Sally Rooney has made a literary career out of exposing the contradictions of people who believe in their own moral sanity. Now the Irish novelist faces a paradox of her own: She has championed cultural boycotts as a tool of political pressure, but her books were withdrawn from sale in the UK after she pledged to fund a group the British government considers terrorists.
The dilemma is almost novelistic, in that Rooney’s novels are admired for their empathy and sensitivity to the divide between people’s principles and actions, but her activism involves a firmer judgment about which institutions deserve cultural engagement.
The contrast raises the question: Does the moral imagination that make Rooney a gifted novelist necessarily make her a reliable political guide? Does the fact that Rooney is a great writer mean that she deserves to be considered a great political figure?
In August 2025, Rooney pledged to receive royalties from the book and TV show she adapted from “Operation Palestine.” Last month, Britain designated it a terrorist organization after conducting direct action operations that included invading an RAF base.
On Wednesday, publisher Faber announced it would no longer be able to earn more than Rooney in the UK. Providing funds knowing or having reasonable grounds to suspect that the funds may be used for terrorism may constitute a criminal offense under UK counter-terrorism laws.
In Rooney’s case, Faber doesn’t have to guess at her intentions: She’s declared them herself. With her consent, the publisher stopped supplying her books in the UK.
Rooney stands by his decision. She said in a statement on October 14 that she was “fully prepared to accept the consequences.”
Almost immediately, some supporters painted her as a free speech martyr. Action for Palestine co-founder Huda Amory called the withdrawal an attack on free speech.
But what exactly makes Rooney a champion of free speech in this episode?
So far, her books have continued to sell well in the UK, despite her outspoken opposition to Israeli policies. An immediate obstacle arose when she announced her intention to use the proceeds to benefit an organization prohibited by law. Faber’s decision concerned the potential consequences of paying her, not objections to the views she expressed in her novels or political statements.
Accepting these consequences demonstrates belief, of course, but that does not in itself prove that her decision was wise or that the application of the law amounted to review.
There’s another irony here, one that predates the current controversy. Rooney rejects Hebrew translation deal in 2021 Beautiful world, where are you?citing her support for the Palestinian-led boycott movement. She has decided that political considerations can determine where and through whom her books reach readers.
Now, her own book is no longer available in the UK because of the political commitments she made.
While Rooney’s earlier boycott was voluntary, Faber’s decision stemmed from potential criminal liability, with critics of the Palestinian movement ban arguing that Britain’s counter-terrorism powers threatened legitimate protest. A Supreme Court review is expected in November, which could change the legal situation. But regardless of how the court decides, Rooney’s willingness to accept the consequences of her commitment does not in itself address the merits of this option. Her novels are filled with characters whose certainty of principle outweighs their understanding of consequences. Her dilemma hangs over the question of whether belief is worthy of admiration simply because its holder is willing to pay for it.