Last July, I was in Rwanda with a few dozen media actors gathered at the Kigali Genocide Memorial to meet with Aegis Trust and the United Nations Special Advisor on the Prevention of Genocide. We were there to discuss the growing problem of hate speech around the world. I was one of two Americans in a room that represented 17 countries, and I listened intently as my colleagues spoke about their fears about the increasingly violent rhetoric dominating American politics.

“Americans care more about free speech than stopping hate speech” is the phrase I have heard over and over again. And no part of me could disagree.

Freedom of speech is one of the principles we hold firmly to in this country. It’s in our bones. We are taught that we have the freedom to think, feel and be. We have the freedom to create our own stories – and that is both a power and a responsibility. But I fear that we too often embrace the former and forget the latter.

Last month, vice presidential candidate JD Vance gave us a clear example: The stories we create around our lives can be as dangerous as they are moving. After spreading lies about immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, he admitted to CNN host Dana Bash that he made up the story. As The Guardian simply stated in one headline, “JD Vance admits he’s willing to ‘create stories’ to get media attention.” And both during the vice-presidential debate and in numerous interviews since, he has redoubled his use of this tactic to attract attention.

It is of course worrying, but certainly not surprising to hear about a political candidate who has chosen to join a campaign whose main tactic is fear. But the fact that Vance is a critically acclaimed memoirist gives me reason to examine this moment with greater scrutiny.

To write a memoir is to tell a story about one’s own subjective truth. Memoirists tend to look at the world around them with an insatiable curiosity to understand their place in it. They explore their pain in the context of their physical location and do their best to construct a narrative arc around a life that can often feel like chaos. There is no shortage of memoirs written by Americans that provide a window into what it feels like to be a citizen of this country, and no two stories are ever the same; go to any bookstore and you will find a plethora of perspectives that challenge or comfort you.

Vance’s 2016 memoir, “Mountain elegy”, was one of these perspectives. He wrote about his life in Ohio and many of us in this country devoured it – myself included. He took me to a part of the country I don’t know and told me the history of a place I don’t understand. As many of us do by default, I trusted the storyteller.

However, the memoir has always been criticized. For example, a Politico 2022 interview with Kentucky-born author Silas House, who is one of the South’s leading thinkers, said: “When I criticize (“Hillbilly Elegy”), conservatives sometimes accuse me of wanting to keep it out of the hands of readers…I am in no way saying the book should be banned…Every family story has value, but I wish he would have told this story without generalizing an entire place and people to fit his agenda .

Since the release of his book, Vance has moved from telling his own story to hate speech, which the United Nations describes as “offensive speech targeting a group or individual on the basis of inherent characteristics (such as race, religion or sex) and which can threaten social peace. This is an abuse of storytelling that dictators and authoritarian regimes have proven effective for generations.

The aftermath of the September presidential debate, in which Trump repeated the lies created by Vance, gave us an undeniable example of how hate speech leads to violence. In the weeks that followed, Springfield, Ohio, suffered dozens of bomb threats against schools and public offices. Elementary schools had to be evacuated, local middle schools opted to meet virtually for safety reasons, and the city canceled its annual celebration of diversity, arts and culture.

In defending his lies, Vance unabashedly explained that he created the story because he knew it would attract attention. And he’s right. We’re still talking about it. I write about it. This has gained ground. Springfield still struggles with abuse. And our country has fallen deeper into a culture war between those who want to humanize their neighbors and those who believe their security depends on dehumanization.

But here’s what Vance doesn’t understand: A good writer, a good person, and a good leader hold themselves accountable for their failures. They investigate themselves to find their faults and recognize their own flaws, which are often reflected in the people around them, especially those who are hurt.

Vance got an opportunity when he admitted to lying. He could have set an example by saying he did something wrong. He could have told us that he got caught up in his party’s tactics and succumbed to pressure from his boss. He could have admitted that he was acting in a way he didn’t believe in and apologized for hurting the people living in his home state. That’s what a protagonist would do.

Stories are neither prescribed nor defined. If Vance wants to tell a story told through hate speech and present himself as a savior through premeditated lies, fine. We can’t stop it. This is the power that our freedom of speech gives us. But his power implies our responsibility. We don’t need to be his audience. We, the voters of this country, can decide where our memories go. This is our story to write. And I hope we make a good one.

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