I reacted again. Not with shock. Not even with anger. Just that familiar mix of irritation and fatigue.

My first thought was: Again?! Really?!
Not because this was the worst thing ever said. But because I’ve seen this pattern so many times it might as well come with a template.

I’ve written before about freedom of speech – what it is, and what it very much isn’t. And I’ve written about apologies, especially the kind where people say sorry for how it sounded, rather than for what they actually expressed.

This moment sits right at that intersection.

When Brigitte Macron explained her remark by saying the conversation was private – that people speak more freely in private – the focus quietly shifted. Away from meaning of what was said. Towards tone, context, technicalities.

Once again, the explanation wasn’t really an explanation. It was an escape route.

I’ve reacted to this before.

When Victor Nilsson Lindelöf apologised for how his action came across, rather than engaging with what they revealed, the same thing happened. The apology was about (bodily)language, not values. About optics, not position.

And that difference matters.

Because when we apologize for language instead of meaning, we’re not taking responsibility – we’re polishing the surface and hoping no one looks underneath.

The same goes for freedom of speech. Yes, you’re allowed to say it. That was never the question. Freedom of speech isn’t freedom from being questioned. Or from reactions. Or from consequences.

What keeps bothering me – again, is how quickly bad explanations are accepted as good enough. How silence is framed as maturity. How reacting becomes the problem, rather than what caused the reaction.

We don’t need louder debates. But we do need more honest ones. Because the truly worrying thing isn’t that people say thoughtless things. It’s that we keep getting better at explaining them away.

And the day I stop reacting to that isn’t the day everything is fine. It’s the day I’ve accepted explanations I shouldn’t have accepted.

And yes – that still worries me.