The shadow of Unity is lurky

 

The Quiet Weight of Difference (Part 1)

In every office, school, or professional corridor, there exists an invisible undercurrent—a soft hum of sameness that rewards those who blend in and quietly presses against those who don’t. The room may be filled with polite smiles and careful manners, yet difference, even the gentlest kind, often carries weight. It is a weight that sits not on the shoulders but on the heart, a quiet reminder that belonging is sometimes conditional.

For many, prejudice does not arrive as an open insult; it slips through laughter, through small acts of exclusion, through the invisible walls built around shared plates and whispered judgments. In a world that claims to celebrate diversity, there are still spaces where food becomes faith, and faith becomes a reason to question a person’s worth.

There are professionals who live by certain principles—perhaps a reverence for life that leads them to be vegetarian, or a belief system rooted in quiet reflection rather than loud ritual. In their personal lives, these choices are sacred. In their workplaces, they can become spectacles. A lunch table can turn into a stage; curiosity can tilt toward mockery. “You don’t eat even eggs?” someone might ask with disbelief, as though discipline were a defect. Others might chuckle, calling it old-fashioned, as if conscience could be outdated.

Such moments rarely make it into policy documents or performance reviews, yet they carve out a reality of subtle alienation. The vegetarian employee who stands near the buffet line during an office celebration finds that her plate stays half-empty—not because the food ran out, but because her choices were never considered. The discussion around her, filled with camaraderie and laughter, becomes a reminder that her values are invisible. It isn’t hunger that stings; it’s the quiet reminder of not being seen.

There is a deeper irony in such professional spaces. Many are built upon words like “inclusion,” “respect,” and “tolerance.” Posters on the walls declare diversity as strength, yet real empathy often evaporates when the differences are moral or spiritual rather than visible. It is easy to respect a colleague’s accent, but harder to respect the silence of someone who prays differently or refrains from certain foods. In such places, modernity can take on the shape of uniformity disguised as progress.

The prejudice is not always intentional; often it is born from ignorance—the kind that believes its own worldview is neutral and universal. Those who stand outside it are seen as “too religious,” “too rigid,” or “too sensitive.” A person’s calm adherence to their values becomes a mirror that unsettles others, forcing them to confront their own inconsistencies. And so, they laugh it off, defend it as “just a joke,” or dismiss it as overthinking. Yet behind every laugh lies the desire to make the different conform.

In professional settings that borrow the moral vocabulary of spirituality—compassion, humility, service—this contradiction becomes even sharper. When moral ideals are preached but not practiced, hypocrisy becomes the unofficial code of conduct. People speak of kindness while gossiping about the “strangeness” of someone’s rituals. They celebrate festivals with ceremonial gestures borrowed from multiple faiths, blending symbols without understanding them. Cultural borrowing can be beautiful when done with respect, but here it often feels hollow—an aesthetic, not an appreciation.

The saddest part is not the prejudice itself, but the indifference toward it. The one who faces it learns to smile through discomfort, to brush aside the small humiliations. Over time, the act of pretending becomes a habit, the heart learning to protect itself through silence. This silence, however, carries its own cost. It teaches society that exclusion can coexist with politeness, that discrimination can hide behind smiles.

Prejudice in professional spaces, no matter how polished, erodes the integrity of the institution. When individuals are forced to conceal or dilute their beliefs to survive, authenticity withers. The culture becomes clumsy and shallow, built more on performance than principle. True strength does not come from sameness but from coexistence—the ability to stand beside another without needing them to be identical.

It takes courage to remain gentle in such spaces, to stay rooted without growing resentful. Yet that quiet endurance is also a form of resistance—a reminder that dignity need not shout to be powerful. The one who lives differently carries within them a deeper understanding of freedom: that the right to be different is sacred, and protecting it is the true test of civilization.