The Line Between Free Speech & Hate Speech is Us
The Line Between Free Speech & Hate Speech is Us
my recent article published in The Portland Press Herald
Hi Everyone,
I wanted to share an article I published in my hometown paper this past Sunday, The Portland Press Herald. The article explores how we, readers and story consumers, have a role to play when it comes to differentiating between free speech and hate speech. I’d love to hear any feedback and hope to engage in a conversation about how to teach media literacy to the general public.
On a personal note, I head to Toronto this weekend for public events organized by the Toronto Holocaust Museum. One talk will be for descendants of the Holocaust about my process behind We Share The Same Sky. The other talk will be about the humanity of grief. If you happen to live in the area, please join. You can find more information about those by visiting my website where I list all of my public talks.
I fly back home from Canada on election day (yes - I have already voted!) and I’m desperately hoping for a Harris & Walz win. As I wrote in this previous essay, The Right to Disagree, “Every single person in this country has strengths and sensitivities to contribute to this nation. Whatever yours are and however you use them, please also do the one thing absolutely necessary and vote like our democracy depends on it.”
While my support for this election is publicly voiced for the democratic ticket, I know that no matter what happens next week, half of our America will be left terrified. I hope that we can recognize each other’s humanity in this time; my dedication and the mantra I keep repeating to myself is that regardless of the outcome, I will remain a kind, informed, and engaged neighbor with all.
With hope,
Rachael
The article below was published in The Portland Press Herald’s Sunday paper on October 27, 2024. (The article is behind a paywall so I am also sharing it here.)
The Line Between Free Speech & Hate Speech is Us
For better or worse, we have the freedom to craft our own stories. With that power comes significant responsibility.
This past July, I was in Rwanda with a few dozen media stakeholders who gathered at the Kigali Genocide Memorial to meet with Aegis Trust and the UN Special Adviser on the Prevention of Genocide. We were there to discuss the intensifying issue of hate speech worldwide. I was one of two Americans in a room that represented 17 countries, and listened deeply as my colleagues spoke of their fears about the increasingly violent rhetoric dominating American politics.
“Americans care more about free speech than stopping hate speech,” was the line I heard over and over again. And there was no part of me that could disagree.
Free speech is one of the tenets that we hold tight to in this country. It is in our bones. We are taught that we have freedom to think, to feel, and to be. We have the freedom to craft our own stories—and that is both a power and responsibility. But I fear that too often we embrace the former and forget the latter.
Last month, Vice Presidential nominee J.D. Vance gave us a clear example that the stories we craft around our lives can be as dangerous as they can be moving. After spreading lies about immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, he admitted to CNN host Dana Bash that he made the story up. As The Guardian stated simply in a headline, “JD Vance admits he is willing to ‘create stories’ to get media attention.” And in both the Vice Presidential debate and in many interviews since, he has doubled down on this tactic as a means of getting attention.
This is concerning of course, but mostly unsurprising to hear from a political candidate who has chosen to join a campaign whose main tactic is fear mongering. But the fact that Vance is a critically-acclaimed memoirist gives me reason to examine this moment with extra scrutiny.
Writing a memoir is telling a story about one’s own subjective truth. Memoirists tend to look at the world that surrounds them with an insatiable curiosity to understand their place in it. They explore their pain in the context of their physical place, and do their best to construct a narrative arc around a life that can often feel like chaos. There is no shortage of memoirs written by Americans that open a window into what it feels like to be a citizen of this country, and no two stories are ever the same; go to any bookstore and you will find a plethora of perspectives that either challenge or comfort you.
Vance’s 2016 memoir, Hillbilly Elegy, has been one of those perspectives. He wrote about his life growing up in Ohio and many of us in this country devoured it—myself included. It took me to a part of the country I do not know and told me a story about a place I do not understand. Like many of us default to, I trusted the storyteller.
There has always been criticism of the memoir though. For example, a 2022 Politico interview with Kentucky-born author Silas House, who is one of the premier thinkers about the South, was quoted saying “When I criticize [Hillbilly Elegy], sometimes conservatives accuse me of wanting to keep it out of readers’ hands… I am in no way saying the book should be banned… Every family story has value, but I wish he’d told that story without generalizing an entire place and people to fit his agenda.”
Since his book was released, Vance has gone from spinning his own story to spewing hate speech, which the United Nations refers to as “offensive discourse targeting a group or an individual based on inherent characteristics (such as race, religion or gender) and that may threaten social peace.” It’s an abuse of storytelling that has been proven effective by dictators and authoritarians for generations.
The aftermath of the September presidential debate when Trump repeated the lies that Vance created gave us an undeniable example of how hate speech leads to violence. In the weeks after, Springfield, Ohio endured dozens of bomb threats against schools and public offices. Elementary schools had to be evacuated, local colleges chose to meet virtually out of safety concerns, and the city canceled their annual celebration of diversity, arts and culture.
When defending his lies, Vance unapologetically explained that he created the story because he knew it would get attention. And he’s right. We’re still talking about it. I’m writing about it. It’s gotten traction. Springfield is still battling abuse. And our country has dug itself deeper into a culture war between those who want to humanize their neighbors and those who think their safety depends on dehumanization.
But here is what Vance doesn’t understand—a good writer, a good person and a good leader holds themselves accountable for their failings. They investigate themselves to find their flaws and acknowledge their own shortcomings which are often reflected back by the people in their lives, particularly those who are hurt. Vance had an opportunity when he admitted to lying. He could have set an example by saying he did something wrong. He could have told us that he got caught up in his party’s tactics and succumbed to peer pressure from his boss. He could have admitted that he found himself acting in a way he didn’t believe in and apologized for hurting the people living in his home state. That’s what a protagonist would do.
Stories are not prescribed or set. If Vance wants to tell a story narrated by hate speech and name himself a savior through premeditated lies—fine. We can’t stop him. That’s the power given to us Americans with our free speech. But with his power comes our responsibility. We don’t need to be his audience. We, the voters of this country get to decide where our memoir goes. This is our story to write. And I do hope we make it a kind one.
Thank you for this deeply nuanced and articulate take on a complicated issue.