“Freedoms” are a pretty tricky concept, apparently. In a country that uses its human rights record as rhetoric against less democratic or accepting leaders, it’s probably one that we should be a little more frank about. Free speech is fundamental not only to any sort of progressive attitude, but surely also to demonstrate conviction that any existing policies or practices can withstand the tests of questioning. In the real world, this isn’t quite the case. We allow people their place in Speakers’ Corner, but do we actually listen to them? If you gaze awkwardly at the floor on the magic bus rather than take a leaflet from the Magic Bus Lady, can you say you allow her to use her platform of free speech?
That’s where it gets tricky. When does my right not to listen trump your right to speak? If we avoid the news, the views and the evidence we find distasteful, can we claim that we really allow free speech?
On 8th November Manchester University was due to receive a speech by Norman Finkelstein, organised by some students. Admittedly controversial in the nature of his attacks on Israel’s behaviour towards Palestine, the event was sure to spark debate, and perhaps individual upset. The event was moved off-campus and entry restricted to students to avoid conflict, although the Manchester Jewish Society claimed that it would welcome his speech as a chance to ‘respectfully disagree with his views’ (The Mancunion, 14/11/11).
Somehow our university has become involved in what could be viewed as the ‘repression’ of a speech that ultimately was not deemed controversial by those who attended. By in effect restricting Mr. Finkelstein’s audience, not only was he not allowed the whole, attentive audience who wanted to listen to him, but those who disagree have been deprived of a chance to challenge him in a legitimate setting. If I had not wanted to listen, I could simply have not reserved a ticket; none of my individual rights would have been at all affected by his presence. All this said, I must admit that I didn’t even know Mr. Finkelstein was speaking at the University – so perhaps it’s publicity that really allows people a platform, and all this furore is a positive thing.
The same question of free speech can, naturally, be applied to politics and media. The ‘resignation’ of Professor Nutt, former head of the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs, in 2010 signalled what is actually a rather frightening restriction of free speech, discouraging the neutral reportage of scientific fact. It sounds like a medieval attitude – like Henry VIII having a tantrum because he didn’t like being told what to do – but Professor Nutt was sacked from his post simply for bringing theoretically apolitical facts about the real effects of drugs to the attention of the public, just because they did not support government policy and were not ‘popular’ views.
Perfectly put by the professor himself, “it is disturbing if an independent scientist should be removed for reporting sound, scientific advice” (BBC News). In the same way that claiming the Earth revolved around the Sun was deemed blasphemous at the time, it seems that contradicting common misconceptions about the effects of drugs is also deemed a crime, rather than helpful and necessary scientific development. The fact is that many people do not know that there is scientific evidence to show that drugs such as cannabis and ecstasy may be less, or at least no more, harmful than substances like alcohol, and now any reports investigating this are somewhat discredited. The concept of scientific fact, rather than any expression of opinion in the case of Professor Nutt, being ‘controversial’ is an odd one; surely science cannot change the facts to suit the audience (although scientists frequently do so), and that audience should not decide to ignore it.
The protests that took place at the Universities of St Andrews, Bath and Oxford between 2005 and 2007 over invitations to speak extended to BNP leader Nick Griffin provide a more controversial debate. Planned protest at the University of Bath led to the event being cancelled, while anti-racist groups’ attacks of St Andrews’ debating society’s invitation actually gave Griffin a more credible platform than had he been able to speak at all. The uncharismatic politician is unlikely to have convinced anyone of his views had he been questioned on them; letting him speak in the first place would probably have harmed his potential support far more than suppressing his speech.
Surely a much more effective way of discrediting Griffin was seen at Oxford University in November 2007. Although the protests were based on the idea that inviting him to speak implied too much legitimacy of his views, allowing protesters to affect the event itself, rather than prevent it, surely demonstrates much more firmly the disrespect held towards Griffin. In the words of a current student at Oxford, “giving him enough rope to hang himself with is not a bad thing”. Ignoring ridiculous opinions debunks them far less than letting them expose themselves.
However ridiculous, unpleasant or uncomfortable a person’s views are, surely ignoring them just detracts from our ability to sift the good from the bad? Not only does discouraging the publication of less popular views completely contradict a moral deeply embedded in our society, it also takes from us the opportunity to challenge them, and support the values we think are worth supporting. If ‘ridiculous’ ideas cannot be listened to, and then taken down by reasonable debate, it follows that they cannot actually be that ridiculous at all.
