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Can you keep a secret? |
I’ve often found myself sitting quietly in a corner of an
office, a town meeting, or even a family gathering, listening—not just to the
words being spoken, but to the tone, the raised eyebrows, and the subtle shift in a
person’s voice when the conversation changes direction.
It almost always begins innocently: “Did you hear what
happened to…?” Or worse, “Don’t say I told you this, but…” And just like that,
we’re no longer in a conversation—we’re in a performance. One person holding
the attention of the group with a morsel of someone else’s life, delivered like
currency. Welcome to the world of gossip.
Merriam-Webster defines a gossip as someone who habitually
reveals personal or sensational facts about others. But if you ask me—someone
who has seen it unfold across classrooms, council chambers, and community
centers—gossip is not just a definition. It is a quiet war on dignity.
I remember a colleague once who seemed to know everything
about everyone. At first, she was magnetic. People would lean in when she
spoke, half-shocked and half-entertained. But over time, something shifted. You
could see the discomfort on people’s faces when she entered the room. No one
wanted to be her next topic.
Why did she do it? Looking back, I don’t think it was
cruelty. I think it was a longing for relevance—a desperate attempt to feel
powerful in a space where she otherwise felt invisible. Gossip, for many,
becomes a tool for gaining attention and influence they haven’t earned through
work or character. It’s easier to be “the one who knows” than to be the one who
leads.
But what is the cost of that false power? It’s steep.
I’ve seen talented people withdraw from leadership roles
because of whispered slander. I’ve seen good teams fall apart over
misunderstandings rooted in half-truths and rumor. And worst of all, I’ve seen
organizations that could have thrived sink into mistrust and silence because no
one dared challenge the gossip head-on.
Because gossip, by its nature, is slippery. It’s vague,
veiled in suggestion rather than proof. It dances on the edges of truth, making
it hard to confront directly. And yet, confront it we must.
There’s a quiet strength in refusing to engage. I discovered this through personal experience. Years ago, I made the mistake of laughing along with a
“harmless” remark about a colleague. That laugh felt small in the moment—but
it gave the gossip water to grow. Days later, the same story had mutated, with my
name attached as one of the “sources.” It was a painful lesson: silence can be
complicity.
So now, I’ve learned to say, firmly but kindly, “I’d rather
not talk about someone who’s not here to defend themselves.” It often surprises people. Occasionally, it even inspires them to pause. And more often than not,
it breaks the chain.
There’s also something powerful about asking for clarity.
When someone offers a vague comment—“You know what they say about her…” or “I
heard something, but it’s not confirmed”—I respond with, “Can you be specific?
Are you sure that’s accurate?” You’d be amazed at how quickly a gossip retreats
when faced with the expectation of accountability.
But what if you become the target?
It’s happened to me. I heard from a friend that someone had
been spreading false assumptions about my decisions as a community leader. I
didn’t confront with anger. I asked for a conversation. I calmly stated what
I’d heard and made it clear that if there were questions about my leadership or
personal life, I preferred they ask me directly.
It wasn’t easy. I had to swallow my pride and resist the
urge to strike back. But it brought clarity—and strangely, a kind of peace. The
person apologized. Not everyone will, but some do.
And for those who gossip because they genuinely don’t know
any other way to feel seen, I’ve found that giving them recognition—real,
earned recognition—can begin to change them. A compliment on a job well done. A
thank-you for a helpful act. Slowly, you redirect their craving for validation
into something more meaningful.
The truth is that gossip thrives in environments where individuals feel powerless, insecure, or unheard. If we want to stop it, we
don’t just silence it—we create a new culture.
A workplace, like a garden, grows what it’s nurtured with.
Light encourages flowers; shadows, weeds. If we want respect, honesty, and
collaboration to grow, we must be willing to be the light. One person’s courage
to push back against gossip gives others permission to do the same. Over time,
that becomes a norm. That becomes culture.
And so I ask you to look around your circle—your office,
your neighborhood, even your family—and notice who the gossip is. But don’t
just judge them. Ask what kind of soil is allowing them to grow. Then ask yourself, what are you planting?
Change begins with a single voice that says, “No more.”
Let that voice be yours.
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Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope is a scholar of public ethics,
leadership, and human behavior. Through his reflections and writings, he
encourages dialogue, integrity, and the courage to do what is right even when
it’s inconvenient.