Just before the end of 2019, Rohit Chopra lost his Twitter account. The Santa Clara University associate professor of communication had finally gone too far. Since 2014, Chopra had been satirically stirring the already boiling pot of political discourse of his home country of India, primarily through the handle @IndiaExplained to more than 70,000 followers. He was particularly critical of Prime Minister Narendra Modi and his supporters for the rise of Hindu nationalism at the expense of religious and cultural minorities.

Chopra was used to the rage his anti-Modi posts inflamed. And yet he continued poking over and over Modi supporters in both India and the U.S. in the name of speaking out against what he believed to be profound injustice, even when some would threaten violence.

He’d tried to report the aggressor accounts before, but was dismissed. Threatening language used online is notoriously hard to prove actually malicious, after all, and much of it is bundled haphazardly under the umbrella of free speech protections.

So Chopra was surprised when Twitter actually acted, suspending his account and asking him to delete speech less corrosive than the death threats he’d received. His last tweets, Chopra says, were written in parody of far-right Hindu nationalists’ celebration of vigilante justice and violence, and Twitter only intervened when pressured by an IT cell working on behalf of the Indian government.

Acquiescing and deleting the offending posts in order to access the social media platform one more time, Chopra made a statement blasting what he saw as Twitter’s hypocrisy for allowing violent threats by supporters of India’s ruling party but not dissent. Twitter, Chopra notes, “hid behind the fig leaf of free speech in refusing to act on complaints against death and rape threats that adherents of the Hindu Right routinely issued but conveniently—and inconsistently—invoked ‘community standards’ to shut down speech critical of [India’s ruling party].” He was further puzzled by his account’s suspension given that Twitter itself had earlier sent him a message confirming that the tweets did not violate those same community standards.

“I was making a political point, that Twitter in India was hypocritical because they were hiding behind free speech to allow people to make vile threats,” he says. “Nothing I said violated free speech law, yet I was cast out.”

Like many other social scientists, Chopra thinks “cancel culture”—used to describe the phenomenon of being publicly shamed and losing status for saying things or acting in ways deemed problematic or offensive by society at large—is lazy terminology, much too one-size-fits all to accurately represent the myriad ways public commentary has evolved as it’s moved online.

But it’s also true that Chopra was, quite literally, canceled. Or at least access to his favorite app-based soapbox was.

To speak our mind is a right, yes. But it may, and often does, come at a cost. What are each of us OK sacrificing in order to stand up for what we hold dear? And has it become costlier?

To speak our mind is a right, yes. But it may, and often does, come at a cost.

What are each of us OK sacrificing in order to stand up for what we hold dear? And has it become costlier to speak up in the Information Age? Have the stakes risen as we’ve become more reliant on social media to vocalize our viewpoints, reaching more people in less time? Is steady employment worth your silence? Friendship? Your relationship to family?

“Every man has a right to utter what he thinks truth, and every other man has a right to knock him down for it,” said Samuel Johnson, a prominent 18th century British writer and dictionarian. Johnson could not conceive how fitting his succinct appraisal of the concept of free speech and its inherent consequences would remain nearly three centuries after his death. Yet here we are, when the quip still applies even as much of our communication—with each other, with political and societal leaders, with corporations—has moved into the virtual realm. Maybe even more so.

You may have the right to say what you want in a tweet or a Facebook post (within reason; although incitement of violence is especially dicult to prove), but know that doing so could seriously irk others. Ironically, the very impersonal nature of internet-facilitated speech often results in people taking that speech much more personally.

“When we’re online, it’s really easy to say things that we wouldn’t say in a face-to-face setting. Social media is like alcohol in terms of it being a social lubricant,” says Stephanie Tikkanen, an adjunct lecturer in SCU’s Department of Communication who studies the growing role of new media in interpersonal relationships. “You might say something more cruel or you might say something that’s more vulnerable.”

There’s also context collapse, which really muddies the waters of online interactions. Imagine you’re throwing a dinner party, and you invite a coworker, your cousin, your college roommate, and your dentist. Not only will you struggle to find conversation topics that appeal to everyone, you’ll also be performing an internal juggling act of different facets of your personality—your professional mode, your familial mode, etc. “Which ‘you’ are you going to present?” Tikkanen asks. “That’s kind of how Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter are.” Everyone—friends, friends of friends, family, and strangers alike—is at the same table.

This could explain the proliferation of posts pleading with people to wear masks, as recommended by the World Health Organization to help curb the spread of COVID-19, and the shaming of those people who refuse to do so in the name of individual liberty.

As a white woman and tenured professor, Voss says she feels it’s a kind of personal responsibility from her position of safety and privilege to be “much more deliberate and willing to take heat from people for saying publicly and explicitly the things that I think and feel—about racial injustice, LGBTQ rights—and social media gives me opportunity to do so in front of people I don’t see that often.” This includes a few relatives who unfriended her on Facebook after she challenged their posts about undocumented immigrants.

Even a few months ago, Voss says she may not have said anything, just rolled her eyes and screenshotted a comment she found ignorant in order to share in private. But after conversations with colleagues and friends of color, she realized that if they feel constant pressure to speak up against injustice because no one else historically has, then she should start shouldering some of that burden if she wants to be a true ally. “It’s a moral imperative that the things I’m saying in private, I say in public.”

In early July, 153 prominent writers and thought leaders signed an open letter published in Harper’s Magazine decrying what they call a constricting of the “free exchange of information and ideas, the lifeblood of a liberal society.” Signees were plotted across the political spectrum; antiwar scholar Noam Chomsky and conservative opinion writer Bari Weiss—who later resigned from The New York Times because she felt bullied for her views—both signed. They all criticized the cultural trends of intolerance for opposing views and public shaming for these dierences in favor of “ideological conformity” and “blinding moral certainty.”

Now that more people from more backgrounds are speaking up more often—with social media allowing for wider access to the podium—“it’s being perceived as a threat to the people who’ve been in power,” she says.

A July poll from Politico put the number at 46 percent. However, less than that (40 percent of voters) say they’ve ever even participated in cancel culture, and it appears to fall along party and generational lines: Half of Democrats say they shared dislike of a public figure on social media compared to a third of Republicans; the young’uns of Generation Z and millennials are the most sympathetic to punishing people and institutions over views deemed oensive, while Gen-Xers and baby boomers are the most opposed.

Some of these differences can be understood by examining the variations in moral reasoning between people with different political ideologies, a field of study called Moral Foundations Theory.

“Basically, Democrats and Republicans tend to endorse different sets of morals,” says SCU assistant professor of psychology Kathryn Bruchmann, who studies this: Democrats tend to care more about the morals of fairness or justice, and preventing harm of others, while Republicans tend to prioritize morals such as loyalty to their community, respect for authority, and spiritual purity.

“These differences in morals can explain why people on both sides of the aisle feel that they are doing the morally right thing” when speaking out against perceived wrongdoing, even if they run the risk of being “canceled.”

Bruchmann says if she were to speculate, chances are good that at this moment in history, moral lines are being crossed for folks on both sides when using social media to publicly declare which “side” they belong to.

Trying to find someone who has never posted or liked something online that could be seen as offensive by someone else is a fool’s errand. When posting this meme or liking that tweet, we aren’t fully conscious of making a choice that could blow up our personal or professional lives.

“Often, on social media, people don’t have a clear sense of who their audience is,” says Irina Raicu, director of the Internet Ethics Program at the Markkula Center for Applied Ethics. “Studies have shown that Facebook users, for example, underestimate greatly the number of people who actually see their posts.” A 2013 report from Facebook and Stanford University showed the average user guessed about 20 friends saw their post, but the actual number was about four times that.

This lack of awareness of our audience size—particularly among private citizens—means we might feel less inhibited to post things that could be considered controversial by people whose morals differ from ours, including our employers or family members. Unlike at Thanksgiving dinner, we cannot see who’s seated at the table with us on Facebook.

“Those who lose jobs or friendships as a result of their comments are often surprised by those outcomes,” Raicu says. Furthermore, interactions on social media platforms (especially among people who don’t know each other well or at all) “are often rapid-response, full of misunderstandings and judgmental takes based on too little information.”

Most people are not meditating on what their values are in the first place. “Thoughtfully adopting a principled stance and expressing it to the world, fully aware of the consequences that the public expression might lead to, might constitute a kind of sacrifice,” Raiku says. “But that is not what typically happens in social media interactions.”

In 1644, the great English poet John Milton penned one of history’s finest defenses of the freedom of speech, likening the exchange of ideas to a harvest. Arguing against a printing ordinance that required authors to get prior approval from the government before publishing their words, Milton asked, “Should ye suppress all this flowery crop of knowledge and new light spring up and yet springing daily in this city?”

He denounced this kind of censorship as bringing “famine upon our minds again” as what was allowed to be written and therefore thought about, talked about, argued about could only be measured against what the few in power deemed acceptable. “Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties,” he said.

Freedom of speech does not mean freedom from consequences, Jeong says. Some costs of wielding your freedom to speak out against perceived unethical conduct, immoral acts, and injustice online are real while others are imagined. And not all sacrifice is equal.

A public figure’s loss of a few hundred followers for tweeting an unpopular opinion is not the same as a father losing his relationship to his son for retweeting it. On the other hand, such sacrifice may be “worth it” if positive change occurs.

We’ve already got the liberty to argue freely according to our conscience. Now it’s up to each of us to determine what we’re willing to give to continue the conversation.

Corrections [Sept. 23, 2020]: This article has been updated to clarify the context of the suspension of Associate Professor Rohit Chopra’s Twitter account. As printed, the earlier version did not specify that the tweets in question were parodies of calls to violence and vigilante justice made by supporters of India’s Hindu nationalist government, or that Twitter had previously determined that his tweets did not violate community standards.

This article has been updated to clarify comments from Associate Professor Sreela Sarkar, and now include the quote, “The Harper letter ignored the material realities and oppressions that marginalized groups have faced historically and in this moment.” Previous commentary suggesting that people are more concerned with getting sick, losing jobs or housing, or being profiled by police than of being canceled online was made by the author, and should not attributed to Sarkar.