“Colonel, the 6 a.m. flight was the first one off the base?”
That’s the line a few minutes into the courtroom scene in A Few Good Men. Lieutenant Kaffee is beginning his cat-and-mouse game with Colonel Jessep.
I think our family’s watched that scene at least 50 different times, in a few different cities. We’re locked in every time.
Any one of the four of us can pick up a thread of the dialogue, and any other member of the family can then drop into character and roll out the rest of the scene perfectly. The funniest part is we all do the Nicholson stuff so differently, but I insist I can get the closest to the real thing:
“Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who’s going to do it? You? You, Lieutenant Weinberg?”
Knowing what’s coming as you watch Cruise or Nicholson doesn’t change the tension or how the scene sucks you in.
Kaffee has pretty much figured it out. Earlier in the movie, he, Weinberg, and Galloway talk themselves — and us — through how they want to get Jessep to say it. Jessep definitely knows what happened.
The issue is getting Jessep to say the thing out loud.
I’ve seen moments like this come up in conversations I’m in, whether coaching or just connecting with people.
We’ve all been in contexts where it would definitely help if a truth were said, right?
“This project makes no sense right now.” But nobody says it.
Or, “I’m not sure I can keep working at this crazy pace.” But then the person works another weekend.
Times where a sharp, clear perspective is held in mind, but is not said in the room. Been there? I have.
There’s sometimes a gap between what’s in mind and what gets said. This creates stress on its own, and real-world things happen. A project that should end moves forward without anyone questioning it. Another weekend disappears into work — even though the sun is out. We can feel the hard parts happening downstream without always tracing them back to a conversation we didn’t have.
Sometimes this happens because of deference or people-pleasing. Speaking out can carry real risks: conflict with a manager, damage to a relationship, or a fear of slowly losing your job.
The Abilene Paradox illustrates this effect. The concept was outlined in 1974 by management thinker Dr. Jerry B. Harvey, based on a personal story. Harvey was relaxing with his wife and her parents, playing dominoes on a hot Texas afternoon, when his father-in-law suggested driving 53 miles to Abilene for dinner, with zero air conditioning.
No one wanted to make the hot, uncomfortable trip. But everyone agreed to go anyway, because each person assumed the others wanted to. No one wanted to cause friction. A miserable trip ensued. Later, everyone found out after they returned home that no one actually wanted to go.
Even the father-in-law who proposed the trip didn’t want to go. He thought the others were bored. Everyone wanted to stay home, and somehow they all agreed to leave.
But really, why is it sometimes so hard to say what we already know?
I used to frame the answer to myself and others as “hey, just speak up more.” But over time, that started to feel like an oversimplification.
“Speak up more” turns the puzzle into a communication problem. Clear, crisp communication can help with many situations, whether at work, with friends, or with family. But talking more is not the final answer.
Another version of this puzzle comes up in quieter conversations: when you are trying to understand what you yourself really think.
There’s a moment like this one back in A Few Good Men. Over a seafood dinner, Commander Galloway starts listing her accomplishments and commendations to Kaffee. Kaffee asks why she keeps giving him her résumé. “I want you to think I’m a good lawyer.” She’s saying what she really wants.
Have you ever been in a one-on-one conversation with someone who steps through a set of thoughts they’re having, explains and rationalizes, and then says something shocking and blunt like “I don’t want to work there anymore”?
That type of reveal can hit you both hard. Sometimes the person saying it is just as surprised as you are. You think: where was this five minutes ago? Did talking out loud help them find the words?
This isn’t the same problem as deciding whether to challenge a group in a meeting. This is about someone getting clearer about what they think.
This means our question gets a little bit weirder. What does it mean to ‘know’ something before we’re able to say it?
Maybe things we “know” are in different in-progress states at different times. We can feel something, work through it, or even avoid it before we can put it into words. “Knowing” is less of an on/off switch.
Before someone says “I don’t want to work there anymore,” they may have thought they were just in a busy period, or needed more rest. Maybe “I don’t want to work there anymore” is new clarity on what’s been bothering them. It was previously just percolating.
But when you say something out loud—or even journal it—something can change. Sometimes another person helps you find the words. Your working draft thought can become something you can look at. Does this describe what I feel? Do I believe it? What comes next?
Maybe saying is one of the ways “knowing” becomes knowing. It gives you something to test and acknowledge.
“I don’t want to work there anymore” might become “I want to stay, but I can’t keep working this way.”
In 1997, James Pennebaker, Tracy Mayne, and Martha Francis analyzed writing from 177 people across six previous writing experiments. Participants wrote for 15–30 minutes over several sessions about difficult experiences they’d had — trauma, starting college, or losing a job. The researchers tracked how their language changed over time.
Increasing use of words associated with insight and causal thinking—words like “realize,” “understand,” “because,” and “reason”— was associated with fewer illness-related physician visits and fewer self-reported physical symptoms afterward. Their changing language suggested they were increasingly putting their connections and understanding into words.
Perhaps the writing wasn’t just recording their thinking. It was helping them work through something.
The next time you’re working through an idea alone, or in a crazy Zoom meeting, try asking this:
What’s the important true thing that isn’t being said?