Article
Character
Comment
Freedom
Politics
4 min read

Elon will learn that speech is never free

We see the cost of our words in our daily lives.
Elon Musk, wearing a t-shirt slouches forward, holding a mic, while sitting on a stage chair.
Musk, not talking.
Wcamp9, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Nigel Farage presumably still believes Elon Musk a ‘hero’ for reintroducing absolutely free speech on X- despite the Billionaire concurrently suggesting that Farage isn’t cut out to lead the UK’s Reform party. If he is truly committed to the free speech cause, Nigel should welcome this verbal attack from Musk as proof that he can take what he often gives out.  

This turn of events demonstrates free speech to be a misnomer. Whatever we say - and do - is never free, and always has a price to pay. Farage and Reform ended up paying the embarrassing cost of Musk’s pointed comments this time round, bemused by the volte-face from the man who was in talks to donate to Reform just weeks ago. 

We see the cost of our words in our daily lives. Saying ‘sorry’ costs us our pride, saying ‘thank you’ costs us our independence, saying ‘I forgive you’ costs us our chance at revenge, giving a compliment costs us a battle with our own insecurities, and so on. And these are positive words- the verbal price is plainer to see when we have caused hurt, upset, or distress. I am grieved often by a thoughtless or hurtful comment given or received.  

The impact of Musk’s words on Farage is clear to see, but there is also an impact on Musk’s inner life. This is the hidden cost of negative speech; the speaker poisons themselves with the negativity they are channelling in what they say. A Hebrew proverb states that ‘death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.’ Continuous negative speech will twist a person entirely in on themselves, slowly reducing any capacity to love or bear goodness. Eventually the tongue dictates the whole person; what victimising speech comes out is the sum total of the defiled heart that propels it. There is little ability to pull back- what was once a conscious choice to engage in vitriol has become the unconscious reflex of a vitriolic heart. 

Advocates of uncensored speech are usually trying to say something society does not generally accept, and therefore often something extremist. Recognising there is great cost to hurtful speech both to the speaker and the target might encourage those tempted to vent their deepest fears in the form of insult to consider again the power of the tongue.  

Questioning Farage’s politics may not be an extremist thought, but we must pay attention to the fact that the ‘hero’ of free speech, Musk, appears to have fallen out with Farage because of their differing opinions on Tommy Robinson, the extremist whom Musk has continued to platform and refused to censor. Farage has distanced himself from Robinson and seemingly incurred Musk’s wrath. Furthermore, Musk’s vile comments over the weekend about Keir Starmer and Jess Phillips demonstrates that repeated insults curate a dark heart. 

Perhaps we should not be surprised that Musk seems to be on a concurrent campaign to disrupt democracy as he tries to advocate a total absence of censorship. The role of democracy is to protect minorities; the reason we trust elected officials to vote laws in for us is to protect those unlike us from mob rule. In our society, our elected officials should be protecting the migrants, refugees, ethnic minorities, criminals, the disabled, those unable to work, and any others who are ripe for victimisation by wider society.  

These protections, the rule of law, and the court system, means we can live together without our basest human instincts for violence ruling our better judgements. Ours is a society built on biblical principles, and the care for the foreigner and the poor is found continuously from cover to cover of that book. Not only does democracy offer a system of government that offers the protection of the law, but it also incorporates universally just principles with regards protecting minorities. 

This is the reason that free speech is curbed to an extent in Britain by the ability to prosecute hate speech. Our elected officials have decided that the cost of some speech is too high to pay. This is not a totalitarian imposition, but a recognition that in an internet age, hateful opinions spread too quickly and too visibly to be tolerated. 

In order to attempt to curate a society of gentler and healthier hearts, we should turn to the teacher whose words operated exclusively in grace and truth. Jesus recognised that speech was not free, saying on one occasion that each person would have to account for their careless words before God on the day of judgement. Deeper than even the consequences for our own selves and the recipients in the immediate moment, this eternal cost should remind us of the responsibility to use our words wisely and to deal in truth, encouragement, and wise critique.  

All our words have tariffs - Jesus’ earthly life was full of negative reactions to his speaking the truth. And yet, for ourselves, for our societies, and for those who need protection from hatred: we must think twice before we speak. For our words cost more than we will know in this life. 

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Snippet
Comment
Digital
Fun & play
Sport
3 min read

Line judges replaced by robots? You cannot be serious!

Wimbledon is about more than efficiency, it’s about humanity.

Matt is a songwriter and musician, currently completing an MA in theology at Trinity College, Bristol.

Tennis line judges stand and lean forward with hands on knees
Line judges, Wimbledon, 2012.
Carine06, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

It’s the most wonderful time of the year! No, I’m not talking about Christmas, but Wimbledon, of course. Two weeks of absolute delight. Tennis matches on the TV non-stop. Incredible displays of athleticism and skill. Wimbledon never fails to be an emotional rollercoaster for Brits as we watch our favourites reaching for glory (to various degrees of success). 

But it’s not just the tennis: it’s the entire aura around the Championships. The Pimm’s & Lemonade; the strawberries and cream. The big serves but bigger personalities. The familiar cadence of retired legends in the commentator box. The ball kids, impeccably disciplined as always, run like the clockwork we come to expect at the tournament. The outrageous Englishness of it all, from the refined fashion to ridiculous costumes, to the umpire’s chiding of the raucous crowd, popping champagne bottles at inappropriate moments. Wimbledon is like a faithful friend, who even after a year of being apart, makes a deep connection instantly. 

However, this year something - or rather someone - seems to be missing. I am of course speaking of our old friends, the line judges. 

Those stoic sentinels, guarding watch over the chalky borders of the court, have gone. In their place, a machine: efficient, faultless (apparently), and it doesn’t require a pension. But we still hear the ghost of the line judges haunting the court: their disembodied voices, recorded for posterity, call out from somewhere in the AI aether. 

Gone are the days of the drama of McEnroe’s ‘you cannot be serious’, and even the Hawkeye challenge - an apparently rude interruption to the gameplay - is no longer necessary. Perhaps this was inevitable: the next step on the path of progress, the realisation of a techno-optimist utopia. Fewer human errors, more tennis for us, even fewer shirts for the All England Club to iron. 

Technological advancement has made our old friends, the line judges, obsolete. 

But I’ve got to be honest, I miss them. It’s not that the technology seems to be glitchy at times, nor that I’m an old-fashioned technophobe. 

I recognise we don’t really need those line judges anymore, but I think, deep down, we do want them. 

Wimbledon is about more than efficiency, it’s about humanity. 

It’s about the on-court drama when a player disagrees with a line call. It’s about the risky moments where a line judge narrowly (and somehow quite elegantly) misses a 120mph serve. Computers eliminate risks, but they also diminish these human moments. 

I miss the line judges like I miss the conversations with people at the bus stop. Both made redundant by the people upstairs who benevolently(?) oversee our technological advancement. 

Our world teaches us to value efficiency, but at what cost? Just picture it, in years to come: the ball kids replaced by a super smart lawn mower with a sucker pipe to retrieve wayward balls, or God-forbid, Tim Henman recreated as an AI commentator avatar. 

Perhaps they may decide that’s a step too far. Perhaps our technocratic overlords may seek to consult a moral authority before destroying all human connection. 

Speaking of moral authorities, I believe in a God who created us, not because he needs us, but because he wants us. He could have made perfect robots with far less risk, far less drama, far less pain. But he chose to create human beings that fail, and frustrate our desire for efficiency. While the potential that AI offers is exciting, I am wary that we lose the potential latent in every human being: to connect. Let’s learn to see others not for their efficiency, but their humanity. 

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