As a child, I was always told to speak when I was spoken to, as a teenager I was always told to watch what I say, and now, as an adult-ish person, I am finding the age-old bit of (probably Chinese) wisdom “it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt” to be truer and truer with every instance of forced social interaction.
It’s astonishing how much importance we, as a species, place on the simple act of speech. A few manipulated sounds coming out of the mouth, the mere stroke of a key, or even a simple wave of a hand can often mean all the difference between life and death, between chaos and creation.
When we hear “freedom of speech,” the typical image that springs to mind is of some sort of a dystopia where the slightest of utterance against the prevailing class can land someone in a great deal of trouble. It makes us think of Ingsoc, of countries such as North Korea, or Turkey, or even, to a lesser degree, Bangladesh, and all the associated oppression that such societies harbour.
Such thoughts are entirely justified, of course. Question the grand narrative that is Islam, and you risk getting your head lopped off; question the even grander narrative that is our nation’s history, and you risk being made an enemy of the state.
But, is freedom of speech the exclusive right of the oppressed?
The short answer is: Nein.
We find it easy to root for the schoolteacher doing time for his poorly conceived (and possibly even drunken) Facebook status calling out the government for something it’s not doing right, but we’re all too quick to demonise an Islamist preaching antiquated notions about how women should be covered head-shoulders-knees-and-toes when roaming about in public.
We can’t hurl a word at someone hoping to make them die in an explosion, or shoot hollow-point words at the enemy to disarm them. What we can do is give them their chance at the podium
“Someone so obviously bigoted doesn’t deserve freedom of speech,” I hear you say, rolling your collective eyes from one end to the other.
But who exactly is the bigot here? The person who is doing nothing more than sharing his or her beliefs, or those of you who want nothing less than their tongue on a platter (ideally with a complimentary slice of humble pie)?
Much to the chagrin of those of you who are easily offended, I’m afraid freedom of speech cuts both ways.
Call me an idealist, but I’d like to think that there is a reason why every human being on Earth is endowed with the capacity to communicate, and that no entity should be able to dictate how and what we say as individuals, for better or worse. Not your constitution, not your government, not God, not even your mom and dad.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” I remember chanting in school along with my schoolmates when I was a wee lad; and, as much of a cliché as it has become, the age-old adage has still retained that feeling of middle-school profundity when I first heard our teacher introduce the entire class to it.
And, at the end of the day, that’s all they are: Words.
We can’t hurl a word at someone hoping to make them die in an explosion, or shoot hollow-point words at the enemy to disarm them. What we can do is give them their chance at the podium -- show them that we understand, that we empathise.
After all, to intentionally misquote the inimitable Wayne LaPierre: “The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is to let him have his say.”
Rubaiyat Kabir is a Sub-Editor at the Dhaka Tribune. Follow him on Twitter at @moreanik.