When Hamas attacked Israeli civilians a year ago, I immediately posted this on my university blog:
I’m looking with horror, sadness and disgust at the images of Hamas atrocities as the organization has launched a war that will only cause more horrific trauma to a region already scarred by too much suffering. The kidnapping and slaughter of civilians, and the celebration of vicious murder by armed fighters, recalls the worst dimensions of human violence. The war that Hamas unleashed this morning will be devastating. It already is.
Although those last sentences now seem prescient, little did I know that the next year would see a barbaric war in Gaza that would take the lives of more than 40,000 people and destroy the infrastructure of the coastal strip. Hamas has been successful in unleashing the powers of the Israeli military, an army that was profoundly shocked by its own failures on the 7th and now is forever tainted by the civilian deaths it claims are unavoidable. Hamas, with its total disregard for Palestinian suffering, seems content to continue to invite savage bombings and rocket attacks. The fact that fighters are hiding in hospitals and schools in no way excuses the killing of children and their doctors, of teachers and kids who want to learn.
On my campus and on many others, there was an initial flow of sympathy for the victims of the October 7 massacres. There were also a few who, from their own comfortable academic positions, were willing to condone rape, kidnapping and murder as facets of revolutionary, anti-colonial struggle. The moral obtuseness and downright stupidity of some of these gestures of solidarity were shocking to people unfamiliar with collegiate political posturing. Having spent much of my life at universities, I was not surprised to hear people so confident they were on the right side of history that they were willing to celebrate everything from sexual violence to the abduction of grandmothers and children.
Within days of the Israel Defense Forces’ initial bombings of Gaza, much of the sympathy from October 7 evaporated. The most vocal students and faculty were condemning Israel, and many supporters of the Jewish state kept that support to themselves. There were, of course, exceptions, but campuses became increasingly hostile to anyone who might be associated with Zionism. Since most American Jews, me included, still support the right of Israel to exist and defend itself, at many places hostility to the way Israel was conducting the war felt like hostility to Jews.
American antisemitism has a long history, and I was not surprised to see it rear its head. But many Jews, especially students, were. Stories of Jews being harassed or attacked led many to retreat from public spaces on campuses. And Muslim students, too, were worried for their safety. Although visible campus sentiment was pro-Palestinian, colleges exist in an America in which Islamophobia is all too common. A Muslim child was stabbed to death in Chicago; students chatting in Arabic were shot while on a break in Vermont.
Like many college presidents, I met with students from various backgrounds and with diverse agendas. Muslim students wanted a safe place to pray and wanted to be able to express their observance without fear of harassment. Jewish students didn’t want to be forced to confront protesters to get a meal, and they wanted to be able to celebrate holidays without fear of retaliation. Like most schools, Wesleyan was able to provide this “safe enough” environment. Even during the encampment, and even during tense standoffs about divestment, most of the time we were able to talk to one another so that we could learn from one another. Not so much at performative rallies, but there were countless teachable moments at lectures, readings, seminars and films dealing with current events and the histories leading up to them.
Over the last year, I have received thousands of emails offering me advice as to how to run a university during this challenging period. So many experts! And I have weighed in publicly on the conflict in Gaza, participating in conversations that will continue for a long time. I called for a humanitarian cease-fire in March, and I have expressed outraged sorrow about the suffering of civilians and about the plight of the hostages. I have always tried to find ways to express hope for a sustainable peace while opening a space for further dialogue.
Many of my fellow presidents were chastised for not responding forcefully about October 7, and now there is a growing movement among academic leaders to stay neutral (or absent) in regard to moral and political issues. This is an abdication of educational leadership, I have argued, an expression of fear of controversy under the guise of protecting freedom of speech on campus. Of course, we don’t need pointy-headed bureaucrats popping off on every subject, but we sure could use the thoughtful voices of educational leaders to inform ongoing political and ethical debates.
A year after October 7, wars in the Middle East have grown only more frightening, and many young folks on college campuses are increasingly wary of one another. It doesn’t have to be that way. As students and teachers, as people devoted to education, we can try to learn from the sickening violence of the last year. We can model meaningful opportunities for sustainable peace by showing that strong differences don’t have to end in violence. Wesleyan has programs that do just that. We begin with a commitment to pluralism, not sectarianism — a commitment to learn from people whose views are different from our own. Building on that engagement, we can foster conversations that take us beyond the borders of the university, leaving our comfort zones to engage with our fellow citizens and not just with like-minded undergrads and professors. We can model a pragmatic liberal education that comes from cultivating connection, not canceling enemies.
In this year since October 7, we have been reminded that education depends not just on free speech and critical thinking, but on a willingness to listen for the potential to build things together. A year ago, I ended my blog post like this: May the wounded receive care, the kidnapped be returned to their homes, and the bereaved find comfort. And may it not be long before the peacemakers can find a way. As educators, we should help all those open to learning to become peacemakers who find a way.
