The Specter of Harm in Contemporary Social Justice Activism
The specter of harm has been a salient presence in the American culture wars, especially when it comes to diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI). Harm, loosely defined, has been the raison d’etre for many social justice demands, and this includes the deemphasis (at best) of academic freedom. Stacy Hawkins of Princeton’s School of Law cites harm as the reason why, sometimes, DEI initiatives trump academic freedom. On its surface, I am inclined to agree with Hawkins; some statements are beyond the pale and should not be tolerated, especially when it has unproductive effects on the workplace. However, who determines who is and isn’t harmed? Who determines what is harmful? Is being harmed a choice? When is harm less about the actions of a “perpetrator” and more about the inadequacies of the “victim”? What I won’t pretend is that I have answers to those questions; that is not the point of this essay. Here, I simply want to point out that no one seems to have a good answer to these questions, and until they do, the DEI vs. Academic Freedom debate is in limbo.
The focal point of this essay is Hawkin’s recent article, “Sometimes Diversity Trumps Academic Freedom,” in which she cites the desire to maintain freedom of inquiry and expression as a bane to student well‐being. Besides her initial point, an egregious comparison of academic freedom to COVID-19 denial and the apparent detriment to actual lives, Hawkins makes claims that seem reasonable but, upon deeper scrutiny, fall apart due to a lack of operational definitions. For example, Hawkins writes:
Academic freedom is often defined by reference to two common sources—statements from the AAUP and the University of Chicago. Both of these sources trace their origins to a time (the 1940s and earlier) when DEI was not a widely embraced value of academic institutions, and moreover when these institutions themselves overtly excluded the very populations of students—racial, ethnic, sexual, gender, and religious minorities—for whom DEI efforts were designed and on whose behalf they are most often enforced.
Hawkins and I seem to agree that more care should be put into these kinds of documents, especially if new participants—marginalized groups previously denied participation in academia—are involved. However, we disagree on the nature of that care. Hawkins later writes, “Accommodating the presence or needs of other (historically marginalized) groups was neither contemplated by nor reflected in the statements about academic freedom that were developed in these earlier periods. The focus was exclusively on promoting the free exchange of ideas among equals.” What does “accommodating the presence of others” mean here: dashikis in the book store, more eclectic food offerings (always a good idea)? How should this accommodation be “reflected in statements about academic freedom”? Secondly, and perhaps most concerning, Hawkins presents “the free exchange of ideas among equals,”—a statement that could easily be construed as anti‐racist in itself—as mutually exclusive with DEI initiatives.
Two main problems present themselves here. First of all, Hawkins is making an essentialist assumption. That is, she seems to imply that all people from a particular group can be accommodating in the same ways. To extend my previous illustration, all black people would be expected to be happy about the presence of dashikis in the book store. To have the “needs of other (historically marginalized) groups” reflected in a statement on interpersonal communication is to reify that group in unrealistic ways. Secondly, Hawkins’ statement ignores what many see as the real goal of racial justice: equal treatment. “The free exchange of ideas among equals,” is precisely the goal for many traditionally marginalized groups. The problem was that minorities were not allowed to speak freely or were ignored when they did. As far as this is still going on, racial justice would be the free exchange of ideas regardless of one’s group affiliation. Why would Hawkins be against such a thing?
The concept of harm is the reason why free exchange is a no‐no. If people can speak freely, they can offend, and if people can offend, others will be offended, i.e., harmed. Thus, freedom of expression is too risky and, quite often, will open the door to student and faculty harm. Hawkins describes this general harm when she writes:
The fact that many students occupy marginalized identities different from those of the faculty is exacerbated by the inherent power differential between faculty and students. Concerns for the equal status, dignity, and contributions of students who are very differently situated than many faculty members increasingly lie at the heart of recent controversies over academic freedom. These conflicts are not just about competing ideas; they are about whose identity and perspective matters. Rather than about what people can say, they are about whose views (and indeed very presence in academe) we value.
I have two responses to this statement.
First, There are always going to be students differently situated to faculty, regardless of group affiliation. Hierarchy of some kind is inevitable, and demonizing “positionality” would be to stifle higher education in general. This also presents “different situated” as an immutable condition and denies the equality inherent in a truly dialectical engagement. Wayne Booth calls this kind of exchange “rhetorology” and renders it in the statement, “I am not just seeking the truth; I want to pursue the truth behind our differences” and, in a more explanatory tone, “I have reason to hope that my opponent here will respond to my invitation for both of us to engage in genuine dialogue.” A similar sentiment is given by Urban Rural Action, an organization geared toward “advancing peace, democracy, and justice through shared purpose: preventing organized violence in conflict zones,” and whose conversations, as one can infer, involve much higher stakes regarding societal wellbeing. They put forth the “ABCs of Construction Dialogue” rendered as A: active listening, B: breaking down one’s own view, and, perhaps most importantly, C: checking our understanding of the other’s viewpoint. Urban Rural Actions’ rationale reads:
When we view dialogue across difference as a competition, we tend to engage unconstructively, fueling frustration and damaging relationships.
When we view dialogue across difference as a collaboration opportunity, we engage more constructively, contributing to deeper understanding of different views and stronger relationships.
If this take on interpersonal relationships, even “across difference” works for such a sensitive issue, it can work for a classroom discussion.
My second response scrutinizes Hawkins’ statement about whose perspective, i.e., viewpoint, really matters in academia. “Rather than about what people can say,” she writes, “they are about whose views (and indeed very presence in academe) we value.” My response: isn’t one of the primary points of college, especially ones that abide by a liberal arts education, to learn how to argue for the value of one’s views? Isn’t this the point of critical thinking and rhetoric? A student learns to argue for the efficacy of your views in the marketplace of ideas or what Jonathan Rauch may call “the marketplace of persuasion.” Education, among other things, is training in self‐advocacy and agency.
Of course, none of this—constructive dialogue or acquisition of rhetorical skill—can happen if the conversational well is always already poisoned by inimitable positionalities between students and professors.