Freedom of speech, therefore, in wartime seems to me broadly to involve the same rights as freedom of speech in peace. It involves them, indeed, more fully because a period of national trial is one when, above all, it is the duty of citizens to hear their witness. I do not, of course, mean that a citizen in wartime should be free to communicate secret military plans to the enemy; I do mean that if a man feels, like Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, that British policy in South Africa is “methods of barbarism,” it is his right, as well as his duty, to say so. Obviously critical activity of this kind will be unpopular, and a government which helps in the making of its unpopularity will find the task of suppression easy. But it will pay a heavy price for suppression. The winged words of criticism scatter, only too often, the seeds of peace. Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman’s attack on the Balfour Government persuaded General Botha that trust in Great Britain might not be misplaced; President Wilson’s speeches, especially his Fourteen Points, were, impliedly, a criticism of Allied policy, and that which, also, awakened liberal opinion in Germany to a sense of its responsibilities. Wartime unity of outlook, in a word, is never worth the cost of prohibitions. If the policy of a state which decides upon war does not command the general assent of citizens, it has no right to make war. If the number of those hostile is considerable, the policy is, at the least, a dubious one. If the number is small, there is no need to attempt suppression in the interest of success. The only way, in fact, to attain the right is by free discussion; and a period of crisis, when the perception of right is difficult, only makes the emphasis upon freedom more fundamental.