What do you need to say to the world?

thoughts on the bullshit hierarchy of who gets heard in public

There is a false dichotomy set up in elite spaces: are you the kind of person who writes, speaks, and projects big ideas far and wide in the world OR are you the kind of person who supports other people to do those things?

The truth is, if you look closely at most people’s careers—even famous “thought leaders” with huge followings—you will find a season in which they supported others to get their ideas into the world. Case in point: I’m reading an advance copy of Anand Giridharadas’ new book, The Persuaders, and in it, he re-narratizes the post-college journey of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Turns out, AOC didn’t just jump straight from bartending to policymaking—as is the often repeated, popular story. She spent many years organizing within the National Hispanic Institute and supporting others to tell their stories and get their big ideas out into the world.

Many people work in both modes in a single day. My own career reflects this fluidity. I publish this newsletter, my own books, do speeches and interviews about my own ideas, and I co-founded a speakers bureau, and most recently, co-created an online learning experience called FRESH Speakers Academy. My whole professional life, I have delighted in the opportunity to edit others’ work, coach people to give short talks, and help them think about how to communicate about their work and deeply held values in language that transcends the choir.

You can read the advice here.

The former effort is deeply personal for me, mostly done alone, and often requires a tremendous amount of vulnerability. The latter is a reprieve from that vulnerability—a chance to be focused solely on others. It’s not without complexity (there are lots of power dynamics to think about, especially with the folks I tend to work with, who are mostly people of color doing philanthropic, nonprofit, government, or activist work), but it feels far less tangled up in my own ego. I get to listen deeply and ask the kinds of questions that allows the other person to listen deeply to themselves.

If I’m good when I advise others, I disappear; when I’m doing public writing and speaking on my own behalf, I’m in the glare of the spotlight—for better and worse. A life filled with both is what keeps me feeling useful and joyful. And, in fact, my own work is sharpened by the effort to make other people’s work more compelling and accessible.

So why do so many of us still cling to this idea that there are people worthy of being heard and read, and those who are destined to support those who are worthy of being heard and read?

I think the traces of this silly idea are everywhere in the structure of our media, where (still!) overwhelmingly White, male columnists write over and over again with stale ideas, where the same people get invited to speak over and over again, not because they are offering truly new insights, but because they are entertaining and known, where expertise is still thought to come from fancy degrees, books, and large social media followings, not real life experience (which we all know, deep down, is the ultimate source of wisdom).

Now listen, some people don’t love public speaking and/or aren’t into writing. They don’t want to be in the spotlight…ever. They don’t feel that their gifts line up with what it takes to be a public person with “big ideas.” Fair enough. If this feels authentic and you find your fulfillment in quieter, less visible realms, embrace that. Not everyone needs to write a frickin’ book (trust me, it’s less glamorous than it looks).

But if you are someone who has spent much of your career convincing yourself that you don’t want to have a public voice of your own, you just want to support others, all the while knowing it’s not the whole, true story of your desires, ditch the dichotomy! We all deserve to have our ideas heard. Heck, we all need all of us to have our ideas heard! This is an all-hands-on-deck moment in our country’s history; we’re screwed if we’re only listening to a small percentage of the genius among us.

Organizers have started talking more about creating “leaderful” spaces—meaning movements where multiple people are recognized as having voices and ideas worth listening to. That’s a start. Those of us often in the spotlight need to keep reaching out, pulling up, stepping back. Those of us who have longed to be heard, but assumed we had to stay in our supporting role, need to step out, speak up, take more personal risks to be heard. And we all need to do a better job of inviting and listening to the quieter voices, the ones outside of our organic social circles, the people who show up every single day and do the damn thing (see teachers, direct service providers, caregivers, nurses, elders…).

Poet and novelist Ocean Vuong has said: “Disorientation is part of the American fabric.” The only way, as I see it, to be productively disoriented in this moment is to have more voices in the mix, more sources of expertise, more small and wild ideas circulating in all kinds of forms. That will require, not just a few of us anointed worthy of being heard by elite gatekeepers, but a healthy majority of us throwing down, delighting, and complicating the discourse.

In other words, consider it your patriotic duty to ditch the tired notion that you’re not worthy of being heard. Thank you, from all of us, for risking to be heard.