Underneath Ms Archer: Cancel Culture versus the Magna Carta

Underneath Ms Archer is a time travel comedy starring Louise Siversen and Peter Houghton, this ninety-minute ‘dramedy’ can be caught at South Yarra’s Irene Mitchell Studio between 21 June and 16 July.

Its three-act plot goes something like this: seasoned flight attendant Kelly Archer has been pushed too far and lashes out at Passenger 48, triggering a social media storm that leads to her being ‘cancelled’ – fired from her job, shunned by her family, and vilified by the media. Holed up in her apartment, blockaded by the trolling mob, Kelly needs help. And help does indeed arrive, in the unlikely form of a Knight, an ancestor from the year 1215AD, himself besieged by predatory Barons.

On the face of it, a free-thinking twenty-first century young woman and a crazed medieval traditionalist have no common denominator. Yet both need to slay their dragons; both need courage to fight their way out of their respective pickles. And, as family, they need each other, no matter how wide their differences – even if that difference happens to be a millennia.

Beneath the comedy, there is a fundamental debate going on in Underneath Ms Archer: the crushing of free speech that is inherent in cancel culture against the championing of individual liberty embodied in the Magna Carta.

Cancel culture is a topical phenomenon in which individuals, or more often groups, call for the public shaming or boycotting of someone whose views or actions they deem unacceptable. This is exactly what happens to Kelly. And while an argument can be made that cancel culture is a necessary response to hate speech, its wider implications are something to worry about – for it seeks to silence more controversial voices, to mute viewpoints that fall outside the mainstream. It depersonalises and dehumanises, hence the ‘Ms’ Archer. For many, it speaks of intolerance and division. It does, as any frequenter of Twitter will know, set up opposing camps. It leaves no room for nuance. It creates a culture of fear and censorship. It stifles legitimate debate.

And yet, despite its current prevalence, it is not perceived in a positive light: while there is limited data available, a survey by the Institute of Public Affairs in 2020 did find that 59 per cent of Australians felt that freedom of speech was under threat, while 67 per cent supported the right to speak freely, without fear of retribution.

Arrogance, it appears, is at the root of cancel culture, in that it condemns without trial. It slaps the face of the sprit of the Magna Carta. This far-reaching document was signed by King John of England in 1215AD. In signing it, King John agreed to limiting the power of the King and to protecting the rights of the people. Nobody, according to the Magna Carta, is above the law – not even the King. Its signing signalled protection of individual rights and advocated due process.

Consequently, the Magna Carta has been cited in countless legal cases and has formed the basis of significant historical events such as the American Revolution. Protection of freedom is at its heart. And yet, cancel culture takes it upon itself to contravene these fundamental principles and denounce individuals at will.

The damaging impact of cancel culture is well documented. As an example, in 2021 Christy Tiegen, model and author, faced an accusation of cyberbullying based on some mean tweets she sent to then-teenager Courtney Sodden in 2011. As a result, Tiegen lost sponsorships and was compelled to withdraw from a Netflix show she was set to produce.

And in 2017, Google software engineer James Damore was fired after a memo he wrote criticising the company’s diversity policy was unearthed. In the memo, he had suggested that perhaps the biological differences between men and women could account for the under-representation of women in tech. These are only two of many high-profile examples. In extreme cases, as with these two, public censure can affect lives and livelihoods; even worse, it can incite violence, as in Kelly’s case. We may not approve of the likes of Tiegan and Damore (or maybe we do), but should we, as a society, really have the power of pre-Magna Carta monarchy? Our sanctions, despite inhabiting a first-world ‘progressive’ culture, could be regarded as positively medieval.

Are we actually little more than a gang of playground bullies? The division between cancel culture and the tenets of the Magna Carta is, of course, complex. With the rise of the internet, there is clearly a need to establish rules of public discourse. The line between free speech and necessary censorship is a blurred one. But those who set themselves up as judge and jury, who consider it fair to bully and troll individuals with whom they disagree, are perhaps in need of a few history lessons.

Nevertheless, this form of censorship is rife. It’s going nowhere fast – because it has numerous platforms. In such a hostile environment, there is little opportunity for redemption. Like the tragic hero in a Shakespearean drama, Kelly makes one irreversible mistake, a mistake that seals her fate. Her side is not heard. Nobody bothers to look at the frustrations and motivations ‘underneath’ the speech or behaviour. But what Underneath Ms Archer does is to offer hope: hope that family can be your protectors, and that differences can be bridged.