From the time a broken dishevelled man with empty pockets decided to drag a soap box to the middle of a park and stand on it, public discourse was born. He had nothing to lose, no one to fear. His words were his and his alone. His words were the truth. Then, as the crowd swelled and began to clap and cheer, someone decided to dress our man up in new clothes, slip his bare and callused feet in fashionable shoes. Another approached and sprayed our man with aftershave; someone else came forward and suggested the soap-box can have a logo of a soap manufacturer. Yet another recommended a short course in voice modulation, a trainer to pull out our man’s abusive language like a rotten molar, to curb his natural feelings and words. Soon the transformation was complete. The crowd still came to see and hear the man but they realised that it was now nothing more than a spectacle. Everything was for show. What the man said, how he spoke, what he wore, these attributes were all taking something away from his message, from his true self.