Against Over-Inclusivity

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.