Every few weeks, the Independent hears a quieter kind of silence: a writer backs out. “I started drafting something, but I’m not sure I want my name on it anymore.”
I feel a pang of sadness with each of these withholdings. These hesitations do not always stem from controversial exposés or radical manifestos—often, they’re thoughtful essays or personal reflections. Yet, in the unforgiving permanence of the digital age, even mild rebellion feels risky. When did speaking one’s mind become something to hide or later erase?
The heart of this problem isn’t confined to Harvard or even universities—it signals a deeper, troubling shift in American society. Today, speech itself is increasingly monitored. The boundaries of acceptable expression have narrowed, shaped by shifting power structures, heightened scrutiny, and a culture of rapid online judgment. These pressures—both social and institutional—make it daunting to speak openly, let alone rebelliously.
Historically, counterculture thrived not despite discomfort but because of it. It emerged precisely where friction with the status quo was sharpest. The cultural upheavals of the 1960s—the anti-war movement, the Civil Rights Movement, the sexual revolution—were all deeply disruptive yet profoundly transformative not only for marginalized communities but also for free speech.
The Independent itself was born from that spirit, founded as a counternarrative to mainstream coverage of the Vietnam War. These movements didn’t shy away from controversy or imperfection; they embraced risk, uncertainty, and the inevitability of backlash.
The rise of digital communication and the rapid spread of information have radically changed the stakes. Every opinion, misstep, and protest is permanently archived, ready to be weaponized against dissenters. This has created an environment where even mild deviation from mainstream sentiments can carry severe personal and professional consequences. Social media platforms, originally celebrated for democratizing speech, have paradoxically facilitated unprecedented levels of judgment, backlash, hatred, and public shaming.
Within this digital landscape, one of the most visible and consequential byproducts has been the rise of cancel culture. Today, individuals frequently face intense public condemnation, social ostracism, or professional ruin due to statements or actions perceived as offensive or problematic. This rapid and often unforgiving digital judgment discourages genuine dialogue, making people increasingly fearful of expressing their true thoughts or exploring controversial ideas openly, often because of their digital footprint.
For example, in 2021, the Associated Press fired a young journalist, Emily Wilder, due to negative press from conservative groups over videos that she had retweeted of demonstrators chanting “Free, Free Palestine” while an AP employee. At the time, Wilder was based in Phoenix as a news associate for the Western U.S., but the AP cited a violation of its social media policy, which bars employees from expressing opinions on political issues to preserve the organization’s perceived objectivity.
While Wilder broke protocol, there was no evidence of bias in her reporting, and she was dismissed just weeks into the job. Her firing reflected not just internal policy enforcement but the external political pressure increasingly shaping institutional decisions. Cancel culture, by its very nature, inhibits countercultural thought, reinforcing conformity rather than challenging it.
The effects of this shift extend beyond personal anxiety; they influence political activism and dissent more broadly. Mahmoud Khalil, a Columbia University graduate student involved in pro-Palestinian activism, recently faced detention by Immigration and Customs Enforcement because he “led activities aligned to Hamas, a designated terrorist organization,” according to a spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security, Tricia McLaughlin.
No matter your opinion of Khalil’s politics, the incident highlights a frightening truth: speaking your mind, especially on controversial issues, now involves risks that go well beyond criticism or backlash. It can genuinely change someone’s life for the worse. Cases like this create troubling precedents, making people wary of expressing dissent and forcing many into silence simply out of fear.
This environment profoundly reshapes how counterculture can exist—or struggle to survive—in contemporary society. Individuals and communities who once might have challenged social norms now find themselves hesitant, calculating potential fallout before even uttering a word. Today, activism often feels less about real-world action or disruption and more about people’s polished online personas, catchy but hollow slogans, and carefully curated public images.
Indeed, many institutions once considered bastions of free speech—Ivy League universities and media outlets—are becoming increasingly restrictive. At Harvard, in October 2024, a group of faculty members held a silent “study-in” protest at Widener Library, reading works on dissent and academic freedom while displaying signs. Despite the quiet nature of the demonstration, the University suspended the faculty members’ library privileges, citing disruption to the academic environment.
This reaction, minor as it might seem, points to a deeper institutional unease with free expression. Speech codes and the looming threat of punishment only add to an already oppressive climate on campus—everyone feels like they are walking on eggshells. Universities and workplaces are becoming battlegrounds over free expression, with high-profile controversies making one thing clear: stepping out of line now carries real consequences.
If counterculture is going to mean anything today, it has to fight a battle on two fronts: the external pressure to stay in line and the internal fear of what might happen if you don’t. Until more of us are willing to speak out against the increasing grip of power from social structures, the emails will keep coming—each one quietly erasing something once said with honesty.
Maybe it starts by facing the reality we’re in. Maybe it starts by refusing to concede. That’s the only way we get back to something real.
As a member of the Independent, a publication founded explicitly to challenge prevailing narratives during the Vietnam War, I often find myself wrestling with these tensions. I feel a responsibility to uphold our tradition of countercultural thought, even as external pressures increasingly discourage us from publishing anything remotely controversial.
Counterculture isn’t merely about resisting external authority; it’s about overcoming our own internalized fears of consequence. The Independent began as an act of defiance in a turbulent era; now, it’s our turn to ensure that that spirit doesn’t quietly fade into silence.
Luke Wagner ’26 (lukewagner@college.harvard.edu) is the Vice President of the Independent.