Robert Brasillach: The Controversial Figure Liberals Love to Hate

Robert Brasillach, a French writer and journalist, was executed in 1945 for his collaboration with the Nazi regime during World War II. His life and work have become a lightning rod for controversy, especially among those who champion free speech and those who believe in the absolute moral condemnation of collaborators. Brasillach's story unfolds in the tumultuous backdrop of wartime France, where he wielded his pen as a weapon, advocating for fascist ideologies and anti-Semitic views. His execution in Paris was not just a punishment for his wartime activities but a statement by the French government on where they stood on collaboration and treason.

Now, let's get one thing straight: Brasillach was no saint. He was a man who made choices that aligned him with one of the most reviled regimes in history. But here's the kicker—his execution raises questions about freedom of expression and the limits of artistic license. Was he executed for his actions or for his words? This is where the debate gets juicy. Brasillach's literary prowess was undeniable, and his works were celebrated before his political leanings overshadowed his talent. The question remains: should a person's art be separated from their political beliefs?

The left often champions the idea of separating art from the artist, except when it comes to figures like Brasillach. The hypocrisy is palpable. They argue for the rehabilitation of certain controversial figures while simultaneously condemning others without a second thought. It's a selective morality that reeks of double standards. Brasillach's case is a prime example of how the left picks and chooses who deserves redemption and who doesn't.

Let's talk about the elephant in the room: the idea of free speech. Brasillach's execution was a clear message that certain ideas were too dangerous to be expressed. But isn't the essence of free speech the ability to express even the most unpopular opinions? The left loves to tout their commitment to free speech, but when it comes to voices they disagree with, they're quick to silence them. Brasillach's execution was a chilling reminder of what happens when the state decides which ideas are permissible and which are not.

And let's not forget the role of the French government in all of this. They were eager to make an example out of Brasillach, to show the world that they were taking a hard stance against collaborators. But was it justice or a convenient scapegoating? The French government had its own skeletons in the closet when it came to collaboration, and Brasillach's execution was a way to divert attention from their own complicity. It's a classic case of "do as I say, not as I do."

The irony is that Brasillach's execution only served to immortalize him. His writings, once relegated to the fringes, gained a new audience, curious about the man who was deemed too dangerous to live. The left's attempt to erase him from history only ensured his place in it. It's a lesson in unintended consequences, a reminder that censorship often backfires.

In the end, Robert Brasillach remains a polarizing figure, a man whose life and death continue to spark debate. His story is a cautionary tale about the dangers of censorship, the complexities of collaboration, and the selective morality of those who claim to stand for justice. Whether you see him as a villain or a victim, one thing is certain: Brasillach's legacy is a testament to the power of words and the peril of silencing them.