“Yoga Means Unity”—But at Whose Cost?
“Your silence will not protect you.” — Audre Lorde
Someone in a yoga forum recently wrote that politics has no place in a yoga class. That yoga means unity. That we should be trying to bring people together, no matter our differences.
I instinctively responded:
“I honestly don’t believe ‘shoulds’ have any place in yoga. Isn’t it funny how quickly ‘yoga means unity’ turns into ‘don’t bring that in here’?”
We hear this a lot—the kumbaya version of yoga. The spiritual bypassing that gives everything a pass in the name of peace. But that’s the rub: peace at what cost?
And who gets to decide what counts as “bringing people together” and what counts as disruption?
Because I’ve done it too. I’ve been the peacemaker. The one who senses what the room needs and shape-shifts to match it.
I’ve kept myself small to keep things harmonious. I’ve softened my truth to avoid being too much—or too political.
But more and more, I’m realizing: unity isn’t the same as silence.
And yoga isn’t a place to pretend everything is fine.
It’s a practice of presence. Of truth. Of choosing awareness over comfort.
We often confuse that quiet, peaceful feeling we get from asana with the goal of yoga itself.
But yoga isn’t just about calm—it’s about clarity. About waking up.
The unity yoga speaks of isn’t about sameness.
It’s about connection—a remembering that we are interwoven. That what affects one of us, affects all of us.
It calls for kindness, yes—but not at the cost of honesty.
It asks us to hold one another, not tiptoe around the truth.
Real unity doesn’t come from avoiding conflict.
It comes from staying in relationship through it.
From remembering one another’s humanity, even when we disagree.
From choosing not to turn away.
“Better to follow your own dharma imperfectly than someone else’s perfectly.”
—Bhagavad Gita 3.35
Even ancient wisdom knew: there is no liberation in pretending. We’re not here to perform someone else’s peace. We’re here to live our truth and trust that love can hold us through the friction.
In yogic philosophy, satya (truthfulness) asks us to speak honestly—but with care.
Ahimsa (non-harming) doesn’t mean staying silent. It means using our voices to reduce harm—for ourselves and for others.
Positive psychology tells us the same: real well-being doesn’t come from avoiding discomfort. It comes from living in alignment with our values. From acting in ways that reflect who we are—and who we’re becoming.
Because we are evolving. We’re shaped by what we read, who we meet, what we witness.
That’s why we need each other—to challenge, to stretch, to reflect what we might not yet see.
Especially when harm is being done.
No one is safe until we’re all safe.
Just a few days ago, millions gathered across the country and around the world for the April 5 Hands Off protests—many of them older Americans who don’t usually take to the streets, but felt called to show up.
There’s been a lot of talk about how peaceful those gatherings were. And it matters.
We need to feel the strength of shared presence. We need reminders that we’re not alone.
But what happens when protest is no longer tolerated?
What happens when those in power try to criminalize dissent?
What happens when “peace” becomes a tool to silence?
The Civil Rights Movement was nonviolent—but it was not quiet.
It was met with dogs, fire hoses, arrests. It was condemned by those who preferred order over justice.
And yet, it was necessary. And it changed everything.
So what does yoga ask of us in these moments?
“Your silence will not protect you.” — Audre Lorde
Not to bypass. Not to sit down and be quiet.
But to stay awake. To listen. To act with care.
To know that unity isn’t the absence of conflict—it’s the willingness to stay connected even when things are hard.
Yoga calls us to meet life as it is.
To meet truth as it is.
To meet each other as we are—and not look away when harm is being done.
Because this isn’t just about being good yogis.
It’s about being whole.
And choosing, again and again, to stand on the side of liberation—for all of us.
That’s me and my daughter at the Women’s March in 2017.
The sign we’re holding still feels like my spiritual practice:
Truth. Love. Interconnection. Action.
Not just on the mat, but in the street.
Reflection Prompt:
Have you ever felt pressure to stay quiet in the name of peace?
What “shoulds” are you ready to release?
And what truths are ready to be spoken?
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