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If we cannot rally around the plight of hostages held by terrorists, what cause can stir us to unity?The city streets of New York stir early, but recently, in some corners, a disquiet has emerged—not of peace, but of silenced voices.
Signs and placards are everywhere in urban America, championing causes as varied as a lost pet, a new bar opening, or an urgent plea to halt a development project. These fleeting glimpses into the concerns of others—whether trivial or profound—rarely demand deeper reflection.
Together, they form a cacophony of voices layered into the visual noise of 21st-century America. We walk by, our days proceeding as planned, often oblivious to the layers of meaning behind each image or plea.
However, these “KIDNAPPED” posters are different. They are not just another visual element in the mosaic of this moment. They are not simply another layer of color in the mosaic of this moment. Simple and unadorned images—a photograph, a name, a plea—highlight the plight of the 251 hostages seized by Hamas and other terror groups during their brutal October 7th invasion of Israel. They are a stark reminder of the human cost of these atrocities, a call for awareness, and a petition for help.
Pro-Israel groups began placing posters in public spaces to draw attention to the human cost of these atrocities and perhaps feel some sense of catharsis. Catharsis was not to be. A boiling cauldron of raw human destruction, in its own way aligned in message and tactics with that of Hamas itself, reached for the tool commonly used half a world away. These signs became targets for anti-Israel vandals determined not simply to silence this plea for awareness but to erase these faces from existence.
The posters’ destruction is part of a troubling trend chronicled in the new film, “TORN: The Israel-Palestine Poster War on NYC Streets” by Nim Shapira. The film documents how, as pro-Israel groups and those of the Jewish faith worked to hang “KIDNAPPED” posters highlighting the plight of the 251 hostages taken from Israel to Gaza during the Hamas October 7th attacks, anti-Israel vandals quickly moved to tear them down or deface them.
This proxy war waged in the public spaces of New York City spotlights the deep divisions inflamed by the atrocities of Hamas. The vandals may claim these posters are propaganda or allege they exacerbate divisions. Buttressing their actions with such flimsy arguments raises more questions than it answers, as destruction does not serve the greater purpose of unity.
Yet rather than engage with the content, they opt to silence and erase any sign of the human existence of those held captive, as if these people were inconvenient parts of a story the vandals do not wish told. One must imagine the vandals believe their cause is just and their destruction justified—that the tearing down somehow negates the act of putting up. Of course, it does not.
Hatred, squarely a human condition, closes our eyes to the harm caused by our actions, reducing dialogue to ashes and leaving the silenced to suffer twice over.
This blindness mirrors broader societal issues—our increasing tribalism and intellectual intolerance, where ideological rigidity silences dialogue rather than encourages it. This echoes an old malady: the heckler’s veto, where dissent is shouted down or ripped away rather than confronted with reasoned argument. However, civil discourse has a profound power, inspiring change—but there is no inspiration with the stifling of voices.
This purposeful silencing of others—is no mere nuisance; it is an assault on the tapestry of a free society. In a nation founded on the principle that every voice deserves its day, the heckler’s veto—whether wielded by shouts in a lecture hall or graffiti on a wall—seeks to replace dialogue with dominance. This canceling of others is unacceptable to those who believe in the American promise of liberty. And even so, it has become a well-honed tool in far too many corners of America.
Sure, not all posters are saints of free expression. The legality of their placement matters. Public property must be governed by rules applied equally, lest chaos reign. Private property must be respected, as it is a cornerstone of liberty. But when the objection is not about where the message is but instead the message itself, we enter dangerous territory. Tearing these posters down isn’t civic order. It is the heckler’s veto in action—silencing a voice instead of confronting it. It is a declaration of contempt for the message—and, by extension, for the innocents whose plight they highlight.
This is about more than just preserving paper and ink. These posters call on something deep and instinctual: the right to cry out against injustice. The canceled suffer twice over when voices are silenced—whether through laws, intimidation, or mere vandalism. Their captivity becomes a footnote, their humanity an afterthought. We must ask: if we cannot rally around the plight of hostages held by terrorists, what cause can stir us to unity?
The answer to speech we disagree with is more speech, not its destruction. This principle is the bedrock of civil society. To tear down a poster because you dislike its message is not an act of courage but of cowardice. Freedom of speech, if it is to mean anything at all, must apply evenly. The weight of its value is immeasurable. What value is this first freedom if it only amplifies the voice of one’s tribe, the powerful, or the government? After all, John Peter Zenger’s voice needed protection, not the royal governor. It is far easier to shred paper than to confront ideas, and it is simpler to destroy than to debate. But it is also profoundly un-American.
Our national character has long been defined by its capacity to endure, argue, and reconcile. When abolitionists stood against slavery, they most often responded not by burning their opponents’ pamphlets but by printing their own, trusting the strength of their message to prevail. There remained exceptions, like John Brown, who chose a murderous path; the broader movement embraced the power of argument and moral persuasion over suppression. When suffragists demanded the vote, they did not tear down opposition posters; they put their case before the people. This spirit allowed a nation torn asunder to be woven—in time—together again.
We must ask ourselves: are we still that nation? Do we still believe in the power of words to heal and persuade? Or have we succumbed to the despairing notion that might makes right, that the loudest voice wins, that the sharp edge of a box cutter—a tool that once brought unimaginable violence to our shores—can rewrite history and wipe the memory of innocents from our collective conscience?
I say to those who deface these posters: speak if you believe the message is wrong. Write. Assemble peacefully. Bring your ideas into the public square and let them be weighed and measured. But do not mistake destruction for debate. Do not confuse canceling others with elevating your cause. In a free society, ideas must stand or fall on their merits, not on the strength of those who erase them. While manifestly powerful, freedom is rendered meaningless if reserved solely for oneself.
And to the rest of us, who watch these acts with a mix of outrage and resignation, the call is clear: defend the voices that cry out for justice. Stand firmly for the rights of those whose voices cannot be heard. Champion the principle that the answer to bad speech in America is better speech, not no speech at all, or speech silenced.
While this hostage crisis is at last nearing a hoped-for end, there are abiding lessons we can all take from this situation. It remains a human tribulation, raw and urgent, demanding we reflect on the principles of free expression and the moral imperative to give voice to the silenced. The faces on those posters remind us that behind every political conflict are real people—mothers, fathers, children—whose lives hang in the balance. To tear down these images is to deny their reality, their common humanity, and turn away from their suffering.
We have seen this episode as yet another glimpse into an enemy’s soul that does not share our values. We cannot afford indifference, much less a hatred that strips humanity of innocents in harm’s way to take further root and destroy all in its wake. A society that shreds the images of hostages a world away is at risk of shredding its soul. Remembering these hostages is a moral imperative for our citizenry, mindful of our common cause with those of distant lands that share our belief in the simple dignity of freedom. The cost of turning away from injustice—whether in this conflict or conflicts yet to come may prove nothing less than sacred liberty.
We must rise to the occasion. Let us be the kind of people who, when faced with the cries of the oppressed in our own land, do not look away but stand and answer. Let us be, as we have always aspired to be, a nation that believes in the power of words and the enduring strength of freedom for all.
Charlton Allen is an attorney, former chief executive officer, and former chief judicial officer of the North Carolina Industrial Commission. He is the founder and editor of The American Salient and the host of the Modern Federalist podcast.
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