I get we live in a hashtag world. So, when religious zealots attacked the Paris offices of the satirical publication Charlie Hebdo, last week, killing 12, I knew what to expect.
Seemingly moments after the attack, the outpouring of virtual support, especially from the heavy-hitting literary and artistic communities, was massive. Perhaps the most visible of these were the wonderful visuals presented by editorial cartoonists the world over in memory of their fallen comrades – many featuring ‘The Pencil,’ the symbol of resistance to this latest (but not last) attack on modernity by those who dwell in antiquity.
Admittedly, the emotion of the moment, infused with these powerful images, was difficult to resist. Millions – from world leaders in the seats of power to teenagers in their parent’s basements – offered virtual solidarity by proudly posting under the hashtag #JeSuisCharlie (‘I am Charlie’).
And I was among them.
I have always loved the power of the editorial cartoon. When done skillfully, they have a sharp, quick sting that burns deep. I still remember truly great cartoons I published more than 20 years ago. I vividly remember ones where I was lampooned as the subject. In another life, I hope I have the skill and cunning to be one of them – lobbing poignant barbs from the back of the classroom.
My history with the craft, along with my humanity, led me to retweet many of these images in rapid succession as the news from Paris unfolded. But then I stopped.
What was I doing?
Social media has brought us together in many ways, but it has also made us lazy by distancing us from action. Change no longer requires getting off your couch. OK, actual change requires you do that – and a lot more. But affecting a ‘perception of change’ does not. So today, as world events unfold, many are self-relegated to the sidelines of history. We are happy to cheer from the bench.
And that’s a shame.
Watching Selma, a film chronicling Martin Luther King’s historic march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, in 1965, I wondered how successful King would have been if he had to accomplish his task in the Age of Social Media. Perhaps instead of marching with thousands at his side, King would have walked alone – although ‘supported’ by millions of home-bound slack-tivists tweeting #WeMustStandUp, all while sitting down.
In the case of Charlie Hebdo, I read countless commentaries about how these events highlight the importance of free speech and expression as well as the right to satire across the world. That’s all great and true. But have any of us noticed the state of free speech in our backyard? And if we have, what are we doing about it?
For me, our reaction to Charlie Hebdo underscores the work that remains to be done at home. Don’t kid yourself, we have clever ways of suppressing free speech in North America as well. We just don’t use automatic weapons.
And universities are not immune. I hate to agree with CBC personality and you-kids-get-off-my-lawn correspondent Rex Murphy, but he made an interesting point in his column Saturday:
Our universities bleat about inquiry and free speech, but they are feeble and craven, caving in to protestors and special interests, pleading ‘sensitivity’ and the ‘wish not to offend’ any time some topic or speaker threatens to ‘hurt’ the professionally agitated on campus.
This university has a proud tradition of standing up for the unpopular, but even we have seen our standing slip in the Campus Freedom Index, along with most universities in Canada.
The space for freedom of expression on North American campuses is narrowing – be it by a comfortable professoriate, the increasing influence of corporations and governments or the chilling effect of political correctness. We have become timid, almost risk-averse, to hearing from anyone who may rock the boat.
But if universities don’t rock the boat in our society, to the right or to left, who will?
Nothing is more central to what we do than preserving our right to say it. And that’s a task that requires diligence, attention and work beyond the hashtag.