In 1969, the Supreme Court drew a sharp new line in the sand. In Brandenburg v. Ohio, the Court held that even inflammatory advocacy of violence is protected unless it is intended to incite and likely to produce imminent lawless action. That two-part test (intent + imminence) finally gave precision to what Holmes had only hinted at in his Abrams dissent fifty years earlier. The decision transformed free speech law by turning fear of radical speech into a constitutional virtue: danger had to be real, immediate, and deliberate before government could silence it.
The facts were as jarring as the principle. Clarence Brandenburg, a Ku Klux Klan leader, invited a television crew to film a rally where men in robes carried guns and talked about “revengeance” on the government. Ohio convicted him under a criminal-syndicalism statute forbidding advocacy of violence. But the Court reversed, explaining that speech advocating the use of force or lawbreaking cannot be punished unless it is directed to inciting imminent illegal action and likely to produce it. In other words, abstract calls for revolution are protected; only explicit instructions to act, likely to succeed in the moment, are not.
That narrow window where speech crosses from idea to action has guided every incitement case since. It recognizes that democracy needs breathing space for rhetoric that is heated, provocative, even reckless. The First Amendment protects not only calm deliberation but the passions that fuel political movements. Still, the line is fragile. The Court would spend the next decade clarifying how close to the edge a speaker may go before protection ends.
Three years after Brandenburg, the Court faced Hess v. Indiana (1973), a protest case born out of the Vietnam era. A college demonstrator shouted during a tense confrontation with police, “We’ll take the f***ing street later!” He was convicted of disorderly conduct for inciting a riot. The Supreme Court reversed, holding that Hess’s words were vague, future-oriented, and shouted in frustration, and therefore did not meet the Brandenburg threshold. The Court reasoned that “later” was not “imminent”; the statement expressed defiance, not direction. It was precisely the kind of political hyperbole that the First Amendment shelters, even when it offends or alarms.
Hess reaffirmed the constitutional distinction between advocacy and incitement, but it also captured something subtler: the recognition that political language often operates in the register of emotion rather than instruction. Democracies must tolerate the anger that accompanies protest, or risk flattening civic life into silence. To punish a speaker for saying “we’ll take the street later” would be to punish a mood, not a threat.
That insight deepened a decade later in NAACP v. Claiborne Hardware Co. (1982), one of the most important free-speech and civil-rights decisions of the twentieth century. In the 1960s, civil rights activists in Mississippi organized a boycott of white-owned stores. At mass meetings, local NAACP leader Charles Evers gave fiery speeches warning that those who broke the boycott would be “disciplined.” When some boycotters later engaged in violence and intimidation, white merchants sued the NAACP for damages, arguing that Evers’s words had incited the attacks. The Court disagreed. It held that Evers’s passionate, even menacing rhetoric was still protected political expression. Unless a speaker directly incites imminent violence, the First Amendment does not permit liability for the independent acts of listeners.
Together, Brandenburg, Hess, and Claiborne form a moral arc of restraint. They teach that democracy depends on tolerating speech that tests our patience and our nerves. The Constitution does not demand civility; it demands the willingness to allow fierce words in the hope that they will yield peaceful change.
The enduring lesson is that incitement law is less about danger than about trust. The state must trust citizens to hear ugly ideas without collapsing into violence, and citizens must trust that their government will not mistake dissent for disloyalty. From the Klan rally to the campus protest to the civil rights boycott, the Court’s message is the same: free societies draw their strength not from suppressing passion, but from enduring it.