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I Was Charlie



"It reads, 'Before I could get my wits together,'" implying that the author was not in complete control of her judgment. Clearly, we can't be sure that her memory of the event is accurate."
"Getting your wits together is a phrase. It is an expression of my creative freedom. It doesn't mean that --"
"Did you write these words?"
"Yes, but -- "
"Your honor, let the record show that the victim wrote that she did not have her wits together."

So went the questioning during a hearing for a violent cell phone theft that took place in May, 2013. His case weak, the public defender was explicating an article about the crime line by line in the courtroom. An article that I wrote. I, the victim.

The shots continued.

"Is it true that the cops said, 'We never catch the smart ones?'"
"Well, I -- "
"It says right here in your article. 'We never catch the smart ones, they said as they turned on the sirens and made an abrupt turn.'"

I knew what he was getting at. He wanted to prove that the cops were desperate to arrest someone. Anyone, including his allegedly innocent client. I looked out into the courtroom at the policeman who had come to my rescue moments after I was mugged. The one who made the arrest upon my identification of the suspect. He didn't look sad, just disappointed. He looked like he had been stabbed in the back. This quote from my blog, especially out of context, portrayed him as tactless.

And then, finally, the last shot was fired, straight to my heart.

"I have here, the act as described by your blog. I am going to reenact them. Your honor, can you please time the reenactment?"

I threw my arms in the air and burst into a heavy sob. I was enraged that my article was being used against me by this horrible lawyer, that my unofficial written account was being exploited, that my written word was being placed at odds with my spoken one. My right to creative freedom was trapping me. An article whose sole purpose was to warn and protect my friends, was being misused.

Later that evening, my complaints to my parents were met with nothing but a rhetoric, "What did you expect?" Though the response infuriated me at the time, it no longer does. Putting myself in the shoes of the public defender, someone who I never expected nor desired to read to my work, I probably would have done the same thing. He would have used anything to help his case.

Though the episode relating to my blog was struck from the record, it was not struck from my memory. It technically could not be used to impact the outcome of the trial, but it profoundly impacted me as a writer.

I am now more careful about pulling the trigger on a draft. I no longer perceive my audience to be only my friends and family who understand me, but also employers, distant relatives, a middle school frenemy, or that couple I pass every morning. How might they interpret it? Am I willing to accept that interpretation? Do I care? Is it worth it?

You might assume I'm careful because I'm an amateur. Or peg me as a coward. But I choose to be careful because I believe the pen to be mightier than the sword. And with great power comes great responsibility.

The challenge with creative expression is that you have no control over who will see your work, how they will see it, and what they will do with it. While you may have intentions and preferences for all of these things, in the end, you forfeit control when you publish. Art -- articles, sculptures, drawings, music --  does not have the privilege of answering questions or clarifying ambiguities.


This past week's shooting at Charlie Hebdo was a painful manifestation of this challenge. We might conjecture that the employees of Charlie Hebdo, a French satirical magazine, intended for their work to be received in good humor. We might protest that they were exercising their right to free speech. La liberté! We might even grant that they were simply doing their jobs to earn their paychecks.

But in the wrong hands, their work was interpreted as a threat to faith. An offense necessitating extreme revenge. Death. An implausible fate.

The shooting was a depraved, inexcusable act of terror. It is unjustifiable. Not surprisingly, most outrage toward the event is centered around the meaning — and the right — to freedom of speech.

But perhaps it holds a lesson beyond free speech. A lesson about our responsibility as free speakers.

As creators, that is, as citizens, our most meaningful art is that of diligently assessing the meaning of our work, both objectively and subjectively. Weighing the best and worst reactions and releasing only what we wholeheartedly defend with our beliefs. Unfortunately, that is our responsibility. "Unfortunately" because we live in an at-times inhumane world. One where the pen will only ever be figuratively mightier than the sword. 
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