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In "Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis," J.D. Vance wrote, "I don't believe in epiphanies. I don't believe in transformative moments, as transformation is harder than a moment."

Despite that profound point, on Feb. 14, Vance found that transformative moment.

Speaking to European leaders at the Munich Security Conference, he shocked his audience by confronting them over their attacks on free speech in the West.

For the free speech community, it was truly Churchillian — no less than the famous Iron Curtain speech in which Churchill dared the West to confront the existential dangers of communism.

Roughly 80 years after Churchill's speech, Vance called our allies to account not for the growing threat from countries like Russia or China, but from themselves. To a clearly shocked audience, Vance declared that he was not worried about "external actors" but "the threat from within the retreat of Europe from some of its most fundamental values, values shared with the United States of America."

Vance then pulled back the curtain on the censorship and anti-free-speech policies of the European Union and close allies ranging from the United Kingdom to Sweden. He also chastised one of the most vehemently anti-free speech figures in Europe, Thierry Breton, who led the EU efforts to control speech with draconian measures under the infamous Digital Services Act.

Vance called out the hypocrisy of these nations asking for greater and greater military assistance "in the name of our shared democratic values" even as they eviscerate free speech, the very right that once defined Western Civilization.

The point was crushing.

Before we further commit to the defense of Europe, he argued, we should agree on what we are defending. These European nations are erasing the very distinctions between us and our adversaries.

In my recent book, I discussed many of the examples cited by the vice president. One of the most telling came from Canada last year, when the government of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau temporarily blocked the citizenship of Russian dissident Maria Kartasheva. The reason was that she had a conviction (after a trial in absentia) in Russia for condemning the Ukrainian war. The Canadian government declared that Kartasheva's conviction in Russia aligns with a Criminal Code offense relating to false information in Canada.

In other words, her use of free speech could be prosecuted in Canada under its abusive Section 372(1) of the Criminal Code, punishing speech deemed to be "convey[ing] false information with the intent to alarm or injure anyone."

Vance ran through just a fraction of the parade of horribles, from Britain arresting people for silent prayers near abortion clinics to Sweden prosecuting a religious protester who burned a Koran, with Judge Göran Lundahl insisting that freedom of expression does not constitute a "free pass to do or say anything." Apparently, it does not include acts once called blasphemy or insulting religion.

Vance also mocked the underlying premise for speech crackdowns to combat "disinformation," pointing out that these measures constitute a far greater threat to citizens in the West than any external threat. He had the courage to say what has long been verboten on the restriction of speech to combat foreign influence: "if your democracy can be destroyed with a few hundred thousand dollars of digital advertising from a foreign country, then it wasn't very strong to begin with."

In perhaps the greatest single declaration uttered by an American leader since John F. Kennedy in Germany declared "Ich bin ein Berliner," he added: "If you are running in fear of your own voters, there is nothing America can do for you. Nor, for that matter, is there anything that you can do for the American people that elected me and elected President Trump."

The reaction of the European diplomats was one of astonishment. Few even offered the usual polite applause. Instead, rows of smug leaders looked straight ahead with the same level of disgust as if Vance were the second coming of the Visogoths threatening the Pax Romana, or Roman peace.

In a single speech, Vance shattered the hypocrisy of our allies' calling for a defense of the West while abandoning Western values. They did not like it, and many in the American press joined in dismissing his address.

He was called a "wrecking ball" for bringing up the anti-free speech movement that has swept over Europe. One German official declared "This is all so insane and worrying." This is a diplomat from a nation that shredded free speech for decades, to the point of arresting people over their ringtones.

Of course, our own anti-free speech voices were in attendance, too. Politico quoted one "former House Democratic staffer" who bravely attacked Vance anonymously: "I was aghast ... He was blaming the victim. What the f — was that? I had my mouth open in a room full of people with their mouth open. That was bad."

No, it was not bad. It was glorious.

After Elon Musk purchased Twitter with the pledge to dismantle the company's censorship system, former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton turned to the EU, calling on it to use its Digital Service Act to force the censorship of her fellow American citizens. That did not leave many people agape. But Vance's defense of free speech is considered a breathtaking outrage.

In "Hillbilly Elergy," Vance explained his lack of faith in transformative moments.

"I've seen far too many people awash in a genuine desire to change, only to lose their mettle when they realized just how difficult change actually is," he wrote.

And there is no "genuine desire to change" in Europe. The appetite for censorship is now insatiable, and free speech is in a free fall.

In the midst of this crackdown, Vance spoke with a quintessentially American voice. It was clear, honest and unafraid. There was no pretense or evasion. It was a speech about who we are as a nation and the values that still define us — and no longer define our allies.

They saw him as a virtual hillbilly, an American hayseed who does not understand transnational values.

For the rest of us, it was a true elegy — part lament and part liberating.

Bravo, Mr. Vice President, Bravo.