La liberté de parler

It’s a strange time to be in journalism.

 

Normally, when someone says that, they’re referring to the advent of Internet-connected mobile devices, which threaten to relegate traditional journalism to the realm of the antiquated – the 21st-Century equivalent of curly-mustachioed shoe shiners. And that is a threat, though mostly to those unprepared for the transition; they’re the living embodiment of that Darwinian creed, “Adapt or die.”

 

Until recently, though, that was the only serious threat. The mission itself – to inform, entertain, and enlighten – was never really under attack. And most run-of-the-mill Westerners might well ask, “Why would it be?” Particularly for Americans, who enjoy First Amendment protections, the freedom of the press is a right so ingrained in culture that it’s almost taken for granted, like the right to vote, or the right to choose Coke over Pepsi. Which one should do every time, by the way. Pepsi tastes like sugary back sweat.

 

Then a dopey comedy called “The Interview” inspired North Korea’s ire. Weeks later, 12 people at a satirical magazine in France lost their lives to terrorists over – of all things – the publication of a cartoon.

 

Grim stuff. Ridiculous stuff. But the media is no stranger to the grim and ridiculous. Reporters being killed by radicals has become a sadly commonplace phenomenon, and this isn’t the first time a cartoon has caused controversy; one may remember a few years ago when an episode of “South Park,” a comedy program whose bread and butter is social commentary wrapped in fart jokes and curse words, aired an episode that depicted the Muslim prophet Muhammed. Outrage among sects of the Muslim world inspired death threats to the show’s creators, which probably proved their point: That finding offense in a TV show is about as silly and illogical as the search for Bigfoot, or wearing tube socks to the beach.

 

Likely for that reason, the media stood its ground after the “South Park” fiasco, taken aback but still steadfast in its commitment to the right of expression. Lately, though, there have been cracks in that stoic veneer.

 

We all know what happened with “The Interview.” Sony Pictures, in an act of cowardice, pulled it from theaters, instead releasing it as a digital stream for paying customers over the Internet. The events in France, meanwhile, have inspired more in the way of journalistic solidarity, but the long-term implications – that purveyors of free thought may think twice before using their medium to satirize – are troubling, for no less grandiose a reason than the threat it poses to the right of people to say whatever the hell they want.

 

Journalism has had its challenges, yes. But I never thought it’d come down to this.

 

Look, I don’t pretend to accomplish anything of great importance in this space. I poke fun at things, I slip in random drug references, I cross my eyes and go “Wakka wakka wakka,” and hopefully people crack a smile. I’m not blazing any groundbreaking trails here. But I’m able to do what I do because I have the requisite freedom. I can joke that Donald Trump is a fat-faced blubberhead with a hairpiece made from the mottled fur of a diseased lemur. I won’t, because A) That would be totally gratuitous (wink, wink), and B) If Trump caught wind of it, he’d probably buy my apartment building and turn it into a gambling casino. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t if I wanted to. Pushing the envelope, frankly, is often part of a journalist’s job.

 

I’ve never been one to provoke for the sake of provoking. There needs to be an underlying reason, whether it be for a chuckle or the occasional stray point. It is, however, the sacred right of any free individual or entity, media or not, to rock the boat just for the sheer heck of it. It’s not always advisable, but it’s an arrow in the quiver. When we willfully surrender our arrows, the solid ground of free speech starts to buck and crumble beneath our feet. (And yes, I also reserve the right to mix my metaphors.)

 

This is what makes Sony’s actions so shameful. By allowing themselves to be intimidated by extremists, they’ve set a dangerous precedent, essentially sending the message that freedom of expression is negotiable.

 

It isn’t.

 

A right doesn’t remain a right unless we periodically stand up for it – even under threat of death. While that’s an extreme scenario, it’s no longer a farfetched one. There exists in every pocket of the globe those contingents who would curtail art or speech in the name of a perceived offense, religious or otherwise. Let them be offended. Let us offend. Bad jokes, bad taste, and bad judgment are all fair game, and should be. If those things are surpressed, then so too will good jokes, good taste, and good judgment. Then we’re all in trouble.

 

Which is why the staff at Charlie Hebdo, the French magazine, have earned my respect. Though they were victimized and made the subjects of widespread sympathy and support, their brand of satire hasn’t softened any. The cover of their first publication after the attacks is a testament to this. On it is a sign that has now become world-famous: Je suis Charlie. The sign is depicted as being held by the prophet Muhammed.

 

Bold? Probably. Offensive? Most definitely.

 

But it was also brave. And the right call.