I remember how harmless the sentences that begin with “I have nothing against it, but…” once sounded to me. They were spoken by a man who never threatened anyone, but calmly and patiently explained why someone did not belong somewhere. Only later did I realise that this “but” hides an entire mechanism of exclusion. All those who are “different” and do not fit into rules – rules which, to this day, I am not sure who declared “normal” or when – are rejected. Back then, such sentences echoed through cafés and living rooms. Today they live in comment sections under news articles, in groups and in algorithms that spread them faster than any individual ever could.
Social media works in such a way that hatred, sensationalism, and extreme views travel faster, more easily, and more cheaply than argument. A video that “sets the internet on fire” overshadows the text that explains what actually happened. Research shows that a remarkably small number of loud and aggressive users produce the majority of the content that we then perceive as the “dominant view.” Others withdraw from a discussion that no longer invites dialogue, but confrontation. Algorithms do not reward nuance, but conflict, while responsibility is often hidden behind phrases such as “I was just asking” or “I was just sharing.”
Freedom of expression has never been absolute, at least not in a society that seeks to be both just and free. It does not protect defamation, dehumanisation, or incitement to violence. Sharp criticism of those in power, satire, hyperbole, and polemics are tools of a free public sphere, and at times harsh words are necessary to expose abuses of power. But when a person’s identity becomes the target, when the aim is no longer to change a policy but to exclude a human being, this is no longer “just an opinion.” It is an attack with very real consequences.
Hate speech rarely appears under that name. It often comes through irony, generalisations, “jokes,” and seemingly harmless questions. The point is not whether a comment is impolite, but whether it creates a real and foreseeable risk of harm. That is why it is essential for both institutions and platforms to respond clearly and consistently, not only fast, but correctly, with an explanation of why certain content is harmful. Transparency is not a service to users, but a condition of trust.
This became particularly evident last year, when a wave of hatred was directed at Turkish nationals living in Montenegro. A single video was enough. Within a few hours, social media erupted. What followed was misinformation, hasty reactions from the authorities, and dangerous generalisations. The targets became people who, as we later learned, had no connection whatsoever to the initial incident. It did not take long. Protests began in the streets, along with acts of vandalism and so-called “patrols”. People felt unsafe in the city where they had lived in for years. What started as a comment and misinformation turned into an atmosphere in which communities stopped trusting one another. The digital and the real were no longer separate worlds.
It is hard to admit, but the problem is often not “them,” but our readiness to applaud humiliation when it is aimed at “others.” With every like for dehumanisation, we pay a subscription to the same mechanism that will tomorrow turn against “our own”. Boundaries within a community are not drawn by words alone, but by habits. Before we post or share something, it is worth asking ourselves three simple questions: Is the message aimed at an idea or at a person? Does it encourage debate or humiliation? And is there a risk that someone’s safety, equality, dignity, or participation in the community could be jeopardized? If the answers are wrong, the line has been crossed, no matter how much we wrap it in “just a question” or “just a joke.”
Freedom of speech does not exist to give humiliation and attacks the status of a right. It exists so that we may question ideas, power, and the decisions that affect us. If a discussion cannot take place without humiliation, then it is no longer a discussion, but a method of reducing people to something less and excluding them from the community. We do not draw the line to silence those who think differently. We draw it to protect the human being; one who thinks differently from us, speaks another language, and lives in the same city. The key responsibility of a free society is not merely to guarantee the right to speak. That is easy to remember. What is harder, but far more important, is to remember that our speech has a listener and consequences.
Enes Pućurica, Programme Associate at the Centre for Civic Education (CCE)