With the proliferation of podcasts and social media platforms, many controversial content creators now define freedom as “saying what you think.”  It sounds liberating, and sometimes it is. But saying everything you think, the moment you think it, isn’t freedom – it’s impulse.

In broadcasting, the term “shock jock” has long been used to describe radio personalities who provoke strong reactions and high ratings. Howard Stern and John Berks come to mind as being among the originals, where controversy was part of the craft. But they operated within a very different media ecosystem. In those early days of radio, controversy travelled slowly. Today it travels at the speed of impulse.

In the early years of Radio 702 when I was Station Manager, listeners wrote letters by hand, put them in envelopes, and mailed them to the station. Complaints arrived days…sometimes weeks…after John Berks said something outrageous. At dinner parties and offices, people would ask “Did you hear what Berksie said this morning?”,  but beyond that, at most, a controversial moment might be picked up by a newspaper and quickly become yesterday’s news.

That delay mattered. It created space for reflection, context, and a more measured response. Provocation could be contained rather than censored (or “cancelled”). Radio was “theatre of the mind”. Public figures were known largely through voice, imagination and presence. What they said on air lived on air. There was a clear boundary between the performer, the platform, and the private individual.

That boundary no longer exists. With the advent of the internet, everyone is now a broadcaster. In today’s media environment, immediacy is rewarded – the quicker the reaction and the louder the response, the more attention it attracts. Algorithms amplify outrage and controversy, and tweets become headline stories. What once passed through editors, producers, managers, or trusted sounding boards, now goes straight from thought to timeline. This is where the idea of freedom begins to blur.

When Gareth Cliff and I launched CliffCentral.com, pioneering podcasting and online media outside traditional broadcast regulation, I found myself grappling with this distinction in real time. Being uncensored suddenly meant anything could be said – swearing, risqué content and raw opinion – and it forced a deeper question: does the absence of rules automatically equal freedom of speech, or does freedom still require judgment, context and responsibility?

What has changed isn’t the personality type, but the system around it. In earlier eras, strong personalities operated within structures that encouraged intentional provocation rather than reactive outbursts, and fallout could be more easily absorbed. When those structures disappear or are actively rejected,  provocation becomes identity. Feedback is dismissed as attack or irrelevant, and anyone offering restraint or perspective may be seen as an obstacle to “freedom”. This is where the containment role quietly vanishes and with it, balance. And without containment, impulse overrides judgement.

A powerful lesson I’ve learnt over the years is that restraint isn’t a weakness – it’s a superpower. It’s what allows brilliance to last.

Real freedom lies not in saying everything that comes to mind, but in knowing when to speak and when to remain silent, because sometimes the greatest impact comes from what’s unsaid.