Freedom of Speech

by Leeann Wilmot

It seems that our life is so hectic and busy. I spend so much time worrying about my children, about their financial welfare and physical safety. I was feeling so carefree, so nearly unburdened and grateful to have found these moments just to relax with her at a local sidewalk café. As I sat and listened to her I could not help but smile - other mothers know those moments, the instant when your child's unspeakable beauty overwhelms your being. For moments I was lost in joy, grateful for her presence, thrilled at just simple, relaxed time to only chat. Of course, it was tempting to use those moments to discuss "important" things. As always, mother wishes to assure herself that her child is safe, those "big" topics linger in the air like a grocery list that must be checked and re-checked. But no, I wanted to languish in just a few undemanding minutes of chit-chat.

She spoke with me about her sisters, about her friends, one of whom had joined us. I tried so hard to steer the conversation from the issues that consume me, drugs, violence, sex and a million other things that fill up a mother's heartspace. These two beautiful young women in my company, nearly adults spoke oh so calmly of things which leave a mother gripping her fork tightly, the mother's voice in her head slowly and firmly reminding her to listen, do not react, do not show concern or fear - let them speak. Be objective mother, remind yourself of how much you wanted your mother just to listen, to hear without being burdened by her fear. Remind yourself that these young women, children are searching for themselves. Ignore the conviction in their voices, remember that they will mature, grow and change. Have faith in the child you raised, in the heart, which you nurtured, to come round right.

As the conversation moved forward, I found myself gathering the pace, being the mother that I wanted to be. Smiling, listening, asking questions. There are so many books that have taught me this, so many memories of my own mother's quick judgment. I am listening, trying hard to listen to what their hearts want me to hear unfiltered by my own concern and worry. Isn't amazing how we can be in one place, hearing words, and yet wholly in another memory? All at once, these two girls in front of me appeared as they might have been, years ago - I could look at my daughter's face, the face of a young woman and remember her baby face , the childish bunches of dandelions shoved into my hand, the awesome potential of who they might have been at that moment, overlapping the awesome reality of who she had become.

The next words - and I cannot remember how exactly they came to be, snapped me out of my time warp. Had she spoken to me of pregnancy, of a friend's death, of some other catastrophe that a mother is always preparing herself for, they could not have landed harder on my heart. But the words were spoken, as calmly and factually as though she had announced that I should add toothpaste on our grocery list. As the words seeped from heart to brain, the warnings pulsed louder, red, neon lights pounding in my head, answer slowly, she is yet a child, she is not sure of what she is saying, she is pliable, she will come round right. Remember mother when you announced to your own parents that your beliefs countered their own, and remember now how many of their beliefs you hold dear. But this? This is fundamental, this is frightening, this is a belief upon which all other beliefs rest!

Her words were simple, without fluff. "I do not believe in the right to free speech." Her friend nodded and agreed. My eyes must have betrayed me and opened wide. Slowly my fingers traveled to my lips, a reminder to caution. I believe that I managed to quietly whisper, "Oh? And why not?" "Because," she said, "too many words of hate are spoken." She continued, making her point, using examples, shoring up her case with conviction. "In public places, we should speak only of things which will hurt no one, offend none." "Who would decide what those topics are?" I asked quietly. "No one needs to decide Mom, we all know what those things are, it is common sense." "Is your common sense the same as the common sense of others? Are you uninterested in the opinions of others?" A barrage of questions, which she calmly answered, streamed from me. No question seemed to cause hesitance, nothing I could give her to examine trapped her. She was resolute in her opinion.

What shall we do? Our children are frightened even of words! No one has taught them how precious this freedom is. No one has pressed upon them a longing, not only a tolerance, for hearing the ideas and views of others. They have witnessed all too often the violence and anger, which erupts over disagreement. They live in a world where intolerance, for all our posturing, has taken hold. Our children live in a world where children no longer chase each other with taunts or maybe even rock. In their world, children have guns, knives, bombs and a whole lot of anger. Our children are so frightened that there is no place for curiosity - they just want quiet, no issues, no spirited, lively discussions, they do not know the pleasure of a disagreement, they can no longer rib one another about their polarized opinions - the risk in doing so is too great. What shall we do? What shall we do when there is no one to speak? When all our children want of us, and of their peers, is to shut up and be nice?

Of course she is only a child. Of course, soon enough she will understand that we must all be able to speak freely. Soon enough she will experience an unjust, enforced silence. And of course, she's convinced that her common sense about acceptable subjects would match every one else's list. In her imagination, such a rule would create a nice, genteel place where folks like each others, talk of pleasantries and sporting events (she was not sure whether or not sporting events should be on the list of acceptable public conversation or no) and weather changes. In her imagination such a rule would make everyone safe.

And, if I believed that it would...

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