Freedom of Speech, China, and the Limits of Freedom

Many people misunderstand what freedom of speech actually means. Some imagine it as an absolute right where anyone can say anything, anywhere, at any time without consequences. Others dismiss the concept entirely by pointing to its imperfections. Both views miss the point.

From the dawn of human civilization, rulers have sought to influence what people could say, think, and believe. Kings, emperors, religious authorities, and modern political regimes have all attempted, in different ways and to different degrees, to shape public discourse. The struggle for freedom of speech is therefore not a modern invention but one of humanity's oldest political and philosophical battles.

The modern understanding of freedom of speech was formally recognized as a human right in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), adopted by the United Nations on December 10, 1948. Since then, freedom of expression has become one of the defining principles—and one of the most contested ideas—of the modern world.

Yet there is one crucial point that many people overlook: there is no absolute freedom of speech anywhere on Earth. Every society imposes some restrictions, whether concerning defamation, incitement to violence, national security, or public order. The absence of absolute freedom, however, does not make freedom meaningless. Quite the opposite. Because freedom is never absolute, it must continually be defended, expanded, and protected.

This is also why many people misunderstand freedom rankings such as those published by Freedom House. When Norway ranks near the top of global freedom indexes, it does not mean freedom of speech there is absolute. It simply means that Norwegians generally enjoy a higher degree of freedom than citizens in most other countries. These indexes are comparative measurements, not declarations of perfection.

The same logic applies elsewhere. Some countries are classified as "Free," others as "Partly Free," and others as "Not Free." According to Freedom House's assessments, North Korea ranks among the least free countries in the world, while China also falls within the "Not Free" category. India, despite being the world's largest democracy, is categorized as "Partly Free." Whether one agrees with every aspect of these rankings is beside the point. The broader reality is that freedom exists on a spectrum rather than as a simple yes-or-no condition.

Among the countries frequently discussed in debates about freedom of expression, China inevitably occupies a central place.

Why?

One answer is geopolitical rivalry. China is now one of the world's leading economic, technological, and military powers. As a result, Western governments, media organizations, and commentators devote enormous attention to China's shortcomings. Critics of the West argue that some of this attention is selective, exaggerated, or influenced by strategic competition rather than genuine concern for human rights.

There is some truth to this observation. Throughout history, great powers have often appealed to moral principles while simultaneously pursuing strategic interests. Human rights, democracy, freedom, and security have all been invoked to justify foreign policy. Recognizing these incentives reminds us to distinguish universal principles from the geopolitical interests that may accompany them.

At the same time, identifying political motives behind criticism does not automatically invalidate the criticism itself. A government's strategic interests and the factual accuracy of allegations against another government are separate questions that should be evaluated independently.

China's extraordinary achievements in economic development, poverty reduction, infrastructure, manufacturing, and technology are undeniable. Yet economic success and freedom of expression measure different aspects of a society. Excellence in one does not automatically imply excellence in the other.

The central question is whether citizens possess meaningful space to criticize their government without risking their freedom or safety. In some countries, the answer is 'yes, albeit imperfectly.' In others, the answer is an unequivocal 'no'—because the state has criminalized the very act of asking the question. These are not differences in degree. They are differences in kind. And the latter must be called out without hedging.

When a state exercises extensive control over what people can read, discuss, or criticize, it risks creating an environment in which conformity is rewarded more than independent inquiry. Citizens may gradually become accustomed to repeating approved narratives rather than testing them. Over time, intellectual curiosity can give way to political caution. The question is not whether people lose the ability to think, but whether they continue to feel free to challenge prevailing assumptions without fear of significant consequences.

This is not a criticism unique to China. It is a question that applies to every society. The more authority determines the boundaries of acceptable opinion, the narrower the space becomes for dissent, experimentation, and the exchange of competing ideas. History suggests that many of humanity's greatest advances emerged from individuals willing to question accepted wisdom rather than simply preserve it.

Defenders of China's political system often respond by highlighting flaws in Western societies. They point to censorship on social media, political polarization, media bias, cancel culture, and restrictions imposed in the name of national security or public order. These criticisms are not entirely without merit. No society possesses a perfect record on free expression.

But exposing flaws in Western democracies does not automatically prove the existence of greater freedom elsewhere. Demonstrating hypocrisy in one system does not validate another. The existence of imperfections in democracies does not erase restrictions in authoritarian systems, just as imperfections in authoritarian systems do not erase shortcomings in democracies.

Ultimately, the debate is not about China alone, nor is it about the West alone. It is about a question every civilization must confront: How much freedom should individuals have to question those who govern them?

Every government, regardless of its political system, has incentives to shape information, protect its legitimacy, and influence public opinion. The real difference lies in how much room citizens retain to challenge official narratives, criticize those in power, and participate in open debate.

Freedom of speech is never absolute. But there is a crucial distinction between a society that sometimes restricts speech and a society that criminalizes the very act of questioning power. In the former, citizens fight for more space. In the latter, they have no space to begin with. Confusing these two realities as points on a single spectrum is not nuance—it is equivocation.