Recently, Americans across the country were shocked and horrified as they watched video footage of a young husband and father assassinated while speaking on a college campus. The ripple effects of his murder were immediately apparent across both the nation and the rest of the world. Many wept over the tragedy of a young man ripped away from his wife and two young children simply for exercising his freedom of speech at a college-sanctioned event.
Just as many celebrated the demise of a man who they considered to be a purveyor of “hate speech” and an unrepentant racist, misogynist, and transphobe, and, while maybe not saying the quiet part out loud, implied that it was his own words—or at least their interpretation thereof—that got him killed. It illuminates the stark divide that has been widening in American culture and politics and has been growing at an unprecedented rate over the last generation. Discussion, debate, and civil discourse are not simply increasingly rare. They are all but extinct.
And our college campuses, which should have been the last line of defense in the fight for freedom of speech and expression, have all too often been ground zero for the most egregious abuses of those foundational principles.
In my own experience, it started benignly. In 2014, after another tragic shooting in the town of Ferguson, MO, I began to see protests and demonstrations on college campuses across the country. Both have been part of academia long before I entered the hallowed halls of higher education. However, what caught my attention at this time were professors who told students that they weren’t welcome. Worse yet, some tried to exclude students from protests because they were perceived to have the wrong intentions or perspectives on the matter being protested, or they were considered not sympathetic enough to the issue at hand.
What comes to mind is the case of the University of Missouri professor who grabbed the camera of a student journalist and photographer and asked for “some muscle” to eject the student from a campus demonstration in 2015. That was ten years ago, and the situation has only continued to deteriorate.
Prominent individuals from a wide swath of American politics, culture, and sports, who have been invited to speak or debate on college campuses across a wide variety of issues, have seen their events canceled, protested, and even threatened with violence from people who do not like what they have to say. We saw the terrible consequences of allowing this attitude to continue unchallenged in the case of Charlie Kirk at the campus of Utah Valley University last month.
Since then, we have seen a tremendous backlash from the often-called “silent majority,” who are making their feelings about this tragedy known. People who acted as if they celebrated the death of an enemy are having themselves savaged in the public square. Teachers have been suspended. People have lost their jobs. Many of those who were among the first to celebrate when a Ben Shapiro event was canceled or when Riley Gaines cowered in a San Francisco State University classroom for hours surrounded by hostile students now stand on the other side of the anger and vitriol they so generously dished out themselves.
Now, they cry, “censorship!” and “fascism!” Now, they fear a totalitarian government. Now, they are the ones clinging to the First Amendment like a life preserver and pleading for the mercy of a nation founded upon the fundamental right of every citizen to express themselves as they please.
It wasn’t that long ago that the United States government tried briefly to create a Disinformation Governance Board under the Department of Homeland Security. This board would have regulated what it considered mis-, dis-, and malinformation for the entire country.
None of them seemed overly concerned about free speech then.
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I have a unique perspective on the current turmoil and chaos because I was nearly canceled a couple of years ago. Not because of anything I said or posted on social media. Simply because I brought some snacks to an Open House at the college where I have been employed for the better part of four decades.
Seems the wrappers on some of the candy bars I brought to the event were deemed “offensive” to a transgender member of staff. I found myself the subject of a Title IX investigation for harassing and intimidating said staff member. Two weeks before the end of the semester, I was taken out of the classroom for two weeks, placed on suspension for what ultimately totaled eight months, and subjected to two Title IX investigations before being exonerated.
So, I know how it affects you.
I’ve experienced sleepless nights, anxious days, and the terrible, never-ending purgatory of waiting to see if the career I had built over my entire adult life remained. And that doesn’t even begin to cover it. There are also the ruined personal and professional relationships, the damage to a reputation built up over decades, and the humiliation of having to listen to the rumors and lies that will never completely go away. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy—except perhaps in the darkest hours of my personal despair.
So when all of this started, my gut instinct was to defend those beginning to undergo some small measure of the pain I experienced when I was being persecuted for my “speech.” No matter how personally offensive or vile I found their discourse, if they weren’t openly advocating for violence, they had the right to say what they said with minimal repercussions. Any speech comes with consequences. Some people won’t like what is being said. Others might think you’re a bad person.
But losing a job? That seems like a bridge too far.
And I thought maybe, just maybe, the blowback would be enough to open their eyes to the absolute necessity of a society where people can debate and discuss different views and ideas before the pressure builds up to the point of violence.
I wanted to believe that actual change was possible. My optimism lasted less than a week.
When I heard from a colleague that an image of Kirk he had hung up in his office window to honor him had been taken down by the administration, my optimism completely died. It wasn’t that he was asked to remove the image because someone had complained. It was removed without his knowledge, and he was informed after the fact. The explanation was that the image violated an administrative regulation regarding the posting of an image in a “non-public space.”
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In my own office, I have images of Edmund Burke and Samuel Adams along with quotes. I even have a picture of Charlton Heston in costume from the film Planet of the Apes that was given to me by a friend. I have never been asked to remove an image or had one removed without my knowledge, and I have never been told that I am violating an administrative regulation.
Clearly, now we can’t even display images that might provoke strong feelings in our students—images that might spark a robust debate and give us the opportunity to discuss different views and opinions.
I don’t have a solution for how to handle the issues that Kirk’s assassination might have raised. But what I do know is that my college wouldn’t be interested in any case. No one seems to be willing to wrestle with the big questions, the ones that might force a student to look at another perspective or, worse yet, cause them to reassess their own views. Better to let them live in their little echo chambers where their preconceived notions and, sometimes, misconceptions can fester into rage and hate for those who believe differently.
Unfortunately, we already know how that story ends.
Image by zimmytws on Adobe; Asset ID# 284364895
The question I ask is what would happen if — heaven forbid — Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez were to be assassinated. Instead of being assassinated by a gay furry offended by Kirk’s opposition to transgenderism, the assassin would be, say, a neo-nazi offended to her opposition to White supremacy.
I think it’s a given that the response would not be peaceful — and perhaps the problem is that Kirk’s supporters didn’t riot the way that Dr. King’s supporters did.