Loud And Quiet

Monday was the start of Free Speech Week, an annual event meant to raise the importance of the First Amendment in Americans’ daily lives. Organizers sounded both naive and hopeful in their pitch: “As freedom of speech and of the press are rights all Americans share, this nonpartisan, non-ideological event is intended to be a unifying celebration.”

One day earlier, on Sunday, was a full-throated celebration of that right to free speech, driving up the spine of the South Fork as part of a caravan of supporters of President Donald J. Trump in his reelection bid.

The miles-long parade of vehicles was impressive and boisterous, occasionally slipping over the line from exuberance into something a bit more aggressive, especially if an onlooker demonstrated opposition to their message. Many vehicles honked horns and waved Trump flags, and “Blue Lives Matter” flags, while simultaneously featuring tape obscuring their license plates, a puzzling combination of exhibition and camouflage.

It clearly was intended to send a message, though what that message might be, beyond “I support the president’s reelection,” is open to debate. Free Speech Week’s arrival was purely a coincidence, but it was a reminder that, in America, political speech need not be eloquent to be effective — nor to be protected.

As obnoxious as a Biden supporter might have found the display, it was an act of true American expression. Somewhere, down deep, you don’t have to support the cause to appreciate the passion, and to think it’s something worth defending.

One day earlier, on Saturday, another act of free speech wrapped up at the Montauk Lighthouse, offering a contrast in virtually every way.

One man, Leon Goodman of Bay Shore, finished walking the same route the Trump caravan drove — and then some. His 118-mile walk, spread out over much of October, was a silent march, though he said, “My mission I’m on is to engage people in conversation, those that would have it.” His attire did the talking: in bold letters, “Black Lives Matter” and “I Can’t Breathe” were emblazoned on his shirt and hat.

Soft-spoken, the 69-year-old African American man made clear that his walk was not in opposition to police — only acts of police brutality targeting Black Americans. He engaged with supporters and critics alike on the walk, finding many more of the former once he arrived on the South Fork, as they helped him complete the journey.

Free speech again, of a slightly different sort: certainly political, though it only supported an individual candidate by implication. His message is seen as aggressive by some, but it’s clear in speaking with him that he sees “Black Lives Matter” as both an imperative and an emotional plea, as if such a simple idea shouldn’t need to be said, but does.

In the trench warfare that is America’s political “conversation,” it’s likely that neither demonstration changed any minds and only deepened the divide between the two sides. But it’s notable that one event involved a show of strength in numbers to project a message out — it’s hard to have a conversation with a car horn, after all — while the other was a lone man, quietly appealing to his countrymen’s better angels, and having a respectful conversation either way.

Free Speech Week reminds us: It’s all worth protecting. But that doesn’t make every message equal in value.