Last spring, I was invited by the dean of diversity and compliance at my college to participate in a discussion on campus speech. I was joined by two colleagues who, unlike me, had written extensively on the subject. We discussed the usual range of topics that come up in such forums: academic freedom, trigger warnings, safe spaces, hate speech, implicit biases — to name a few.
As I began to prepare for the event and think about what I would say, there was one particular topic that kept gnawing at me: diversity of opinion in the classroom. It was always a sensitive issue for me, and I know why. I recall being a student, both in undergraduate and graduate school, where faculty members had strong opinions about things. Some were so ensconced in their own way of thinking that they could not seem to imagine any reasonable person disagreeing with them. Others were so convinced of their own rectitude that they seemed to act as though it was their responsibility to bring the infidels around.
There was one particular senior faculty member, let’s call him Professor Sureofhimself, who always made me feel uncomfortable, really inadequate, for not quite absorbing the wisdom being handed down from on high. I seriously considered dropping the class but needed it to meet my course requirements, so I resigned myself to 14 weeks of his preaching.
At times I thought of taking him on by telling him that there were well-regarded scholars in his field who did not entirely agree with him. But given how I had seen Sureofhimself dismiss other students who challenged him, I thought it wiser to keep my mouth shut. In the end, he was the person who would assign a grade. In a field where there are competing opinions about important questions, there is lots of room for discretion in grading. I knew I had been bullied. Did I mention that Sureofhimself identified himself as a student and expositor of “the liberal tradition?”
Many years later, as my career took me to the front of the classroom, I began to appreciate other pedagogical issues that emanate from the bully lectern. Such behavior by a professor can discourage discussion and deny students the opportunity to benefit from one another’s differing viewpoints, or even develop their own. In a public university where many students may be the first in their families to attend college, the overeducated figure at the head of the room can be somewhat intimidating. A condescending attitude toward those who dare to disagree can have a damaging effect on a student’s self-esteem. Our role, I believe, is to help young people build self-confidence, not deflate it.
As a political scientist who teaches public policy, I frequently have occasion to discuss controversial topics. Given the extraordinary diversity of the student body at our college — encompassing different races, ethnicities, religions, genders, sexual orientations, economic classes, and ages — there is plenty of opportunity for debate. It is one of the great joys of the job. I learn from it.
Like most university campuses, ours has a faculty that overwhelmingly leans left of center politically. Despite all the talk about diversity, there is little among the American professoriate when it comes to political philosophy. It is our shameless hypocrisy. I say that as somebody who considers himself a progressive of the Elizabeth Warren/Bernie Sanders persuasions, although I do not agree with every position that either has espoused. My students know where I stand politically because they read what I write. But I have always made it a point to emphasize when I express my position on political issues, “This is my opinion; you may differ.”
With the election of Donald Trump, my approach has now changed. Some things are not up for debate. I am not that comfortable with it, but I feel that I have no choice. Trump does not simply confront us with different political opinions; he challenges and erodes basic American values. There are far too many to list; but here are a well-known few: his undermining of a free press by excluding critics from access to the White House, the prejudice he exhibits when he tells immigrants to go back to where they came from, his open admiration of dictators like Vladimir Putin, his equating of hate speech with rightful dissent, his personal denigration of political rivals with petty nicknames, and the vile way he speaks about women.
In these cases, the obligation to speak out overtakes the instinct to seek moderation or compromise. Those of us who teach politics have a responsibility to enunciate basic values and explain why they are fundamental in a fair and open democratic society.
Whenever I sing that chant about basic values, I feel … well, absolutely sure of myself. Yet I know that doing so as strongly as Trump demands comes at a price. I know that I risk inadvertently cutting off a student who may see Trump differently, who might benefit from a more open discussion.
Moreover, because a large part of Trump’s base is composed of right-wing extremists who identify with his racist, sexist, homophobic, and xenophobic agenda, his presidency reinforces left-leaning sentiment on campus and the collateral bias that diminishes intellectual diversity.
In such a polarized political climate, I can’t help but think of Professor Sureofhimself and how he so undermined the process of teaching and learning. I don’t want to sound like him. I tell myself that this ugly period in American life too will pass, hopefully sooner (in 2021) rather than later (2025). But by the time it does, I imagine the next generation of Sureofthemselves, emboldened even more, will be in front of the classroom.
Joseph P. Viteritti is a professor of public policy at Hunter College of the City University of New York, where he is chair of the urban policy and planning department. He is the author, most recently, of The Pragmatist: Bill de Blasio’s Quest to Save the Soul of New York (Oxford University Press, 2017).
