Blasphemia

When MP Primož Siter from the Slovenian Left party recently appeared at the National Assembly’s podium wearing a t-shirt of the American punk band Bad Religion—featuring a crossed-out Christian cross—a segment of Slovenian politics, the public, and the media (in the broadest sense) erupted in outrage. They called for his criminal prosecution under Article 297 of the Penal Code, which addresses public incitement to hatred, violence, or intolerance.

Just over a week before Siter’s appearance, a teenage girl named Mila from the southern French town of Vienne also voiced her opinion on religion on social media—and she certainly didn’t mince words. “I hate religion,” she said. “The Quran is full of hate, Islam is just shit.” She went even further in her outburst, apparently provoked by insults from a rejected admirer, presumed to be Muslim.

Her post immediately triggered a response from the French authorities. Prosecutors launched an investigation into public incitement to hatred, and the justice minister condemned the insult to religious sentiments, calling Mila’s outburst “an attack on freedom of conscience.” Former presidential candidate and Socialist Ségolène Royal chimed in: "Je ne suis pas Mila" (“I am not Mila”).

The backlash on social media was even fiercer. The 16-year-old was subjected to a barrage of insults and threats, including threats of violence. Her parents had to withdraw her from school, and she was placed under police protection. After a few days of widespread outrage, there was a sobering shift. First, the justice minister apologized for her “clumsy” remarks. Then, the magazine L’Express published a letter signed by a group of prominent intellectuals, led by philosopher and historian Élisabeth Badinter. The letter expressed outrage at the cowardice of the media and authorities, who had left a minor at the mercy of a frenzied commentariat. “We may disagree with what this young girl said,” the letter stated, “but nothing she said was illegal.”

Mohammed Moussai, president of the French Council for the Muslim Faith, responded similarly, affirming that criticism of Islam must be allowed and that all discussions should be accepted while rejecting any form of violence. Finally, President Emmanuel Macron spoke out in Mila’s defense, asserting that she had the right to safety and protection. Macron emphasized the right to a critical—even mocking—attitude toward religion. In a democracy, he said, we have the right to blasphemy.

This is a highly sensitive topic in France. The threat of violence in response to criticism or caricature of Islam is not theoretical. This year marks the fifth anniversary of the terrorist attack on the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, which published cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad and lost ten of its staff, along with two police officers.

The stories of Primož and Mila are instructive, as they highlight the complexity and sensitivity of freedom of speech, and the societal responses to legal expressions that are subjectively perceived as offensive.

First, it must be emphasized that being offensive is not enough for prosecution. According to rulings of the European Court of Human Rights, freedom of expression includes speech that “offends, shocks, or disturbs.” The local French prosecutor ultimately acknowledged this by dropping the case against Mila—likely disappointing those in Slovenia who demanded prosecution for the Left’s MP.

But just because freedom of speech permits insult, that doesn’t mean every insult expands the space for freedom or democracy. And just because something isn’t forbidden doesn’t mean it’s right, decent, or good. The quote often falsely attributed to Voltaire—that we must defend someone’s right to say something even if we hate what they say—does not mean we have to applaud every such statement. Au contraire, as a French philosopher might say.

We can also flip the logic: just because we disagree with someone doesn’t mean we’re excused from defending their right to free speech. That’s the core of the appeals made by Badinter and Macron. We must protect those who, because of their expression, face responses that can’t be justified as others’ freedom of expression. Especially when the speaker is young and vulnerable, like Mila.

Consistency is also vital in democracy. Unlike many of our compatriots who were offended by the t-shirt, Macron does not interpret the right to defamation selectively. In other words, the right to critique applies to all religions—not just some. Around the same time Mila posted her comments, French public radio France Inter featured comedian Frédéric Fromet, who made such off-color jokes about Jesus that Primož Siter, by comparison, looked like a squeaky-clean altar boy.

There’s also the matter of what kind of societal response is appropriate to legal speech that may offend, shock, or disturb—and when that response is warranted. Here, perhaps the most important criterion is the balance of power. On this front, there is a major difference between Primož and Mila.

Siter is an MP. Even though his party is in opposition, it’s hard to deny he speaks from a safe and comfortable position of relative social influence and power. The audience for his t-shirt was not the marginalized or powerless—it was his peers. His gesture was not a provocation from the weak against the strong, but more like one from equal to equal. That he broke no law is clear. That he threatened no one is also clear. Less clear is whether his action was politically wise or appropriate, or whether it genuinely contributed to greater freedom of expression or a higher level of political culture in Slovenia. Opinions on that are divided—even within his own party. And that’s fine. Protecting free speech does not mean immunity from criticism—not even from insulting counter-criticism.

In Mila’s case, the power dynamics are far more complex. While her words were objectively harsher and more offensive than Primož’s t-shirt, Mila is, in significant ways, a victim. She is unquestionably more vulnerable and at risk. First, there’s the gender dynamic—her outburst followed verbal abuse from a boy who couldn’t handle rejection. Mila is also endangered as a young girl targeted by anonymous but dangerous extremists, which forced her to change schools and accept police protection.

For these reasons, society’s support for Mila was necessary and justified.

There’s one more power dynamic at play in Mila’s case: the one between the white French majority (to which she belongs) and the immigrant minority. The social marginalization and discrimination faced by the latter in no way justifies the harasser’s actions—much less the violent threats from extremists—but it does require a degree of solidarity and respect toward people who, even while rejecting extremism, feel hurt by attacks on their religion and identity.

President Macron understood this too when he emphasized that the right to blasphemy does not include the right to incite violence or attack human dignity. The line between the two is thin. Navigating it requires great social and political wisdom, sensitivity, and above all, an unwavering commitment to democratic values.

Without these values, politics is not true democracy—it’s a project doomed to social tension, conflict, and failure.