Mood: I'm trying so hard to be happy ...
Music: None. :(
Mind: Completely, totally out of sorts.

My brother-in-law, Matthew, drew the ire of several people in an online community a couple of days ago when he criticized one of their members in a private chat. The moderators decided to act, and he has been banned from the community for a week so things can be sorted out. The administrators also banned the IP of the University, and some wanted to ban the IP shared by Paul and myself, just in case Matthew decided to use one of our computers. Fortunately, we were saved by an admin with his head on straight.

Matthew and I are close, but in this case I believe that it's not my place to take sides on who's right or wrong. It's his battle to fight. However, it gives me a chance to talk about what I feel is the bigger issue at stake.

As a journalist, my thoughts on freedom of speech are a little bit skewed from the general population. I mean, the First Amendment is the document that makes America completely American. In 46 words, each citizen of this country is granted five pretty heavy rights: To peacefully gather in a group, to practice any religion, to seek information and publish news, to ask the government to listen to problems, and -- best of all -- to speak freely without fear of retaliation.

It's scary, but a lot of Americans believe that our right to the freedom of speech has gone too far. The Freedom Forum's State of the First Amendment 2002 Report found that nearly half of Americans think the First Amendment grants people too many rights. If you don't have a chance to download the report and read it yourself, check out David Waters' recent commentary in the Commercial Appeal. It does a pretty good job of summing up the details of the survey.

Now, before I go any further, I want to make it clear that the First Amendment does not guarantee everything that tumbles out of a person's mouth every time he opens it. For example, it is not within my rights to pose immediate danger to others. I cannot angrily proclaim that I'm going to bomb Building XYZ at midnight tomorrow, unless I want to be taken into custody and put on trial. But I can speak, discuss, debate -- and, yes, even threaten -- any person, place or policy in freedom, as long that person, place or policy is not put into an immediate or overwhelming danger.

Whether you realize it or not, this gives every American citizen an amazing amount of personal power. It allows me to operate this blog and talk about anything I want over the Internet. It also allows Paul to tell prospective students on tour at The University of Memphis that they should attend some other college. Granted, that may not be the smartest thing for him to say, especially since he's a student himself. And it certainly doesn't gain a lot of favor from the (often-peeved) tour guides who shoot him dirty glances. But he's completely within his right to speak his mind on the University's public property.

When it comes to the First Amendment, a lot of Americans don't appreciate the guarantee of being offended by something said by somebody at some time. Personally, I don't like listening to Howard Stern on the radio, but I can't buck the First Amendment simply to get him off the air. Paul thinks that Dan Quayle is a bloomin' idiot, but Dan Quayle has the right to talk about Democrats, budget woes, and even the almighty potatoe, despite what people think.

Frankly, it amazes me that people are critical of the document that allows them to be critical. But the real tragedy comes when opening one's mouth becomes a matter of life and death. Have you ever heard of Dietrich Bonhoeffer? He was killed by the Nazis for saying a few things about Jewish rights that they weren't too eager to hear. If that's too obscure for you, you've probably heard of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Or Socrates. Or Jesus. It's not hard to find examples -- from history to yesterday's newspaper -- of people who fought with weapons instead of words.

It's a damn shame, too. When a person starts to listen to other opinions and ideas, especially ones he traditionally opposes, he can shape his own values from a greater base of knowledge. If things go as planned, each person can see things from somebody else's point of view. And in the worst case scenario, they agree to disagree, and life goes on.

Because each person has the right to speak freely, such disagreements are bound to happen often. The solution is not to clam up and give up. Instead, voice an opinion, but do so with a modicum of ethics and responsibility.

See, nobody has to ask, "Can I legally say this?" That decision was made 200 years ago, and it seems to be working pretty well. But in order for American citizens to regain their confidence in the First Amendment, every person must ask, "Is it responsible for me to say this?"

For example, it's not responsible for me to tell customers in my bookstore that a rival store across town has better prices and a greater selection. Likewise, it wouldn't be responsible for a chemist like Paul to put directions on the Internet on how to build a better bomb. Each of us has the freedom to do so, but that doesn't make it morally or ethically sound.

To get back to the case in point, Matthew is ultimately in the hands of the ArsClan administrators. It is their place to decide whether he should be permanently banned for what has apparently become a convolution of finger-pointing and placing blame.

The problem doesn't end if Matthew goes, and it doesn't end if he stays. Somebody else will say the same things in the future and the issue will be resurrected. Different faces, different places, but the same old arguments arise.

In the end, I hope the decision is both fair and far-reaching. Without a policy on acceptable speech, it becomes hard to enforce future infractions in the same vein. I just hope that any speech policy would take its cue from the First Amendment, an acknoledgement that it is a great freedom -- and a great responsibility -- to open one's mouth at all.

"I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." -S. G. Tallentyre, The Friends of Voltaire

Mood: First day on the job today!
Music: Dexter's Laboratory, Libretto, Part I
Mind: A little nervous. :)

Well, today is the first day at Barnes and Noble. I guess I'm excited that I'll be getting a paycheck again -- and discounts on books don't hurt either -- but I'm a little nervous about that whole "starting a new job" thing. It's incredibly stressful, because I want to make a good first impression and all that jazz.

With that being said (and still not having completed my Sesame Street post, or the post about ToonTown, which involves a lot of planning on my part), I'm excited to announce some changes in the layout and design of KatesInk.

First of all, I think I'm going to move the wedding stuff, which I fortunately foldered so it can remain a part of the site. I have installed phpBB forums already (check out http://www.katesink.com/forum/ to get a preview of what it will look like. Go on and register, and feel free to use the bulletin board in place of a regular guest book. I am interested in adding a guestbook at some point in the future, but I've got to find a script I like that I can mod to use. No more of those guestbook "services" that give you a kajillion popups. That's not for me!

I've also got to work on a design of the front page. I want something streamlined, but not boring. For example, I love the functionality of the categories at Mendax.org, which is run by GESC moderator WyldKard. However, you have to poke around to find the menu and it's not updated enough. (It's not criticism, WK, I swear <3<3) So I'll work on that design and get back to you. If you think of something interesting, by all means, post it at the forum. I'll post my welcome there after I get off work.

Well, it's back to the corporate "fun." I'll let you know how it goes. :)

All my love -- Kate

Mood: Gooood.
Music: The Theme to Sesame Street
Mind: Got the hiccups, which are annoying.

It's hard to type and hiccup at the same time. I think it's governed by the same principle that says you can't sneeze with your eyes open. Every time I hiccup, I hit three or four random keys, which makes my typing look something like this: It's wi-0hard to02n t082ype wit,h hic99-cups. So I end up hitting the backspace key a lot (usually while I hold my breath and try not to hiccup), then slowly correcting each sentence one by one. What a drag!

Well, I got a full-time position at Barnes and Noble -- which isn't exactly in the fine field of journalism, but it will pay the bills. I start in two days, and I'm glad it will get me out of the house.

Meh. I really wanted to post about Sesame Street tonight, but the hiccups are making this slow-going. I'll resume tomorrow.

All my love -- Kate

Mood: Roller coaster-ish.
Music: They Might be Giants, I Palindrome I
Mind: Two migraines this week. Feel drained.

. . .
Note: I cut out the first 1/3 of this post, which was on another topic. I think this is much more important.
. . .
Speaking of Sept. 11 ... I'm hoping I'll have a job by then (at least a short-term stint in a bookstore or something until the real deal comes along). If I don't, I want to spend the anniversary of the WTC bombing volunteering for the United Way Day of Caring. More details are available at Volunteer Memphis. In short, volunteers are meeting at the Mid South Coliseum at 8 a.m. and will depart at 9 a.m. to work at various community projects. There will be several projects to choose from. The contact for the event is Greg Broy at 901-543-5765.

I think one of the main reasons I want to volunteer is that I remember the details of last September 11 so vividly. I woke up in my dorm room at The University of Memphis around the time the first tower of the World Trade Center was hit. I had a habit of keeping my TV on Fox News in the morning, and I was glued to it. I remember thinking it was a terrible accident, but nothing more. At the time, it never crossed my mind that it was a terrorist attack. Heck, it didn't cross my mind that the second tower would be hit or that (God forbid!) the towers would implode.

Mom called me within two minutes of me waking up. She sounded so ... concerned. Her voice was stable, but strained. I won't ever forget the way she sounded. Yes, I had the television on. Yes, I was going to get up to the office.

I had just gotten out of the shower when the second tower was hit. There was live video feed of that. My throat constricted. What was going on? I put in a call to Rick, the managing editor at the college daily where I was editor in chief. I usually worked afternoons until late night, but I was on my way in.

By the time I got there, most of the reporters had been mobilized. The rest huddled around the television with me, the general manager Candy, and the advertising director Bob. I cried, but only behind the closed door of my office. I didn't have any Kleenex, so I used a napkin. I only allowed about 15 minutes to myself, then I bucked up and got back to work. I don't grieve well, a problem which I should probably address at some point in my life.

I skipped all my classes, I huddled over the AP news wire, I watched the body count estimates vary between a few hundred and over 10,000. It was the beginning of a very long year.

For months, I set my clock to news briefings. I became amazed at the way Ari Fleischer held up under fire. I often held back a laugh at stodgy Donald Rumsfeld. Then there were the correspondents. Even Geraldo Rivera got in on the act.

It was a hard year to be in news. My disillusionment started before then, but it was really amplified by the day-to-day developments of war and terrorism and a thousand other terrible things. I never, ever had time to just sit back and cry. I admonished myself to be objective. I ached inside, and the doctors doubled my dose of my antidepressant and anti-anxiety medications.

I did cry, just twice. The first time happened when Wall Street Journal correspondent Daniel Pearl was announced dead, several weeks after he was kidnapped while on assignment. Reports on the news were kind. They described his death as "tortured," but said little else. I happened to see the footage of his execution. It certainly won't ever make it to television, but can probably still be found on a few of the seedier sites on the Internet. In any case, when I saw the video of Pearl being decapitated, I cried again. There's a certain amount of unspoken resignation-cum-strength in news circles. And there's a certain amount of sympathy for each other. And maybe that's why I broke down and wept. But I think part of it was sheer terror. War isn't pretty.

Well, that's the short version of my memories of September 11 and the year that followed. As the first anniversary of that tragedy approaches, I've distanced myself from hard news. I wasn't cut out for a job where I must always keep my distance and treat everything as suspect. It feels so sterile -- even though one must question everyone and everything, it must be accomplished while wearing rubber gloves. We are to trust our gut, but leave our heart out of it. And without putting too fine a point on it, that is an overwhelming, daunting task.

Even though this feeling has followed me for about a year and a half, it wasn't until a couple of months ago that I became aware I was not alone. And a lot of journalists have it worse than me. I see a lot and I hear a lot (that happens in a newsroom), but I haven't been a reporter in a very long time. I cry because of lost principles. For over three years, I sat behind a desk, assigning stories, reading copy, and slowly but surely realizing that humanity isn't human anymore.

A number of journalists have experienced an even greater trauma. It goes far beyond distancing yourself from news and hiding in an office behind a desk. And there's a great resource for these journalists now called Newscoverage Unlimited. It can be found on the Internet at http://www.newscoverage.org. Newscoverage Unlimited has paired with the National Press Photographers Association and the Dart Center for Journalism and Trauma to inform journalists about traumatic stress stemming from their work.

Please visit Newscoverage Unlimited online. Consider giving them a little money. It helps to (1.) continue their research, and (2.) continue to offer services to journalists with post-traumatic stress disorder.

Also, if you would like to e-mail me with your memories of the past year, I'm planning to post a memorium in the next week or so. Please send an e-mail to me at kate@katesink.com. Remember the adage that every new reporter learns in training: Everyone has a story. Yes, everyone. Want proof? Read about David Johnson, a columnist from Idaho.

Phew. I've said plenty tonight. I'm going to make a cup of tea to calm my nerves, then slip into bed. Nighty-night, World.