Bad taste is simply saying the truth before it should be said.

“Bad taste is simply saying the truth before it should be said.” Thus spoke Mel Brooks, master of satire, who with laughter sought to unmask the pretenses of society. His words, though veiled in jest, reveal a wisdom older than kings: that truth, when spoken without the garment of timing, can wound rather than heal, offend rather than enlighten. The saying does not condemn truth itself—for truth is eternal—but reminds us that wisdom is not only knowing what is true, but knowing when and how it must be spoken.

The ancients themselves wrestled with this. The wise men of Greece taught that rhetoric is not only about words but about kairos—the opportune moment. To speak truth too soon, like casting unripe fruit from the tree, can leave a bitter taste. To speak it too late is to lose its power. Thus, Brooks’ jest conceals a profound teaching: that even the most sacred truth can be felt as “bad taste” when men are not yet ready to hear it.

Consider the tale of Cassandra of Troy. Gifted by the gods with the power of prophecy, she spoke only the truth—but always too soon, always before her people were ready to listen. She warned of the horse, she cried out against the lies of the Greeks, yet her words fell upon deaf ears. Her truth, untempered by timing, seemed like madness, and thus Troy perished. Was it bad taste? Perhaps not in the eternal sense—but to her people, it was a truth spoken before its season, and so it brought her only scorn.

History too shows this lesson in the fate of Galileo. His discoveries of the heavens were indeed the truth, and his passion to share them was fiery. But to declare them boldly before a world still chained to tradition was to invite condemnation. To many, it was “bad taste,” an insult to long-cherished beliefs. Though his truth endured, the timing of his declaration brought him persecution. His suffering teaches us not that truth should be hidden, but that wisdom requires the balance of courage and patience.

Yet there are also heroes who dared to risk bad taste, who declared truth early so that the seeds might begin to grow. Martin Luther King Jr., when he cried out against segregation, was accused by many of speaking too soon, of stirring unrest. To his critics, his words were indecent, disruptive, in “bad taste.” Yet to the soul of history, his timing was perfect—for though the world resisted, the people began to awaken. Thus we see the double edge: to speak too soon may offend, but sometimes it is only the bold who break the silence that chains the world.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, take this teaching to heart: truth must be spoken, but wisdom is knowing when and how. Do not cloak yourself in cowardice, waiting forever to speak, nor cast your words carelessly into unready hearts. Let discernment guide your tongue. Ask: “Will this truth heal or harm if I speak it now? Will silence serve justice, or will it betray it?” For sometimes restraint is love, and sometimes boldness is salvation.

Let this be your practice: season your truth with compassion. If it must be spoken, speak it gently when hearts are tender, or thunderously when silence itself has become a lie. Do not wield truth as a blade to wound for sport, nor withhold it from fear of “bad taste.” Balance courage with mercy, boldness with timing. For as Mel Brooks, the jester-sage, has shown us—truth is eternal, but the art of when to speak it is the path of wisdom.

And remember: to live by truth is not only to know it, but to honor the rhythm of its unfolding. Sometimes it must wait, sometimes it must roar, sometimes it must whisper. But in every case, let it be guided not by pride, but by love—for then even what seems “bad taste” may, in time, be revealed as the seed of liberation.