of Silence

Silence can be powerful—but when misused, it becomes a tool of oppression. My cross-cultural experience has taught me that those who speak, despite backlash, are not the true threats. The real threats are the ones who nod in agreement publicly but whisper criticisms in the dark.

It’s time to move beyond fear. Whether in Eastern or Western contexts, progress demands voices that challenge, question, and refuse to conform. Because in the end, unspoken truths are far more dangerous than the ones we dare to say aloud.

Please know that Silence isn’t peace—it’s postponed conflict. From kitchen tables to boardrooms, the unspoken tensions we ignore today become the ruptures we can’t mend tomorrow. The choice isn’t between harmony and chaos, but between honest dialogue and collective dysfunction.