A borderless battlefield for expression: in an era where digital platforms transcend national boundaries, the tension between online safety and free speech has escalated into a geopolitical flashpoint. Australia's Online Safety Act (OSA) of 2021, enforced by the eSafety Commissioner Julie Inman Grant, exemplifies this clash. What began as a domestic effort to curb cyberbullying, child exploitation, and violent content has morphed into a tool for extraterritorial censorship, sparking outrage from U.S. lawmakers, tech moguls like Elon Musk, and free speech advocates worldwide. On November 18, 2025, U.S. House Judiciary Committee Chairman Jim Jordan, a staunch ally of President Donald Trump, sent a blistering letter to Inman Grant, branding her a "zealot for global takedowns" and summoning her to testify by December 2 on how the OSA "directly threatens American speech." This incident is not isolated; it underscores a broader threat: the creeping normalisation of government-mandated content suppression that ignores jurisdictional limits, erodes First Amendment protections, and sets a dangerous precedent for authoritarian creep.
This post explores the OSA's mechanics, its real-world applications that have ignited international backlash, and the philosophical and practical perils it poses to global free expression. Far from mere bureaucratic overreach, the Act represents a paradigm shift where "safety" becomes a Trojan horse for control, chilling speech not just in Australia but wherever the internet flows.
Enacted in 2021 under the Albanese government (building on earlier Coalition efforts), the OSA empowers the eSafety Commissioner to issue "removal notices" for content deemed harmful, including cyber-abuse, non-consensual intimate images, and "abhorrent violent material." Proponents argue it addresses genuine harms: relentless online harassment that drives victims to despair, or graphic videos inciting real-world violence. The Act's threshold for intervention is ostensibly high, requiring intent to cause "serious harm" like psychological trauma or physical danger, and includes safeguards like judicial review.
Yet, critics contend these protections are illusory. The Institute of Public Affairs (IPA), a libertarian think tank, has labelled the OSA a "disaster" for circumventing free speech presumptions, allowing an unelected official to stifle political discourse under vague rubrics like "hate speech" or "misinformation." Freedom House's 2021 report noted the Act's expansion of notice-and-takedown regimes, website blocking, and data access, shrinking the space for expression online. Unlike Australia's implied constitutional freedom of political communication, which the Act nods to but rarely honours, the OSA prioritises "safety expectations" for platforms, fining them up to 5% of global revenue for non-compliance on misinformation.
The real poison pill? Extraterritorial reach. Platforms "supplying services to Australians" must comply, even if content is hosted abroad. Geo-blocking, hiding material from Aussie IP addresses, is often deemed insufficient, as VPNs can bypass it. This forces global takedowns, exporting Australian standards to the world.
The OSA's fangs were bared in 2024 during the Wakeley church stabbing, where a 16-year-old attacked Bishop Mar Mari Emmanuel in a livestreamed assault labelled a terrorist act. eSafety demanded X globally remove the footage, arguing geo-blocking was futile against determined viewers. X complied partially but fought in court, offering geo-blocking as a compromise. Elon Musk decried it as "global censorship," while then-Opposition Leader Peter Dutton called it "silly." Inman Grant ultimately dropped the case in the Administrative Appeals Tribunal, but not before fining X $782,000 AUD for delays, a sum Musk dismissed as pocket change.
These aren't anomalies. The IPA documents how eSafety has targeted lawful political content, from COVID scepticism to election commentary, under the guise of harm prevention. Inman Grant's Davos remarks on "recalibrating" free speech as a human right, alongside calls for global coordination on "online violence," fuelled suspicions of a censorship cartel.
Enter Jim Jordan's November 18 missive, a scorched-earth indictment. Addressed to Inman Grant, a U.S. native who spent decades at Microsoft, Adobe, and Twitter, the letter accuses her of colluding with "pro-censorship entities" like the EU and Brazil at a September 25 Stanford roundtable. Jordan ties this to Stanford's alleged role in 2020 election meddling via the Internet Observatory, which he claims enabled U.S. government censorship.
"Your expansive interpretation... threatens American speech," Jordan writes, warning of precedents for reciprocal foreign meddling. He demands testimony on the OSA's "free speech implications," hinting at subpoenas if she balks. A committee spokesperson quipped: "If there's nothing to hide, she should voluntarily appear."
This echoes broader U.S. concerns. In May 2024, Jordan and Rep. Thomas Massie warned Secretary Blinken against emulating Australia's model, citing eSafety's Wakeley order as a "direct threat." Rebel News called Inman Grant "Australia's censorship queen," urging her ouster. On X, reactions range from cheers ("Bombshell!") to defences ("Jim Jordan's grandstanding").
eSafety retorts that the OSA doesn't mandate global removals, citing geo-blocking successes in other cases, and platforms can serve Americans freely. But this rings hollow when fines loom for non-compliance, pressuring U.S. firms to self-censor universally.
At its core, the OSA debate pits harm prevention against expressive liberty. Proponents invoke interest-based theories: speech isn't absolute when it inflicts "serious harm," suppressing victims' voices more than it elevates the speaker's. The Australian Human Rights Commission defends eSafety's work on child abuse and revenge porn as essential, arguing free speech doesn't license terrorism glorification.
Yet this utilitarian calculus falters. Vague terms like "harmful" invite abuse, as philosopher Konstantinos Kalliris warns: restrictions don't just burden speakers but deprive audiences of diverse ideas, eroding democracy. Australia's lack of a First Amendment equivalent amplifies risks; what starts as "whack-a-mole" on violence morphs into ideological pruning.
Globally, the OSA inspires copycats, the UK's 2023 Act echoes its duties, while U.S. probes signal pushback. Inman Grant's WEF ties and Stanford appearances suggest a networked elite advancing "coordinated" moderation, bypassing national sovereignty.
Australia's OSA, wielded by Julie Inman Grant, is a microcosm of a dystopian trend: governments leveraging tech's borderlessness to impose parochial morals globally. Jordan's summons isn't protectionism; it's a firewall against imported tyranny. Free speech isn't a luxury, it's the oxygen of inquiry, as John Stuart Mill argued, fostering truth through friction.
To avert this threat, reforms are imperative: Narrow the OSA to clear crimes, mandate judicial oversight for takedowns, and reject extraterritoriality. Platforms must resist fines with unified litigation, while users amplify the silenced. If Inman Grant testifies, her words could catalyse change, or entrench division. Either way, the world watches: Will safety swallow liberty, or will expression prevail? The stakes are nothing less than the soul of the open internet.