For years, Western streets and campuses have echoed with the slogan “Free Palestine.” To many supporters, it sounds like a simple call for justice. But in reality, much of the modern global movement behind that slogan has been inseparable from the geopolitical project of the Islamic Republic of Iran and the militant proxies it finances.

Organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah are not merely local actors in a territorial dispute. They are central pillars of Iran’s regional strategy, funded, armed, and directed by Tehran as part of its long campaign against Israel and Western influence in the Middle East.

For decades, the regime in Iran has invested billions of dollars in what might be called the ideological infrastructure of the conflict: propaganda, political movements, and networks of activists across the globe. When demonstrators chant slogans in Western capitals that mirror the language of these groups, it is not accidental. It reflects a political ecosystem that Iran has carefully cultivated.

If Iran’s regional axis weakens—or even collapses—the consequences may extend far beyond the battlefield. The global protest infrastructure that has sustained the “Free Palestine” movement may lose the financial, political, and ideological oxygen that has kept it alive. Without Tehran’s patronage, the movement could shrink rapidly.

But another question confronts Western democracies, particularly the United States: how should open societies respond when activism turns into the glorification of violence?

The United States has long prided itself on its robust commitment to free speech under the First Amendment. Yet even in America, free speech has never meant that every form of expression is welcome in every context, nor that the country must grant entry to foreign nationals who promote violence.

Consider the recent decision to deny entry to a British band after members chanted “Death to the IDF” during performances. Whatever one’s views of Israeli policy, chanting for the death of soldiers—indeed, of anyone—is not political discourse. It is incitement.

Importantly, immigration law has always recognized this distinction.

The United States government has broad authority to deny entry to foreigners whose activities run contrary to American interests. The Supreme Court affirmed this principle in Kleindienst v. Mandel (1972), holding that the political branches possess wide discretion in excluding foreign nationals. Congress later strengthened these authorities through legislation such as the Immigration and Nationality Act, which allows the government to bar entry to individuals who endorse or materially support terrorist organizations.

Nor is this authority theoretical. The United States has long designated groups like Hamas and Hezbollah as terrorist organizations, making support for them grounds for visa denial or removal.

The principle is straightforward: the First Amendment protects the speech of Americans. It does not obligate the United States to import foreign voices that celebrate violence against its allies or its own citizens.

A deeper question therefore confronts American society. The First Amendment is one of the crown jewels of the American constitutional order. Yet even the broad protections of free speech have never been absolute.

American jurisprudence has long recognized limits when speech crosses the line into violence or incitement. In Brandenburg v. Ohio (1969), the Supreme Court ruled that speech advocating violence can be restricted when it is directed toward imminent lawless action and is likely to produce such action. Likewise, the Court has recognized that true threats and material support for terrorism fall outside the core protections of political expression.

In practice, however, Western societies have grown increasingly hesitant to enforce these boundaries. Chants that openly call for violence against soldiers, ethnic groups, or entire nations are often excused as mere “political speech.” That reluctance risks stretching the concept of free speech beyond its intended purpose—until almost anything can be justified under its banner.

Other democracies have taken a more assertive approach in defining those limits. Across parts of Europe, for example, the display of Nazi symbols, Holocaust denial, and related propaganda are not treated as protected expression but as dangerous forms of incitement rooted in a violent ideological past. These societies have concluded—based on hard historical experience—that some movements are not merely political viewpoints, but vehicles for hatred and violence that must be restricted in the public sphere.

The United States need not replicate these laws wholesale. But it cannot ignore the underlying lesson. When organizations like Hamas and Hezbollah openly embrace violence and are formally designated as terrorist groups, it is reasonable to ask whether their symbols, propaganda, and organized advocacy should continue to enjoy the full protections of ordinary political speech—particularly when such expression crosses into glorification or encouragement of violence.

If liberal democracies wish to preserve themselves, they must rediscover that constitutional freedoms were never designed to function as shields for movements that glorify violence. This principle should apply not only to visitors and visa holders but, when speech crosses the legal threshold of incitement or threat, to citizens as well—including those who have been naturalized.

Citizenship carries rights, but it also carries obligations to the constitutional order that makes those rights possible. A society that refuses to defend the boundaries of its own freedoms eventually risks watching those freedoms erode from within.

In an era of mass migration and globalized activism, this distinction becomes even more important. A society that wishes to preserve its civic culture cannot ignore the values that newcomers bring with them.

Immigration has always been a defining strength of the United States, but historically it was paired with an expectation of assimilation into the nation’s constitutional order and civic norms. That expectation has weakened in recent decades, replaced by a more ambiguous standard in which newcomers are sometimes encouraged to import the political conflicts of other regions.

The result has been visible across Western democracies: campuses and city streets where chants glorifying militant movements echo under the banner of political activism.

For a civilization built on liberal democratic values, this presents a paradox. An open society must tolerate dissent—even harsh dissent. But it cannot be expected to welcome the importation of ideologies that openly celebrate violence or reject the very principles that sustain that openness.

If Western democracies wish to preserve themselves, they must rediscover a basic principle: immigration is a privilege extended by a sovereign nation, not an entitlement detached from civic responsibility.

That principle does not require abandoning free speech. It requires recognizing where free speech ends—and where national self-preservation begins.

History offers a clear lesson: civilizations do not collapse only from external enemies. They also weaken when they lose the confidence to defend the principles that sustain them. If Iran’s militant axis fades, the global machinery that fuels radical anti-Israel agitation may fade with it. But the larger challenge for Western democracies will remain unchanged: whether they still possess the clarity—and the courage—to defend free societies not only from their enemies abroad, but from the ideologies that seek to hollow them out from within.

Should Iran’s network of militant proxies finally collapse, one of the world’s loudest ideological campaigns may fade with it. But the deeper challenge will remain: whether Western societies still possess the confidence to defend their own values.

Because if a civilization cannot distinguish between freedom and the forces that seek to destroy it, history suggests it will not remain free for long.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)