Freedom of speech isn’t some abstract, academic concept that only lawyers and philosophers argue about. It’s something we all rely on every single day, often without realising it. Whether it’s a frank conversation in the pub, a heated exchange at a public meeting, or a robust discussion in a political setting, the ability to speak openly is the foundation of any confident, democratic society.
Yet increasingly, that foundation feels shaky.
Somewhere along the line, we’ve drifted into the idea that offence is proof of wrongdoing. That if someone is offended by what you say, then you must automatically be in the wrong. It’s an understandable instinct in a culture that prizes empathy, but it’s also a deeply flawed one. Offence is subjective. It’s emotional. It varies wildly depending on background, temperament, context and intent. It is not, and never has been, a reliable measure of truth or morality.
Whatever happened to the old “sticks and stones” principle? At some point we seem to have decided that words alone are equivalent to violence, and that discomfort is something to be eliminated rather than managed. That shift hasn’t made us kinder or more thoughtful, it’s made us more fragile and far less honest.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I like a good argument, or as I’m constantly reminded, a debate. I’ve always been good at it, and I enjoy it. I see debate as a competition of ideas: you put your argument forward, someone else challenges it, and the strongest points survive. That’s not aggression. That’s how adults test ideas and move closer to the truth. And crucially, if someone says something that isn’t right, you should have the absolute right to challenge it with equal measure.
That principle is at the heart of free speech. Bad ideas don’t disappear because they’re censored; they disappear because better ideas beat them in the open. When we silence, rather than challenge, we don’t defeat bad thinking, we entrench it.
This matters hugely in politics, where scrutiny is not just healthy but essential. If robust debate is treated as dangerous, and strong language is rebranded as threatening simply because it makes someone uncomfortable, then accountability quickly disappears. Democracy isn’t polite. It isn’t always comfortable. It is messy, noisy, argumentative and often inconvenient, and that’s precisely why it works.
Now, let’s talk about reality rather than theory.
Ask anyone who worked down the mines or served in the military what everyday conversation was like. I can tell you from first-hand experience: it was brutal. Blunt. Dark. Often savage. But nobody got offended. It was banter. It was camaraderie. For over a decade in the RAF, my unofficial purpose in life seemed to be turning up to work, teasing reactions out of colleagues, and then trying to one-up them before they did the same to me. That’s how we all behaved. And it wasn’t cruelty, it was a coping mechanism.
In tough, high-pressure environments, humour, often dark humour, is how people process stress, fear and responsibility. It builds resilience. It builds trust. And it works. I still spend a lot of time with other veterans today, and I’m pleased to say that this culture of banter, one-upmanship and gallows humour still exists. People speak freely. They challenge each other. They take the hit and give it back.
Yet in wider society, we’ve somehow allowed “hurty words” to become the latest tool for suppressing expression. Language that would have barely raised an eyebrow twenty years ago is now treated as evidence of malice or danger. That isn’t progress. It’s regression.
Of course, there is a line, and it matters that we’re clear about where it is. Genuine hate speech is not the same as robust debate or blunt language. Hate speech is deliberate, targeted, and intended to dehumanise or incite harm. It isn’t accidental. It isn’t simply “something I didn’t like hearing”.
Conflating hate speech with personal expression or political disagreement is lazy at best and dishonest at worst. When everything is treated as a threat, nothing is taken seriously, and real harm becomes harder to identify and address.
This brings me to another area where nuance has all but disappeared: public versus private speech.
If you say something in a public forum, a council chamber, a newspaper interview, a social media post, then yes, absolutely, expect scrutiny. Every word is fair game. That’s the price of public discourse and public office.
But a private WhatsApp message between two people, or even within a closed group, carries a clear expectation of privacy. People speak differently in private. They vent. They exaggerate. They joke. They use shorthand. They say things they would never polish for public consumption, and nor should they have to. Dragging private conversations into the public arena and treating them as formal statements is deeply dishonest. It strips context, ignores intent, and creates a chilling effect where people stop speaking freely even in spaces that should be safe.
A society where people are afraid to speak honestly in private is not a healthy one.
Then there’s the issue of gaslighting, a word that gets thrown around far too casually, but which describes a very real problem when used properly. Provoking debate isn’t gaslighting. Challenging someone’s assumptions isn’t gaslighting. Even deliberately pushing buttons to test an argument can be perfectly legitimate in the right context.
But deliberately being economical with the truth, spreading known falsehoods, or misrepresenting facts purely to provoke outrage or extract a reaction? That’s different. That isn’t debate, it’s manipulation. And it poisons the environment for everyone involved. Free speech relies on good faith. Once bad faith becomes the dominant tactic, trust collapses and meaningful discussion becomes impossible.
Freedom of speech has never been about comfort. It’s about resilience. It’s about honesty. It’s about having the confidence to hear things you don’t like, challenge them, and respond with substance rather than outrage. It’s about understanding that disagreement is not danger, and offence is not harm.
If we continue down the road of policing language based on feelings, dragging private conversations into public trials, and equating blunt speech with violence, we don’t just weaken debate, we suffocate it. And when debate dies, accountability soon follows.
I’m not interested in a society where everyone speaks in approved phrases, terrified of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. I’m interested in one where ideas are tested openly, bad arguments are challenged robustly, and people are treated like adults capable of handling disagreement.
Free speech isn’t always tidy. But it’s essential.
And I’m not prepared to watch it quietly disappear.
