In a sunlit past free of complication, about the most innocuous thing in American life was the vehicle license plate. It just drove around attached to cars and trucks minding its own business and being mainly of interest only to police officers.
True, New Hampshire had “Live Free or Die” as the state plate’s message, which was a bit severe and hinted at controversy. After all, is that the only option? Couldn’t the plate say: “Live Free or Put Whoopee Cushions on the Chairs of the Oppressors”? I know what you are thinking: That’s too long.
But then came the age of self-absorption. State governments began to realize that a lot of money was to be made by issuing so-called vanity plates that allowed drivers proud of their school or association to tell other motorists about it.
It is said the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but these days it goes first through federal court. So it was with Texas, which was among the states that realized that there was gold in them thar license plates and allowed hundreds of choices. But when the Texas division of the Sons of Confederate Veterans came calling for its plate, it was rebuffed.
Like other former states of the Confederacy during the Civil War, Texas does it share of paying homage to the old cause. Yet here was a state board saying that this group couldn’t have its own license plate because it included the image of the Confederate battle flag, which it deemed offensive to some — which is true enough.
Texas officials did something sympathetic to minority feelings and for their kindness the state was sued. A federal appeals court subsequently ruled that the Confederate group was being denied its free-speech rights. Last week, the U.S. Supreme Court heard oral arguments.
To be fair, those who see the Confederate battle flag as merely a historic artifact of Southern culture cannot be collectively condemned as racists. But those who are offended have their reasons, too. Through the filter of nostalgia, the Confederate cause may seem to be about honor and duty in the service of states’ rights but there’s no getting around the fact that the war to preserve that way of life was at its base about preserving bondage based on skin color.
When states issue license plates, the responsibility of deciding what is permissible naturally falls to them. Free-speech advocates want all comers to be allowed to have their own license plates, no matter how offensive. That may sound like a fine principle, but sooner or later someone unequivocally obnoxious will come along and make the Sons of Confederate Veterans seem entirely benign by comparison.
As Texas argued in a brief (while making clear that the Confederate group was in a less pernicious category): “A state is fully within its rights to exclude swastikas, sacrilege and overt racism from state-issued license plates that bear the state’s name and imprimatur.”
Yup, therein lies the danger with the anything-goes free-speech argument. “Imprimatur” is a highfalutin word but it can be simply translated as “brand” in cowboy country. Texas ought to be able to apply standards for vehicles bearing its license plate brand. Before the Supreme Court, the plaintiff’s lawyer admitted that overt racist message plates could indeed appear under his theory.
A wise principle holds that while free speech is a right of the people, it does not extend to yelling “fire” in a crowded theater. The day overt racist slurs appear on people’s official state licenses plates, we have ourselves a fire in this crowded theater of a country.
Driving is a privilege, not a right, and it is absurd suddenly to find a constitutional right lurking under the tailgate of a pickup truck — not when bumper stickers are always available if people want to exercise their right to free speech. Darn it, but Texas is right. Maybe that could go on a license plate.
Reg Henry is a Pittsburgh Post-Gazette columnist. Jay Bookman’s column will return soon.
