The Myth of the "Safe Space"—When Protection Becomes Control

Safe space.

The phrase grates on me every time it's uttered. We all pretend we know what it means. Some of us want to pretend it's a good thing. But let's be honest. A "safe space" is rarely safe at all. It's marketed as sanctuary, wrapped in soft language and good intentions, usually with one self-appointed guardian standing at the door like some benevolent superhero promising protection to all who enter.

But underneath that promise sits something far less noble—control. Total control. Control of the tone, the rules, the boundaries, the acceptable thoughts and the acceptable feelings. And every time I hear someone proudly declare their space "safe," I can't help but wonder what's actually going on in their head. What do they think they are offering? What do they believe they are shielding people from? What does safe even mean to the person who gets to define it?

Because the one who proclaims the safe space is also the one who decides what must be kept out.

Think about it for a moment. Isn't there something quietly condescending—maybe even outright insulting—about being told I need to be kept safe from anything at all? As if I'm too delicate to face the world as it is. As if I require shielding, cushioning, filtering. The very idea suggests I'm incapable, fragile, and in need of someone else's judgement to decide what I can or cannot handle.

Because beneath the gentle language of "protection" lurks a far more patronizing message: You are weak. You cannot be trusted with the full reality of things. I will decide what you're allowed to encounter so you don't break.

That's not safety. That's infantilization dressed up as care.

The reason I bring this up is because—after not hearing the term for quite some time—it resurfaced in the middle of a full-blown rant by a certain YouTuber. I won't name him, but he's someone who normally talks about completely different topics. Yet there he was, saying the quiet parts out loud while explaining why he deleted a particular comment. Why he actually deletes many comments. His commentary not only spoke of his safe space, but it also defined what it actually is.

Again, the quiet part was spoken out loud, which is why it struck me.

Now, I understand the "my house, my rules" argument. It's his channel. He can shape it however he wants and curate whatever comments he chooses. And for the record, none of this had anything to do with anything I ever posted. But the mindset behind his explanation—that's what caught my attention.

I swear, had I not seen the video made on a stony, forested trail somewhere in Nova Scotia, Canada, I might have thought it came right from the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun in North Korea. Because again, that's the mentality of one who creates a safe space. It's not to protect all who enter. It's to protect the proclaimer of the safe space itself. It's to protect something deep within himself he deeply fears—the possibility of a truth other than his own.

What he revealed wasn't strength. It was fragility. The glimpse into the "real" man behind the camera was far from flattering. The so-called "protector" came off as far more delicate than the people he claimed to be shielding. And that's the uncomfortable truth about most safe spaces. The person enforcing the safety is often the one who needs the insulation the most.

What I'm offering here is a warning. When someone insists, "You need to feel safe," you have to stop and ask: what is he afraid of? Is it the truth? Is it the presence of opposing viewpoints that might force him to examine his own beliefs? Is he afraid of being wrong? Afraid of thinking before reacting? Afraid that one small shard of common sense might unravel the entire worldview he's built?

You have to listen closely to the language. That's where the tells are. "I will delete hurtful, harmful, or hateful comments." Define that. He doesn't, of course. Those words mean whatever he decides they mean, filtered through his own worldview and personal sensitivities. 

And let's not forget. Not too long ago, people were genuinely outraged over pancake syrup. So "harmful" has a pretty broad definition.

Then there's "I don't like to argue with people." Again—define argue. Because the way he framed it matched exactly what I suspected. What he really meant was: I don't want comments that challenge my worldview, require me to explain myself, or force me into an open discussion. 

And then the big one. "I don't allow misinformation." At first glance, that sounds noble. But listen closely. If anything can be labeled misinformation, then he gets to decide what is or isn't true. No debate. No nuance. No conversation. Just a single gatekeeper declaring reality.

So again, I have to ask. What exactly am I being "protected" from? And why is it his job to decide what information I am allowed to hear and what must be hidden away? That's the unsettling part. That's where the control comes in. It's the same mechanism that propaganda relies on—one person determining the truth and silencing every competing thought. That isn't healthy. That isn't safe. In fact, it's one of the most dangerous environments we could ever find ourselves trapped in.

This isn't meant as a personal attack on the YouTuber or even his channel. But his comments made me pause, because what he described is precisely why we shouldn't have "safe spaces." It's exactly why we need open discussions—especially the uncomfortable ones, the challenging ones, the ones that force us to think.

It's far more dangerous to leave people with their heads buried in the sand than to let them hear everything and decide for themselves what's true or false, good or bad, hurtful or hateful, or whatever label someone wants to slap on an idea.

In other words, it's much safer for me to see Aunt Jemimah on the shelves at the store and decide for myself whether or not I want to support any meaning behind it or buy Log Cabin instead. I want the ability to decide for myself. And I want the freedom to discuss my thoughts and hear the thoughts of others about it.

No one needs to protect me from pancake syrup. I don't need for my grocery aisles to be made into a "safe space." Or anywhere else for that matter.

Sure, it's just a YouTube channel. But the mindset behind the video—the belief that people must be shielded from ideas—is where the real danger lies. When one person shapes the world for everyone else, when he filters reality and dictates what thoughts are acceptable, we don't become safer. We become vulnerable. The gears of control start turning. Independent thought shuts down. Minds weaken. Spirits shrink. And piece by piece, our individuality gets stripped away.

Again, my issue is not with this YouTuber himself. He's just the anecdote—the latest example, the most recent voice echoing this troubling notion of a "safe space." He's not the problem. The idea is. The mindset is. The belief that safety comes from shielding people rather than strengthening them.

And here's the irony: the only reason he can express his views so freely is because he lives in a world that allows open expression in the first place. Freedom makes his "safe space" possible—not the other way around.

So, we circle back to where we began. The illusion of safety. A "safe space" promises protection, but more often it becomes a cage—one built not to shelter people from harm, but to shelter its creator from discomfort. The moment one person claims the authority to decide what others may hear, say, or think, the space stops being safe and starts becoming controlled. True safety doesn't come from walls or filters or guardians at the gate. It comes from the freedom to confront ideas, challenge assumptions, and grow stronger through the friction of honest conversation. If anything needs protecting, it's that freedom—not the fragile feelings of those who fear it.

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© 2026 Jim Bauer

I'm Just Going to Stick with What I Know, Thank You Very Much: It's Columbus Day

by Leonard Knath, staff writer

I'm sorry. Did you just call it Indigenous People's Day? I have a new name for it too, actually, now that you mention it. I am going to call it Blow it Out Your Ass Day. In other words, you can take your political correctness and literally shove it where the sun doesn't shine, and I don't really care about what you think about that any more than you care about changing history, and what a holiday is called.

As it happens to continue to be a free country, with the 1st Amendment so far untouched by cancel culture, I am going to say what I want just like you feel so free to.

By the way, have you seen a bottle of Pearl Milling pancake syrup lately? It says right on the label, "Formerly Aunt Jemimah," so what are you really accomplishing here anyway? I think nothing but more liberal BS that only a very small circle of people care about that accomplishes nothing but to create more division.

Curated by the very people who drive around in Tesla's crying about climate change with "Coexist" stickers on their bumpers while acre and acre of land is mined for minerals to make batteries as coal plants burn ton after ton of coal to bring sparks of electricity to the very plug you put in where the evil gas pump is supposed to go.

Ah. I get it. We're saving the planet and saving ourselves from...ourselves. For the greater good, supposedly. 

Ten years from now we'll be burying those massive car batteries, and ten years after that we'll have aquifers polluted by them after we bury them. The left who clamored so loudly for them will simply blame the big corporations for being the problem, of course.

"You were supposed to figure out how to recycle them. Not bury them!"

Look, whether or not it was Columbus who landed on our shores way back when or whether or not the people he saw when he landed were people from India or indigenous people doesn't matter. It's our history. Right or wrong. It's what it is. It's what it was.  

Why can't we just discuss the mistake? Why do we have to change the history? Why do we have to cancel it? What purpose does it serve to deny it? I mean, what if, in Germany, they completely tried to erase the Hitler era and make it sound more appealing? Because that's really what Indigenous People's Day is all about. Making people feel better. 

Like it or not, good or bad, we have a history just like anywhere else in the world. We don't have to like it. It doesn't even have to be a good history. Slavery sucked, for example. It was terrible. The Jim Crowe days are no more appealing than a colonoscopy without anesthesia or lube. But it still happened.

You can call the day whatever you want to call it. That's your right just like it's mine to call BS on it, and to continue to call it Columbus Day. I'm only mad about it because you're mad about what I want to call it. Otherwise, I couldn't give two hoots.

But that's part of it too, isn't it? You want to control me. You want me to conform to your demands. You want me to crater under the weight of your pressure.

"You can't call them Indians."

Oh, the hell I can't. You can try your best to rewrite history and change the story. You can tear down the statues and rename the pancake syrup. But what you can't do is change the facts, no matter how badly you want to or no matter how hard you try.

Since 1937 it has been called Columbus Day. If you want to call it something else, that's fine. But you're going to have to step in line and wait your turn if you want everyone else onboard with it. It's been Columbus Day for far longer than you have been opposed to it being called that. And if I call it what it is to me, well, you're just going to have to accept it just like you expect me to call it what you want me to call it now.

Season's greetings or Merry Christmas? I don't know. Both are correct. You decide. But don't try to tell me which one is right, and which one is wrong. You don't get to have exclusive dibs on who makes the rules. That's not how it works.

Leonard Knath, pronounced like math, is a seeker of truth and an adamant denier of the status quo. He makes his home in Stratford, New Jersey in Camden County where he lives with his wife Dee and their two cats, Lawson and Saul.

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© 2024 Leonard Knath