The Right To Be Offended
Do we have a right to be offended or does it preserve echo chambers?
When we think about ‘being offended’ as a concept and as a right, what do we mean? According to the Oxford English Dictionary, to offend means to ‘make someone feel upset, resentful, or annoyed.’ So far, so clear - but what does this definition tell us about the function of being offended? To my mind, to be offended is to examine what you stand for, what you find unjust, and why something makes you feel uncomfortable. Perhaps most crucially, it forces you to evaluate who you stand in solidarity with.
I’ll lay out my answer to the question here. Yes, we have the right to be offended by what someone does, says, or believes in. Actions have consequences. To argue otherwise is an abnegation of your ability to understand and form an opinion, and a dereliction of your duty to think critically about the world around you. I don’t disagree with the idea that online echo chambers are a real phenomenon: these may be defined as spaces where adherence to a strict doctrine and a ‘party line’ creates a stifling atmosphere which hampers dissent and debate. Such spaces are not unique to the left, either. Let’s be clear though, any kind of free discourse has its limits. Listening to viewpoints which are inherently malicious, without some degree of emotional engagement and rebuttal, is a simple denial of what it is to be a functioning human being.
To come to the second part of my framing question, do I believe that ‘being offended’ reinforces such echo chambers? In short, no. Vocalising your displeasure at what someone has said or done is not equal to surrounding yourself with yes-men and refusing to be challenged. If anything, the act of being offended by something and making this known is a way of opening yourself up to dialogue and challenge. Perhaps more hopefully, it may give the relevant party the chance to evaluate why something has caused an outcry and examine how to improve.
I have so far avoided a key dimension to the question, however. What hooked me on writing about this topic is that ‘being offended’ has deeply political connotations. For those on the left, signalling to others that something is offensive is a way of showing solidarity and encouraging others to speak up. For many commentators on the right-wing, ‘being offended’ has been reduced, at best, to a knee-jerk over-reaction from those on the left to anything they disagree with. At worst, it has been characterised as a cult-like ritual of public outrage, meant to signify moral purity on the part of the offended, and to sort the ‘true believers’ from the uninitiated; a kind of test of someone’s ideological and political compatibility within the ostensible ‘hive-mind’ that is left-wing Twitter.
In the rather more extreme reaches of the internet, there may be a degree of truth to both assertions. It is also true that for the most part, this is a nonsensical view of what it is to be ‘offended’.
I have yet to find that mythical, permanently offended, homogenized group of internet lefties who think and behave as one united and coherent entity. In many ways, this is testament to the genuine diversity of thought and opinion within online left-wing spaces. In many other ways, this can be reduced to the flippant observation that the circular firing squad of disagreement on the left-wing is very much intact and has yet to run out of ammunition.
What I have found from personal experience are examples of people on the left who too often have their arguments dismissed out of hand by opponents who belittle their arguments by simply stating that they are ‘offended’. The idea that someone is offended seems to carry with it the insinuation that their judgement is impaired or reduced by sheer emotion, and this line of thinking has its subconscious links to Victorian notions of hysteria as a means of dismissing people, primarily women, as irrational and incoherent. This caricature has persisted among certain right-wing commentators. The idea that their left-wing counterparts are somehow less rational or too emotional has become a way of dismissing them without critically engaging with them. Ironically enough, these purported guardians of free speech have revitalised an age-old mechanism, built on bigotry and indifference, to actively stifle debate.
Aside from the insulting and reductive nature of such responses, this way of thinking fails to understand why an emotional response is involved to begin with. There are two clear answers to this. When an issue affects you, or someone you know, it is difficult to be impartial. The more egregious the action, the more emotive the response will be. The second answer is simpler still- you cannot change someone’s mind without conviction in your belief. To argue without pathos is to forfeit the argument- you must be seen to care, and to care deeply, about your cause to have any chance of persuading others that they should care about it too.
To ‘take offence’ is to experience hurt, upset, and even anguish. These are fundamentally human reactions to things which we find unjust, unfair, or abhorrent- these feelings do not make us weaker or vulnerable. They underscore our sense of what is right and what is just. If every whip and scorn was taken lying down, the world would be a far crueller place. As such, to be offended is to register that you have skin in the game, and a vested interest in seeing a better outcome - whether that be an instigation of new policy, a reversal of the old, or simply an apology.
At this point, it may be worth arguing that what is thought of as ‘taking offence’ is by no means a left-wing phenomenon, either. Last year, the BBC’s Andrew Neil interviewed a stalwart of the American right-wing, political commentator and writer Ben Shapiro. As Neil probed Shapiro on his views around abortion, questioning his support of policies which Neil termed ‘extreme’ and ‘hard’, Shapiro’s responses became increasingly irritable, and dare I say it, emotional. Instead of defending his positions, or stating the case for them, Shapiro opted to question Neil’s credentials as an impartial interviewer. When pushed to answer, Neil responded that he was a ‘journalist who asks questions’. The interview quickly spiralled into a tantrum from there, and by the end Neil drily thanked Shapiro for ‘showing that anger is not part of American political discourse.’ From the man whose catchphrase is ‘facts don’t care about your feelings’, Shapiro proved rather quickly that disentangling his own feelings from the facts is a tricky business. More interestingly, Shapiro was incapable of utilising his outrage to forward his position, and instead resorted to accusations that his opponent was a biased left-winger. Considering Neil’s involvement and close ties to the Conservative party throughout his career, Shapiro’s claims bordered on the ludicrous.
Ben Shapiro is a low-hanging fruit - by British political standards, he would have been written off as a fringe extremist long before he came close to any kind of career as a political commentator. But I use him as an example given how easily political trends and, worryingly, mindsets, seem to transfer from the US to Britain via social media. To my mind, Shapiro seems to be emblematic of a fixation on fighting against what the right sees as ‘offence culture’ by ‘winning the argument’ rather than changing minds. Whether the result of the argument directly or indirectly harms someone seems to be, on his part, immaterial.
This leads me into a consideration of where the signalling of offence has its limitations. To borrow the idea from Reni Eddo-Lodge, I am keenly aware of my whiteness when stating this, but I do believe that in the realm of political discourse, there is a difference between genuine ignorance and maliciousness. For the former, outcry can be a tool to inform and persuade- for the latter, voicing your opinion may only lead to dismissal. The difference between the two is not often obvious, and for that reason I believe in engaging with others in good faith and respect up to the point where it is not reciprocated. In the realm of online argument, this is the point where it is better to step back; arguing against vitriol does more damage than it negates.
Despite this limitation, there is a usefulness to speaking out when something is offensive. Oppressive structures, both concrete and otherwise, can only begin to be dismantled when a significant number of people are aware of this oppressive nature and are vocal about it. Making yourself heard, voicing your discontent, can be terrifying. For many, it can be dangerous. Helping others to feel that they are not alone is the key to overcoming these structures.
Publicly calling out injustice and behaviours which are offensive is not some quest for moral righteousness or credibility; it is the right thing to do. When people are discouraged from doing so by being written off as ‘offended’, we set a disturbing precedent in public discourse. Consider this a call to arms. Summon up your indignation. Call people out when their words and deeds do not match up to the quality of the person they are capable of being. And when you do, say it louder for those in the back. They need to hear you.
Written by Sam Byrne
Sam is currently enjoying his summer break after a challenging period of not doing very much teaching. He has rekindled his love of being immature and mouthing off. Like his pupils, he desperately needs the routine of being back in a classroom.