The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.
There's merit to picking your battles. For a man to risk torture and death by joining the resistance, or sheltering refugees, or crossing the border and defecting to the other side--that at least makes some sense. But to publish a novel? Not even an incendiary novel of revolution to fire the people's hearts, but a cheery, inoffensive fairy tale? What a pointless sacrifice that would be.