The ‘Cancellation Continuum’

‘De-platforming’ and cancellation are the most visible forms of so-called ‘cancel culture’, but there are subtler ways in which public discourse is constrained when it comes to engaging with contentious issues.

Cancel culture has become one of the defining debates of our time. Critics argue it suppresses open discussion, while defenders claim it is a necessary check on bias and hate speech, whether from the left, the right, or both.

At its most literal, cancel culture refers to the outright silencing of speech or ideas through de-platforming, legal action or sanction, workplace dismissal, or even physical threats. In Australia, such incidents are increasingly common. Some years ago, there were calls to strip Bettina Arndt of her AM. Then came the Israel Folau controversy, and more recently, disputes involving the Sydney Theatre Company, the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, and the Venice Biennale, all sparking passionate debate from those who support such ‘cancellations’ and those who see them as a threat to the arts and free discourse.

But while these headline-grabbing examples dominate the conversation, we must become more alert to the softer, more pervasive forms of cancellation that shape how Australians engage with one another. Paradoxically, the term ‘cancel culture’, often used by critics to highlight the loss of nuance in public debate, may obscure the more subtle manifestations of the problem it describes.

I suggest that what we’re witnessing is not a binary state of cancellation or tolerance but a continuum. Across institutions, the media, and personal conversations, there exists a spectrum of responses to controversial views. Often unconscious or unacknowledged, these responses deeply influence and frequently limit meaningful discussion.

The Cancellation Continuum

1. Literal Cancellation:
At the extreme end is the belief that a view is so reprehensible or dangerous that it warrants de-platforming, legal action, dismissal, or other punitive measures. Though increasingly common, many still regard such actions as overreach, except in the most egregious cases.

2. Total Exclusion:
A step down from formal sanctions is the belief that a view is so offensive or ridiculous that it should be excluded from debate altogether, even if no action is taken to punish the speaker.

3. Delegitimisation:
Here, the view is allowed to be heard, perhaps out of principle, but is then mocked, demonised, or dismissed as lacking merit.

4. Marginalisation:
The view is recognised as legitimate enough to be heard, but is swiftly marginalised or rebutted, rather than seriously examined for any insight it might offer.

5. The Socratic Response:
The most open approach is engaging with all perspectives in a genuinely curious, respectful, and intellectually honest search for insight and understanding.

A Commitment to the Socratic

Let me be clear: I am unequivocally committed to the Socratic response. Drawing on the words of the Heterodox Academy, established by psychologist Jonathan Haidt to promote viewpoint diversity in higher education, this approach brings people together “humbled by their incomplete knowledge, curious about what they can learn from others, able to share their own perspectives, and eager to think together with nuance, open minds, respect and goodwill.”

While I believe the Socratic response should be our default, I recognise that sometimes it may be naïve, or even irresponsible, to extend equal legitimacy to all views. Not all opinions deserve the same platform.

Only the most dogged free speech absolutist would insist that a call to expel all Muslims from Australia, for example, merits anything more than response 1 or 2. A proposal to criminalise same-sex relationships might justify response 2 or 3 in the eyes of many.

But on other issues, take opposition to same-sex marriage, for example, I believe a response closer to 5 is warranted. While I support same-sex marriage, I contend that opposing views should be respectfully explored. In practice, however, the public response tends to land around 3 or 4.

My point in outlining this framework is to argue for a greater commitment to the Socratic response wherever possible, and to raise awareness of how frequently we, consciously or not, default to more closed, reactive positions. Far too often, our media and personal conversations fall into categories 2, 3 or 4. This comes at a real cost to open, meaningful discourse.

Each time we encounter a viewpoint, we instinctively assign it a position on this continuum. I urge us to instead pause and reflect: how much of our reaction is shaped by political or social allegiance, or, more often, by unconscious emotion? How frequently do our biases lead us to shut down a conversation that could have deepened understanding?

Engaging in genuine dialogue is intellectually and emotionally demanding. It’s far easier to retreat into tribalism, mock the ‘other side’, and reaffirm our place within a like-minded bubble. But if we’re serious about reducing polarisation and confronting the complex problems our society faces, then the Socratic path, however difficult, is one we must learn to walk.

Dr Michael Liffman is an Adjunct Associate Professor at Swinburne University in Melbourne, Australia.