The Humming of Dissent

Mayor Frank Hargrove wasn’t polished, but he was persistent. His speeches were riddled with grammatical errors, his suits hung awkwardly on his frame, and his handshake was more of a limp squeeze. Yet somehow, he had clawed his way to power in the small town of Millbridge, riding a wave of populist promises and fiery rhetoric.

But Frank had a problem—he couldn’t handle criticism. Every snide remark, every sarcastic comment, every whispered doubt about his leadership felt like a personal attack. And lately, it seemed like the entire town was humming with disapproval.

​The humming wasn’t literal, of course. It was the sound of dissent—the murmurs in coffee shops, the chuckles at town hall meetings, the passive-aggressive posts on social media. Frank heard it everywhere, and it gnawed at him. He began to imagine it as an actual hum, a low, vibrating noise that followed him like a shadow.

At first, he tried to ignore it. He told himself that the critics were just jealous, that they didn’t understand his vision for Millbridge. But the humming grew louder, invading his thoughts and disrupting his sleep. He started snapping at his staff, accusing them of leaking information to the press. He fired his communications director for suggesting he apologize for a recent blunder. The humming didn’t stop.

Desperate to silence his critics, Frank launched a campaign to “restore civility” in Millbridge. He passed ordinances banning public protests and limiting the use of social media for political commentary. He even hired a team of consultants to monitor online discussions and flag any negative posts about him. But the more he tried to suppress the dissent, the louder the humming became.

One night, unable to sleep, Frank wandered into the town square. It was quiet, save for the faint hum of the streetlights. He stood there, staring at the statue of Millbridge’s founder, a man who had built the town on principles of free speech and open dialogue. Frank felt a pang of guilt, but he quickly brushed it aside. He wasn’t the problem—the critics were.

As he turned to leave, he noticed a group of people gathered near the fountain. They were talking in hushed tones, their voices blending into a soft hum. Frank approached them, ready to confront them, but as he got closer, he realized they weren’t talking about him at all. They were discussing ways to improve the town—ideas for new parks, plans for community events, solutions for the budget crisis.

For the first time, Frank saw the humming for what it was: not an attack, but an opportunity. These weren’t enemies—they were citizens who cared about Millbridge as much as he did. And maybe, just maybe, they had something valuable to say.

The humming didn’t stop that night. But it changed. It became a reminder that leadership wasn’t about silencing dissent—it was about listening to it.