Earlier this week I stopped my contributions to the Rock Island Argus. It was nothing scandalous. I sent them a final essay that explained my reasoning and hoped no hard feelings were had. Well, I never heard back from them, and the essay I wrote did not appear in the paper as it was supposed to on Wednesday. No big deal. But I still want to share it with my people. So here it is:
Dearest Reader,
I began this assignment with tremendous hope. Hope that I might bring an uncommon perspective to the Argus’ editorial pages. I read this paper every morning. It’s been a comforting ritual for many, many years now. But I never expect to read somebody who thinks like me, especially in the editorial pages. While the Argus does a commendable job bringing a diverse set of voices to this page, they rarely speak to me. They rarely speak about me. So, here was my chance to make myself heard, and hopefully give voice to people who aren’t exactly on George Will’s and Charles Krauthammer’s Christmas list.
Then I got laid off, and suddenly I couldn’t bring myself to say much about anything anymore. Suddenly, I was writing to an audience of future interviewers who I imagine to all be staid puritans. Suddenly, I faced the potential of burning bridges before I even crossed them. That’s a frightening prospect for a young man with no health insurance and a girl he wants to marry tomorrow. Before I got laid off, I could have given you dozens of things I would have liked to see printed on this page. Before I got laid off, I planned to write them with gusto. I wanted to provoke and agitate and set the message boards on fire. I wanted to point out that just as America was electing its first black President, the country’s largest state was voting to restrict the future possibilities for homosexuals. As a devoted agnostic consistently embarrassed by the more militant of my peers, I wanted to offer a less antagonistic descriptor of my spiritual point of view. As a former employee of KWQC, I could have offered a special insight into the bankruptcy of the station’s owner. But if I want to work in TV again, it just wouldn’t be prudent to talk out of school about my former employer.
Now, as I examine the substantial list of topics I hoped to cover, they have all developed the whiff of imprudence in light of my employment situation. Sure, I could plug on for these next few months, but I find it slightly distasteful to give you a treatise on my charming dog (which was a genuine consideration this month) when there are things that matter deeply to me that I can’t voice for fear of the wrath of potential employers. It seems deeply disingenuous to censor myself just to fill space and see my puffy mug in the paper. Especially when others might jump at the idea of seeing their puffy mugs in the paper.
Mark Twain once called freedom of speech the privilege of the dead. He wrote: “As an active privilege, it ranks with the privilege of committing murder: we may exercise it if we are willing to take the consequences.” At this point, I’m unwilling to take the consequences. Still, I want to say thank you for reading what you have, and I hope the inheritor of this space makes better use of it than I was able to.
Sincerely,
Phil Rockwell
(Side note: The space that I was to fill was filled instead by Charles Krauthammer, one of the columnists I took a shot at in my column.)
