In January 2015, a tragic incident occurred when two al-Qaida affiliates fatally shot cartoonists at the French satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo. This act was a response to the magazine’s controversial depictions of the prophet Muhammad. In the weeks that followed, I noticed a stark division on my Facebook feed. Many of my childhood friends, who had grown up alongside me in France near Paris, expressed their sorrow over the loss of familiar artists, shared their outrage at religious extremism, and voiced concerns about the decline of free speech.
In contrast, several of my academic acquaintances from the UK and the US, who were newly introduced to Charlie Hebdo and its provocative cartoons, expressed worry about the potential stigmatization of French Muslims. Some even questioned the legitimacy of publishing such images, with one individual sharing a blog post that labeled the slain cartoonists as “racist assholes.”
Interestingly, I found solace in the fact that these two groups of friends had little overlap. Each side would likely perceive the other’s views as deeply offensive and morally unacceptable. Just a week prior, these individuals had shared similar memes and engaged in discussions that sparked both amusement and outrage. Now, they had evolved into two completely distinct factions with seemingly irreconcilable values. I spent considerable time drafting impassioned responses to various posts, trying to articulate my perspective, only to delete them, realizing they were ineffective. Ultimately, I turned to phone calls, which proved more productive. Shortly thereafter, I opted to leave Facebook and, as an anthropologist, embarked on a research project to explore the underlying dynamics of this situation.
The discourse surrounding free speech often revolves around abstract concepts and regulations: What should be permissible? When does speech overstep boundaries? Is there a need for more or less oversight? While these discussions are valid, they fail to capture the deep emotional reactions and divisions that arise from debates about freedom of speech. In essence, the ongoing conflicts regarding free expression are not merely about guidelines; they fundamentally concern perceptions of morality and character. These debates are rife with stereotypes, such as “snowflakes,” “trolls,” “cancel-culture warriors,” “edgelords,” “bigots,” and “crybullies.” The crux of these discussions lies in implicit judgments about individuals: What kind of person seeks to regulate speech? What kind of person disregards the impact of their words on others?
This realm connects to what philosophers refer to as “virtue ethics.” Disputes about free speech can be viewed as arguments about various virtues—sincerity, courage, resilience, generosity, and empathy—and the character of those who uphold them. The discussions on Facebook implicitly posed a question: Are you the type of person who supports the slain cartoonists, even if you disagree with their work? Are you willing to confront social injustices? This personal nature of the debate is what strains relationships, divides families, and leads to heated arguments or uncomfortable silences.
In both Europe and the US, there seems to be a general consensus that free speech is largely beneficial. However, differing interpretations exist regarding the characteristics of a “good” free speaker. I would argue that three predominant visions have emerged: the first views the free speaker as a rational, composed citizen, sharing ideas—think of the articulate participant on a discussion panel or a community meeting. The second portrays the free speaker as a passionate rule-breaker, exemplified by provocative artworks like Andres Serrano’s “Piss Christ” or climate activists who disrupt famous pieces like the Mona Lisa. The third conceptualizes the free speaker as a courageous individual standing for truth, akin to whistleblowers like Edward Snowden or Li Wenliang, the Chinese doctor who alerted the world about COVID-19.
Sometimes, an individual may embody all three roles simultaneously. Take Salman Rushdie, for instance, who advocates for artistic freedom in a measured, nonpartisan manner while also passionately opposing censorship and risking his life for free expression. Following the Charlie Hebdo shootings, supporters viewed the publication as a symbol of rational, secular commitment to public discourse on religion and extremism, with its staff bravely challenging established authorities at great personal risk. Critics, however, disputed this portrayal, arguing that Charlie Hebdo lacked reasonableness, did not target the powerful, and was not selfless. In various contexts, these three representations of the free speaker can clash: the fervent activist passionately advocating from the frontlines, the rational citizen critically deconstructing the activist’s beliefs, and the valiant truth-teller shocking more conventional audiences.
By reframing free speech debates as discussions about ethics and character rather than mere rules and principles, we can begin to comprehend the volatility of these discussions. People may champion free speech one moment and then vehemently criticize their opponents the next. This phenomenon can be observed across the political spectrum, including MAGA supporters engaging in cancel culture, as seen in the case of Charlie Kirk, or progressives who previously endorsed speech codes now condemning their application against pro-Palestinian demonstrators. Such contradictions are often dismissed as double standards or insincerity. Yet, when viewed through the lens of character, a more nuanced understanding emerges. Each of these archetypes genuinely advocates for freedom of speech but may also have valid reasons for demanding silence in certain contexts. The rational citizen may support speech limitations through legal or civil means, while the passionate activist might argue that those in power should be silenced.
