Sans Fig Leaf

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"Soapboxes"

27 July, 2002

I first learned about the dangerous power of the printed word in high school. I wrote an opinion column in the student newspaper throughout my junior and senior year. I was also a member of band, the orchestra, the jazz band, and the men's barbershop singing group.

A friend of mine who was a student at another high school in the same town invited me to attend her band concert at said school. I was surprised to find out one had to buy a ticket to attend. I was further shocked to find myself inside a crowded, standing-room-only auditorium to hear the program. Then I was blown away at how much more interesting their show was than any we had ever put on at my school.

Their music instructors understood showmanship. The program had a flow where the theme or style or message of the music from one group led into the music for the next. It was just leaps and bounds more fun than anything we had done. I would have given my right arm to play in that program, instead of the one we were going to be putting on a few weeks later.

I talked about it with some of my fellow musicians back at school. They all seemed to agree with me that it would be great if our programs could have a little more pizzazz and fun. Then I wrote about those feelings in my opinion column.

Big mistake.

At least it prepared me for events later in life. When you have to deal with death threats at the age of 17, other forms of harassment and disagreement are pretty easy to handle. I had learned that where you express an opinion is at least as important as how you express it.

When I first discovered the on-line journal phenomenon, I was a bit puzzled. A journal, to me, was a private diary, meant for no one's eyes except the author's. Yet, some of them were fascinating. Some were compelling in the manner of a car wreck. Others were unintentionally hilarious. Some were just sad and pathetic. But each of them was created by someone who felt they had something to say that was worth listening to.

I understood that feeling. My experience with my opinion column in high school didn't scare me away from writing. I continued in college, writing a column, editing the student newspaper for many years, and even writing an opinion column in a small weekly paper for pay. I did it for so long, that eventually every Wednesday, whether I was working for a publication or not, I had to sit down at the typewriter and type up my thoughts on some recent events in the news, some issues friends had been debating, or whatever struck my fancy.

Some were published. Others were shared with one or two close friends. Many were thrown away having been read only by me.

Some of them were passionate rants. Those were almost never published. Usually I would write the rant to get it off my chest. Then, after I had put the words on paper and had a few moments to think about them, I might write a new piece, more thoughtful, less emotional, about the underlying issue or a related topic.

Some were very personal. They would be about a topic close to my heart, or about a person I knew well. Whether or not they were considered for publication usually boiled down to whether the publication of the piece was likely to do more good than harm.

For the last several months I've been caught on the horns of a dilemma. Long time readers of this site have likely dispaired of reading any new essays from me, because so little has been posted this year. It hasn't been because I haven't been writing. Most of the essays I've felt compelled to write this year have been about topics that touch very closely on things happening the lives of friends and acquaintences.

Sometimes I didn't even realize that I was writing something that a particular person might feel was directed right at them until I was in the copyediting phase. Even if I was subconsciously thinking of that person when I wrote the essay, when I recognize that possibility, doesn't friendship obligate me to say what I think directly to the person? In private, rather than sharing it with the world and possibly embarassing them?

If I've already broached the topic with them, and they've made it known that they don't want my opinion, what then? For the last few months I've been filing those essays away, never to be seen. Similarly if it touched a topic that ordinarily would be considered nobody's business but those directly involved.

Maybe that was the right choice. Then again, maybe not. If I remain silent because I fear something I say might possibly hurt someone's feelings, am I really protecting their feelings, or am I protecting my own? Is silence noble? Or is it just cowardice?

There's only one thing I know for certain: the soapbox has been empty long enough.