The battle for “free speech on campus” rages on. Over the past few months, Connie Shaw, an undergraduate at Leeds University, has stuck her neck out in the gender wars and been kicked off her student radio as a result. In a recent Telegraph article, meanwhile, KCL student Charlotte Tredgett raised concerns about self-censorship, and the often one-sided political climate. Across the UK, students note the censorious mood on campus in anonymous surveys — in 2022, 34 per cent of students believed free speech was threatened. Over the past few years, professors have written anonymous articles, even books, lamenting this state of affairs. 

There is a familiar tension when a controversial topic is raised in seminars, or someone mentions J.K. Rowling without abject derision. A feeling that some views should only be expressed in dark corridors or vetted groups in the pub — lest you end up on the wrong side of a mob in a Facebook group or have people ominously stop talking to you. Some people aren’t invited to debate in the established societies or found in the pages of university papers. Some topics are best left undiscussed. Though we might be moving past “Peak Woke”, those who enter the ivory tower today will still be faced with a peculiar culture, unbecoming of a university. 

Who’s to blame for all this? Students and professors, of course, but even more the  faceless, amorphous bureaucracies that handle university affairs. These tend to subscribe to a vague and generalised wokery, but this is of secondary importance. Their main function is to respond to the whims of students — because universities are run as a business, and the student is the consumer. This means that they are oversensitive to hurt feelings and primarily concerned with keeping the peace. Bureaucracy has no principles of its own: it speaks only the language of “conflict management” and “community relations”. Its central strategy is appeasement.  

This was clearly seen last summer when almost every major Western university was faced with a Palestine encampment and a list of demands, confusing university administrators who were used to being largely politically aligned with their more activist-minded students. As a result, most universities failed to have any principled response — some grossly overreacted, especially on campuses in the US, while others folded like deck chairs. The latter was the response of my own university, Trinity College Dublin, where a group led by the Trinity Student’s Union decided to block the entrance to the Book of Kells, responsible for much of the university’s income from tourists. Their list of demands was meekly agreed to after just five days.  

It’s only natural for politically-minded students to feel uneasy, and to make the very reasonable observation that the power of the university bureaucracy is arbitrary, guided not by the principles of academic freedom, but tied directly to the amount of fuss caused. In a sense it’s to their credit that the protesters carried out their actions despite having very little idea how the university would respond. Only in a few cases did they stick to the rules, more often exploiting the fact that universities try to avoid scandals at all costs. They tested how far this commitment to keeping the peace reaches — pretty far it seems. Standing up for free speech on campus is a smaller ask than that, but there too the limits should be tested. 

In academia, we should only speak for ourselves and stand and fall on our own powers of persuasion

There is no silent anti-woke majority on campus — the fact is that most students are quiet in tutorials because they don’t care and haven’t done their reading. I vehemently oppose trigger warnings, and most readers of The Critic probably also find them tedious and patronising — but alas, this is a view shared by only 7 per cent of students. To rock up to campus with a minority position is hard — and it should be. Academic freedom is not about defending the stance of the silent majority against a loud minority; it’s about defending your position no matter what is the position of the majority. In academia, we should only speak for ourselves and stand and fall on our own powers of persuasion. 

There’s a tendency to dismiss personal agency when it comes to speaking out on campus — but the growing number of voices should make others feel slightly cowardly for hiding behind faceless surveys and pseudonyms. If only those 34 per cent of students who reported concern about their liberties, or those tenured professors who still lurk behind anonymity, would start voicing their worries to peers and to colleagues, we might just be able to take back the university. Keeping quiet for fear of social retribution concedes the central thesis of the powers that be — that social standing is more important than truth and that “mental health” should trump the principles of academic freedom. Thus, a “kind”, “inclusive” and “supportive”, as well as censorious, anti-intellectual, and miserably dull culture is maintained and perpetuated. 

But students should pitch opinion pieces in the student papers even if they challenge the editorial line, or sign up for debates despite the odd looks. They should speak up in tutorials even if their views are not necessarily shared by that silent majority in those disengaged seminars. It is possible to make a habit of challenging friends when you disagree with them. It is not about making a fuss, it is about insisting by example on the right to express beliefs, not because they are offensive, but despite the fact that some people might find them to be. Freedom exists only insofar as it is being exercised. 

Cowardice might be wholly understandable in a hostile environment, but that doesn’t make it noble

We should contend with the possibility that we might be wrong (after all we are just as young and immature as our opponents). Controversial views will be challenged — in more and less colourful terms — and you might lose friends, or even be misrepresented and vilified. But the thing is, you can’t force people to be friends with you or to have more interesting opinions. And courage is contagious — like most who have stuck their head above the parapet you will find allies in the strangest of places. 

Courage can’t be demanded. But at this point, it will be the only way to rebuild a culture of open discussion and protect academic freedom in universities. Cowardice might be wholly understandable in a hostile environment, but that doesn’t make it noble. The spineless and unprincipled university bureaucracy will not be reformed of its own volition — it will need students and professors to lead the way. I won’t take my political convictions from the radical campers, but I’d take a dose of their courage. We can only build a culture that values heterodoxy and dissent if we find the guts to speak our minds.