The way he walked the high school halls, I knew our
barrel-chested principal didn’t lack self-confidence. He wasn’t a big man. But
his voice was large, whether he was standing before us or booming over the
intercom. His swagger said he meant business. I wasn’t surprised to learn C.E.
Bacon had been a boxer in World War II.
When I stood
by his deathbed, I squeezed his hand and thanked him for defending me in 1966. He
hadn’t used his Navy-trained fists. Instead, he stuck out his thick neck to
take my side in a dispute with two teachers.
The details
aren’t important today, but I remember something else C.E. Bacon often repeated.
In a gruff voice, he would say, “I may
not agree with what you say, but I will defend to my death your right to say
it.”
I liked
knowing that someone—with his courage—would defend my right to be vocal. A
couple of years later—at the University of Georgia—I was introduced to the
writings of philosopher Voltaire, 1694-1778. Our principal was paraphrasing the
Frenchman’s view: “… I detest what you
write, but I would give my life to make it possible for you to continue to
write.”
In the Henry
W. Grady School of Journalism, I studied the First Amendment to the United
States Constitution. For 48 years, freedom of speech has been a cornerstone of
my newspaper career. And every time I am accosted for my opinions, I visualize
C.E. Bacon standing on Jesup High School’s stage. After all this time, his
statement still resonates.
Opinions are
exactly that: opinions. As Americans,
we are entitled to have personal views. Agreeing to disagree can be done in
civil tones, but that’s becoming a rarity. Our nation is so polarized that we
have adopted an ugly them-or-us culture.
The tragedy is that, if you don’t
agree with another person, you are apt to be tagged a thumb-sucking liberal, a communist,
a socialist, a right-wing nut or even an imbecile. And, in return, those
criticized are quick to harpoon their adversaries with equal disgust.
Did I miss something in my freedom-of-speech
lessons? For the First Amendment to work, freedom has to flow from one extreme
to the other and cover everything in between.
I am amused—but not offended—when
people try to pin a polarized label on my lapel. I am determined to be a
think-for-myself moderate. I strive to let common sense—not divisive
labels—govern my thinking, including when I walk into the voting booth or when
I choose my words. I am a veteran and the son of a veteran. Isn’t that why
generations of American men and women have fought and died to protect those freedoms?
People ask, “What’s a good community newspaper?” I believe a good newspaper is
a community talking to itself through the pages, especially the editorial
pages. That includes institutional editorials, columnists (staff and guests), cartoons,
letters to the editor, opinion polls and photographs with a poignant message. Healthy
debate is healthy for the community and
its newspaper.
Since Aug. 23, 1971, when Wayne County Press editor Elliott Brack injected ink into my veins,
I’ve become accustomed to castigation for publishing unpopular-to-some opinions—mine
and others. The hateful barbs can sting, but I always go back to memories of my
high school principal.
The ballast that stabilizes my belief about
opinions is C.E. Bacon’s version of Voltaire: “I may
not agree with you, but I will fight to my death for your right
to say it.”
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
