She stands in a street, clad only in jeans and pink bra. Perhaps you’d know her from the tattoos, but the trademark beehive and thick eyeliner are gone, rendering her bare and practically unrecognizable.

She was certainly recognized though, as the picture was shown all over the world.

It’s an incredibly difficult photo to look at, but if you do, you see there’s bewildered desperation in the eyes, but something in the open, upright stance, as she’s facing and – loaded language in this context, I know – exposing herself to the photographers documenting her downfall, remains defiant. Like on her chart-topping record, Amy Winehouse is still saying no, no, no.

I used to say that Winehouse’s “Rehab” was a actually a metaphor for a woman rebelling against patriarchal control. It was only half a joke. To me that song still rings true as a woman’s determination not to let anyone else – men, social institutions – tell her what’s best for her in a time of crisis. The story is not entirely different from Victorian narratives of women who were deemed “hysterical” or “mad” and locked away to be kept from making trouble.

Now, there seems to be little doubt that Winehouse has serious drug abuse issues. But watching her tribulations unfold in a constant sensationalized manner, practically in real time, is like some sort of fun-house mirror version of the experiences of many twenty-something women. If all the messy details of our personal lives, fashion choices, and mistakes were writ large in the public sphere, we probably wouldn’t come out looking so perfect and in control either.

I hope Winehouse gets better. I want to see her making more music, happy and strong and beautifully dressed and giving a big old finger to the press who have reveled in her tribulations. Because, while I sadly can’t get my hair to do anything close to her look and I certainly don’t face the severity of problems that she does, Amy Winehouse is my sister.

She has a litany of voices – including Keith Richards, of all people – telling her what’s best for her, passing judgment on almost every aspect of her life. Not all of these actions may be badly intentioned, and it would appear that if Winehouse is indeed to conquer her demons, she will certainly need help and perhaps institutionalization.

Nevertheless, there’s something about this chorus of voices telling this young woman what’s she’s doing wrong and how she should lead her life, and the attitude of condescension disguised as genuine concern, that again draws a parallel to ordinary young women struggling to make their way in the world.

You don’t have to be a pop sensation with a drug problem and a mass media following to have your life dissected, your mistakes analyzed, and to have other people offer unsolicited advice and opinions on how you should live and work and everything you’re doing wrong.

If you’re an editorial assistant, a graduate student, or an investment banker, if you’re any kind of young woman starting out in the world, finding your place and voice, your confidence will frequently be shot by a chorus of voices – often, but certainly not exclusively, male – calling you names, telling you what you should do, and undermining and denigrating your skills and abilities. It’s enough to make any girl go a little crazy now and then.

It’s because of this kinship, because I have a sense – not that I know what it feels like – but that I’ve experienced my own, normal gal version of her situation, that I hope Amy can show the world that her tears will dry on their own.

After midnight, Grand Central Terminal takes on a catatonic, almost zombie-like state. Exhausted commuters are stuck waiting for trains (knowing they’ll have to get back on them again in a matter of hours) and resort to idly shuffling through newsagents’ shops because they’ve got nowhere to sit. After the witching hour, it gets deathly silent.

Which is why I was puzzled at all the shouting that greeted me as I emerged from the subway and steeled myself for the interminable wait for the last train to suburbia. Was it possible I was about to witness to what transit workers so euphemistically refer to as “an incident?”

My mistake. It was just the noise of talking heads on cable television going at each other, reverberating from the TV screens of Hudson News.

The pundits involved don’t really matter, nor does the subject of the so-called “debate.” Even if you have only a superficial familiarity with what passes as political discourse in much of mainstream media today, you already know the score. Accusations were flung, offensive labels were invoked, and oversimplified talking points were repeated ad nauseum, all at ridiculously high volumes.

It got so painful that I had to take refuge in the adult magazines section, where the promise of “Limey Lesbian Lager Louts” on the cover of Juggs seemed a relative oasis of decorum and civility.

The experience made me realize how much mainstream news has become degraded, not only by partisanship, but also by didactic, reductive and absolutist rhetoric. Topics that affect all of us are too often depicted as black or white, liberal or conservative, pro or con, without delving into the complexities and nuances that make up the reality of life.

One of the wonderful things about working at The Issue is that, while there’s a great variety and diversity of opinions, the level of discussion is not only thoughtful and respectful, but also incisive and thorough.

I feel privileged to work at a place where deeper questions are asked and pondered earnestly. Where the trajectory of dialogue is not simply “you believe X, so you must be labeled as Y,” but something more like, “My instincts tell me that this belief is right, but what evidence do we have to back it up? What happens to our initial reactions when we look at this from a different angle?”

Much of my pride in The Issue (and there’s a lot of it) stems from the fact that we aspire to offer you an alternative to mainstream news, not only by presenting multiple sides of a given topic, but also by digging deeper and examining the harder questions.

By navigating the fertile and varied territory of the blogosphere, we also have the advantage of hearing a chorus of impassioned, detailed, and very personal voices. We get to explore not only what different people believe, but why they believe it –that is to say, we get a uniquely intimate look at the personal experiences that shape an individual’s viewpoint.

To me, this “why” of opinion is a unique opportunity for a more elevated and productive form of discourse. If we can see what has makes people think the way they do, if we aim to truly view things from their perspective without prejudice, we’re one step closer to not only listening, but truly hearing each other in a new way. And my hope and my goal is that The Issue will be a gateway to a many more open ears.