Media's War on Free Speech: The Left's Double Standard Exposed

Paul Riverbank, 1/28/2026Examines partisan double standards in free speech, media bias, and who defines First Amendment boundaries.

Take, for instance, Christiane Amanpour’s opening salvo on her recent broadcast. The veteran anchor, no stranger to hard talk, didn’t mince words: “He says he’s bringing free speech back to America, but one year into Trump 2.0, few presidents have done as much to degrade civil liberties and muzzle the free press.” The stakes, as she and her guest Marty Baron painted them, seemed existential: democracy up for grabs, the press under siege. Baron—who’s logged more hours reflecting on the battle between political power and journalism than most—was quick to interpret Trump’s jabs at unfavorable reporting as something more corrosive. “What he means by a free press is free to say what he wants it to say,” Baron said, folding his hands as if that settled the matter.

Yet for all the self-assurance on that side, there’s a swelling chorus of skeptics who see the script flipped. This group, suspicious of big media’s self-portrayal as free speech defenders, points to moments like the hush surrounding the Hunter Biden laptop story before the 2020 election. They don’t express their outrage in theoretical terms—they call it “free speech for me, not for thee,” and cite it as proof that the alleged gatekeepers of truth can also be the architects of silence.

Something interesting happened recently on the ground in Minnesota, illustrating how the argument plays out beyond big studios. There, as a protest unfolded, Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara commented on a demonstrator who was both filming law enforcement and—legally—openly armed. “He was present exercising his First Amendment rights to record law enforcement activity and also exercising his Second Amendment rights...” O’Hara announced. To some, that was a reassuring nod to constitutional liberties coexisting. But it wasn’t lost on critics that this embrace of dual rights is, depending on the protestor, a rare sight. They challenge local authorities: Would a pro-life demonstrator, similarly equipped and perhaps more assertive in their tactics, receive the same benefit of the doubt? One lawsuit in Minneapolis is putting that very question to the test.

Minnesota’s Attorney General, Keith Ellison, captured the contradiction in a comment that’s been circulating among activists: “The mere presence of firearms (and the implicit threat they communicate) could chill individuals’ peaceful exercise of their speech rights.” But, as many have noted, whose rights matter most seems to shift with the weather—sometimes firearms are an illicit threat, at other times, an approved part of the tableau.

This web of double standards isn’t an abstract complaint. In media circles, nods to European speech restrictions—Germany’s ban on certain hate speech, for example—are sometimes held up as enlightened, modern alternatives. “60 Minutes” once aired a segment that all but applauded these bans, prompting some American viewers to mutter about the fox guarding the henhouse.

The debate about “truthful, not neutral” journalism only adds to the confusion. Amanpour champions unapologetic fact-checking, refusing to treat all sides as equally valid when demonstrable falsehoods are at play. But to skeptics on the right, this stance feels less like courage and more like sanctioned gatekeeping—a velvet rope between their arguments and the public square.

It isn’t just a tug-of-war between left and right, either. Even Republican officials, according to their critics, have failed to display enough backbone in these fights. Minnesota Governor Tim Walz has taken swipes at his rivals for lacking principle, suggesting they should grow a spine before their electoral prospects evaporate for good. But Walz, like the rest, isn’t immune to accusations of operating from political expediency rather than pure principle. The evidence surfaces in shifting policy statements or in the particulars of enforcement—small print that’s noticed only by those most affected.

The upshot? The old rulebook is gathering dust while people argue about who’s even supposed to be holding it. The application of free speech, whether in downtown Minneapolis or on the airwaves, feels arbitrary—sometimes fierce, sometimes accommodating, almost always colored by circumstance. And for every sharp-edged accusation, there’s a countercharge of hypocrisy.

In the end, the only certainty in this loud, ongoing dispute is that it shows no sign of cooling. As November draws closer, the noise will almost certainly grow. But beneath the shouting, the same question endures: Who gets to decide what the First Amendment means, and where its boundaries lie? For now, it’s anyone’s guess—and everyone’s fight.

America’s debate over free speech isn’t simmering quietly any longer—it’s out in the open, crackling on talk shows, splattered across social feeds, and wrapped around the signage at rallies. Almost everyone claims ownership of the First Amendment lately. The left and right each accuse the other of hypocrisy, sometimes within the same news cycle. The conversation hardly ever sticks to the old constitutional pamphlets anymore; it’s moved, instead, onto headline television and pavement protests.Take, for instance, Christiane Amanpour’s opening salvo on her recent broadcast. The veteran anchor, no stranger to hard talk, didn’t mince words: “He says he’s bringing free speech back to America, but one year into Trump 2.0, few presidents have done as much to degrade civil liberties and muzzle the free press.” The stakes, as she and her guest Marty Baron painted them, seemed existential: democracy up for grabs, the press under siege. Baron—who’s logged more hours reflecting on the battle between political power and journalism than most—was quick to interpret Trump’s jabs at unfavorable reporting as something more corrosive. “What he means by a free press is free to say what he wants it to say,” Baron said, folding his hands as if that settled the matter.Yet for all the self-assurance on that side, there’s a swelling chorus of skeptics who see the script flipped. This group, suspicious of big media’s self-portrayal as free speech defenders, points to moments like the hush surrounding the Hunter Biden laptop story before the 2020 election. They don’t express their outrage in theoretical terms—they call it “free speech for me, not for thee,” and cite it as proof that the alleged gatekeepers of truth can also be the architects of silence.Something interesting happened recently on the ground in Minnesota, illustrating how the argument plays out beyond big studios. There, as a protest unfolded, Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara commented on a demonstrator who was both filming law enforcement and—legally—openly armed. “He was present exercising his First Amendment rights to record law enforcement activity and also exercising his Second Amendment rights...” O’Hara announced. To some, that was a reassuring nod to constitutional liberties coexisting. But it wasn’t lost on critics that this embrace of dual rights is, depending on the protestor, a rare sight. They challenge local authorities: Would a pro-life demonstrator, similarly equipped and perhaps more assertive in their tactics, receive the same benefit of the doubt? One lawsuit in Minneapolis is putting that very question to the test.Minnesota’s Attorney General, Keith Ellison, captured the contradiction in a comment that’s been circulating among activists: “The mere presence of firearms (and the implicit threat they communicate) could chill individuals’ peaceful exercise of their speech rights.” But, as many have noted, whose rights matter most seems to shift with the weather—sometimes firearms are an illicit threat, at other times, an approved part of the tableau.This web of double standards isn’t an abstract complaint. In media circles, nods to European speech restrictions—Germany’s ban on certain hate speech, for example—are sometimes held up as enlightened, modern alternatives. “60 Minutes” once aired a segment that all but applauded these bans, prompting some American viewers to mutter about the fox guarding the henhouse.The debate about “truthful, not neutral” journalism only adds to the confusion. Amanpour champions unapologetic fact-checking, refusing to treat all sides as equally valid when demonstrable falsehoods are at play. But to skeptics on the right, this stance feels less like courage and more like sanctioned gatekeeping—a velvet rope between their arguments and the public square.It isn’t just a tug-of-war between left and right, either. Even Republican officials, according to their critics, have failed to display enough backbone in these fights. Minnesota Governor Tim Walz has taken swipes at his rivals for lacking principle, suggesting they should grow a spine before their electoral prospects evaporate for good. But Walz, like the rest, isn’t immune to accusations of operating from political expediency rather than pure principle. The evidence surfaces in shifting policy statements or in the particulars of enforcement—small print that’s noticed only by those most affected.The upshot? The old rulebook is gathering dust while people argue about who’s even supposed to be holding it. The application of free speech, whether in downtown Minneapolis or on the airwaves, feels arbitrary—sometimes fierce, sometimes accommodating, almost always colored by circumstance. And for every sharp-edged accusation, there’s a countercharge of hypocrisy.In the end, the only certainty in this loud, ongoing dispute is that it shows no sign of cooling. As November draws closer, the noise will almost certainly grow. But beneath the shouting, the same question endures: Who gets to decide what the First Amendment means, and where its boundaries lie? For now, it’s anyone’s guess—and everyone’s fight.