Freedom of Speech and Other Things People Say Right Before They’re About to Be a Jerk

Freedom of Speech and Other Things People Say Right Before They’re About to Be a Jerk

There’s a special moment in modern society when someone clears their throat, squares their shoulders, and announces:

“Well, in a free country…”

Which is usually followed by one of three things:

1. a hot take they haven’t fully thought through,

2. an opinion they definitely have thought through (and it’s still awful), or

3. a sentence that begins with “I’m not racist / sexist / homophobic / transphobic, but…”

And then, like a magician revealing the rabbit, out comes the magic phrase:

“Freedom of speech.”

As if those words are a kind of legal forcefield that makes you immune to consequences, critique, or basic decency.

But here’s my question:

Freedom of speech… or freedom to be a nuisance with a microphone?

Because sometimes “free speech” is a principle worth protecting with our whole being. Yet sometimes it’s just a costume people put on so they can say something harmful and then act surprised when the room reacts like a room full of humans.

Let’s be honest: the current “free speech” debate is rarely about speech being free. It’s about people wanting consequence-free speech, which is not a human right, it’s a fantasy product, and if it exists anywhere, it’s in the same aisle as “no-calorie cheesecake.”

The bit everyone likes to skips is, freedoms can collide. Here’s the part that makes everyone uncomfortable, so we avoid it: Freedoms don’t always line up neatly. Sometimes your freedom to speak crashes into someone else’s freedom to exist without being treated as a public problem.

So, whose freedom wins? Is the speaker’s right to say the thing… more valuable than the listener’s right to live as their whole self? Because if your “expression” comes at the cost of someone else’s dignity, we’re not talking about liberty anymore. We’re talking about a transfer of power.

“It’s just words.”

Ah yes. The great lie. Words are never “just words.”

Words are social instructions. They shape norms. Norms shape permission. Permission shapes behaviour. And speech doesn’t land evenly depending on who you are.

A pundit with a platform making a “reasonable” argument about a minority group isn’t floating ideas in a vacuum. They’re tossing stones into a pond where the ripples hit schools, workplaces, waiting rooms, and family dinner tables. And then, somehow, the people absorbing the ripples get told they’re being dramatic.

The dignity test: can you hear yourself?

Here’s my working definition of the line:

We have the freedom to express ourselves.We do not have the freedom to harm.

Not “harm” as in “someone got mildly annoyed online for eleven seconds.” I mean harm as in: your words become part of the machinery that makes someone less safe, less free, less welcome, less able to exist publicly without being questioned, mocked, targeted, or legislated against.

If what you’re saying reduces someone else’s ability to live openly, securely, and with self-respect… that’s not “robust debate.” That’s damage dressed up as bravery.

But aren’t we allowed to disagree?

Yes. Please. Disagree! Argue! Conversation is how change begins. It’s how people learn. It’s how ignorance meets reality. It’s how blind spots get discovered (often loudly, and sometimes painfully). But here’s the catch:

Conversation without dignity isn’t dialogue - it’s sport.Conversation without respect isn’t debate - it’s performance.Conversation without empathy isn’t “free speech” - it’s extraction.

If the “conversation” requires one group to sit quietly while another group discusses their legitimacy like a policy issue… that isn’t conversation. That’s a tribunal with better lighting.

The retrospective check (the one we should all use)

Whenever I’m unsure whether something is “free speech” or “free harm,” I use the simplest test I know: Is what I’m saying about you okay if it’s said about me?

Not “could I handle it?” Not “would I survive it?” But: would it be fair, accurate, and decent?

So many spicy public opinions rely on one quiet assumption:

I can say this about you because I don’t really experience you as fully human the way I experience myself.

And if that sentence makes you squirm… good. It should. That squirm is your conscience doing a little cardio.

“But you can’t say anything anymore!”

That assumption is simply not true. You can say plenty. You just can’t say anything and also demand applause, access, money, platforms, invitations, and moral high ground. That’s the difference.

Free speech doesn’t mean free from critique. It doesn’t mean free from social response. It doesn’t mean free from being told, calmly: That’s not okay.

If your ideas are solid, they can survive disagreement. If your character is sturdy, it can survive accountability. If you crumble the moment someone says “that harmed me,” then the issue isn’t censorship. It’s fragility.

A softer landing

Here’s what I want, genuinely, even when I’m ranting: I want a society that can disagree without tearing people apart.

Most people aren’t cartoon villains. They’re a messy mix of fear, habit, culture, frustration, and stories they inherited without checking the fine print.

But we can’t keep doing the same dodge: When someone tells you your words are shrinking their world, the answer isn’t to yell “FREE SPEECH!” like it’s a sacred spell.

The answer is the human one:

Pause. Reflect. Ask: Was I trying to be accurate… or trying to win?Ask: Would I accept this standard if it was applied to me?Ask: Am I building the kind of world I’d want my kids to live in?

Because I keep returning to the line that holds the whole thing together:

We all have the freedom to express ourselves.We do not have the freedom to harm.

And if we can hold that with calm, with courage, with consistency we might actually end up with what we say we want: More truth. Less theatre. And conversations that leave people more human, not less.