THE debate about press freedom has never been what anyone would call the icebreaker at a dinner party. Always a conversation-killer, a free press has in the past been like the dinner party itself -- a peace-time luxury. You don't miss it until it's gone.

That is why, when we suddenly find the debate assuming an urgency in several countries in the free world, we have to wonder what's going on.

Is press freedom under threat? Always.

Is it under particular threat right now? It would appear so -- and as usual, those threatening it come cloaked in the seductive mantle of freedom.

Our own Senate provided a lively debate on press freedom last week. It was especially enlivened by the contribution of David Norris, who as always brought something of the salon to the proceedings, spilling the beans on an editor who said it was "payback time" for him, and insisting all newspapers were horrible to him. He may have a point. But did he make the right point?

I sympathise with Norris. Politicians get a hard time. Across the water, where they get an even harder time, they seem to have a stronger skin. Last week, Michael Gove, a senior cabinet member in Westminster, warned of the "chilling atmosphere" developing as "judges, celebrities, establishment" try to rein in free speech after the News of the World debacle.

His words seem shocking in the light of the pain caused by the abuses of the News of the World.

But there can be a complacency in our responses to suffering that can be dangerous in itself. The News of the World must be punished for its breaches of natural justice. But you rein in newspapers at your peril.

Not for nothing does freedom of speech underpin democracy. Because, like democracy itself, it incorporates the right to be wrong. And the responsibility to fix it.

Fareed Zakaria, the Pakistani-born foreign affairs editor of Newsweek, points out that freedom can't work without a free press. The Arab world, he says, wants the outer fruits of a western democracy (computers, smart phones and sundry gadgets), but not the 'inner stuffing' that makes them possible -- a free press and a free parliament.

One can't help but feel that many in our own establishment -- and in Michael Gove's Britain -- might prefer things that way.

The 'inner stuffing' is always where the real test of strength lies.

Nobody ever said that a free press was easy. Fine in theory, but like gratitude, difficult in practice.

Free speech, we all say, is a self-evident truth. As long as it is something we agree with. Wrong. The very freedom only exists in the tolerance of something you disagree with.

Free speech, we say, should never be nasty. But who is to decide what's nasty? A judge? A priest? A satirist? Hugh Grant?

Certainly, most of us think we should not publish pictures of Whitney Houston in her coffin. But many of us think we should publish pictures of a dead IRA victim. So how do you legislate for that?

Most of us think we should not poke fun at vulnerable teenage girls -- even princesses -- in ridiculous hats at a wedding. But many of us think we should reveal the sartorial excesses of Nama wives at a wedding. So how do you legislate for that?

The libel laws -- considered draconian in this country -- protect the rights of the individual. But there is no getting away from the simple fact that it is only a sense of responsibility -- akin to that of a parent -- that can police the media.

Putting all pieties aside, however, it has to be said, abuse comes with the territory of press freedom.

Free speech is complicated. And since there is nothing as compelling as personal testimony to make an argument, I offer one here.

Phoenix magazine greeted my appointment as editor of this newspaper with the usual vulgarities and abuse. Every ordinary emotion of love, loyalty, devotion and disappointment by myself and others is twisted to make me out to be a conniving, manipulating, scheming minx. The intention of which is to damage me and damage my reputation.

But there's more. The reporting of the death of Liam Lawlor was one of the great mistakes of this newspaper. Aengus Fanning, myself and all the reporters and sub-editors who worked on it deeply regretted it. We paid a price. The Phoenix continually states that on this story I wrote the headline and the caption. They are wrong. Again.

The Phoenix is that old-fashioned instrument, the poison pen pamphleteer, whose anonymous writers, and more importantly anonymous sources, guarantee a certain cowardly cover. Apart from the fact that it is subject to the laws of libel, it bears startling similarity to that other great threat to freedom of the press: the internet.

Yes, freedom of speech is under threat from the great arbiter of freedom, the internet. And it all boils down to commercial realities. It was the great Joseph Pulitzer who pointed out that commercial success is the best guarantee of freedom of speech. Circulation drives advertising, he pointed out. Advertising drives revenue (profit) and revenue guarantees freedom. Freedom from all vested interest groups -- celebrities, judges, the establishment. And even -- ironically -- freedom from the pressure of advertisers.

In the Senate last week, Pat Rabbitte named the threat in a robust speech marred only by the customary jeer at the Sunday Independent.

The internet comes with all the glowing credentials of the freedom fighter. It offers a voice to the voiceless (some of whom should remain voiceless). It offers knowledge and information to the curious, it punctures elites and acknowledges talent. All for free. It also, as we all know, facilitates bullying, as every anonymous instrument does.

The outrage among internet users about proposed plans to clamp down on internet piracy is a perfect example of how, while purporting to be a free-for-all, the internet lacks the moral compass that society has forced on traditional media. Just as many on the internet believe that they should be able to say what they want, true or false, they also believe they should be free to appropriate content that has been created by others at great expense.

Take the music industry, which is on the verge of collapse because -- incredibly -- a whole new generation believes it should not have to pay for music. The reality of illegal downloading of music is that there is no longer any money for record companies to take a risk on a new band. Or indeed, any money for record companies to exist at all. The logical conclusion of all this is that there will soon be no new music. No new books. No new movies. Or newspapers. And we will all be the poorer for it.

Newspapers, like the music, publishing and film industries, have to be commercial -- something the internet chooses to ignore.

The bulk of internet discourse is deeply cynical. It simultaneously sneers and feeds off the old media. While undoubtedly there are great online commentators -- invariably those who put their names on their pieces -- most pick at stories provided by the resources of the old media and opine about them.

But without us old media dinosaurs, where would be most topical websites be?

The internet does not yet represent, as it said it would, the democratisation of news and comment. Soon enough they will have to learn the boring but necessary rules that the rest of us live by. Such as, before you say something hugely damaging about someone, you have to check that it's true. That kind of groundwork is not popular with most internet chatterers, which is why they rely on traditional journalists to do the work for them.

Content is never free. If you get good content, you can be sure that somebody somewhere is paying for it. But if the musicians, the movie-makers, the publishers and the press barons decide that it is not worth their while doing so anymore, there simply won't be any worthwhile content on the internet anymore.

This may sound apocalyptic. And it is. Not least because to judge by the debate in the Senate, our politicians have only a very slender grasp of what freedom of speech entails.

Right now, the internet is exhibiting an acute case of Harlot's Prerogative: power without responsibility. And like many a myopic harlot, the internet may well be in the process of souring the provider of the golden eggs.

Two-and-a-half cheers for newspapers.

Originally published in