The Hard Truth
A new column for the Toledo Tribune.
There are truths that are easy to swallow—those pleasant little morsels we pass around the dinner table, light as a breeze, sweet as a summer peach. But then there are truths that sit heavy in the gut, that we’d rather ignore, that we’d rather tuck away behind closed doors. They come in all shapes and sizes—truths about who we are, who we’ve been, and who we’re becoming. These truths don’t come with ribbons or pretty bows. No, these are the hard truths. The kind that sting and fester if left unspoken.
And that’s what this new column is about—facing those hard truths, the ones we avoid because they challenge us, because they ask more of us than we’re comfortable giving. Maybe they’re uncomfortable. Maybe they’re inconvenient. But they’re necessary. They’re the truths that, if we’re brave enough to face them, can make us better, stronger, more honest about where we are and where we want to go.
So grab your seat and hold on tight. The road ahead might be a little bumpy, and the views a little harsh. But if we’re going to make this place a better, more vibrant home, we need to face the hard truths first.
And let’s be clear—we’re not here for comfort. We’re here for what’s real. And so here is the first hard truth…
Where Has Honor Gone?
By The Toledo Tribune
Once, in times now fading into legend, a person’s word was their bond, and honor stood as tall as the trees in the valley. To act without integrity was to bring shame upon oneself—a weight heavier than the logs dragged out of the forest by mule teams. Honor and loyalty were the mortar that held communities together. But today, it seems we’ve grown comfortable with turning a blind eye to harm, so long as it doesn’t brush up too close to our own door.
Consider the times you’ve heard a neighbor speak of injustice—a coworker demeaned, a friend betrayed, or a town burdened by decisions made in secret. How often do we shake our heads, lament the state of the world, and move on with our day? It’s an easy habit, isn’t it? The harm exists, but addressing it feels too risky. Best not to meddle. After all, that’s someone else’s battle.
But is it?
Loyalty isn’t just about defending friends; it’s about defending what’s right. Integrity isn’t confined to one’s private dealings; it spills out into every corner of public life. And honor? Honor isn’t a relic for knights in faded tapestries. It’s alive—or at least it should be. When we see harm, when we hear of wrong, and when we know in our hearts that something unjust is unfolding, honor demands that we step forward.
Yet today, silence feels like the easier choice. It’s the neighbor who doesn’t speak up when a colleague is mistreated. It’s each of us, shrugging and saying, “Well, what can I do?”
What harm are we doing when we say nothing? The harm of complicity. The harm of eroded trust. The harm of abandoning the shared values that make communities strong. Toledo is no stranger to this. We’ve watched storefronts empty, events dwindle, and once-vibrant spaces grow quiet. And we know in our bones that this didn’t happen overnight. Bit by bit, honor was traded for convenience, and integrity for comfort.
But here’s the question: How does honor relate to those empty storefronts?
Empty storefronts are often the visible scars of deeper fractures in a community—fractures that can stem from a loss of shared values like loyalty, integrity, and the willingness to act for the common good. When honor falters, so does the effort required to sustain the very structures—physical, social, and economic—that make a town thrive.
It happens subtly. Perhaps a business owner struggles, but instead of rallying around them, we look away, assuming it’s not our problem. Maybe a local project falters because volunteers grow weary, and rather than step in, we let it collapse, thinking someone else will pick up the pieces. Over time, the choices to stay silent, to not act, or to prioritize convenience over contribution lead to decay—of storefronts, of community spirit, and ultimately, of trust.
The link between honor and an empty space is this: Honor is what drives people to care for something beyond themselves. It’s what makes someone say, “I’ll lend a hand,” “I’ll take a risk,” or “I’ll stand up for what’s right.” Without honor, apathy creeps in, and the weight of neglect grows too heavy for a town to bear. The empty storefronts aren’t just about lost businesses—they’re about lost opportunities to stand together as a community and honor the responsibility we all share to lift each other up.
So perhaps the question isn’t just where honor has gone, but how we can reclaim it—before even more spaces in our towns and lives are left empty.
What might happen if we reclaimed those values? What if we held each other accountable—not with shame or spite, but with the belief that we’re better when we demand better of ourselves?
So here’s the challenge: When you see harm, will you choose silence or action? When wrong unfolds, will you step forward or stand back? What will you do the next time honor calls your name?
Will you answer? Or will you look away?
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