When the World Threatens to Scare You Silent

Hi everybody.

I’m back. Finally

This year came in HOT, didn’t it?

By now, you all know I like to reflect and think deeply about what I say, so when I’m quiet, it’s usually because I’m processing or creating something in the world that I hope will help my community.

This isn’t just a space where I tell you what I’m building. It’s a space where I share what I’m thinking and solving for, to help you build your narratives and grow your creative businesses.

So, With That, I’ll Start With A Confession: Yeah, I’m Afraid Too.

The world feels like a scary place, and it doesn’t always feel safe expressing yourself. I have stared at a blank page for the best part of this year, trying to figure out what to say.

And the truth is, in many ways, the feelings that I have today remind me of the ones I had when I was a baby journalist in New York City. I was reporting at a time when people were openly critical of George W. Bush’s policies in Iraq and the techniques his administration used to achieve their goals. 

I remember speaking to military veterans and others on the street to get their opinions. People were divided then, as they are now. And the government wasn’t backward in being forward about what it expected of its citizenry:

“You're either with us, or you're against us in the fight against terror.”

Those were the words that then-President George W. Bush told the world. Those same words were printed on a bus stop poster that I walked past every morning in downtown NYC at the height of the anti-Iraq war protests, just after the September 11 attacks. Every morning, as I walked past it — on my way to work — those words, paired with an image of a hawk, would stop me in my tracks. They also lived rent-free in my mind every day as I got on with my job of reporting the daily news, which increasingly became about the growing anti-war sentiment in the city. Those words challenged me to think about how to approach my reporting, and the kind of trouble people (myself included) could get into if they spoke out of turn.

As a Black woman and a child of immigrants, I’ve been trained to be extra circumspect when it comes to sharing my opinions publicly (I know this might surprise some of you who have met me.) So finding ways to lean into an opinion, or keep quiet, came pretty easily to me. And during that time, I became reeeeeally good at saying enough in a way that felt safe. I learned how to dot every ‘i’ and cross every ‘t.’ But the problem was that I was a highly inquisitive, expressive person. Always have been. And if I saw something that didn’t make sense, my first instinct was - and is to seek clarity. And that can sometimes get you in trouble - as a kid, at least, lol.

But that deep curiosity served me well as a journalist. I channelled my curiosity elsewhere. I asked other people who weren’t afraid to call a thing a thing the questions I wanted to know, and supported my insights with endless quotes from others, and eventually became silent altogether. So, I know the paradox of fighting for your voice.

What the Grammy Winners Showed Me

That’s why last week Bad Bunny, Trevor Noah, Olivia Dean, Jelly Roll, SZA, and Billie Eilish all caught my attention during the Grammys.

Each of them, in their own way, spoke up about our current political climate. They urged us to love, defend, and speak up. And they all did this in their own way – ways that I think reflected how they were, and how comfortable they felt. Olivia felt gentle as she celebrated her grandmother’s bravery. Trevor delivered jabs with a knowing grin, Jelly Roll found his inner preacher, and Billie Eilish went for the jugular.

Their different approaches didn’t just remind me that speaking on it is different for everyone; they reminded me of the power of being authentic in ways that honour who you are, your safety and comfort, and your privilege. 

And that’s the lesson for us all: If you are the kind of person who has been told to be quiet, there is a greater cost to not speaking on your lived authority. I see this all too often: leaders who support quietly without taking the stage, not getting a mention when the person they’ve coached launches a new product, creators not getting credit when a cover version of their song, or even the game they created becomes a smash hit (shout out to the creators of Jenga!) Not all of these omissions are intentional, but the impact is the same, and oftentimes long-lasting, and narrative-changing: you can lose revenue, or be erased from history.

In this moment, as the media landscape undergoes its seismic shift, most people are trying to amplify and record their own stories, and push through: the creator economy is filled with content – from journalists, producers, and creators who are trying to figure out how they can continue their work outside the traditional systems on one hand, and founders and organizations trying to inspire public conversations on the other.

It can feel easy to think that your noise will get lost in the fray. But I encourage you to think differently. As we experience an influx of content, the question isn’t how can I stand out to attract my audience, but how can I connect to find it?

The Cost of Not Sharing Your Point Of View.

Stick your flag in the ground. And in these - yeah, I’ll say it, scary times, speak up on your expertise. Do it with rigour, experience, research, and kindness. And say it with your chest, in your way. 

The cost of not doing so could be far more than the revenue or profits. The price you pay could be your community’s voice or legacy.

And begin by finding that unshakeable message, connecting it to its purpose to create a straightforward, compelling narrative—that keeps you focused on the humans that you’re speaking to, even if it feels scary. 

Until next week,

Christabel