By Jeremiah Johnson
Thursday, February 26, 2026
Last weekend, a controversy exploded at the British
Academy of Film and Television Arts awards. During the ceremony John Davidson,
a man with Tourette syndrome whose life inspired a BAFTA-winning film,
repeatedly interrupted the show with obscene outbursts, including shouting the
n-word as black actors Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo were presenting an
award. The episode instantly dominated online conversations; it pitted two
historically disadvantaged groups against each other—black attendees subjected to
a racial slur, and a person with a disability who routinely faces
ostracization. The “Which marginalized group is really worse off here?” nature
of the incident led to a firestorm of controversy, at the center of which is
the idea of inclusivity—that despite the challenges that Tourette’s poses,
excluding individuals with Tourette syndrome would be wrong.
Reacting to this debate, a user on the Tourette subreddit
stated, “You
are allowed to exist in public.” At the risk of sounding like the villain,
I’m not sure that slogan is universally true.
To be clear, society should absolutely make reasonable
accommodations for people who have conditions like Tourette syndrome.
Historically people with disabilities have often been segregated or shut out of
public life entirely, and we shouldn’t accept that as normal. Disabled people
shouldn’t be discriminated against in housing or in professions where their
disability isn’t material to their work. We should all have patience and
understanding as they navigate daily life, and people with disabilities like
Tourette’s deserve dignity like anyone else.
But if you are someone who literally and physically
cannot prevent yourself from screaming the n-word at black folks in front of
thousands of people (and millions watching at home), I don’t think it’s crazy
to suggest that you should perhaps stay home from the BAFTAs and send in a
pre-recorded message instead. Inclusion doesn’t require that every single space
accommodate every possible behavior, regardless of the cost to others.
At the BAFTAs, for the benefit of one person—who
described himself as “deeply mortified,” left the ceremony partway through, and
likely had a miserable time—two presenters had to withstand racial slurs,
thousands of guests had their ceremony disrupted repeatedly, and millions of
people heard the slurs broadcast. That level of “inclusion” did nobody any
good. Instead, it alienated far more people than it included.
Karl Popper introduced the idea of the paradox of
tolerance—that by tolerating intolerance, you erode the conditions that make
tolerance possible. Here, we see a paradox of inclusivity. When inclusion
becomes unconditional—when no behavior is too disruptive, no boundary
legitimate—shared spaces collapse. The BAFTAs were so inclusive they ended up
excluding people.
Award ceremonies themselves are low stakes. The
millionaire movie stars will be fine. But this same dynamic applies to much
more consequential parts of our lives.
***
Every six months or so, progressive social media spaces
relitigate a never-ending argument. A story circulates of someone behaving in a
deeply antisocial way in public—perhaps smoking meth on a train, or
masturbating on a bus—and an enormous fight erupts about the correct response
to such behavior. Recently, for example, there was a massive debate about
whether it’s okay to be bothered when a homeless person urinates in the
middle of a crowded subway train. Some commenters expressed disgust and
demanded stricter policing of public indecency. Others made fun of the
complaints, called those who were upset reactionary and
racist,
called the complaints examples of something called “carceral sanism,”
and blamed the incident on the failure of social services, late-stage
capitalism, or a general lack of compassion in society.
On the surface, this episode seems unrelated to the
BAFTAs incident. But at the heart of both controversies is the same idea:
over-inclusivity.
Society has become dramatically more inclusive over the
past few generations, and this has largely been a good thing. Discrimination
has become less and less acceptable over time, and many barriers for
marginalized groups have crumbled. But somewhere along the way, we became so
obsessive about never excluding anyone that we failed to realize that
over-inclusivity might carry its own harms.
In our public transit systems, the demand for maximal
compassion and inclusivity towards homeless people runs squarely into the fact
that disruptive, antisocial behavior ruins public spaces for everyone else. If
buses and subway cars are riddled with people openly using drugs, engaging in
lewd behavior, and experiencing untreated mental illness, they become unusable
for other people—that is, the majority. Public
libraries in many cities have become de
facto homeless shelters, scaring away other citizens. Some school districts
have grown so reluctant to fail students that they pass them along even though
they can’t meet basic educational benchmarks, as if it would be bigoted or
exclusionary to fail anyone. These policies may seem empathetic and spare
feelings in the short term. But they undermine our civic structures and degrade
the public spaces that benefit us all.
At some point, we have to ask what the purpose our
institutions serve. The purpose of the BAFTAs is to honor achievements in film
and television. They can’t do that very well if someone, however sympathetic we
may find their plight, is continually shouting slurs. Passing failing students
does nothing to educate them, and it demoralizes teachers and leads some to
leave the profession altogether. Public transit systems are meant to transport
people safely and comfortably around a city, not serve as holding pens for
homeless or mentally ill people.
I understand why progressive commentators have deep
sympathy for the homeless, even those who disrupt public spaces. But however
much sympathy we have, when transit authorities allow unchecked antisocial
behavior, it prevents public transit from doing its job. Progressive
institutions are allergic to excluding anyone for any reason, but that just
doesn’t work. It ultimately excludes people anyways by proxy of public
disorder.
And the costs of that disorder are not evenly borne. When
public order frays, the most vulnerable are hit the hardest. Women may face
harassment. Children, the elderly, or the disabled can’t as easily avoid
hostile, unsafe environments. Poor folks might not be able to afford safer
alternatives.
Over-inclusivity isn’t even beneficial for those it
claims to help. Allowing unchecked antisocial behavior in the name of empathy
doesn’t actually help those engaging in antisocial behavior in the long run.
Failing to enforce standards in schools lets down the students who most need
our help. Inviting someone to attend an event where his condition will
predictably cause harm and humiliation is no kindness at all.
It’s important to remember why inclusivity is so often
seen as a virtue. For much of human history, people have been arbitrarily and
cruelly excluded from institutions because of their race, gender, sexuality, or
other inborn characteristics. But excluding someone for their race is not the
same thing as asking them not to smoke meth on a subway train.
None of this should absolve the government of its
obligation to care for its citizens. If there’s a crisis of homelessness, we
need to build more housing. If there’s a crisis of mental illness, we should
invest in treatment options. But enforcing rules and norms is still necessary.
It’s what preserves public spaces while social policy catches up to the
problem.
We’ve corrected great wrongs by becoming more inclusive,
and there’s still more work to do. But expanding inclusion doesn’t eliminate
tradeoffs, and inclusion shouldn’t extend infinitely. Society can’t function
without empathy. But it also can’t function without boundaries, and the refusal
to set boundaries is not a moral virtue. Instead, that refusal harms the
public, shared life that makes pluralism possible. Inclusion is a means, not an
end, and should be used to sustain and grow our institutions, not dissolve
them.
