This is my first column since going on book leave in May. (Thank you to Jon Allsop for filling in admirably and expanding the mission of Fault Lines while he was at it.) Every restart comes with a bit of looking back, and, this week, I want to revisit a series of columns from the past few years which concern the First Amendment. I am a free-speech absolutist—an admittedly mostly useless and conditional term that tends to fall apart at the gentlest touch. What it means, in my case, is that I believe that all forms of nonviolent speech should be protected; that the government should not have any power to regulate media outlets, individual speakers, or online platforms; and that, on a broader, nonlegal, and even spiritual level, people should regard any type of censorship, even when done by private actors operating within their rights, with skepticism and worry. I’m convinced that most Americans agree with this view, at least in theory, and one of the arguments that I’ve made during the past few years is that the Democratic Party and people on the left should return to their historical position as the defenders of the First Amendment, not only because it’s the right thing to do—and utterly essential in a moment when the Trump Administration seems to be gearing up for a crackdown on dissent in the government, the media, and the academy—but also because it’s one of those things, like football and underdog stories, that fill Americans with warm, familiar feelings.
Needless to say, this writing campaign has been almost entirely in vain. The liberal side of American politics has, in the past few decades, essentially ceded the cause of free speech to the right. Pick any losing battle you want: the debate about trigger warnings and safe spaces, which became popular on college campuses and elsewhere in the early twenty-tens; or the fights over deplatforming allegedly harmful speakers about ten years ago; or the shutting down of “disinformation” on social media during the early Biden Administration. These little acts of censorship had the net effect of helping people on the right make the case that they were and are having their speech suppressed. The rise of Charlie Kirk’s Turning Point USA, for example, depended on his correct assessment that there were conservative students on every campus who felt like they couldn’t speak their minds in class without facing social consequences. He also understood that the emotional unrest among these kids could be harnessed with just a little prodding and organizing.
Can liberals do something similar now? Free speech, for obvious reasons, has always been an opposition-party issue—it’s a lot harder to claim that the government is suppressing you when your preferred party is in power. Two weeks ago, Democratic Representative Jason Crow, of Colorado, talked about the No Political Enemies Act, which, in its own words, reaffirms “the constitutionally protected right to free speech and establishes clear and enforceable protections to deter abuse, empower individuals and organizations to defend themselves, and create meaningful accountability.” The bill is known by the rather unfortunate acronym NOPE. In practice, NOPE would “prohibit the use of federal funds for any investigations or regulatory action that would suppress protected speech” and provide “tools” for people who find themselves on the wrong side of censors. A companion measure was introduced in the Senate, by Chris Murphy, of Connecticut, and Chris Van Hollen, of Maryland, with support from the Minority Leader, Chuck Schumer. The chances that the Republican-controlled House or the Republican-controlled Senate bring the bill to the floor are basically zero. Still, NOPE allowed Democrats, in the wake of Jimmy Kimmel’s brief suspension from the air, to do a little First Amendment sabre-rattling and to show that they, too, care about free speech.
Will it work? If you believe that politics obeys a kind of thermodynamics, it would stand to reason that the Democrats, now expressing growing concerns over censorship—especially with this past week’s unveiling of National Security Presidential Memorandum 7, which would effectively classify many speech acts as domestic terrorism—would be able to seize the mantle of free speech and build up a degree of activist energy, particularly at colleges and universities, where cuts to federal funding and threats from the Trump Administration have led to the dissolution of entire fields of study.
But I don’t think this will happen. For one thing, the cultural shift that led to safe spaces and trigger warnings was more powerful than some of us may want to admit. It’s true that we are in the waning days of the concept that speech is violence—due in part to a marked algorithmic shift in social media, from peak woke to peak reactionary, as well as the plummeting faith the public has in the academy, the crucible for this idea. But people who had adopted that position and supported what was broadly labelled “cancel culture” still occupy roles in the infrastructure of the Democratic Party, of major nonprofits, and of academia. It’s hard to imagine that the individuals who mostly rolled their eyes at free-speech claims just a few years ago will suddenly transform into Mario Savio-style culture warriors, urging their audiences to throw themselves onto the gears of government. These same people, for better or worse, are the gears. Crow, Van Hollen, and Murphy should be applauded for introducing NOPE and at least trying to reclaim free speech, but I suspect even they know that their party currently has little standing on the issue.
Jay Caspian Kang
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