Sally Rooney has made a literary career out of exposing the contradictions of people convinced of their own moral clarity. Now the Irish novelist faces a contradiction of her own: having championed cultural boycotts as instruments of political pressure, she has seen her books withdrawn from sale in Britain following her pledge to fund an organization the British government has designated as terrorist. There is something almost novelistic about the predicament as Rooney's fiction is admired for its empathy and sensitivity to the gulf between people's principles and their behavior, but her activism has involved firmer judgments about which institutions deserve cultural engagement.
The contrast raises a question: does the moral imagination that makes Rooney a gifted novelist necessarily make her a reliable political guide? Does the fact that Rooney is a great writer make her deserving of being considered a great political figure? In August 2025, Rooney pledged royalties from her books and television adaptations to Palestine Action, which Britain had designated a terrorist organization the previous month following direct-action operations, including an intrusion at a Royal Air Force base.
On Wednesday, publisher Faber announced that it could no longer pass Rooney her British earnings. Under British counterterrorism law, providing money while knowing or having reasonable cause to suspect it may be used for terrorism can constitute a criminal offense. In Rooney's case, Faber didn’t have to speculate about her intentions: she had announced them herself.
With her agreement, the publisher stopped supplying her books in Britain. Rooney stood by her decision. In an October 14 statement, she said she was "wholly prepared to accept the consequences." Almost immediately, some supporters portrayed her as a free-speech martyr.
Palestine Action co-founder Huda Ammori called the withdrawal an assault on free speech. But what, precisely, makes Rooney a free speech champion in this episode? Until now, her books had continued to sell in Britain despite her outspoken opposition to Israel's policies.
The immediate obstacle arose when she declared her intention to direct the proceeds to a legally banned organization. Faber's decision concerned the potential consequences of paying her, not objections to the opinions expressed in her novels or political statements. Accepting those consequences demonstrates conviction, sure, but it does not, by itself, establish that her decision was wise or that the law's application amounts to censorship.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
