Nonfiction
What Can’t You Say These Days?
In “The Indispensable Right,” Jonathan Turley argues that the First Amendment has been deeply compromised from the start.
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Jeff Shesol is the author, most recently, of “Mercury Rising: John Glenn, John Kennedy, and the New Battleground of the Cold War.”
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THE INDISPENSABLE RIGHT: Free Speech in an Age of Rage, by Jonathan Turley
Conservative voices are being silenced. We know this because conservative voices are telling us so, insistently, on social media and cable news programs, in speeches by Supreme Court justices and on the grounds of the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse. Casual observation might suggest otherwise — as does the data — but it has become an article of faith on the right that conservative viewpoints are being systematically suppressed, even criminalized.
It is true that many college campuses are inhospitable, at best, to speakers — including students — who challenge progressive beliefs. The conservative indictment, however, is more sweeping than that. In “The Indispensable Right,” the law professor and Fox News commentator Jonathan Turley lays out the charges unsparingly, accusing “the political left” of amassing “academic, corporate and government forces” in a campaign to cripple the First Amendment. The censors have the upper hand, he argues: Rioters are tarred as insurrectionists, unorthodox opinions are expunged from social media, medical experts are pilloried for questioning Covid protocols. “This,” he intones, “is the moment we have long feared would come.”
The end of days, by Turley’s accounting, was foretold at the start. The framers established the freedom of speech “in absolute terms” and then — the “original sin” — corrupted it by equating dissent with incitement in the Sedition Act of 1798, passed by Federalists in Congress and signed by John Adams.
Turley is hardly alone in depicting the act as a vindictive, partisan instrument or Thomas Jefferson as an inconstant champion of the free press. (“A few prosecutions of the most eminent offenders would have a wholesome effect,” he mused to an ally in 1803.) Neither is Turley the first to deplore the crackdowns on “disloyal” speech during times of national crisis, real or imagined.
Where he diverges from the consensus, and sharply, is in his portrayal of more than two centuries of free speech doctrine as a virtually unbroken betrayal of first principles. “Free speech demands bright lines,” Turley proclaims. In their place we have “trade-offs and concessions.”
The tests and distinctions of First Amendment law — the heightened protection of political speech relative to “low-value” forms of expression like obscenity; the balancing of free speech with other interests like privacy or public safety — are anathema to Turley. He views these as a cynical game, rationales for repression. The First Amendment, he says, is “objective” in its meaning and defines speech as he does: as an instrument of self-actualization. “Free speech is not about perfecting democracy,” he writes, “it is about perfecting ourselves.”
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