What would scar you more, a stinging slap or a wounding word? Please pause a minute to consider the question before you move on.
The freedom to offend and insult has been championed by many as a logical extension of the right to free speech and expression. They consider it obvious that if a view challenges an existing practice or belief, it has the potential of offending someone somewhere. It is, therefore, argued that freedom of speech would be an empty principle if it did not also provide the freedom to offend.
However, while offending speech is sacred, the argument goes on, physical violence is abhorrent.
In this argument, if someone is hurt at something that is said, it is his problem. He is too thin-skinned, not sufficiently versed in the art of democratic practice, not sure enough of his ground to engage meaningfully in a conversation, not cognisant that all desirable change in society has required someone to be offended or insulted. He should go and fix himself. Law should stay out of it.
But if someone hurts another with his hands, he is a brute and a thug, not sufficiently versed in the art of democratic practice, not sure enough of his ground to engage meaningfully in a conversation, not cognisant that physical violence cannot bring anything desirable into existence. We should go and fix him, using the power of law and the state.
What would scar you more, a stinging slap or a wounding word?
As you considered this question at the beginning of this article, as you relived your own experiences, you probably saw that words, uttered with sufficient malice, can hurt far more grievously than a raised hand would.
Why, then, the fond protectiveness for the hurtful word?
Could it be that the people who make the case for freedom for hurtful words do so because they are more skilled at using them than those they wish to defeat? If my preferred weapon is the word and someone else’s the hand, it is quite clever to tilt the field by making his weapon reprehensible and mine noble.
It doesn’t quite work like that, of course. The other side prefers to shift the battle to his familiar ground, the theatre of physical violence. They are both doing the same thing, seeking an advantage by employing their native skills. So, while the champion of free, hurtful speech cries himself hoarse over his right to do so over TV channels, the other person simply goes and beats up his target. The only voices they both hear are their own arguments for why they are right.
Is it possible, then, to consider a different, but by no means new, standard for freedom of speech? Of course, free speech must be protected, for it is the very basis of renewal and creativity in a society. In the process of being expressed, an idea may indeed offend, or hurt. But it must never be expressed with the intention of hurting or offending and certainly never with a sense of entitlement to do so.
It is unquestionably true that the right to tell our truth is fundamental to our well-being. Can we establish it as equally true that the very claim to a right to offend is abhorrent, just like a claim to a right to physical violence?
In civilised society, this standard has always existed. The values of practically every society, the precepts of practically every religion, exhort us to speak the truth, but speak it with care, lest we hurt. The celebration of the right to hurt is a very recent phenomenon, one that seems to seek only a personal satisfaction at insulting or hurting someone who does not agree with us, regardless of what it might mean for the actual resolution of the problem and conflicts in society.
On the other hand, when we seek change and press our cause firmly but give up the right to offend, a completely new dynamic arises. It is now possible to sincerely apologise if hurt does shows up because it wasn’t our intent to do so. It is possible to feel the pain that our words have caused because it wasn’t a part of what we expected to see. It is possible to rephrase what might have been uttered with insensitivity or lack of awareness of the other’s being. We may even discover that we are happy to modify what we said to accommodate an alternative view-point. It is a state of mind in which it is possible to realise that we both have a shared problem that needs to be solved, rather than each of us being a problem for the other.
None of this need, in any way, compromise the opposition to injustice, oppression or distorted traditions. It is short-sighted fallacy to believe that vigorous challenge to such practices cannot be mounted except through speech which hurts. And it is even more fallacious to believe that, if such hurt is inadvertently caused, we are powerless to assuage it without giving up our challenge. In fact, practically every one of us has experienced the power of a word to change us, when it comes from someone with affection, with concern and with serious intent.
When we challenge a practice, but reach out to the practitioner, we create the ground for a genuine meeting of minds. It adds a new dimension to dialogue, expanding it from “through words” (which is what dialogue literally means) to “through affection”.
And then, perhaps, neither the word, nor the hand need rise in anger.
