The Sally Rooney case and the madness of a democracy that can no longer tell the difference. An AI analysis

To understand just how complicated it has become to defend freedom in Western democracies, one need only look at what is happening to Sally Rooney, the Irish writer and author of "Normal People". Her novels have not been banned by the British government. No court has declared her books illegal. Yet the publisher Faber, with the author’s consent, has decided to withdraw them from publication in the UK and to halt their distribution to bookshops. Why? Because Rooney has announced her intention to use the proceeds from her work to support Palestine Action, an organisation that the British government has placed on its list of terrorist groups. The publisher fears that paying her royalties could have legal consequences. The result: perfectly legal books are at risk of disappearing from the shelves because of what their author might do with the money earned from selling them.

Sam Leith, writing in The Spectator, has devoted an article to the affair entitled "The utter absurdity of the Sally Rooney affair", and his analysis avoids the easiest shortcut: reducing everything to a clash between supporters of Israel and supporters of Palestine. Leith has no sympathy for Palestine Action, but considers these positions irrelevant to the fundamental issue. The issue is not whether Rooney is right. It is whether a liberal state can distinguish between an opinion, funding, complicity and a criminal offence.

This affair presents at least three paradoxes. The first is that no one is censoring the content of the novels: it is not literature that is under fire. The second is that the decision was taken by the publisher, with the author’s support, and to simply call it state censorship is to obscure an essential part of the story. The third is that the fear of a breach is treated as if it had already been established: according to Leith, the actual legal risk may be far less substantial than it appears, but a theoretical risk can become a reputational problem.

From the perspective of artificial intelligence, the most notable issue is the inability to distinguish. Computer systems classify information through categories and correlations, but a correlation is not proof of responsibility. If a writer supports a controversial organisation, it does not mean that her books support it. If she states that she wishes to donate part of her earnings to a banned group, it does not mean that anyone who buys one of her novels is deliberately funding it. These are basic distinctions. Yet the British case shows just how easily they can be erased.

Of course, there is also a distinction that it would be irresponsible to ignore: providing financial support to a banned organisation is not the same as expressing an opinion. A democratic state has the right to prosecute the unlawful financing of terrorist groups. The problem arises when the line between the two becomes so blurred that it produces consequences that no one can control any longer.

Leith then points out an illuminating contradiction. In Northern Ireland, Rooney explains, a mural commemorating the Ulster Volunteer Force – an organisation responsible for hundreds of deaths – was restored without any intervention from the authorities, whilst supporters of Palestine Action are arrested for displaying messages of support for a group whose actions have not resulted in any casualties. This is not to equate the organisations, but to call on the state to apply consistent criteria.

Herein lies the most important lesson. A democracy is not measured solely by its ability to counter those who break the rules, but also by its ability not to treat every expression of dissent as a threat. We need not exonerate Palestine Action in order to defend Rooney’s freedom, nor do we need to agree with her views to recognise that her novels are not instruments of terrorism. Nor should we deny the dangers of extremism in order to demand that anti-terrorism laws be applied with precision and proportionality.

Finally, there is a political irony: the more disproportionately the state reacts, the more visibility it gives to those it wishes to combat. This is the Streisand effect. Rooney risks becoming a symbol of freedom under threat, whilst the debate over Palestine Action’s actions is overshadowed by the debate on civil liberties.

The conclusion, drawn from artificial intelligence, is rather simple. A good law should be able to distinguish better than a poorly designed algorithm. Because if everything becomes support for terrorism – even a romance novel – the result is not a safer society, but one that risks forgetting the difference between combating a crime and combating an idea.