Earlier this week, the leader of the far-right British National Party (BNP) Nick Griffin was the guest of Question Time, one of the BBC's more hallowed shows. Many were not impressed. Even as the show was being filmed, a crowd of 'anti-fascists' scuffled outside with police, protesting against the BBC's decision.
Opinion in Britain is strongly divided over whether or not far-right groups should be given airtime. The fact stands that the BNP represents scores of thousands of voters both on the British domestic and the European level, and as such qualifies for coverage according to BBC praxis.
The scrum outside the BBC studios was doubly ironic, even a tad comical. On one hand the 'anti-fascists', who presumably want a free and pluralistic world, bayed for the Beeb's blood and tried to stop Griffin from taking part in the programme. The 'fascists', on their part, certainly no natural lovers of freedom and difference, defended their right to free speech.
Such debates are very often caught up in this logical tangle. Rephrasing the question, the reason why becomes immediately apparent: should we tolerate intolerance? It's also a matter of some relevance to Malta, given our own ambassadors to the nutty land of xenophobia and racist thought. Not least since they can now (as of last June) claim to represent a significant chunk of the voting public.
What perhaps is the most worrying thing is that ultimately all the rumble and tumble played into Griffin's hands. The BBC reported that over eight million people, three times the average audience, watched the show. Far-right groups know full well that there is no such thing as bad publicity.
But there are other problems. At first glance, free speech is the cornerstone of modern democratic thought and practice. The benchmark remains John Stuart Mill's idea that "if all mankind minus one were of one opinion, and only one person were of the contrary opinion, mankind would be no more justified in silencing that one person, than he, if he had the power would be justified in silencing mankind" (On Liberty, 1859).
It was a disarmingly seductive plea for freedom of speech that subsequently shot to the top of the universal human rights chart. It's also an idea one can scarcely disagree with - unless, it seems, one is a 'fascist', or an 'anti-fascist'.
On one point, however, it gets hairy. What if the opinion of that one person were harmful? In our case, for example, Griffin could be accused of 'inciting hatred' towards Muslims, immigrants, and others. Should he still be given a free hand?
The problem is that 'harm' is not at all easy to pin down. Who is the more harmful, for instance, a far-right goon ranting against immigration or a family therapist sermonising that childcare centres harm the family? The obvious answer is that both are pretty harmful.
And yet, the former is generally despised while the latter enjoys regular messianic status on national television. Why? Because 'harm' - or at least 'potential harm' - is an elusive creature. Its definition depends very much on one's assumptions and values. Which takes us to where we started - that it's best to play it safe and go for general freedom of expression.
There are other aspects, perhaps more directly relevant to the case in question. One of the protesters' drifts was that the BBC, in inviting Griffin on such a respectable show, ended up legitimising the BNP.
Yes and no. It's definitely true that we tend to associate high-profile media productions with legitimate opinions. At the same time, being an optimist and a believer in reason, I should think it's ultimately strength of argument that makes for legitimacy.
On this count there's absolutely no need to gag the far right, simply because its typical litany ('races are unequal', 'Hitler was nice but naughty', 'immigration will destroy us', and so on) can easily be demolished in an hour's work. It therefore makes more sense to give the far right a space contested by an intellectually well-equipped opposition, than to silence it outright.
Finally there is another, rather more sinister, danger. It can (and often does) happen that, due to legal and other limitations on free speech, far-right groups tone down their act in order to make it more acceptable. This has certainly happened with the BNP, for example, as well as with several European groups. In the case of Malta, the far right has in recent years tended to drop the jackboots and go for a 'cleaner' image.
The outcome is usually a disaster. As they move closer to the mainstream, far-right groups gain in ratings. Few will vote for a madman in black who says that Africans are in fact apes, but a nice-looking gentleman in a suit who says that Africans may not be up to scratch is a different prospect altogether. More 'respectable', much more electable, infinitely more dangerous.
There is therefore a strong case to be made for letting the far right expose itself for what it really is. The alternative's grim. Griffin, when he took over as BNP leader in 1999, said the party had to rid itself of the 'three H's' - Hitler, hard talk, and hobbyism. The plan seems to have worked. Votes in the 2005 general election were five times what they were in 2001, and the party now has two MEPs to its name.
Behold the wolf in sheep's clothing, alias the sanitised BNP.
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