Don’t tell me what to think. Don’t tell me what to watch. Don’t tell me what I’m allowed to question.
And don’t punish me simply because my lawful opinion happens to be different from yours.
Of course, none of this should concern me. I live in Britain: a country with a long democratic tradition, where freedom of expression is protected and reasonable people are perfectly free to disagree with one another.
So I have absolutely nothing to worry about.
Do I?
Britain protects freedom of expression. So why can expressing a lawful opinion sometimes feel increasingly difficult?
That’s the question behind this article.
I’m not suggesting Britain has suddenly become a dictatorship. It hasn’t. Nor am I arguing that freedom of expression means we can say absolutely anything without consequences. It doesn’t.
Threats, harassment, intimidation and unlawful behaviour aren’t what I’m defending.
I’m asking something much more ordinary.
How comfortable are we becoming with disagreement — and who gets to influence what we’re encouraged to think, watch and believe?
Not got time to read the whole article?
Here’s the argument in brief.
Freedom of expression doesn’t mean freedom from criticism.
If an argument is wrong, challenge it with evidence. A label isn’t a rebuttal.
Peaceful protest is itself free expression. Trying to prevent lawful speech from being heard is something different.
Threats, intimidation and violence have no place in democratic disagreement.
Governments, media organisations, campaigners, platforms and algorithms can all influence what reaches us. The government’s consultation on online prominence for “trustworthy news” closes on 31 August 2026.
Sometimes nobody needs to silence us. Fear of the consequences can persuade us to silence ourselves.
Give me the evidence. Give me competing arguments. Then trust me to think.
You don’t have to agree with me
I’ve been thinking for myself for more than five decades. Britain has changed enormously during that time, and so have I. I’ve changed my mind about things, just as society has changed its mind about things.
Ideas considered perfectly normal when I was younger have disappeared. Things once regarded as unacceptable have become ordinary. Some of those changes have unquestionably made Britain better. Others I’m less certain about.
That’s part of living through social change.
But throughout those decades I’ve believed in a fairly simple principle: let me express my opinion.
You may disagree with me. I may disagree with you. Challenge my argument and I’ll challenge yours. Perhaps you’ll change my mind. Perhaps I’ll change yours. Perhaps neither of us will move an inch.
That’s fine.
We’ve both had the opportunity to speak. Surely that’s part of what living in a free society is supposed to mean.
Tell me I’m wrong
If I make an argument and somebody demonstrates that my facts are wrong, that isn’t censorship. If my reasoning is poor and somebody tears it apart, that isn’t suppression. If somebody tells me I’m talking nonsense, that’s their freedom of expression too.
Free speech doesn’t mean freedom from criticism.
Bad ideas should be challenged. False claims should be corrected. Assumptions should be questioned. My opinions shouldn’t receive special protection simply because they’re mine.
But there’s a harder test.
It’s easy to defend freedom of expression when somebody says something reasonable that we broadly agree with. The principle matters most when somebody expresses something we find offensive, objectionable or deeply uncomfortable — but which remains lawful.
I don’t have to approve of it. I don’t have to respect the argument. I can challenge it as strongly as I like.
But disliking an opinion and having the right to prevent somebody expressing it are not the same thing.
Challenge the argument, not the person
Imagine somebody expresses a lawful opinion that challenges a prevailing view.
One response is:
“I think you’re wrong. Here’s why.”
Excellent. Show me your evidence and I’ll show you mine.
Another response is:
“The fact that you even think that tells me what sort of person you are.”
Now we’ve moved away from challenging the argument and towards defining the person.
Right wing. Left wing. Woke. Racist. Bigot. Extremist. Elite. Ignorant. Snowflake.
Sometimes those descriptions may genuinely be justified by what somebody has said or done. But they can also become shortcuts that allow us to avoid dealing with the argument itself.
If my evidence is rubbish, expose it. If I’ve misunderstood something, explain it.
Attaching a label to me hasn’t answered my question.
When disagreement becomes an attempt to silence
Organisations, campaign groups and organised movements across the political, religious and social spectrum try to influence public debate. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that.
Campaigning is itself an exercise of freedom.
Publish a rebuttal. Organise a peaceful protest. Challenge the evidence. Tell people why you believe somebody is wrong.
That’s democratic debate.
But there’s an important distinction between saying:
“Don’t believe this person.”
and:
“This person shouldn’t be allowed to speak.”
This isn’t entirely theoretical.
In 2018, Parliament’s Joint Committee on Human Rights examined freedom of speech in universities. It did not find evidence of widespread censorship across universities, but it did identify examples where free speech had been inhibited, including through intolerant attitudes, unnecessary bureaucracy and some intimidatory behaviour.
That qualification is important.
Not every cancelled event proves a free-speech crisis. Not every protest is an attempt to silence somebody.
Protesting against somebody is itself an exercise of expression.
But deliberately trying to prevent a lawful viewpoint from being heard raises a different question.
And the principle has to apply to everybody: left or right, religious or secular, establishment or anti-establishment.
If I defend your freedom to speak only when I agree with you, I’m not really defending freedom of expression.
I’m defending my expression.
There is a line nobody should cross
People involved in public debate can face abuse, intimidation and threats. Whatever someone’s politics, religion, campaigning position or opinions, threatening them or using violence against them is not legitimate democratic disagreement.
Challenge their argument. Criticise them. Campaign against their ideas. Protest peacefully.
But threats and violence have no place in democratic debate.
That standard has to apply in every direction. We cannot condemn intimidation when it targets somebody we agree with and excuse it when the target is somebody we dislike.
Who influences the narrative?
I use the word narrative carefully because it can sound conspiratorial.
I’m not suggesting there’s a secret room somewhere deciding what Britain is allowed to think.
Influence is much more ordinary than that.
When I was younger, relatively few institutions had enormous influence over Britain’s public conversation. Newspapers, broadcasters, government, political parties, churches and universities all acted as powerful gatekeepers.
Editors decided what appeared on the front page. Broadcasters decided what led the evening news.
Those institutions still matter, but now we’ve added social media, algorithms, influencers, campaign organisations, corporations, independent journalists, podcasters, creators and millions of ordinary people publishing their opinions instantly.
Think about how much that has changed.
Thirty years ago, a small campaign trying to reach a national audience might have needed a sympathetic newspaper editor or broadcaster.
Today it might need a sympathetic algorithm.
The gatekeeper has changed. The gate hasn’t disappeared.
That can still be liberating. An ordinary person can challenge a politician, broadcaster, newspaper or major organisation publicly in a way that was once almost impossible.
But we haven’t eliminated influence.
We’ve created an enormous competition for it.
Which raises another question: should any single participant in that competition — including government — receive privileged influence over what reaches us?
Don’t tell me what to watch
That isn’t a hypothetical question.
On 23 June 2026, the Department for Culture, Media and Sport published its Watch this Space Green Paper.
Among the ideas being explored are measures intended to make what the government describes as “trustworthy news” more prominent and discoverable on social-media and video-sharing platforms.
The government’s argument deserves a fair hearing. It is concerned about misinformation and about the changing ways in which people encounter news. It argues that making trustworthy journalism easier to find could help people navigate an increasingly complicated information environment.
Those aren’t imaginary problems.
Misinformation exists. Deliberate disinformation exists. AI is making convincing manipulation easier.
I don’t want people deliberately deceived any more than anybody else does.
But there is an equally legitimate question:
Who decides what is trustworthy?
What criteria would be used? Which organisations qualify? Which don’t? And should government have a role in influencing which news providers a platform places more prominently in front of me?
Importantly, these are proposals under consultation, not a system already imposed on YouTube or other platforms. The Green Paper discusses a voluntary-first approach while also considering possible future legislation.
The consultation also raises questions about plurality, transparency and user choice.
Good.
Because consultation is exactly when these questions should be asked.
And it remains open until 31 August 2026.
I may trust the BBC. You may not. You may trust an independent journalist whom I think is talking rubbish.
Neither of us should automatically believe something because an algorithm puts it at the top of the screen.
Look at the evidence. Compare sources. Question what you’re being told.
Then decide.
The difficult question is:
How do we combat misinformation without reducing the diversity of lawful voices we’re trying to protect?
And if you have a view — including one completely different from mine — the government is currently asking for it.
Don’t just complain about the proposal on social media.
Respond while the consultation is still open.
Read and respond to the government's Watch this Space consultation
But algorithms already influence us
There’s an obvious counterargument.
Social-media companies already influence what we see.
There isn’t a perfectly neutral internet that government is suddenly interfering with. Algorithms determine recommendations, platforms establish rules and commercial incentives influence what receives attention.
So this isn’t as simple as:
Government influence bad. Platform influence good.
The more useful questions are: who has influence? How transparent is it? Can I control it? Can I choose something different?
And ultimately:
Who gets the final say over what I watch?
As far as reasonably possible, I think that person should be me.
Perhaps nobody needs to silence us
The part of this debate that concerns me most doesn’t necessarily involve government, campaigners or corporations.
Sometimes we silence ourselves.
You have an opinion about something contentious and start calculating the consequences. Will this cause trouble at work? Will somebody misunderstand me? Will I get attacked online? Will friends think differently about me? Will somebody attach a label to me?
Eventually you decide saying it isn’t worth the hassle.
So you keep quiet.
Nobody arrested you. Nobody banned you. Nobody necessarily told you that you couldn’t speak.
You simply decided expressing your lawful opinion wasn’t worth the possible consequences.
Legally, you may still possess freedom of expression.
Culturally, however, something different has happened.
When silence creates an illusion
Now imagine many people making the same calculation.
Someone privately disagrees with a prevailing view but believes they’re probably in the minority, so they remain silent. Other people who quietly agree do the same. Meanwhile, those willing to speak appear to represent everybody.
The apparent consensus can then make those who disagree even less willing to speak.
This is related to what political scientist Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann called the spiral of silence: the theory that fear of social isolation can make people less willing to express opinions they believe are unpopular.
Social media didn’t invent that behaviour. But it has given us an extraordinary mechanism for witnessing approval and condemnation in real time: likes, shares, pile-ons, praise and public criticism.
Sometimes the lesson somebody learns from watching another person being attacked isn’t:
“They’re wrong.”
It’s:
“I’m not getting involved.”
And that should concern anybody interested in a genuinely plural public conversation.
Freedom comes with responsibility
None of this gives anyone the right to say whatever they want without consequence.
Freedom of expression isn’t absolute. Other people have rights. The law establishes boundaries. Employers have legitimate interests. Platforms have legitimate responsibilities.
And everybody else possesses exactly the same freedom to criticise me that I’m asking for myself.
Sometimes what somebody describes as being “silenced” is simply people strongly disagreeing with them.
That isn’t necessarily censorship.
That’s debate.
We need to be capable of telling the difference.
Then trust us to think
I don’t want a society where everybody agrees. I’d find that more worrying than disagreement.
I want a society confident enough to argue.
Tell me I’m wrong. Challenge my evidence. Question my assumptions. Make me defend what I’ve said — and I’ll give you the same opportunity.
Perhaps you’ll persuade me. Perhaps I’ll persuade you. Perhaps neither of us will change our mind.
That’s fine.
Freedom of expression isn’t supposed to guarantee agreement.
It’s supposed to make disagreement possible.
So don’t tell me what to think. Don’t tell me what to watch. Don’t tell me what I’m allowed to question.
And don’t decide that protecting me from bad information requires protecting me from competing information.
Give me the tools to judge the difference.
Let me make my argument. You make yours.
Put the evidence in front of us.
Then trust us to think.
Because you don’t have to agree with me, and I don’t have to agree with you.
But surely a free society should give both of us the opportunity to say why.
Your turn
Have you ever decided not to express a lawful opinion because you were worried about what might happen afterwards?
Not because you wanted to threaten or abuse somebody. Not because you believed what you wanted to say was unlawful.
Simply because you decided saying what you genuinely thought wasn’t worth the consequences.
If so, what stopped you?
And what would have made you feel able to speak?
Was that simply ordinary caution — or is that how a spiral of silence begins?
Sources and further reading
UK Government — Watch this Space Green Paper and consultation
UK Parliament — Freedom of Speech in Universities inquiry