The author, Alpha Amadu Jalloh
Rumours are among the oldest poisons known to humanity. They do not need evidence, they do not seek justice, and they are rarely interested in truth. Instead, they thrive in shadows, carried by whispers, and fed by envy, malice, or idle curiosity. No one is immune to them. Even the strongest reputations can be stained in an instant, not by facts, but by the careless words of others. The most painful part, however, is not always that strangers participate in these whispers. It is when the very people who should be sources of protection and love, who should hold one’s dignity as sacred, choose instead to join in the tearing down.
A rumour does not require proof to thrive. It only needs repetition. The more it is spoken, the more it gathers the illusion of truth. In every society, people claim to value honesty, yet their ears lean eagerly toward scandal. Their tongues find pleasure in repeating what may destroy another. For some, a rumour is entertainment. For others, it is a weapon. And for the person at the center of it, it is a trial without defense, a punishment without a crime.
The cruelty of rumours lies not only in their falsehood but also in the silence they impose. To respond is to dignify them, to argue is to suggest there might be some substance in them. Yet to stay silent is to allow the narrative to spread unchecked. This is the trap every victim faces: damned if they speak, damned if they do not. That is why many eventually adopt the position of quiet dignity, refusing to argue with rumours. Because arguing grants them life, while silence at least withholds oxygen from the flames.
But silence does not mean indifference. Behind the quiet exterior lies deep pain. Rumours wound not just reputations but also relationships. Friends begin to hesitate. Colleagues withdraw. Family members, those who should know better, sometimes turn away or, worse still, add fuel to the fire. Nothing cuts deeper than betrayal disguised as concern, when those closest to you pretend to be bystanders but secretly pass along the very lies that corrode your name.
In many cases, the intent of rumours is not confusion but removal. They are tools of exclusion. Someone decides that another person does not belong, whether in a family, a community, or a workplace, and the surest way to achieve that is to soil their image. The target becomes untrustworthy, difficult, dangerous, or immoral, not because of truth, but because a few voices were loud enough to convince the many. Once this perception is set, it is extremely difficult to undo. The accused becomes the outcast, not for what they did, but for what others said they did.
One of the most bitter realities of rumours is that they are often spread not by enemies but by those once considered allies. These are people who smile at you in public, share meals with you, and laugh in your company, only to turn around and chip away at your reputation when you are not present. It is cowardice dressed in familiarity. It is betrayal with a handshake. And yet it happens daily, sometimes within the walls of the same household.
The paradox of rumours is that they say more about the speaker than the subject. A rumour reveals envy, insecurity, or malice in the one spreading it. It uncovers the human weakness of needing to pull others down to feel taller. Those who spread rumours rarely pause to consider that today’s whisper about someone else may become tomorrow’s whisper about them. The crowd that cheers their words will eventually turn its hunger for scandal in their direction. Still, people engage in this destructive cycle, feeding on the downfall of others like vultures circling a battlefield.
The emotional cost on the victim is immense. To be the target of falsehoods is to carry an invisible wound. It festers in the mind at night, robbing one of sleep. It makes daily interactions heavy, as every smile may conceal judgment, every handshake may hide doubt. Some victims withdraw completely, retreating from social spaces, not because they are guilty, but because they are exhausted from fighting shadows. Others harden their hearts, learning to live with suspicion and to trust no one. In either case, the rumour succeeds in stealing peace of mind, which is often the unspoken goal.
And yet, despite all this, there is power in choosing not to argue with rumours. Refusal to argue is not weakness; it is an act of resistance. It denies the gossips the satisfaction of engagement. It asserts that one’s dignity is not up for debate. A rumour can only live if the victim constantly tries to explain, justify, and defend. By staying above the fray, by refusing to crawl into the mud where lies are born, one declares that truth will endure even if it takes time to surface. Silence, in this way, becomes a shield.
Still, society must reckon with its complicity. Why do communities allow rumours to thrive? Why do people who know better remain silent while lies grow louder? It is often because standing for truth is unpopular, and joining the chorus of whispers is easier than confronting it. There is also the temptation of self-righteousness; people feel cleaner when someone else is painted dirty. This moral laziness allows rumours to spread unchecked. Yet the long-term damage to communities is profound. Trust erodes, relationships fracture, and the culture of suspicion becomes normalised. In the end, everyone loses.
There is a lesson here about human weakness. Those who delight in rumours often believe they are powerful, but in truth, they are fragile. They need the destruction of others to validate their own existence. It is a pitiful form of survival, and yet it has destroyed families, friendships, careers, and lives. The stronger person is not the one who spreads rumours but the one who withstands them without being reduced to the same pettiness.
To say I don’t argue with rumours is not to say I don’t feel their sting. It is to declare that one refuses to be dragged into the pit. It is to place faith in the resilience of truth and the eventual unmasking of lies. It is to hold onto dignity even when surrounded by those who wish to see it broken. It is also to remind oneself that reputations may be tarnished for a while, but character, true character, cannot be destroyed by whispers.
Rumours are cruel, but they are also fleeting. They burn brightly for a time, then fade, replaced by newer scandals, fresher lies. What remains is not the rumour itself but the character of the one who endured it. Some of history’s most celebrated figures were once victims of malicious gossip, yet their legacies were not written by the whispers of their detractors but by their deeds. The same is true today: when the smoke clears, it is the substance of a person’s life that stands, not the baseless noise of others.
The tragedy of rumours is that they prey upon the human tendency toward weakness, our readiness to listen without question, to judge without evidence, and to condemn without proof. But the triumph over rumours is found in refusing to be reduced to their level. To walk with dignity, to refuse to argue with lies, and to live in a way that truth becomes self evident, this is the greatest act of defiance.
The world will never be free of rumours, but individuals can choose how to respond. They can choose whether to be spreaders of poison or protectors of truth. They can decide whether to revel in another’s downfall or to rise above the temptation of gossip. For those who find themselves the target, the greatest strength is not in endless explanations, but in living a life that proves the rumours false. That is why the statement I don’t argue with rumours is not an admission of defeat, it is a declaration of power.
Rumours may distort perception for a time, but they cannot alter reality. They may silence voices, but they cannot erase truth. They may hurt reputations, but they cannot break spirits that refuse to bow. And while those who spread them may feel victorious in the moment, they are building houses on sand. In time, the waves of truth will wash everything away, leaving only the enduring strength of those who never lowered themselves to argue with lies.
