I abhor the word “appropriate” more than almost any other word. It cloaks all manner of sins and all variety of ineffectual and frightened non-action. It is a word used most often to stifle natural reactions, like hysterical giggling at funerals, and meaningful reactions to difficult situations.

The word “appropriate” is governed by the despot of custom, which, most of the time, is controlled by the God of Popular Opinion, however the thing is “popular opinion” is a totally bullshit reason for doing anything. A number of things are considered popular that many of us would never consider doing. In the case of Whitman, bathing comes to mind.

The greatest events of human history have always, ALWAYS spit in the eye of “popular opinion.” Our own history is littered with positive examples. The Emancipation Proclamation, The renewal of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (Please God, let this be true) and any and all contemporary movements for equal civil rights for marginalized groups.

Today, we all bitch and moan about the state of American politics. We complain that the American political system is driven by marketing techniques, which sacrifices almost all connection between those running for office and their potential constituents. Yet, in our own little bio-spheres, we fail to step out of those same tropes. We let popularity make our decisions for us. (Quantity always taking precedence over quality, appearance over meaning). As my time here at Whitman College winds down I grow more and more depressed by my fellow students who have internalized the consumer instinct so deeply that they can’t even see when it is influencing them.

When you place “appropriateness” over substance, quite simply, people die. This happened to countless black people in the segregated South during Jim Crow, when ambulances were forced to drive miles out of the way to black hospitals, with the victim often dying in transit, after passing several “whites only” hospitals. (This example also points to an interesting contradiction in “appropriateness.” Which comes first, the black patient or the Hippocratic oath?). When we wait a week to discuss gun control after an appalling event that points to a cavernous hole in our firearm policy (and our relationship to violence in general), people die.

It is never “too soon” for meaning. It is never “too soon” to say something of substance, and it is possible to both emote and feel and have an impetus behind the sentiment.