Note: The opinions expressed here are my own individual opinions and do not represent those of anyone else, including the school or university where I work.

This spring, I took a new position as Dean of the School of Information and Library Science at University of North Carolina–Chapel Hill. I started April 1, with all of the expected jokes about April Fools’ Day.

But April turned out not to be a very funny month at UNC.

Two Political Upheavals

In my first month, the campus would face two upheavals, both politically charged.

One was the announced intention of the university Board of Governors to repeal our DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) policy, which to many faculty, staff, and students on campus seemed to threaten the careers of highly respected colleagues and also to derail programs known to work; more profoundly, the announced intention seemed to many to attack values that many in the community hold dear.

The other major upheaval was the student protests against the war in Gaza, which among other things tested the limits of free speech rights and raised uncomfortable questions about North American universities’ possible complicity in certain acts of war. And on my campus, the protests eventually escalated to violence and about three dozen arrests.

These events understandably caused considerable stress amongst students, staff, and faculty, stress that included feelings of sadness, outrage, fear, mistrust, and more. This stress contributed to conflict both internally within the university and also in the university’s relations to the broader public–and even made national news.

In such an environment, some faculty and students asked me as the dean to make some sort of public statement about the war in Gaza and/or about the attack on DEI. I did not do so, above all because I believe that such statements are largely performative (i.e., have little positive impact) and often backfire (i.e., alienate our key stakeholders–above all, students, but also: faculty and staff, the general public, alumni/donors, state legislators, and so on).

But students and faculty members still wanted to know: what can we do? To me this is a much better question, one that actually has good answers.

Institutional vs. Individual Neutrality

To begin, it’s important to distinguish between institutional neutrality and the neutrality of individuals within the institution. While my university as an institution maintains “institutional neutrality,” that does not mean that its employees, including researchers and instructors, must also always be politically neutral too. [Note: I am well aware of critiques of “institutional neutrality,” which merit consideration, but I’ll punt on that topic for now, because I think it is misunderstood in a very practical way.]

Here is a key part of UNC’s policy on the Political Activities of Employees, which in addition to enshrining all employees’ political rights (voting, campaigning, protesting, etc.) as private citizens, also states that

nothing in this policy prohibits, or otherwise limits, teaching, inquiry, classroom discussion or discourse concerning political issues, including campaigns, candidates, political groups or issues in campaigns for public office, that are within the subject matter of any academic program, course, curriculum, or study

This means that if (for example) an economist, historian, or professor of obstetrics takes up political topics (e.g., supply-side economics, anti-immigrant violence, or abortion) that are within the broad scopes of their respective disciplines, their discourse is protected as a matter of academic freedom.

In other words, the limiter is not whether a topic is political, and therefore is somehow off-limits, as some seem mistakenly to fear. Rather, the limiter is whether the topic is part of the subject matter of an academic area of study. In other words, it is the “guild” (i.e., the international community of credentialed experts of a given area of study) that determines the contents and standards of its own academic area–not academic administrators.

Of course, it is possible to foresee edge cases, academic leaders who exercise poor judgment, aggressive external political actors, and so on; I don’t mean to downplay any of these. But I think that it’s possible to miss the bigger point, which is that as long as there is academic freedom and faculty governance in higher education, institutional neutrality does not silence or preempt political engagement by faculty or staff.

“Too Much Ideology, Not Enough Discourse”

By sharing the fruits of academic freedom, those of us within higher education can be both politically efficacious without contributing to partisan polarization.

To explain how, I start with a quote from Azar Nafisi, an Iranian-born professor who has written several books exploring reading/teaching literature and the unfolding of political movements, even revolutions. In her recent book, Read Dangerously: The Subversive Power of Literature in Troubled Times, she writes:

On that day in October, I wrote [a letter to my deceased father] because I was depressed, thinking of the two countries I called home. In Iran, the theocracy was in full force; despite people’s intense dissatisfaction and consistent protests, nothing had changed. The ayatollahs continued to harass, jail, torture, and kill innocent citizens. In America, although vastly different from Iran, the society was fast becoming polarized–too much ideology and not enough discourse–in some instances reminding me of the Islamic Republic. [emphasis added]

This quote, especially “too much ideology and not enough discourse,” resonates with me because ideology is eroding the public’s trust in our institutions, including higher education, and that is dangerous to democracy. Nafisi elaborates that in our present political climate, “we are [so] preoccupied by our enemies, real or manufactured, that most of our actions are reactions to these real or fabricated enemies.” Visceral reactions to manufactured enemies seldom result in thoughtful discourse.

But in higher education there is an antidote, because elevating the level of discourse is core to our mission, and we have deep and widespread competencies in doing so. Here I am not only referring to general contributions, such as improving people’s critical thinking skills or teaching the ability to pursue knowledge systematically and rigorously (though all of that, too, is crucial). I am also referring to specific things we can do this year, which are fully within our remit and in-line with what a democratic society needs from us. For example, with reference to the university’s controversies surrounding DEI and the war in Gaza, we could be:

• Organizing panels featuring scholarship on aspects relevant to the conflict (e.g., statehood, slavery, (de-)segregation, genocide, migration, freedom of speech, etc.).
• Gathering to experience/discuss the literature or cinema of a repressed or threatened group (culture, nation, society, etc.), to humanize those who are a part of it, to contextualize the conflicts in which they are embroiled, and to educate participants of the consequences of that conflict.
• Producing scholarly and creative works that constructively contribute to the situation, e.g., by contributing new knowledge to the world, raising awareness, and/or creating conditions whereby individuals learn to perceive themselves as members of a group so that they may act collectively.

Again, none of the above need be politically neutered. For example, a sociologist who studies race can speak to scholarship on structural racism, including its genealogy in slavery and Jim Crow racism. Likewise, a peace studies scholar can speak to the definition of genocide, its causes and consequences, and known strategies of ameliorating them.

DEI, Gaza, and Information and Library Science

As dean of a school that is part of the international “guild” for information and library science, I’d have no hesitation supporting public events that engage with scholarship connected with the information-related dimensions of political controversies, such as the two that so marked the first month of my tenure. Below, I sketch out some quick thoughts to illustrate what that could look like:

• How is the war in Gaza being documented? Who is making those documents, how are they being curated, how are they circulating now–and how will they circulate in the future as this conflict becomes historical, and to what effects?
• How are information systems, artificial intelligence, drone systems, sensor-created data, etc., enmeshed in this conflict; who has access to these systems; how are they being deployed; how are their effects being evaluated and disclosed?
• How did university-created knowledge or scientific advances pursued with public money and for the public good subsequently become appropriated in/as weapons of war?
• What is the balance of information, misinformation, and disinformation disseminated in the public domain about this topic; where is it coming from; who is circulating it; how is that (mis-/dis-)information informing the decisionmaking of public institutions?
• How are vital cultural works, including historic documents and cultural achievements central to the practices and identity of a people being protected, moved, safeguarded, targeted, and/or destroyed?

None of this degrades any group or participant, compels any speech, or features a dean making performative and divisive public statements based on his own personal politics.

But any of the above would likely educate participants to new facts and perspectives and open up new, and more constructive, lines of questioning.

Rehumanizing Politics

Such discourse might do something even better than educating participants: it might contribute towards undercutting the dehumanizing indignation of our fear-based and ideology-driven politics with a more grounded empathy for the sufferings, and appreciation for the cultural contributions, of others. Empathy for others neither compels agreement with them nor neutrality about any political issue; but it can contribute towards a less enemy-driven politics, in favor of one more characterized by curiosity, mutuality, and care.

In such a way, higher education can be politically efficacious without contributing to partisan polarization.