Freedom of Speech

Today I am grateful for Freedom of Speech.  Way too often we in America take this little addition to the first amendment for granted.  I have been guilty of this myself.  I support anyone’s right to say whatever they want. . .until they are idiots. . . until I disagree.   Then I just wish they’d shut up.  It doesn’t work that way.  I know.

I took for granted my freedom of speech until I lived in Jakarta, Indonesia and learned that people in other lands do not have this inalienable right.  People are afraid to speak and they should be if they value their safety and the safety of their families.  I was sitting in the restaurant of a gorgeous hotel in downtown Jakarta with my friend, Harti.  We were surrounded by live palm trees, marble floors, linen table cloths and waiters in starched white jackets, discussing something she needed me to write for her hotel brochure.  Indonesia was heading into a dicey period in politics and somehow we got on the topic of human rights.  I said something obscure about benevolent dictatorships and President Suharto and she quickly touched my hand as it rested on the table.  Panicked, she looked over her shoulder, left, then right and stretched her neck as if noticing a friend nearing.  I did the same wondering who we were looking for.

“Shhhh,” she whispered.  She was afraid.  Really afraid.

I kept looking around for the danger she seemed to be seeing. “What?  What is it?  I don’t see anything.”

“They listen everywhere.  It is not safe to discuss such things.  Please.”  She pleaded with me as she pointed to a potted palm.  I laughed.  She nearly cried.  I was mortified at my reaction to her obvious distress.  “People go missing who discuss such things.”  I couldn’t believe my ears.

When I got home I asked my staff about this.  They all knew it was true.  Our driver shared a story of another driver, talking unpopular politics while playing cards, while waiting for his employer in the parking garage of a large building.  No one saw him past that day.  No one.  He just disappeared.  They knew.  So they all kept very tight lipped about anything controversial when in public.  “My family needs me.  I cannot afford to be political.” They’d tell me.

Sometimes there is an article in the paper or on Facebook that I find offensive.  Sometimes when I listen to the news on the radio or TV, I shout at the stupidity of what people feel is important, when there is so much in the world that I feel is more important, more worthy of concern.  But it doesn’t work that way.  Everyone has a right to their own opinion.  Everyone.  Alas.

I want to be a genuine, honest writer.  What if someone doesn’t like what I say?  What if my facts are incorrect?  What if my opinion is dismissed as trite or stupid?  What if someone comments and the comments are angry or hurtful?  All of the above will happen.  Has happened.  Though I try to take into consideration the feelings of others to some extent, if I let their sensitivities become mine, I will never say an honest true word of my own. Then I might as well be sitting in Jakarta peering behind every potted plant, censoring every word.

The vulnerability I often feel when sharing my personal thoughts in the form of daily gratitude posts is palpable.  It’s risky and edgy.  I spent a lot of years being a chameleon of opinion.  If you liked it, I liked it.  If you didn’t, I didn’t.  If you were incredulous about something, I was incredulous about something.  Finding my voice has been hard-fought.  Silencing my voice has become impossible.  I’ll take freedom of speech any day.  Go ahead. . .let me have it!