To begin on a note of solemn affirmation: I consider elementary and secondary education in this country to be nightmare…
To begin on a note of solemn affirmation: I consider elementary and secondary education in this country to be nightmare almost unrelieved, and were I king, all that would remain would be a few of the handsomer buildings, an occasional administrator, some of the teachers, and all of the students. Such views hardly set me apart these days, for we live in plague season. In such a time, the alchemists, geomancers, and sellers of mandrake root begin to sound as likely to heal as doctors of physic. A recent anthology of the new breed of romantic educational reformers, Radical School Reform, edited by Beatrice and Ronald Gross,1 provides useful selections from just about every authority in that curious new school of educational theory where the bright, well-scrubbed, shiny faces on all the idealistic reformers almost make one forget the faint aroma of snake-oil about the halls.
I found myself pausing at the title: Radical School Reform? Why not The Revolution in the Schools? As it turns out, the editors have a special definition for what is educationally radical:
Radical has many meanings, in fact. In politics, radical means revolutionary . . . in social relations, radical means libertarian . . . in a school situation, radical means unorthodox ways of promoting learning that fall outside the scope of conventional or even innovative school practice.
As opposed, no doubt, to orthodox ways of promoting learning that fall outside the scope, and so forth. Well, I suppose Unorthodox School Reform wouldn’t quite have made it.
The book is divided into three parts, along lines reflecting with fair accuracy the three types of works which have characterized the movement: “Some Realities”; Something Else: Theory”; and “Something Else: Practice.” Despite the tidy organization of Radical School Reform, it would be difficult and not very illuminating to review it conventionally, largely because a great many of the selections are collops cut from larger works, which make little or inconsistent sense without their theoretical and dialectical contexts. I shall try, accordingly, to review the movement as much as the book, an exercise which will lead me to discuss a number of the entire works from which the Grosses excerpt, and some works not excerpted at all.
If not the first of the prophets in time—Paul Goodman and Edgar Z. Friedenberg were notables when he was yet unknown—John Holt has attained an eminence and authority nearly papal, on the basis of his first two books2 and a considerable spate of periodical literature, some of it recently collected in book form.3
How Children Fail is ultimately an infuriating book, infuriating because although it contains any number of exceptionally keen insights into the learning process, observations which would entitle their author to some importance in the history of education, it ends by finally marshaling these observations about the methodology of education into an exceptionally dogmatic and imperceptive theory of its content and end. Of that unfortunate marshaling more in time. The principal methodological insight of the work, carefully documented from Holt’s experience as a teacher in “good” private schools, is that children respond to the strategies of their teachers by developing their own set of eventually self-defeating counters, and that by providing the inspiration for such, the most enlightened of teachers in the best of schools eventually end up by subverting learning. A principal part of the process is the ease with which students learn to regard Yes answers as preferable to No, quite without regard to the extrinsic value either may have. Thus, when playing “Twenty Questions,” the object being to determine a number between 1 and 10,000, a standard gambit is to ask “Is it between 1 and 5,000?” Children in Holt’s classes invariably applaud a Yes here, groan at a No. In the closing stages of such a game, children will repeatedly ask a question already answered Yes, apparently for the simple pleasure of hearing affirmation. Holt rightly believes that such irrational behavior grows out of an emphasis on getting right answers as opposed to defensible ones.
He observes that his students frequently know appallingly little about arithmetic, no matter what their assumed preparation, so little that the first task of the teacher is to plumb the depths of their ignorance, and to start from there: he provides several impressive anecdotes suggesting how such a technique can work to teach arithmetic to those apparently ineducable in it. Another notion, as provocative if less easily documented, is that students seek refuge in incompetence, knowing that they can sink to a level which convinces teachers they are hopeless, at best not worth bothering anymore, at worst meriting praise for a pitiful level of performance.
Any reader who follows Holt through his observations of the learning process will be impressed by his ability to get inside his students, and the astuteness with which he handles what he sees there. As I shall make clear, I think Holt’s short-run influence will be deleterious, but I think there can be no doubt that if the schools can make use of those nugget-like passages in which Holt talks about how children learn, and reject the surrounding fool’s gold, Holt may yet be made to expedite that learning process which, even though he confuses it with education, is after all its basis.
An example of the detritus I have mentioned is the summary chapter of How Children Fail, in which Holt makes the first of his assaults on the notion of curriculum, a notion which he seems to understand to mean only a body of knowledge judged all-sufficient in itself. Without for the moment arguing an alternative view, that curriculum may be seen rather as a body of knowledge perhaps useful in itself, but primarily important as a tool for developing certain habits of intellectual behavior quite apart from its intrinsic value, I want to sketch the lurid sort of argument Holt uses to discredit curriculum as he defines it.
Our information, he begins, is constantly subject to revision, and it is therefore difficult to be sure that any body of knowledge now taught will be true in twenty years, let alone relevant. He cites several examples from his own education:
I studied physics at school from a fairly up-to-date text that proclaimed that the fundamental law of physics was the law of conservation of matter—matter is not created or destroyed. I had to scratch that out before I left school. . . . Not for many years after I left college did I learn that the Greeks, far from being a detached and judicious people surrounded by chaste white temples, were hot-tempered, noisy, quarrelsome, and liked to cover their temples with gold leaf and bright paint; or that most of the citizens of Imperial Rome, far from living in houses in which the rooms surrounded an atrium, or central court, lived in multi-storied apartment buildings, one of which was perhaps the largest building in the ancient world. The child who remembered everything he heard in school would live his life believing many things that were not so.
I am myself professionally incompetent to talk about conserving matter, but physicists tell me that the Law of the Conservation of Matter, no matter how badly clawed by Mr. Holt, is still around, and one of the most accepted of scientific propositions. It was last modified seriously in 1905, by something involving E = MC2. If Holt was really taught the sort of nonsense he appears to have believed about the Greeks and the Romans, that is a sad commentary on the state of classical studies at Yale University in the last generation, and, at least with regard to the Greeks, upon Holt’s ability to read such texts as the Birds or the Apology. In any event, the epiphanies vouchsafed Holt about the Greek psyche and Roman housing are far from representing a state of knowledge perfected after he took his B.A.: they represent improvements in his own understanding.
Note also the peculiar crudity of Holt’s last sentence: what children hear in school equals what they believe all their lives (as long as they remember it); and the only way, given the imperfection of knowledge, to keep them from believing the false is to keep them from hearing anything at all. The problem with the argument is that eventually it is an argument against education. Now, if the schools were teaching the Ptolemaic cosmology as truth, and Holt could demonstrate that the Copernican cosmology were true, that would surely be compelling argument against requiring anyone to study Ptolemy. But although it would also be an argument against teaching Ptolemy at all, in the sense of teaching him as truth, it would hardly be an argument against teaching astronomy. No one should be forced to study the sort of nonsense about the Greeks to which Holt was apparently exposed. But that does not mean that no one should study the Greeks.
What Holt appears to demand of the curriculum, indeed of knowledge itself, is that it should be perfected before the young study it. This seems a curiously absolutist stand for one of Holt’s general orientation, absolutist if not totalitarian: Holt’s canon of perfection would be quite understandable to the curriculum consultants who must revise eighth-grade history texts in the Soviet Union.
Allied to Holt’s view of curriculum is the claim that one piece of learning is as good as another, an assertion he supports by arguing that herpetology (which is rarely in the secondary curriculum) is as exciting to some students as chemistry (which usually is), and that science (whatever that is) may excite some more than Roman Britain. Without pointing out that herpetology is, after all, a branch of biology, which is in the curriculum, and that we live in a world threatened by the activities of scientists who were in effect allowed not to learn about Roman Britain, it can be said that these examples do not do a great deal to demonstrate the truth of the assertion that one piece of learning is as good as another, a statement, whatever its fatuity, which is beginning to be profoundly influential in contemporary educational theory. A group of my friends are starting an experimental college called, significantly, “The Learning Community.” Their prospectus contains the remark, “We will not be concerned that certain things are being learned, but rather, that everyone in the Community is learning.” The people who wrote that are cultivated and gifted scholar-teachers, and when I hear such people talk like that, I begin to wonder if education may indeed be obsolete. It ought to be patent that not all learning is equally desirable: the learning capacity includes at minimum the power to learn (a) truth, good habits, and sound values, as well as (b) falsehood, bad habits, and deplorable values. There is no evidence from history or behavioral science to indicate that man’s capacity or disposition for learning (a) is greater than his capacity or disposition for learning (b).
Underlying Holt’s argument here is a basic confusion common to most of the recent reformers, the confusion of education and learning. Historically the latter has been seen as a process by which the former may proceed. Holt and his school either fail to distinguish between the two, or, having made the distinction, prefer the part to the whole. Traditional education, warts and all, always assumed that something was needed to mobilize learning in the service of education, indeed to insure that the learning that went on was of the sort I have called (a) rather than of the sort I have called (b). One would not be excessively idealistic to suggest that education is learning of the (a) variety and that what goes on at (b) can best be called miseducation, a process no more a variety of education than National Socialism is a variety of Socialism. A principal device available to education to keep it from being miseducation is in fact a curriculum. No one in his right mind would argue that the curriculum as currently defined does much to prevent such degeneration; but to argue that the present misuse of a technique has led to nothing but failure does not lead to the conclusion that any other technique is necessarily better. “Nothing but failure” is an advised use of words: a prime article of faith for Holt and the others is that learning is simply impossible in a conventional setting. Holt himself begins How Children Fail by claiming that most children do fail. This belief is not unlike that dogma of the old education that no education ever took place before the birth of John Dewey, and that since his birth none has taken place outside the United States. Under Holt’s assumptions, it is difficult to understand how he learned to write and we to read.
This confusion of education and learning leads to a secondary one, that of methodology and content. How Children Fail often achieves brilliance as an analysis of methodology; as a treatment of content it is callow and unoriginal. While nowhere does it contain a persuasive argument that the adoption of a certain methodology makes a curriculum impossible, it does argue that any required learning is coercion and that coercion is always painful. The problem is that the Social Contract eventually coerces us all, and Holt thinks that education should be integrated with life. A school absolutely free would be a poor learning laboratory for even the most libertarian society: “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” It is easy to forget that the chains of which Rousseau speaks are not the infamies of the Old Regime, but rather the minimal restraint necessary for a free society.
Holt’s second book, How Children Learn, is at once less controversial and less original than his first. “Little children learn far more easily and effectively than we have realized.” Such a statement accurately paraphrases any number of sentences in the work, and also its total content: the subset is the set. It is true enough, I suppose, if we imagine a we sufficiently ignorant, a non-parent, perhaps. Maria Montessori (1870-1952) knew all about the precocity of children, and used her knowledge to construct an educational system with rigors I presume Mr. Holt would deplore. I doubt that many observant parents would be surprised by Mr. Holt’s descriptions of infant capacity to learn, but heaven knows the educational establishment might be.
Holt’s lengthy discussions of learning to talk and read appear to be innocent of any knowledge of much of the relevant linguistic theory, particularly the work of Noam Chomsky. His major conclusion, that because we all teach ourselves to talk, admittedly a difficult task, we therefore have the capacity to learn every sort of difficult task, would seem to be challenged by Chomsky’s notion of an innate linguistic competence, that man is predisposed to talk. He is not necessarily predisposed to play the ‘cello, ski, or develop educational theory.
Oversimplification from inadequate knowledge runs throughout Holt’s work (to a greater degree than it runs throughout everyone else’s). He cultivates a simple style, and does not assume a great deal of knowledge on the part of his audience. (“Going south from London on a train, I found myself in a compartment—a small, closed-in section seating eight passengers.”) Whether he really knows as little about linguistics as he appears to in the sections on talking and reading, I cannot say: perhaps he simplifies for his presumed unsophisticated audience. Certainly, to talk about talking and reading in 1967 without some knowledge of Chomsky would be as quaint as to talk about motion without some knowledge of Einstein.
Like How Children Fail, its successor, How Children Learn, follows a hundred pages or so of sensible observation with a section of weighty conclusion, and the conclusion is familiar:
What we need to do, and all we need to do, is bring as much of the world as we can into the school and the classroom; give the children as much help and guidance as they need and ask for, listen respectfully when they feel like talking; and then get out of the way. We can trust them to do the rest [emphasis added].
He again assaults the curriculum with the same knowledge-gets-out-of-date argument, trotting out the conservation of matter for a second appearance, sparing the Greeks and the Romans the embarrassment, and adding valence. (“I mentioned valence to a chemist the other day, and he laughed. When I asked what was so funny, he said, ‘Nobody talks about valence any more; it’s an outmoded concept.’” Holt’s alchemical friends may be more à la mode than mine, several of whom assure me that while valence is not necessarily on the frontier of research, it is alive and well in one of the most widely used basic texts in physical chemistry, Coulson’s Valence.)
What Holt grasps for—and does not reach—in these examples is some modern equivalent of one of the famous fossils of knowledge that everyone once knew and which have had to be unlearned, such as the Ptolemaic cosmology. Even had he succeeded, the search would have been pointless. Intellectual endeavor frequently proceeds by reacting against the vulnerable orthodoxies of the past: it is not at all certain that Newton would exist without Aristotle, or Einstein without Newton; Chomsky comes to his work in generative grammar from the training in structuralism which prepared him to overturn it. Although Holt may argue that the Einsteins and the Chomskys do not need an orthodoxy against which to kick, we have little evidence that this is so, and even less that lesser minds would challenge themselves without the spur of curriculum. Since Holt is fond of citing his miseducation, let me immodestly cite mine. One of my graduate schools coerced me into the study of linguistics, a subject which delighted me not. I still recall the classes as poisoned by the sort of coercive atmosphere Holt rightly detects in the required course. Yet I eventually became so interested in the discipline that it occupies a considerable amount of my intellectual life, and provides me with some of my most enjoyable teaching. My undergraduate college, on the other hand, allowed me to be a Bachelor of Arts without any exposure to mathematics, leaving me with no more than tenth-grade geometry, as dimly remembered as Holt’s Hellas. My work in linguistics requires a knowledge of mathematics, however limited, in excess of what I have, and I am forced to go to my colleagues with questions they must at best regard as pitiful. In fact, it is precisely our inability to know at ten, fourteen, or twenty-three, exactly where we are headed intellectually that demonstrates the desirability of the liberal-arts curriculum, a chance to profit from the mistakes of others.
Holt’s third book, The Underachieving School, is, despite its title, not an articulated critique of the schools, any more than the earlier books were comprehensive accounts of learning theory. The first two were largely revisions of memoranda Holt had produced as a teacher (one cannot but envy the technique of an educator who is able to sell his old memoranda) and this last is largely a reprint of pieces recently published elsewhere, some rewritten substantially, others not at all, since as the author tells us, “this collection may be useful in different ways to many people, it seemed a good idea to make it available as quickly as possible.” (As many of the pieces originally appeared in such obscure and scarce journals as the New York Review of Books, the New York Times Magazine, PTA Magazine, and Life, it is easy to understand Holt’s desire to get them to a wider audience before it became too late.)
While there is a lot of repetition from Holt’s other books (valence comes forward again, and those chaste white temples return from exile), many of the pieces in The Underachieving School are substantial developments of notions earlier casually put, and some of these are provocatively and persuasively done. In “Schools Are Bad Places for Kids,” the essential argument, that an enlightened school is too often run like an enlightened prison, seems to me unanswerable. Holt’s perceptions of the horrors of such an environment, and of the effect on its inmates, are astutely and compellingly developed. “Not So Golden Rule Days” argues for the abolition of compulsory attendance. Here is Holt at his provocative best, arguing from the grounds of civil liberty. The compulsory-attendance law once protected children from exploitation in factories. Now that child labor is forbidden outside of schools, the state ought to justify anew its detention of a substantial portion of the population. The only justification which would convince Holt—or me—is that being in school is clearly better for the student than being out of it. For a portion, at least, of today’s students, this claim cannot be made. Holt correctly assumes that there is no hope of legislative repeal of the compulsory attendance law, and suggests a challenge in the courts on what would be semi-habeas-corpus grounds. That all good things would flow from such an overturning is not so clear to me as it is to Holt, but his arguments deserve a wide and impartial hearing.
If Holt is compelling when arguing from grounds other than educational, e.g. civil libertarian, his other proposals of comparable originality and controversiality can be dismaying:
Taking a longer view, I cannot see why any college should not admit anyone and everyone who applied for admission. What if they get filled up? Then let them do what any theater or movie house does—hang out a sign that there is no more room, and that people will have to wait for the next performance . . . let a student judge whether or not he will be able to do the work at a college. If I go to a concert hall to hear a difficult piece of music nobody gives me an exam at the door to make sure that I am going to be able to understand it. It may in fact be too difficult and I may not understand or like it and so waste my time and money. That is my risk and my misfortune. . . . The same is true when I buy a book, go to a play, or a lecture, or a museum. Let the student take the same risk.
Cutting gordian knots is doubtless great fun, but behind such an argument lies a series of profound misunderstandings of the metaphysics and mechanics of higher education. It is a vulgar fact that if museums and concert halls do not themselves suffer from the failures of their patrons, colleges do. The personal cost to the student who fails is ample reason for a college to try to admit only those with a reasonable chance of success, which is, after all, the principal aim of an admissions policy (given a philosophy of education under which some students succeed and others fail). But there is a serious cost to the institution itself: attrition rates affect the college in important ways. In any college budget part of the income is derived from so many tuitions paid at such and such a rate. If the college expects $2,400,000 from tuition at a rate of $2,400 a year, then the equivalent of 1,000 students must pay full tuition. Let a student paying full tuition be called a full-time equivalent student (FTE). If a college admits 400 freshmen, and none drops out by the end of the year, then it has 400 FTE freshmen. If half of them drop out at the end of the first term, then it has only 300 FTE, and with an attrition rate of 50 per cent, it would be necessary to admit 600 freshmen to achieve 400 FTE. No college would willingly confront the severe problems inherent in handling so artificially large a class for the fall term. Further, if one is trying for, say, 1,200 FTE students for an entire college, it would be necessary to admit a freshman class (whatever its own attrition) disproportionately large in order to cancel the attrition from the three succeeding years. The costs of handling such inflated classes are enormous, and, in many ways, the other-than-financial costs are equally high. I labor this small lesson in the economics of higher education because it demonstrates how Holt’s unwillingness to educate himself in the areas in which he pontificates can lead him into patently absurd proposals. (Holt would probably argue that one ought not to fail anyone. But the majority of college dropouts—at least in liberal-arts colleges—leave voluntarily. And if one argues that the college ought to be made so attractive to students that they will stay, whatever the cost to an educational program, well, that is an argument, but it is not the one Holt advances, which is that there is no problem to open admissions.)
But there is another horror in Holt’s argument for open admissions; and his apparent ignorance of it suggests the depths of his confusion about what really goes on in college. Students are not, like Holt in the concert hall, passive consumers. Few colleges conduct their program entirely by lecture, and at one like mine, which tries to conduct most instruction in small discussion groups (a model which I suppose Holt would prefer to Behemoth State U.), there is an absolute need for students who can not only profit from the experience, but who help promote it for others. Students who sit in apathy because they aren’t able to enjoy the concert cheapen the experience for all. Holt, curiously, seems to believe that students are so peripheral to the educational experience that school can go on without them, as long as they pay their tuition. This view might find some support in the graduate faculty at Behemoth State, but I am surprised to see it held by John Holt.
The failure of the student who does not learn is not his failure alone, nor are the consequences. My own view, that a great college succeeds only with great students, is unashamedly but embarrassedly elitist, and I would gratefully forswear it any time I can be convinced that an institution which tries to educate everybody can educate anybody. Holt’s uninformed and simplistic argument does not convince.
I turn with some trepidation to one of Holt’s most recent publications. While it is somehow fitting for our convolute and electronic culture to review in COMMENTARY a review in the New York Review of Books of a book one plans to review in COMMENTARY, it is nevertheless a considerable organizational challenge. But I shall try, since Holt’s review of George Dennison’s The Lives of Children4 says as much about Holt as it does about Dennison.
With Holt’s opening judgment of The Lives of Children as “by far the most perceptive, moving, and important book on education that I have ever read,” I am in essential agreement, although not, as will be seen, for the same reasons. With another of Holt’s judgments I am in some little disagreement:
Our educational system, at least at its middle-and upper-class layers, likes to say and indeed believes that an important part of its task is transmitting to the young the heritage of the past, the great traditions of history and culture. The effort is an unqualified failure. The proof we see all around us. A few of the students in our schools, who get good marks and go to prestige colleges, exploit the high culture, which many of them do not really understand or love, by pursuing comfortable and well-paid careers as university Professors of English, History, and Philosophy, etc. Almost all the rest reject that culture wholly and utterly.
The average Ivy League graduate is . . . estranged from the cultural tradition, certainly those parts of it that were shoved down his throat in school. . . . The entertainment high-light of the class dinner at my 25th college reunion, and the nearest thing to a cultural event during the whole weekend, was a low-comedy parody of grand opera. It seemed to be just what most of my classmates expected and wanted.
If this passage is a sample of the intellectual habits engendered by an Ivy League education, then I can only share Mr. Holt’s contempt for it. There are two appalling statements here: first, that you can’t even exploit the “high culture” except by way of a prestige college (a view suggestive of the sweeping snobbery which seems to characterize Holt’s understanding of higher education, an impression reinforced by the assertion that even Ivy League graduates are estranged from that culture), and secondly, the impudent claim that vast numbers of people whom Holt knows neither in person nor by reputation neither understand nor love that which they profess. The first claim is that of a snob, the second that of a bigoted dogmatist who has yet to show that he himself understands or loves any part of culture. (Now that I think of it, if Holt’s classmates had what appears to have been his exposure to the Greeks, their estrangement is entirely understandable.) College teaching is, to be sure, now adequately paid, but the notion that the life of the mind is ever comfortable suggests that the holder has never experienced that life, and the view that the life of the mind on a college campus is today comfortable suggests further a surprising insensitivity to the world about us. Where can John Holt have been? The review’s major failing, however, lies in its abstraction of Dennison’s experience with seriously rebellious primary students into assertions about education in general. As will be seen, this is a fault of which Dennison himself is innocent.
Holt’s latest word is a statement in a recent issue of Look, on the kind of schools he thinks we will need in the 70’s. The compactness of the piece and the fact that it was intended for a mass audience combine to exaggerate two traits evident elsewhere in Holt’s writing—a humble, retiring style masking a Johnsonian dogmatism:
Abolish all compulsory testing and grading. If a student wants his teacher to test his knowledge or competence . . . fine. All other grading is destructive and inexcusable. . . . Students of any age should get academic credit, as some college students do now, for holding down a job. . . . Let people, of whatever age, go in and out of school when they see fit, using it when it seems most useful to them. Let the learner direct his own learning.
The self-effacing cast of these remarks conceals the essentially authoritarian nature of their content. Recast them, or add a prefatory statement such as, “Sir, the education of those in their nonage is best effectuated by . . .” and the disjunction will be marvellously reduced. Even though pomposity and dogma are often joined, he who eschews the first does not necessarily eschew the second. For proof of this dogma, see Holt, passim.
What to say in sum, then, about Holt, whose predominance in this essay accurately reflects his predominance in his movement, and his possible influence for evil or for good? He will still be read some years hence (unless some successor adapts his theories of learning without accepting his romantic excesses) because he really has a great deal to say about teaching. But he does not know a great deal about education, and his current development does not encourage the hope that he will begin to learn about it. One wishes that he had contented himself with doing what he is obviously very good at, looking at the ways children learn. Perhaps it is an inescapable artifact of a time desperately looking for easy solutions to difficult problems that a man who is good at one thing will eventually come to believe that that’s all there is to the problem.
Unfortunately, his present eminence is likely to cause a good deal of trouble long before he has a place in history. I have already dealt with the consequences of his popularization of the hoary chestnut that learning equals education. But what is finally most dangerous in his doctrine, dangerous yet nonetheless popular, is his assault on the necessity of preserving and transmitting culture. Now, it is not clear to me that Holt believes that culture ought to be preserved and transmitted, but I am quite sure that if it is it will not be by the sort of “education” he preaches, just as sure as he is that it is not being transmitted now. (In this connection, incidentally, it might be pointed out that the fact that Holt and his audience seem to know what he’s talking about suggests that the failure is not quite so unqualified as he claims.)
Notwithstanding the forests heretofore consumed in arguing the desirability of liberal education on the grounds of cultural transmission, I will not take the transmission as obviously desirable, but content myself with two arguments in its favor, the hedonistic and the pragmatic.
The first is easily dealt with: “high culture” can be fun. It apparently is not fun for Mr. Holt, who does not exploit it with one of those well-paid and soft jobs in literature, philosophy, or history; it is clearly not fun for everyone; but it is fun for some of us. And unless one wishes to argue that some of us are somehow hereditarily competent to enjoy it while some are not—are you there, Mr. Holt?—it seems that what is needed is the improvement of transmission, not its suspension. The notion that the transmission is impossible for most ordinary blokes and provisionally possible for Yale graduates smacks of cultural snobbism, educational adventurism, high-culture elitism, and heaven knows what else.
Second, without wishing to argue for the sort of vulgar relevance now called for at every hand, I would suggest that “high culture” is in fact useful. It would be a dunderheaded reader of Thucydides’s Peloponnesian War who did not find in its analysis of the downfall of the Athenian empire chilling omen for the American. Aristotle’s treatment of rhetoric is still a cogent account of the art of persuasion. There is good stuff in Dante, Machiavelli, Hobbes, Kant, and so forth, and so forth.
I will pass over as circular any argument to the effect that Thucydides is still essential to him who would understand what history is, Plato to the would-be philosopher; even if I could prove this, the benefit would accrue only to those comfortable and well-paid philosophers and historians who graduate from Ivy League colleges. But at least for those of us who desire cultivation of our cultural heritage, I cannot recommend Holt’s view of education as likely to effect it. In an intellectual milieu increasingly seduced by the supermarket, or even by custom-tailored cultures (one selects from a variety of sources the culture one likes best, or, even more groovy, constructs one’s own counter-culture), it is not surprising to find educational philosophy ignoring the problem of cultural transmission. While it may be tempting to imagine that information retrieval, the media, and the counter-cultures may in time give us so much culture that its preservation may seem as otiose a task as preserving the buffalo must have seemed in 1820, and while to insist on the transmission of culture as an end of education puts one in the unpleasant company of the likes of Max Rafferty (who, whatever his other faults, is no Yahoo), the necessity and desirability of that transmission ought to remain an open issue. The Middle Ages knew a good deal more about classical antiquity than is generally supposed, but it also knew a good deal less than we know, largely thanks to the activities of the Visigoths and like-minded people. The survival of some fairly important parts of classical antiquity was a pretty near thing: we know the works of Catullus because in 1453 a looter at the fall of Constantinople turned up the only manuscript of his poems; and all the plays of Aeschylus and Sophocles, and many of Euripides, have survived because of a single Alexandrian textbook. The New Visigoths are at the gates, and it is no time to be complacent about cultural survival. (The Visigothic impulse is hardly limited to the destruction of texts: Chaucer did not read Homer, not because Homer had disappeared from view, but because, like almost all of his contemporaries, Chaucer could not read Greek.)
Holt’s latest vision comes at the end of the Look article, in which he sets forth an ideal of child-directed “education.” Aside from its stunning un-originality, what can we say of the idea? As I write this, the students at my college are finishing up a month-long session of do-your-own education known as Paideia. (A pretentious name, to be sure, but preferable to its predecessor, Unstructured Independent Study. A classicist friend, asked to translate paideia for the benefit of the naming committee, rendered it Structured Dependent Study.) Certainly some education goes on during the period, but a depressing number of students turn out to require instruction in sour-dough bread baking and the I-Ching. And this is at best harmless. I remember a freshman from last fall who complained about having to study the irrelevant Greeks. What she wanted to study was the American Indians, who lived with nature, rather than against it, an altogether more promising lifestyle. I assume as normal her having decided the superiority of the Indian life-style before having studied it, but I wonder whether by herself she would eventually question the difficulties inherent in living with, rather than against, the bacilli of smallpox and syphilis. As long as intellectual faddism is challenged by reactionary educational statesmanship, there is still some hope of education as synthesis. But in a situation where ecologically-oriented communes reject the straight culture as long as no one has appendicitis, and organic-food freaks cheerfully introduce into their bloodstreams such naturally-grown pollutants as LSD, one begins to understand that a little learning is at least a foolish thing. And perhaps Pope was right about the danger: consider one of the most voracious and highly-motivated self-learners of the last generation, Adolf Hitler. He read widely, and thought intensely about what he read. But being his own judge of what he wanted to learn and how well he wanted to learn it, he was, at best, “loosely educated,” in the splendid phrase of Sir Winston Churchill (a figure of whose education I doubt Mr. Holt would approve). The example is extreme, but one not reassuring as to the value of self-directed education. It is hard to imagine a curriculum-guide which would have told Hitler he was doing well, at least outside the educational system he himself eventually created.
It is, I suppose, an indication of the desperation of the educational malady that a theorist of Holt’s slender ability should be listened to. But, as I have remarked, it is plague season. Consider, for example, another work generously excerpted by the Grosses, Teaching as a Subversive Activity, by Neil Postman and Charles Weingarten.5 This is the most jargon-ridden and pretentious of the current bibles, the most assiduous in setting forth vulgarizations of what competent teachers have always known, and dressing the result up in the sort of Choctaw currently in favor in the Regional Education Laboratories. This is not surprising, for the authors, while lambasting the educational establishment, are in fact themselves professors of education, Postman at New York University and Weingarten at Queens College. They are, it must be said, several orders of magnitude better than the authors who usually write from schools of education, but the establishment against which they rebel has left its dread mark on them, especially in terms of a weakness for the glorification of the routine and for the windily romantic in terminology. (Sometimes you can tell a book by its cover: the dust jacket is decorated with a red apple fitted with a burning fuse, a device consonant with a general tone designed to blow the minds of faculty malcontents smoking in the boiler-room at Kremlin High School in Kremlin, Idaho.)
Thus well begun, the authors start with a discussion of the need for the “built-in, shockproof crap detector,” a concept the sturdy elegance of which is doubtless explained by its derivation from Hemingway, and which appears akin to critical sense, or perhaps to skepticism. The opening chapter, “Crap Detecting,” proceeds to an obligatory account of the Knowledge Explosion, then introduces us to Marshall McLuhan, described as “one of the most dangerous men around at the moment . . . because he seems to be subverting traditional assumptions.” Postman and Weingarten are the only critics I know who treat McLuhan less critically than McLuhan.
Having defined education as crap-detecting, the authors proceed to develop one of the most original theses ever propounded in a program of radical education:
The Inquiry Method of teaching and learning is an attempt to redesign the structure of the classroom. It is a new medium, and messages are different than [sic] those usually communicated to students.
If the method is new, they tell us, the terms used by its critics are not:
In instances where someone wishes to dismiss the inquiry method, it is common to hear, “Oh, all you mean is the Socratic Method.” That serves as terminal punctuation. No more need be said. In better circumstances, serious people search for a “real” name: the inductive method, inquiry training, the hypothetical mode of teaching, inferential learning, the deductive-inductive method, the inductive-deductive method, and so on.
It is not quite clear whether the authors regard “Socratic method” as a proper label, rightly understood, but they shortly suggest that Socrates was in fact very close to developing the all-new Inquiry Method, and suggest further a reason for the unhappy end of his promising career in the New Education: “All authorities get nervous when learning is conducted without a syllabus.” This remark illumines the Apology in a light so intense as well-nigh to blind, and I can only retire blinking with the remark that if all the people in the world who use the term “Socratic method” were laid end to end, there would be a good deal less philosophical confusion among those left standing.
If the Inquiry Method is really anything new, then I guess I don’t understand it, but let me quote the authors on the behavior characterizing the Inquiry Teacher:
The teacher rarely tells students what he thinks they ought to know. His basic mode of discourse with students is questioning. Generally, he does not accept a single statement as an answer to a question. [Everyone knows there are two sides to every question—S.M.] He encourages student-student interaction as opposed to student-teacher interaction. And generally he avoids acting as a mediator or judge of the quality of ideas expressed. He rarely summarizes positions taken by students on the learnings that occur. His lessons develop from the responses and not from a previously determined logical structure. Generally, each of his lessons poses a problem for students. He measures his success in terms of behavioral changes in students.
Well, these are all reasonably harmless prescriptions, if administered with a reasonable dose of salt. A good teacher worries about the dangers of killing discussion by too hasty disagreement with ideas expressed; but an absolute commitment not to judge the quality of ideas presented in class is a commitment to irresponsibility. I presume the inquiry-centered doctor would not judge the somatic condition of his clients, but rather would try to get them to come to a self-diagnosis. As a matter of fact, there is almost nothing in these prescriptions to which any sound teacher would not give qualified assent. What is ludicrous about their appearance in Teaching as a Subversive Activity is the notion that somehow they characterize some sort of switched-on operative who becomes possible only after reading the relevant chapter in Postman and Weingarten.
From these truisms, the authors proceed to a discussion of the one issue it is my fervent hope to outlive: relevance. Speaking of doctors, as we were, they open the chapter with a witty playlet involving a group of doctors at a Blear General Hospital, including a Dr. Gillupsie, a Dr. Killdear, a Dr. Fuddy, and a Dr. Car-stairs, who, no one will be surprised to find out, is the Good Guy. The first three open the scene with a good deal of discussion about gallstone removals qua gallstone removals, frontal lobotomies qua frontal lobotomies, and the like, leading into such snappy dialogue as:
Fuddy: Frankly, I never cared much for appendectomies.
Fuddy: Well, that seemed to be the trouble with the patient in 397.
Gillupsie: But you stayed with the old pilonidalcyst excision, eh?
Fuddy: Right, chief.
Although the playlet does not carry, well as it might, Artemus Ward’s annotation, N. B. This is wrote sarkastikul, the authors do belabor the point: “Perhaps our playlet needs no further elaboration, but we want to underscore some of its points.” The main point is that teachers who teach courses their students don’t want are like doctors who perform operations their patients don’t need. The shift from want to need or, rather, the confusion of these two, is a device absolutely essential to the contemporary ideology of relevance, even when comparatively sophisticated ideologues obfuscate the confusion further by talking about wants as felt needs. Implicit here is another confusion, that teaching = medicine, and hence student = patient. This confusion, heaven knows, is becoming epidemic, as education becomes more and more an essay at bootleg psychotherapy and less and less an attempt to deal with the healthy, but the educational theorists could take a leaf from the obstetricians, who are well aware that uncomplicated pregnancy and childbirth do not constitute a disease.
A good example of the unneeded operation, according to Postman and Weingarten, is grammar. Grammar, we are told, has its controversies, but
. . . they are of such a sterile and generally pointless nature that only one who is widely removed from human concerns can derive much stimulation from them. Browning’s line that grammarians are dead from the waist down captures the sense of what we are trying to say about them. (An emphatic exception to Browning’s observation is Professor Noam Chomsky, who has recently distinguished himself as an invaluable “crap detector” of the language of political bureaucrats and “house intellectuals.”) . . . You see, there simply aren’t any children who would have any possible reason—now or for the rest of their lives—to care about how a noun is defined, or what the transformational rules are for forming the passive voice, or how many allomorphs there are of the plural morpheme.
There is enough Yahooism in that passage to last your average educational romantic through several books, but here is God’s plenty. One wonders whether Professor Chomsky is excluded from the authors’ Browningesque strictures simply be cause he serves as a kind of latter-day Maury Maverick, or whether additionally they are making some special claims about his manliness. Of his profoundly original and influential contributions to our understanding of language, there is no mention. To say that there are no children who will ever have any reason at any time in life to care how many allomorphs there are in the plural morpheme says simply that no one should ever study linguistics. Such a position is perhaps comprehensible, but not in Messrs. Postman and Weingarten, who are, a jacket blurb informs us, co-authors of Linguistics: A Revolution in Teaching6 I’ve already paid my debt to Postman and Weingarten, and don’t intend to read the book, but I have read the reviews, and they confirm one’s inference from the title: the authors hold that (a) there is a science called linguistics; and (b) it can effect an educational revolution. What can one say of people who publish such a work in 1966, and who in 1969 argue that linguists are not only sterile but also impotent, practitioners of a discipline in any event of no use whatever to anyone? One can express admiration of their sense of the market, that’s what one can do.
To intrude for a moment in my role as jackleg linguist, I should express my view that linguistics is irrelevant to learning to write, just as hydrocarbon chemistry is irrelevant to learning to drive, and that the current emphasis on “linguistic” high-school composition programs is 99.8 percent fraud, most of it impious. The proper place of linguistics in the secondary schools is next to chemistry, physics, and biology. Unfortunately, the schools are prone to gimmicky fads, and the teaching of composition so difficult, that the snake-oil salesmen do particularly well here. To say all of which is not to share in the sort of ignorant opportunism evident in Postman and Weingarten.
Lest I seem to select an isolated example of troglodyte argument, see next our anti-linguists play at etymology:
Advocates of “high standards” characteristically and unwittingly invoke other revealing metaphors. One of the most frequently used of these is “basic fundamentals.” Indulging our propensity to inquire into the language of education, we find that the essential portion of the word “fundamental” is the word “fundament.” It strikes us as poetically appropriate that “fundament” also means the buttocks, and specifically the anus. We will resist the temptation to explore the unconscious motives of “fundamentalists.”
Well, I’ll resist the temptation to explore the intellectual qualifications of people who argue by means of such pitiful combinations of folk etymology and weak pun, but I cannot resist the temptation to quote them once again:
The new education . . . enters into an entirely new “business”: fundamentally [sic], the crap-detecting and relevance business.
My ability to resist temptation is even sufficient to keep me from speculating as to the unconscious motivations of those for whom “crap-detecting” is a basic metaphor for education. People with glass fundaments. . .
Postman and Weingarten, to do them justice, do believe in the need for a curriculum, albeit a swinging one. Gracefully called a What’s Worth Knowing Questions Curriculum, it consists, in one version, of such stuff:
What do you worry about most?
What are the causes of your worries?
Can any of your worries be eliminated? How?
Which of them might you deal with first? How
do you decide?
Are there any other people with the same prob-
lems? How do you know? How do you find
* * *
How can you tell “good guys” from “bad guys”?
How can “good” be distinguished from “evil”?
* * *
What do you think are some of man’s most im-
portant ideas? Where did they come from?
Why? How? Now what?
What’s a “good idea”?
* * *
Which of man’s ideas would we be better off
What is “progress”?
* * *
If you wanted to stop one of the changes going
on now (pick one), how would you go about
it? What consequences would you have to
* * *
What’s worth knowing? How do you decide?
We ought clearly to distinguish two questions about these questions: whether they are worth asking (they are), and whether they provide anything which could responsibly be called a curriculum (I think not). They are, first of all, distressingly inclined toward navel-watching, which may be a pleasant enough activity, but which is no substitute for education. A little experience with that fraction of the college generation which has ceased to worry about knowing anything except itself makes me suspect that we don’t need to encourage such notions by institutionalization. One can accept Pope’s advice to know first oneself, without forgetting that his next generalization was not “the proper study of mankind is you.”
Other considerations militate against accepting these questions as a curriculum. The psychotherapeutic tone of the earlier ones suggest that the answers might well be sought from answerers with some training in therapy. (If the craze for Sensitivity Training, T-Groups, and so forth continues we may well have a generation which thinks it is competent at the sort of therapy envisioned in this curriculum, but I prefer to take a more optimistic view.) It seems of dubious value for adolescents to undertake this sort of self-analysis under the quality of guidance likely to be available in most high-schools. Moreover, answering questions like “What is change? What is progress?” is the sort of endeavor likely to be very difficult for anyone without considerable grounding in the methodologies and factual content of history and philosophy. There is, of course, no reason why the young should not ask these questions. The objection is to considering that asking such questions constitutes a curriculum.
And, finally the later questions, for all of the authors’ cautions against judging ideas in the classroom, have a distinct bias. There is a curious dearth of questions like “Is change a good thing?” and “What is stability?” Postman and Weingarten seem to be reasonably committed to the proposition that any change is a good thing, and their questions, in a world which agrees with them, are not likely to get students wondering whether an occasional status quo ante may not also be a good thing: the United States role in Vietnam prior to the Geneva conference, for example.
My objections so far have been to the way in which two theorists embody the principle of relevance. But the principle itself can also stand closer examination. Relevant has become such a term of praise—and its negative has been for so long a term of dispraise—that the proposition that learning ought to be relevant has become generally accepted, with the current battle fought largely on whether, say, Homer is as relevant as Cleaver. But there are at least two serious objections to imposing the test of relevance, however defined, on what is to constitute the curriculum, however defined: that the test of relevancy encourages an essentially destructive attitude toward knowledge, and that it can become the pretext for substituting emotional predispositions for serious thought.
Most thinking people would see the danger of requiring that the objects of learning be National Socialist, Socialist, Capitalist, Christian, American, safe, clean, or courteous. And the objection one could make to imposing such criteria is not that the implicit goals are necessarily evil, for who would object to courtesy as a goal? The trouble here is that each of these tests proscribes some large body of knowledge. The fact that the Inquisition required of Galileo that his teaching be Christian suggests clearly the danger here: true, like pregnant, cannot be qualified as very, or slightly; and further, it cannot be modified as National Socialist, American, or relevant. Such a statement as “All Americans desire to live in a suburb and have 2.3 children” might be said to have white middle-class truth, but that is a claim as false as the original statement. The term All Americans is not modified by talking about a species of truth derived from it, and the claim remains false. In the same way, truth cannot be properly modified by relevant, and for reasons other than grammatical or logical: the truth is, truth can become relevant only after it is established. The calculus, for example, was not particularly useful when Newton devised it, at least not useful beyond making more efficient certain processes also operable with geometry, and the theories of relativity had at their birth little practical application. Had Newton and Einstein been successfully limited to the pursuit of the relevant, we would all know a good deal less than we do now. We do not know, often cannot know, as we pursue truth, whether we or anyone else will have any use for it, immediately or ultimately. What is relevant here, if you will, is that our inability to predict the relevancy of truth requires us to pursue it wherever it may be found. The life of the mind is as crippled when its objects are defined in terms of relevance as when they are defined in terms of any sort of orthodoxy. It is possible to make a case—as I have suggested earlier—that some objects of study are more relevant than may appear, but this should not obscure the fact that the very existence of a relevance test is more dangerous than any abuse which might be made of it by the unknowing.
It may be justly observed that the objections I raise here seem pertinent especially to higher education, and that since the high schools have not in the past been concerned with the pursuit of truth, one need not bother to attack conditions unfavorable to that pursuit. Well, that’s just the problem with the high schools: they have concerned themselves largely with promulgating shoddy orthodoxies, and perhaps sending them on a relevancy kick will make the situation no worse. But I presume the authors are looking for ways to improve the situation. It will not matter how much truth is discovered at Behemoth State if the relevancy freaks at John Holt High suppress most of it as irrelevant.
And not all those who cry for relevance in the interest of the learner really know what they are doing. I recently came across a declaration issued by a teacher of “social studies” in a new and highly switched-on high school, wherein he tells his students that they ought to study only what is relevant, and that what is relevant is what will enable them to make more money or supply them with immediate enjoyment. They are not slaves any more, he informs them, and they are at long last free to do exactly as he tells them. That he has settled for them in advance two questions still being hotly debated outside his classroom—namely, whether there is a need for relevance, and what is relevant—does not seem to bother him. It appears that in the high schools, as elsewhere, it is possible to invoke the dictatorship of the proletariat in the service of the fascist ruling circles.
If the ideology of relevance is potentially dangerous because it provides a scheme for enforcing a new orthodoxy (which is, as Sydney Smith defined it, “my doxy; heterodoxy is another man’s”), there is yet another danger. Relevant subjects are often defined as those subjects having immediate or prospective practical value, but this neo-Babbittry is in some ways less troubling than another definition—that relevant subjects are those subjects to which one can relate. Anyone who teaches, as I do, a required freshman course beginning with Homer and ending with Montaigne, spends a good deal of time debating the question of relevance with his students. And many of the bright and committed students with whom I deal, although they do their share of complaining about the irrelevancy of Montaigne on practical grounds—though they desperately wish to change their patently unsatisfactory environments, the last thing they want to do is to learn about previous attempts at the same thing—often seem to regard the intellectual experience as essentially emotional, a sort of sweaty grappling with ideas. Now, while the life of the mind is frequently an emotional one—and there are few sights more noble than that of a man driven by passionate reason—the reason comes first, the passion second, and he who wrestles with ideas only because he is emotionally attracted to them is at least temporarily disabled as an intellectual. When one believes that only those ideas which are already somehow provisionally a part of one are worthy of intellectual-emotional engagement, then the range of thought is seriously reduced. The sorts of ideas, moreover, which seem most amenable to the ecstatic embrace are often those which the intellect would, given its chance, reject, as witness the current fad for the irrational, from “serious” students who seek guidance in the I-Ching and the astrology manuals, to the activists who with a straight face denounce reason as a repressive device invented by the military-industrial complex. Why the I-Ching should be seen as relevant and Montaigne as not is beyond my comprehension, but it is not a time in general supportive of the belief that in reason lies salvation. I tend to believe that the doctrines being preached in the more turned-on high schools by the hierophants of Holt and Postman & Weingarten are not doing much to improve matters. Certainly, some of the best of my students arrive from the high schools in a new sort of semi-catatonic state, quite distinguishable from the apathy of the Eisenhower years, and seeming to result from corrupt education, rather than from the lack of education altogether. Whatever the cause, the conversion of those literally our best hope into literal believers in witchcraft (itself a relevant discipline, considering its concern with altering the environment) is a dreadful situation, and I predict that the problem will become magnified as the new wisdom makes its way outward.
Late in Teaching as a Subversive Activity Postman and Weingarten suggest that teachers ask themselves the question, “Why am I a teacher, anyway?” and suggest some answers:
Some honest answers that this question has produced are as follows:
I can control people.
I can tyrannize people.
I have captive audiences.
I have my summers off.
I love seventeenth century non-dramatic Elizabethan Literature [sic].
I don’t know.
The pay is good, considering the amount of work I actually do.
That is the entire list. In these questions and answers we have a paradigm of what is right and what is wrong with the educational romantics. It is clear enough (was it not always clear?) that some teachers teach for each of the obscene motivations listed here, although I for one would regard a love for literature as a decent motivation for teaching it, even if the three-years’ worth of nondramatic literature which is both 17th-century and Elizabethan seems a narrow specialty, and I suspect that the workload in the public schools is such that the pay is not really all that good. The problem here, as elsewhere, is overkill. Some teachers teach for unworthy reasons, a conclusion extant at least since Plato began to belabor the Sophists. The authors take this time-honored conclusion, and by suggesting that all teachers teach for unworthy reasons (which is the only conclusion to-be drawn from their apparent willingness to consider as honest only those answers confessing unworthiness), blow it up into the sort of dreadful revelation which our crisis mentality is presumed likely to take seriously. We all know about the Big Lie; what we need now is a realization of the dangers of the Big Truism.
Let us turn from so-called educational theory to educational science fiction, in the person of George Leonard. Leonard is represented in the Gross anthology by “Going to School in the Global Village,” an article originally published in Look with Marshall McLuhan. The article is a sort of selective précis of Leonard’s later Education and Ecstasy7
The book itself is at once stimulating and irritating. Although one welcomes a theorist with some historical orientation, the history is the same sort of facile summary which has proved so useful to McLuhan and so fatal to truth. (It’s a brilliant suggestion that the Renaissance was a result of the printing press, so long as you think that the printing press came first, which is a not unreasonable assumption if you limit yourself to looking at Northern Europe, and are willing to forget that publishers in any event preceded printers.) The work appears athrob with many ideas, which at close inspection collapse into a handful: the human capacity for learning is greater than we have imagined; education is overly devoted to something called the rational/verbal mode; civilization is a process from which we are just emerging; the education of the future must be tribal; much can be done toward this end with technology; man’s brightest hope is the Esalen Institute (Geo. Leonard, vice president); Ecstasy is a Good Thing, and there ought to be more of it, especially in education.
Leonard is easily the most switched-on of the present crop of writers, and his visions are the most apocalyptic: the schools as vast computer facilities, where under the kindly tuition of patient cybernons children can learn the present curriculum by the age of six, in an educational lifestyle reminiscent of the Fillmore Auditorium, and in the sort of huggingly conflictless world yearned for at Esalen. But Leonard is not really an educational reformer. Although he would probably reject the label of visionary, on the ground that the technology he wishes to marshal in the future is already visible just over the horizon, it seems exceedingly unlikely that school boards are going to be ready for it until 2001. Leonard’s disciples, unlike Holt’s, can’t very well set up a demonstration project in a store-front. The book is—dare I say it?—irrelevant. Leonard appears to believe that his Kennedy School will just sort of grow as the experimental psychologists and neurologists tell us more about how we learn. Nothing, alas, in the history of American education suggests any special connection between what may be known by the best and brightest and what goes on in the schools. What is notably lacking in Leonard are instructions to get us from here to there. (Although there is one good suggestion in the book: that every parent ought to go and spend one day studying with his child as the child is forced to study. I can think of no event more likely to improve the schools than for this advice to be acted upon.)
But in sum, I am still having difficulty deciding whether the book is ingenious science fiction or dystopian satire. Satire is not something one can imagine coming out of so earnest and smooth a place as the Esalen Institute, but the similarities between the Kennedy School principal directing a guided tour and Huxley’s Director of Hatcheries are tempting. One cannot help wondering who is going to do the programming, whether the same machines which will make students unable to read Thucydides without tears might as admirably administer the Four Hours’ Hate. Well, as Mr. Nixon demonstrates, there are those capable of unconscious self-satire. Oh, what a brave new school is this, that hath such machinery in it!
It is a relief to turn from Holt, Postman & Weingarten, and Leonard, to the work of George Dennison, whose article “The First Street School,” in Radical School Reform, is an extract from his recent book, The Lives of Children.8 If the first four authors suggest educational romanticism at its worst, Dennison is an example of it at its best. Moreover, what George Dennison has done is as important as what he has written. What he has done is to have been a guiding spirit of the First Street School, an institution of twenty-three students (most under ten) from the East Village and three and a half teachers. The students were for the most part children on whom the public schools had given up; during the school’s brief existence most of them were put on the road to salvation; and the miracle was worked at a cost per pupil less than that of a public school. Dennison, then, writes with an authority not possessed by those I have been discussing: he writes from successful experience.
It is his claim that the miracle is simply attained: “. . . running a primary school—provided it be small—is an extremely simple thing.” The essentials are this: a school which, by avoiding heavy capital expenditures, is able to put most of its budget into salaries, so as to achieve a student/ faculty ratio of 8 to 1, and by staying small—under thirty students—is able to dispense with bureaucracy. From these master conditions flow secondary benefits: primarily, the ability to deploy teachers as students need them, thereby permitting individual attention for those unable to function in groups, and the ability to leave the design of the program in the hands of the teachers themselves. By simple, Dennison does not mean easy: “on the contrary, teachers find [work] in a free school taxing.” While I am convinced that Dennison, whose authentic humility is one of the pleasantest traits in his book, may well be underestimating his personal contribution in the form of his extraordinary gifts, I find it indicative of the possibilities of such a school that by the end of its first year, the First Street School, far from having a dropout problem, was faced with the problem of a seriously disturbed student who refused to stay away. One is reminded that the capital penalty at Summerhill is suspension from its non-compulsory classes. There can be no better indication of what is wrong with the public schools than that an approach as tentatively fruitful as that of the First Street School is not being tried out on the widest possible scale.
Life at First Street was not much like life in an average elementary school: attendance was not compulsory, discipline was limited to that necessary for the protection of others from physical harm, there was great freedom of activity for the students, a good deal of time was spent exploring the city. The teachers were able to regard each student as a separate problem (one of the few irritations of the book is that it discusses fewer than half the students, without making clear whether these are a representative sample, the successes, the greatest challenges, or what), and to follow the oft-quoted injunction of Rousseau to lose time. Dennison characterizes his most troublesome students as rebellious, a state he would distinguish from disturbed; many of them had in fact been regarded as beyond hope by the public schools from which they came. To the extent that First Street was successful with these students, it was successful with just those children with whom the public schools are most conspicuously failing. Whether or not it would have succeeded with the non-rebellious may be argued, but I am inclined to believe that it would: few of the school’s activities seem especially therapeutic, and for what the evidence is worth, my own eminently non-rebellious son attends a considerably posher private school whose spirit is remarkably Dennisonian (a judgment which might surprise his teachers), and in it he and his fellows thrive in ways and to degrees I would not have thought possible.
Dennison, then, is an educational reformer who comes to the world with ideas tested in realistic conditions and found not wanting. We ought, as Holt has said, to listen to him very carefully. Inasmuch as Dennison and Holt are generally invoked these days as part of a trinity usually completed by A. S. Neill, the reader may wonder how a critic with whom Holt has found so little favor can find Dennison so promising. The answer is fairly simple: although Dennison may bear a surface resemblance to the other romantics, he is at heart profoundly unlike them, whether he or they know it, and it is crucial to us all to be able to tell the difference.
If one were called upon to characterize Dennison in a phrase, the one which comes to mind first is “tough-minded romantic.” As his experience has been limited to primary education, he limits his prescriptions to it. In this, he is remarkably unlike Holt, who seems to see no difference in kind between the first grade in elementary school and sophomore year in college. Whether Dennison, after teaching in college, would agree with Holt is beside the point. In his conduct of the school, he frequently did things that are anathema to the movement in general: the best way to calm a hysterical child, he tells us, is often to shake him into exhaustion. If discipline of the no-chewing-gum sort was mercifully absent at First Street, behavior which endangered others was likely to lead to suspension. Although the school admitted one student who proved to be, in Dennison’s judgment, disturbed, it was also able to come to the conclusion that the admission had been a mistake, and that the school was incompetent to help him.
Dennison’s theorizing, to be sure, can be as dubious as that of the others I have discussed:
. . . with two exceptions, the parents of the children at First Street were not libertarians. They thought that they believed in compulsion, and rewards and punishments, and formal discipline, and report cards, and homework and elaborate school facilities [emphasis added].
Now, the parents may well have been wrong in holding such beliefs, they may well have renounced them after experience with First Street, but I am at a loss to understand the concept of thinking a belief, if it means anything other than believing. Here Dennison condescends to his parents; he can also be surprisingly naive:
It goes without saying that teachers must be competent (which does not necessarily mean passing courses in a teacher’s college). Given this sine qua non, there is nothing mysterious. The present quagmire of public education is entirely the result of unworkable centralization and the lust for control that permeates every bureaucratic institution [emphasis added].
To this one could answer that the relation of courses passed in a teacher’s college to professional competence is somewhere near absolute zero, and that while it would be a happy thought that centralization and bureaucracy are the sole causes of all that is wrong with public education, there must be other causes, else the most centralized schools would be the worst, which is not necessarily so.
But in general, Dennison’s theory, the product of carefully observed experience, and of a critical understanding of Tolstoy, Dewey, and A. S. Neill, is typified by the sort of caution and realism that entitle it to the label “tough-minded.” An example is his account of an imitation Summerhill. Such institutions have been mushrooming lately: one can follow their progress in a curious publication called the New Schools Exchange Newsletter,9 in which they publish self-descriptions. The Newsletter would be better named The Journal of Educational Cant: most of the accounts appear to have been plagiarized from last month’s issue, and it is the rare school where education is not free, unstructured, and joyous, all at the same time. Most of the proprietors seem to view their students as a commodity (“We’ve got eight kids this term, and hope to get some more kids next”), and they are all just like Summerhill, except for two little differences. They do not appear to provide anything remotely like a classical education for those who want it, and none of them is run by that extraordinary genius A. S. Neill, or anything approaching a surrogate. Here is Dennison on one such school:
I visited a school ostensibly modeled on Summerhill, but in fact (so I believe) not much like it. I noticed two teen-agers who were pathologically depressed. I learned that they were suffering severe conflicts with their parents. I was informed, too, that their parents were small-minded, narrow, repressive, status-seeking petit-bourgeois; which is to say that the suffering of the two students had been invested with a programmatic, radical meaning: their detestation of their parents appeared as a form of loyalty to the school. The two students, in short, were being tugged in opposite directions by interested adults. To make matters worse, the tugging at school was largely sub rosa, implicit rather than overt, and the foreground was filled by “freedom,” that is, by lack of contact, lack of guidance, lack of structure, lack of everything that children experiencing such disorders require. Let me hasten to say that such lacks cannot be filled by rules and regulations. They must be filled by persons, and not just any persons, but those capable of true encounter and decently motivated for work with the young. The problem at this school was that the director regarded staff and students less as people than as events in his own protracted struggle against middle-class America. The faculty, too, consisted of True Believers, and I had never before seen such a listless, resentful bunch, or heard the words “creativity” and “spontaneity” bandied about quite so often.
It is not common for a member of a vanguard to be so clear-sighted about his presumed allies. Where Dennison clearly differs from most of his fellow practitioners is in his fine understanding that the removal of external ordering devices requires replacement by internal ones, and that occasionally the external is justified in the absence of the internal. Thus, deciding that (a) José ought to learn to read, and (b) José would never decide on his own to start learning, Dennison simply began José’s lessons in reading. José learned to read.
One of Dennison’s particular strengths is his ability to see how quickly an innovator in theory can become treated as a guru and then misunderstood by a horde of Beatle-like followers. It is this critical ability, I believe, which proves Dennison no Postman or Weingarten, and which is pretty good evidence that he will not follow in Holt’s footsteps. It seems very unlikely that Dennison will become no more than a self-exploiter, and he may well remain, as has Paul Goodman, a romantic to whom non-romantics must listen with absolute respect.
Holt, Postman and Weingarten, Leonard, and Dennison are likely to be the most influential of the authors the Grosses anthologize, for each of them has a program, and a program of a fairly fashionable sort. I therefore feel justified to a degree in neglecting to deal with other writers represented in the work (they include Jonathan Kozol, James Herndon, Herbert Kohl, and older, well-known writers like Paul Goodman, A. S. Neill, Edgar Z. Friedenberg, and Sylvia Ashton-Warner). All in all, Radical School Reform is a fair sampler of a movement, and its representativeness is hardly diminished by any doubts one may have about the validity of the movement itself. I do end by worrying about the book’s possible influence on education; its publicists are already pushing it as a vade mecum for would-be reformers, and if there is anything that an already oversimplistic movement does not need, it is to be watered down for popular consumption in a general anthology. As a matter of fact, it is too bad for the movement to be defined, and its prophets identified, at all, for it is painful to see people like Paul Goodman and George Dennison entered on the same class list with the Holts and the Postmans and Weingartens; for the genius of the former for simple solutions is balanced by a concomitant understanding of the complexities. If they begin to be read in capsule form, the distinction may begin to blur, and that would be most unfortunate.
1 Simon & Schuster, 350 pp., $7.95.
2 How Children Fail (1964), Pitman; How Children Learn (1967), Pitman.
3 The Underachieving School, Pitman, 203 pp., $4.95.
4 New York Review of Books, October 9, 1969.
5 Delacorte, 219 pp., $5.95.
6 Dell (1966).
7 Delacorte, 239 pp., $5.95.
8 Random House, 308 pp., $6.95.
9 2840 Hidden Valley Lane, Santa Barbara, California 93103.
Quackery in the Classroom
Must-Reads from Magazine
t can be said that the Book of Samuel launched the American Revolution. Though antagonistic to traditional faith, Thomas Paine understood that it was not Montesquieu, or Locke, who was inscribed on the hearts of his fellow Americans. Paine’s pamphlet Common Sense is a biblical argument against British monarchy, drawing largely on the text of Samuel.
Today, of course, universal biblical literacy no longer exists in America, and sophisticated arguments from Scripture are all too rare. It is therefore all the more distressing when public intellectuals, academics, or religious leaders engage in clumsy acts of exegesis and political argumentation by comparing characters in the Book of Samuel to modern political leaders. The most common victim of this tendency has been the central character in the Book of Samuel: King David.
Most recently, this tendency was made manifest in the writings of Dennis Prager. In a recent defense of his own praise of President Trump, Prager wrote that “as a religious Jew, I learned from the Bible that God himself chose morally compromised individuals to accomplish some greater good. Think of King David, who had a man killed in order to cover up the adultery he committed with the man’s wife.” Prager similarly argued that those who refuse to vote for a politician whose positions are correct but whose personal life is immoral “must think God was pretty flawed in voting for King David.”
Prager’s invocation of King David was presaged on the left two decades ago. The records of the Clinton Presidential Library reveal that at the height of the Lewinsky scandal, an email from Dartmouth professor Susannah Heschel made its way into the inbox of an administration policy adviser with a similar comparison: “From the perspective of Jewish history, we have to ask how Jews can condemn President Clinton’s behavior as immoral, when we exalt King David? King David had Batsheva’s husband, Uriah, murdered. While David was condemned and punished, he was never thrown off the throne of Israel. On the contrary, he is exalted in our Jewish memory as the unifier of Israel.”
One can make the case for supporting politicians who have significant moral flaws. Indeed, America’s political system is founded on an awareness of the profound tendency to sinfulness not only of its citizens but also of its statesmen. “If men were angels, no government would be necessary,” James Madison informs us in the Federalist. At the same time, anyone who compares King David to the flawed leaders of our own age reveals a profound misunderstanding of the essential nature of David’s greatness. David was not chosen by God despite his moral failings; rather, David’s failings are the lens that reveal his true greatness. It is in the wake of his sins that David emerges as the paradigmatic penitent, whose quest for atonement is utterly unlike that of any other character in the Bible, and perhaps in the history of the world.
While the precise nature of David’s sins is debated in the Talmud, there is no question that they are profound. Yet it is in comparing David to other faltering figures—in the Bible or today—that the comparison falls flat. This point is stressed by the very Jewish tradition in whose name Prager claimed to speak.
It is the rabbis who note that David’s predecessor, Saul, lost the kingship when he failed to fulfill God’s command to destroy the egregiously evil nation of Amalek, whereas David commits more severe sins and yet remains king. The answer, the rabbis suggest, lies not in the sin itself but in the response. Saul, when confronted by the prophet Samuel, offers obfuscations and defensiveness. David, meanwhile, is similarly confronted by the prophet Nathan: “Thou hast killed Uriah the Hittite with the sword, and hast taken his wife to be thy wife, and hast slain him with the sword of the children of Ammon.” David’s immediate response is clear and complete contrition: “I have sinned against the Lord.” David’s penitence, Jewish tradition suggests, sets him apart from Saul. Soon after, David gave voice to what was in his heart at the moment, and gave the world one of the most stirring of the Psalms:
Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.
. . . Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation: and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness.
O Lord, open thou my lips; and my mouth shall shew forth thy praise.
For thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it: thou delightest not in burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.
The tendency to link David to our current age lies in the fact that we know more about David than any other biblical figure. The author Thomas Cahill has noted that in a certain literary sense, David is the only biblical figure that is like us at all. Prior to the humanist autobiographies of the Renaissance, he notes, “we can count only a few isolated instances of this use of ‘I’ to mean the interior self. But David’s psalms are full of I’s.” In David’s Psalms, Cahill writes, we “find a unique early roadmap to the inner spirit—previously mute—of ancient humanity.”
At the same time, a study of the Book of Samuel and of the Psalms reveals how utterly incomparable David is to anyone alive today. Haym Soloveitchik has noted that even the most observant of Jews today fail to feel a constant intimacy with God that the simplest Jew of the premodern age might have felt, that “while there are always those whose spirituality is one apart from that of their time, nevertheless I think it safe to say that the perception of God as a daily, natural force is no longer present to a significant degree in any sector of modern Jewry, even the most religious.” Yet for David, such intimacy with the divine was central to his existence, and the Book of Samuel and the Psalms are an eternal testament to this fact. This is why simple comparisons between David and ourselves, as tempting as they are, must be resisted. David Wolpe, in his book about David, attempts to make the case as to why King David’s life speaks to us today: “So versatile and enduring is David in our culture that rare is the week that passes without some public allusion to his life…We need to understand David better because we use his life to comprehend our own.”
The truth may be the opposite. We need to understand David better because we can use his life to comprehend what we are missing, and how utterly unlike our lives are to his own. For even the most religious among us have lost the profound faith and intimacy with God that David had. It is therefore incorrect to assume that because of David’s flaws it would have been, as Amos Oz has written, “fitting for him to reign in Tel Aviv.” The modern State of Israel was blessed with brilliant leaders, but to which of its modern warriors or statesmen should David be compared? To Ben Gurion, who stripped any explicit invocation of the Divine from Israel’s Declaration of Independence? To Moshe Dayan, who oversaw the reconquest of Jerusalem, and then immediately handed back the Temple Mount, the locus of King David’s dreams and desires, to the administration of the enemies of Israel? David’s complex humanity inspires comparison to modern figures, but his faith, contrition, and repentance—which lie at the heart of his story and success—defy any such engagement.
And so, to those who seek comparisons to modern leaders from the Bible, the best rule may be: Leave King David out of it.
Three attacks in Britain highlight the West’s inability to see the threat clearly
This lack of seriousness manifests itself in several ways. It’s perhaps most obvious in the failure to reform Britain’s chaotic immigration and dysfunctional asylum systems. But it’s also abundantly clear from the grotesque underfunding and under-resourcing of domestic intelligence. In MI5, Britain has an internal security service that is simply too small to do its job effectively, even if it were not handicapped by an institutional culture that can seem willfully blind to the ideological roots of the current terrorism problem.
In 2009, Jonathan Evans, then head of MI5, confessed at a parliamentary hearing about the London bus and subway attacks of 2005 that his organization only had sufficient resources to “hit the crocodiles close to the boat.” It was an extraordinary metaphor to use, not least because of the impression of relative impotence that it conveys. MI5 had by then doubled in size since 2001, but it still boasted a staff of only 3,500. Today it’s said to employ between 4,000 and 5,000, an astonishingly, even laughably, small number given a UK population of 65 million and the scale of the security challenges Britain now faces. (To be fair, the major British police forces all have intelligence units devoted to terrorism, and the UK government’s overall counterterrorism strategy involves a great many people, including social workers and schoolteachers.)
You can also see that unseriousness at work in the abject failure to coerce Britain’s often remarkably sedentary police officers out of their cars and stations and back onto the streets. Most of Britain’s big-city police forces have adopted a reactive model of policing (consciously rejecting both the New York Compstat model and British “bobby on the beat” traditions) that cripples intelligence-gathering and frustrates good community relations.
If that weren’t bad enough, Britain’s judiciary is led by jurists who came of age in the 1960s, and who have been inclined since 2001 to treat terrorism as an ordinary criminal problem being exploited by malign officials and politicians to make assaults on individual rights and to take part in “illegal” foreign wars. It has long been almost impossible to extradite ISIS or al-Qaeda–linked Islamists from the UK. This is partly because today’s English judges believe that few if any foreign countries—apart from perhaps Sweden and Norway—are likely to give terrorist suspects a fair trial, or able to guarantee that such suspects will be spared torture and abuse.
We have a progressive metropolitan media elite whose primary, reflexive response to every terrorist attack, even before the blood on the pavement is dry, is to express worry about an imminent violent anti-Muslim “backlash” on the part of a presumptively bigoted and ignorant indigenous working class. Never mind that no such “backlash” has yet occurred, not even when the young off-duty soldier Lee Rigby was hacked to death in broad daylight on a South London street in 2013.
Another sign of this lack of seriousness is the choice by successive British governments to deal with the problem of internal terrorism with marketing and “branding.” You can see this in the catchy consultant-created acronyms and pseudo-strategies that are deployed in place of considered thought and action. After every atrocity, the prime minister calls a meeting of the COBRA unit—an acronym that merely stands for Cabinet Office Briefing Room A but sounds like a secret organization of government superheroes. The government’s counterterrorism strategy is called CONTEST, which has four “work streams”: “Prevent,” “Pursue,” “Protect,” and “Prepare.”
Perhaps the ultimate sign of unseriousness is the fact that police, politicians, and government officials have all displayed more fear of being seen as “Islamophobic” than of any carnage that actual terror attacks might cause. Few are aware that this short-term, cowardly, and trivial tendency may ultimately foment genuine, dangerous popular Islamophobia, especially if attacks continue.R
ecently, three murderous Islamist terror attacks in the UK took place in less than a month. The first and third were relatively primitive improvised attacks using vehicles and/or knives. The second was a suicide bombing that probably required relatively sophisticated planning, technological know-how, and the assistance of a terrorist infrastructure. As they were the first such attacks in the UK, the vehicle and knife killings came as a particular shock to the British press, public, and political class, despite the fact that non-explosive and non-firearm terror attacks have become common in Europe and are almost routine in Israel.
The success of all three plots indicates troubling problems in British law-enforcement practice and culture, quite apart from any other failings on the parts of the state in charge of intelligence, border control, and the prevention of radicalization. At the time of writing, the British media have been full of encomia to police courage and skill, not least because it took “only” eight minutes for an armed Metropolitan Police team to respond to and confront the bloody mayhem being wrought by the three Islamist terrorists (who had ploughed their rented van into people on London Bridge before jumping out to attack passersby with knives). But the difficult truth is that all three attacks would be much harder to pull off in Manhattan, not just because all NYPD cops are armed, but also because there are always police officers visibly on patrol at the New York equivalents of London’s Borough Market on a Saturday night. By contrast, London’s Metropolitan police is a largely vehicle-borne, reactive force; rather than use a physical presence to deter crime and terrorism, it chooses to monitor closed-circuit street cameras and social-media postings.
Since the attacks in London and Manchester, we have learned that several of the perpetrators were “known” to the police and security agencies that are tasked with monitoring potential terror threats. That these individuals were nevertheless able to carry out their atrocities is evidence that the monitoring regime is insufficient.
It also seems clear that there were failures on the part of those institutions that come under the leadership of the Home Office and are supposed to be in charge of the UK’s border, migration, and asylum systems. Journalists and think tanks like Policy Exchange and Migration Watch have for years pointed out that these systems are “unfit for purpose,” but successive governments have done little to take responsible control of Britain’s borders. When she was home secretary, Prime Minister Theresa May did little more than jazz up the name, logo, and uniforms of what is now called the “Border Force,” and she notably failed to put in place long-promised passport checks for people flying out of the country. This dereliction means that it is impossible for the British authorities to know who has overstayed a visa or whether individuals who have been denied asylum have actually left the country.
It seems astonishing that Youssef Zaghba, one of the three London Bridge attackers, was allowed back into the country. The Moroccan-born Italian citizen (his mother is Italian) had been arrested by Italian police in Bologna, apparently on his way to Syria via Istanbul to join ISIS. When questioned by the Italians about the ISIS decapitation videos on his mobile phone, he declared that he was “going to be a terrorist.” The Italians lacked sufficient evidence to charge him with a crime but put him under 24-hour surveillance, and when he traveled to London, they passed on information about him to MI5. Nevertheless, he was not stopped or questioned on arrival and had not become one of the 3,000 official terrorism “subjects of interest” for MI5 or the police when he carried out his attack. One reason Zaghba was not questioned on arrival may have been that he used one of the new self-service passport machines installed in UK airports in place of human staff after May’s cuts to the border force. Apparently, the machines are not yet linked to any government watch lists, thanks to the general chaos and ineptitude of the Home Office’s efforts to use information technology.
The presence in the country of Zaghba’s accomplice Rachid Redouane is also an indictment of the incompetence and disorganization of the UK’s border and migration authorities. He had been refused asylum in 2009, but as is so often the case, Britain’s Home Office never got around to removing him. Three years later, he married a British woman and was therefore able to stay in the UK.
But it is the failure of the authorities to monitor ringleader Khuram Butt that is the most baffling. He was a known and open associate of Anjem Choudary, Britain’s most notorious terrorist supporter, ideologue, and recruiter (he was finally imprisoned in 2016 after 15 years of campaigning on behalf of al-Qaeda and ISIS). Butt even appeared in a 2016 TV documentary about ISIS supporters called The Jihadist Next Door. In the same year, he assaulted a moderate imam at a public festival, after calling him a “murtad” or apostate. The imam reported the incident to the police—who took six months to track him down and then let him off with a caution. It is not clear if Butt was one of the 3,000 “subjects of interest” or the additional 20,000 former subjects of interest who continue to be the subject of limited monitoring. If he was not, it raises the question of what a person has to do to get British security services to take him seriously as a terrorist threat; if he was in fact on the list of “subjects of interest,” one has to wonder if being so designated is any barrier at all to carrying out terrorist atrocities. It’s worth remembering, as few do here in the UK, that terrorists who carried out previous attacks were also known to the police and security services and nevertheless enjoyed sufficient liberty to go at it again.B
ut the most important reason for the British state’s ineffectiveness in monitoring terror threats, which May addressed immediately after the London Bridge attack, is a deeply rooted institutional refusal to deal with or accept the key role played by Islamist ideology. For more than 15 years, the security services and police have chosen to take note only of people and bodies that explicitly espouse terrorist violence or have contacts with known terrorist groups. The fact that a person, school, imam, or mosque endorses the establishment of a caliphate, the stoning of adulterers, or the murder of apostates has not been considered a reason to monitor them.
This seems to be why Salman Abedi, the Manchester Arena suicide bomber, was not being watched by the authorities as a terror risk, even though he had punched a girl in the face for wearing a short skirt while at university, had attended the Muslim Brotherhood-controlled Didsbury Mosque, was the son of a Libyan man whose militia is banned in the UK, had himself fought against the Qaddafi regime in Libya, had adopted the Islamist clothing style (trousers worn above the ankle, beard but no moustache), was part of a druggy gang subculture that often feeds individuals into Islamist terrorism, and had been banned from a mosque after confronting an imam who had criticized ISIS.
It was telling that the day after the Manchester Arena suicide-bomb attack, you could hear security officials informing radio and TV audiences of the BBC’s flagship morning-radio news show that it’s almost impossible to predict and stop such attacks because the perpetrators “don’t care who they kill.” They just want to kill as many people as possible, he said.
Surely, anyone with even a basic familiarity with Islamist terror attacks over the last 15 or so years and a nodding acquaintance with Islamist ideology could see that the terrorist hadn’t just chosen the Ariana Grande concert in Manchester Arena because a lot of random people would be crowded into a conveniently small area. Since the Bali bombings of 2002, nightclubs, discotheques, and pop concerts attended by shameless unveiled women and girls have been routinely targeted by fundamentalist terrorists, including in Britain. Among the worrying things about the opinion offered on the radio show was that it suggests that even in the wake of the horrific Bataclan attack in Paris during a November 2015 concert, British authorities may not have been keeping an appropriately protective eye on music venues and other places where our young people hang out in their decadent Western way. Such dereliction would make perfect sense given the resistance on the part of the British security establishment to examining, confronting, or extrapolating from Islamist ideology.
The same phenomenon may explain why authorities did not follow up on community complaints about Abedi. All too often when people living in Britain’s many and diverse Muslim communities want to report suspicious behavior, they have to do so through offices and organizations set up and paid for by the authorities as part of the overall “Prevent” strategy. Although criticized by the left as “Islamophobic” and inherently stigmatizing, Prevent has often brought the government into cooperative relationships with organizations even further to the Islamic right than the Muslim Brotherhood. This means that if you are a relatively secular Libyan émigré who wants to report an Abedi and you go to your local police station, you are likely to find yourself speaking to a bearded Islamist.
From its outset in 2003, the Prevent strategy was flawed. Its practitioners, in their zeal to find and fund key allies in “the Muslim community” (as if there were just one), routinely made alliances with self-appointed community leaders who represented the most extreme and intolerant tendencies in British Islam. Both the Home Office and MI5 seemed to believe that only radical Muslims were “authentic” and would therefore be able to influence young potential terrorists. Moderate, modern, liberal Muslims who are arguably more representative of British Islam as a whole (not to mention sundry Shiites, Sufis, Ahmmadis, and Ismailis) have too often found it hard to get a hearing.
Sunni organizations that openly supported suicide-bomb attacks in Israel and India and that justified attacks on British troops in Iraq and Afghanistan nevertheless received government subsidies as part of Prevent. The hope was that in return, they would alert the authorities if they knew of individuals planning attacks in the UK itself.
It was a gamble reminiscent of British colonial practice in India’s northwest frontier and elsewhere. Not only were there financial inducements in return for grudging cooperation; the British state offered other, symbolically powerful concessions. These included turning a blind eye to certain crimes and antisocial practices such as female genital mutilation (there have been no successful prosecutions relating to the practice, though thousands of cases are reported every year), forced marriage, child marriage, polygamy, the mass removal of girls from school soon after they reach puberty, and the epidemic of racially and religiously motivated “grooming” rapes in cities like Rotherham. (At the same time, foreign jihadists—including men wanted for crimes in Algeria and France—were allowed to remain in the UK as long as their plots did not include British targets.)
This approach, simultaneously cynical and naive, was never as successful as its proponents hoped. Again and again, Muslim chaplains who were approved to work in prisons and other institutions have sometimes turned out to be Islamist extremists whose words have inspired inmates to join terrorist organizations.
Much to his credit, former Prime Minister David Cameron fought hard to change this approach, even though it meant difficult confrontations with his home secretary (Theresa May), as well as police and the intelligence agencies. However, Cameron’s efforts had little effect on the permanent personnel carrying out the Prevent strategy, and cooperation with Islamist but currently nonviolent organizations remains the default setting within the institutions on which the United Kingdom depends for security.
The failure to understand the role of ideology is one of imagination as well as education. Very few of those who make government policy or write about home-grown terrorism seem able to escape the limitations of what used to be called “bourgeois” experience. They assume that anyone willing to become an Islamist terrorist must perforce be materially deprived, or traumatized by the experience of prejudice, or provoked to murderous fury by oppression abroad. They have no sense of the emotional and psychic benefits of joining a secret terror outfit: the excitement and glamor of becoming a kind of Islamic James Bond, bravely defying the forces of an entire modern state. They don’t get how satisfying or empowering the vengeful misogyny of ISIS-style fundamentalism might seem for geeky, frustrated young men. Nor can they appreciate the appeal to the adolescent mind of apocalyptic fantasies of power and sacrifice (mainstream British society does not have much room for warrior dreams, given that its tone is set by liberal pacifists). Finally, they have no sense of why the discipline and self-discipline of fundamentalist Islam might appeal so strongly to incarcerated lumpen youth who have never experienced boundaries or real belonging. Their understanding is an understanding only of themselves, not of the people who want to kill them.
Review of 'White Working Class' By Joan C. Williams
Williams is a prominent feminist legal scholar with degrees from Yale, MIT, and Harvard. Unbending Gender, her best-known book, is the sort of tract you’d expect to find at an intersectionality conference or a Portlandia bookstore. This is why her insightful, empathic book comes as such a surprise.
Books and essays on the topic have accumulated into a highly visible genre since Donald Trump came on the American political scene; J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy planted itself at the top of bestseller lists almost a year ago and still isn’t budging. As with Vance, Williams’s interest in the topic is personal. She fell “madly in love with” and eventually married a Harvard Law School graduate who had grown up in an Italian neighborhood in pre-gentrification Brook-lyn. Williams, on the other hand, is a “silver-spoon girl.” Her father’s family was moneyed, and her maternal grandfather was a prominent Reform rabbi.
The author’s affection for her “class-migrant” spouse and respect for his family’s hardships—“My father-in-law grew up on blood soup,” she announces in her opening sentence—adds considerable warmth to what is at bottom a political pamphlet. Williams believes that elite condescension and “cluelessness” played a big role in Trump’s unexpected and dreaded victory. Enlightening her fellow elites is essential to the task of returning Trump voters to the progressive fold where, she is sure, they rightfully belong.
Liberals were not always so dense about the working class, Williams observes. WPA murals and movies like On the Waterfront showed genuine fellow feeling for the proletariat. In the 1970s, however, the liberal mood changed. Educated boomers shifted their attention to “issues of peace, equal rights, and environmentalism.” Instead of feeling the pain of Arthur Miller and John Steinbeck characters, they began sneering at the less enlightened. These days, she notes, elite sympathies are limited to the poor, people of color (POC), and the LGBTQ population. Despite clear evidence of suffering—stagnant wages, disappearing manufacturing jobs, declining health and well-being—the working class gets only fly-over snobbery at best and, more often, outright loathing.
Williams divides her chapters into a series of explainers to questions she has heard from her clueless friends and colleagues: “Why Does the Working Class Resent the Poor?” “Why Does the Working Class Resent Professionals but Admire the Rich?” “Why Doesn’t the Working Class Just Move to Where the Jobs Are?” “Is the Working Class Just Racist?” She weaves her answers into a compelling picture of a way of life and worldview foreign to her targeted readers. Working-class Americans have had to struggle for whatever stability and comfort they have, she explains. Clocking in for midnight shifts year after year, enduring capricious bosses, plant closures, and layoffs, they’re reliant on tag-team parenting and stressed-out relatives for child care. The campus go-to word “privileged” seems exactly wrong.
Proud of their own self-sufficiency and success, however modest, they don’t begrudge the self-made rich. It’s snooty professionals and the dysfunctional poor who get their goat. From their vantage point, subsidizing the day care for a welfare mother when they themselves struggle to manage care on their own dime mocks both their hard work and their beliefs. And since, unlike most professors, they shop in the same stores as the dependent poor, they’ve seen that some of them game the system. Of course that stings.
White Working Class is especially good at evoking the alternate economic and mental universe experienced by Professional and Managerial Elites, or “PMEs.” PMEs see their non-judgment of the poor, especially those who are “POC,” as a mark of their mature understanding that we live in an unjust, racist system whose victims require compassion regardless of whether they have committed any crime. At any rate, their passions lie elsewhere. They define themselves through their jobs and professional achievements, hence their obsession with glass ceilings.
Williams tells the story of her husband’s faux pas at a high-school reunion. Forgetting his roots for a moment, the Ivy League–educated lawyer asked one of his Brooklyn classmates a question that is the go-to opener in elite social settings: “What do you do?” Angered by what must have seemed like deliberate humiliation by this prodigal son, the man hissed: “I sell toilets.”
Instead of stability and backyard barbecues with family and long-time neighbors and maybe the occasional Olive Garden celebration, PMEs are enamored of novelty: new foods, new restaurants, new friends, new experiences. The working class chooses to spend its leisure in comfortable familiarity; for the elite, social life is a lot like networking. Members of the professional class may view themselves as sophisticated or cosmopolitan, but, Williams shows, to the blue-collar worker their glad-handing is closer to phony social climbing and their abstract, knowledge-economy jobs more like self-important pencil-pushing.
White Working Class has a number of proposals for creating the progressive future Williams would like to see. She wants to get rid of college-for-all dogma and improve training for middle-skill jobs. She envisions a working-class coalition of all races and ethnicities bolstered by civics education with a “distinctly celebratory view of American institutions.” In a saner political environment, some of this would make sense; indeed, she echoes some of Marco Rubio’s 2016 campaign themes. It’s little wonder White Working Class has already gotten the stink eye from liberal reviewers for its purported sympathies for racists.
Alas, impressive as Williams’s insights are, they do not always allow her to transcend her own class loyalties. Unsurprisingly, her own PME biases mostly come to light in her chapters on race and gender. She reduces immigration concerns to “fear of brown people,” even as she notes elsewhere that a quarter of Latinos also favor a wall at the southern border. This contrasts startlingly with her succinct observation that “if you don’t want to drive working-class whites to be attracted to the likes of Limbaugh, stop insulting them.” In one particularly obtuse moment, she asserts: “Because I study social inequality, I know that even Malia and Sasha Obama will be disadvantaged by race, advantaged as they are by class.” She relies on dubious gender theories to explain why the majority of white women voted for Trump rather than for his unfairly maligned opponent. That Hillary Clinton epitomized every elite quality Williams has just spent more than a hundred pages explicating escapes her notice. Williams’s own reflexive retreat into identity politics is itself emblematic of our toxic divisions, but it does not invalidate the power of this astute book.
When music could not transcend evil
he story of European classical music under the Third Reich is one of the most squalid chapters in the annals of Western culture, a chronicle of collective complaisance that all but beggars belief. Without exception, all of the well-known musicians who left Germany and Austria in protest when Hitler came to power in 1933 were either Jewish or, like the violinist Adolf Busch, Rudolf Serkin’s father-in-law, had close family ties to Jews. Moreover, most of the small number of non-Jewish musicians who emigrated later on, such as Paul Hindemith and Lotte Lehmann, are now known to have done so not out of principle but because they were unable to make satisfactory accommodations with the Nazis. Everyone else—including Karl Böhm, Wilhelm Furtwängler, Walter Gieseking, Herbert von Karajan, and Richard Strauss—stayed behind and served the Reich.
The Berlin and Vienna Philharmonics, then as now Europe’s two greatest orchestras, were just as willing to do business with Hitler and his henchmen, firing their Jewish members and ceasing to perform the music of Jewish composers. Even after the war, the Vienna Philharmonic was notorious for being the most anti-Semitic orchestra in Europe, and it was well known in the music business (though never publicly discussed) that Helmut Wobisch, the orchestra’s principal trumpeter and its executive director from 1953 to 1968, had been both a member of the SS and a Gestapo spy.
The management of the Berlin Philharmonic made no attempt to cover up the orchestra’s close relationship with the Third Reich, no doubt because the Nazi ties of Karajan, who was its music director from 1956 until shortly before his death in 1989, were a matter of public record. Yet it was not until 2007 that a full-length study of its wartime activities, Misha Aster’s The Reich’s Orchestra: The Berlin Philharmonic 1933–1945, was finally published. As for the Vienna Philharmonic, its managers long sought to quash all discussion of the orchestra’s Nazi past, steadfastly refusing to open its institutional archives to scholars until 2008, when Fritz Trümpi, an Austrian scholar, was given access to its records. Five years later, the Viennese, belatedly following the precedent of the Berlin Philharmonic, added a lengthy section to their website called “The Vienna Philharmonic Under National Socialism (1938–1945),” in which the damning findings of Trümpi and two other independent scholars were made available to the public.
Now Trümpi has published The Political Orchestra: The Vienna and Berlin Philharmonics During the Third Reich, in which he tells how they came to terms with Nazism, supplying pre- and postwar historical context for their transgressions.1 Written in a stiff mixture of academic jargon and translatorese, The Political Orchestra is ungratifying to read. Even so, the tale that it tells is both compelling and disturbing, especially to anyone who clings to the belief that high art is ennobling to the spirit.U
nlike the Vienna Philharmonic, which has always doubled as the pit orchestra for the Vienna State Opera, the Berlin Philharmonic started life in 1882 as a fully independent, self-governing entity. Initially unsubsidized by the state, it kept itself afloat by playing a grueling schedule of performances, including “popular” non-subscription concerts for which modest ticket prices were levied. In addition, the orchestra made records and toured internationally at a time when neither was common.
These activities made it possible for the Berlin Philharmonic to develop into an internationally renowned ensemble whose fabled collective virtuosity was widely seen as a symbol of German musical distinction. Furtwängler, the orchestra’s principal conductor, declared in 1932 that the German music in which it specialized was “one of the very few things that actually contribute to elevating [German] prestige.” Hence, he explained, the need for state subsidy, which he saw as “a matter of [national] prestige, that is, to some extent a requirement of national prudence.” By then, though, the orchestra was already heavily subsidized by the city of Berlin, thus paving the way for its takeover by the Nazis.
The Vienna Philharmonic, by contrast, had always been subsidized. Founded in 1842 when the orchestra of what was then the Vienna Court Opera decided to give symphonic concerts on its own, it performed the Austro-German classics for an elite cadre of longtime subscribers. By restricting membership to local players and their pupils, the orchestra cultivated what Furtwängler, who spent as much time conducting in Vienna as in Berlin, described as a “homogeneous and distinct tone quality.” At once dark and sweet, it was as instantly identifiable—and as characteristically Viennese—as the strong, spicy bouquet of a Gewürztraminer wine.
Unlike the Berlin Philharmonic, which played for whoever would pay the tab and programmed new music as a matter of policy, the Vienna Philharmonic chose not to diversify either its haute-bourgeois audience or its conservative repertoire. Instead, it played Beethoven, Brahms, Haydn, Mozart, and Schubert (and, later, Bruckner and Richard Strauss) in Vienna for the Viennese. Starting in the ’20s, the orchestra’s recordings consolidated its reputation as one of the world’s foremost instrumental ensembles, but its internal culture remained proudly insular.
What the two orchestras had in common was a nationalistic ethos, a belief in the superiority of Austro-German musical culture that approached triumphalism. One of the darkest manifestations of this ethos was their shared reluctance to hire Jews. The Berlin Philharmonic employed only four Jewish players in 1933, while the Vienna Philharmonic contained only 11 Jews at the time of the Anschluss, none of whom was hired after 1920. To be sure, such popular Jewish conductors as Otto Klemperer and Bruno Walter continued to work in Vienna for as long as they could. Two months before the Anschluss, Walter led and recorded a performance of the Ninth Symphony of Gustav Mahler, his musical mentor and fellow Jew, who from 1897 to 1907 had been the director of the Vienna Court Opera and one of the Philharmonic’s most admired conductors. But many members of both orchestras were open supporters of fascism, and not a few were anti-Semites who ardently backed Hitler. By 1942, 62 of the 123 active members of the Vienna Philharmonic were Nazi party members.
The admiration that Austro-German classical musicians had for Hitler is not entirely surprising since he was a well-informed music lover who declared in 1938 that “Germany has become the guardian of European culture and civilization.” He made the support of German art, music very much included, a key part of his political program. Accordingly, the Berlin Philharmonic was placed under the direct supervision of Joseph Goebbels, who ensured the cooperation of its members by repeatedly raising their salaries, exempting them from military service, and guaranteeing their old-age pensions. But there had never been any serious question of protest, any more than there would be among the members of the Vienna Philharmonic when the Nazis gobbled up Austria. Save for the Jews and one or two non-Jewish players who were fired for reasons of internal politics, the musicians went along unhesitatingly with Hitler’s desires.
With what did they go along? Above all, they agreed to the scrubbing of Jewish music from their programs and the dismissal of their Jewish colleagues. Some Jewish players managed to escape with their lives, but seven of the Vienna Philharmonic’s 11 Jews were either murdered by the Nazis or died as a direct result of official persecution. In addition, both orchestras performed regularly at official government functions and made tours and other public appearances for propaganda purposes, and both were treated as gems in the diadem of Nazi culture.
As for Furtwängler, the most prominent of the Austro-German orchestral conductors who served the Reich, his relationship to Nazism continues to be debated to this day. He had initially resisted the firing of the Berlin Philharmonic’s Jewish members and protected them for as long as he could. But he was also a committed (if woolly-minded) nationalist who believed that German music had “a different meaning for us Germans than for other nations” and notoriously declared in an open letter to Goebbels that “we all welcome with great joy and gratitude . . . the restoration of our national honor.” Thereafter he cooperated with the Nazis, by all accounts uncomfortably but—it must be said—willingly. A monster of egotism, he saw himself as the greatest living exponent of German music and believed it to be his duty to stay behind and serve a cause higher than what he took to be mere party politics. “Human beings are free wherever Wagner and Beethoven are played, and if they are not free at first, they are freed while listening to these works,” he naively assured a horrified Arturo Toscanini in 1937. “Music transports them to regions where the Gestapo can do them no harm.”O
nce the war was over, the U.S. occupation forces decided to enlist the Berlin Philharmonic in the service of a democratic, anti-Soviet Germany. Furtwängler and Herbert von Karajan, who succeeded him as principal conductor, were officially “de-Nazified” and their orchestra allowed to function largely undisturbed, though six Nazi Party members were fired. The Vienna Philharmonic received similarly privileged treatment.
Needless to say, there was more to this decision than Cold War politics. No one questioned the unique artistic stature of either orchestra. Moreover, the Vienna Philharmonic, precisely because of its insularity, was now seen as a living museum piece, a priceless repository of 19th-century musical tradition. Still, many musicians and listeners, Jews above all, looked askance at both orchestras for years to come, believing them to be tainted by Nazism.
Indeed they were, so much so that they treated many of their surviving Jewish ex-members in a way that can only be described as vicious. In the most blatant individual case, the violinist Szymon Goldberg, who had served as the Berlin Philharmonic’s concertmaster under Furtwängler, was not allowed to reassume his post in 1945 and was subsequently denied a pension. As for the Vienna Philharmonic, the fact that it made Helmut Wobisch its executive director says everything about its deep-seated unwillingness to face up to its collective sins.
Be that as it may, scarcely any prominent musicians chose to boycott either orchestra. Leonard Bernstein went so far as to affect a flippant attitude toward the morally equivocal conduct of the Austro-German artists whom he encountered in Europe after the war. Upon meeting Herbert von Karajan in 1954, he actually told his wife Felicia that he had become “real good friends with von Karajan, whom you would (and will) adore. My first Nazi.”
At the same time, though, Bernstein understood what he was choosing to overlook. When he conducted the Vienna Philharmonic for the first time in 1966, he wrote to his parents:
I am enjoying Vienna enormously—as much as a Jew can. There are so many sad memories here; one deals with so many ex-Nazis (and maybe still Nazis); and you never know if the public that is screaming bravo for you might contain someone who 25 years ago might have shot me dead. But it’s better to forgive, and if possible, forget. The city is so beautiful, and so full of tradition. Everyone here lives for music, especially opera, and I seem to be the new hero.
Did Bernstein sell his soul for the opportunity to work with so justly renowned an orchestra—and did he get his price by insisting that its members perform the symphonies of Mahler, with which he was by then closely identified? It is a fair question, one that does not lend itself to easy answers.
Even more revealing is the case of Bruno Walter, who never forgave Furtwängler for staying behind in Germany, informing him in an angry letter that “your art was used as a conspicuously effective means of propaganda for the regime of the Devil.” Yet Walter’s righteous anger did not stop him from conducting in Vienna after the war. Born in Berlin, he had come to identify with the Philharmonic so closely that it was impossible for him to seriously consider quitting its podium permanently. “Spiritually, I was a Viennese,” he wrote in Theme and Variations, his 1946 autobiography. In 1952, he made a second recording with the Vienna Philharmonic of Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde, whose premiere he had conducted in 1911 and which he had recorded in Vienna 15 years earlier. One wonders what Walter, who had converted to Christianity but had been driven out of both his native lands for the crime of being Jewish, made of the text of the last movement: “My friend, / On this earth, fortune has not been kind to me! / Where do I go?”
As for the two great orchestras of the Third Reich, both have finally acknowledged their guilt and been forgiven, at least by those who know little of their past. It would occur to no one to decline on principle to perform with either group today. Such a gesture would surely be condemned as morally ostentatious, an exercise in what we now call virtue-signaling. Yet it is impossible to forget what Samuel Lipman wrote in 1993 in Commentary apropos the wartime conduct of Furtwängler: “The ultimate triumph of totalitarianism, I suppose it can be said, is that under its sway only a martyred death can be truly moral.” For the only martyrs of the Berlin and Vienna Philharmonics were their Jews. The orchestras themselves live on, tainted and beloved.
He knows what to reveal and what to conceal, understands the importance of keeping the semblance of distance between oneself and the story of the day, and comprehends the ins and outs of anonymous sourcing. Within days of his being fired by President Trump on May 9, for example, little green men and women, known only as his “associates,” began appearing in the pages of the New York Times and Washington Post to dispute key points of the president’s account of his dismissal and to promote Comey’s theory of the case.
“In a Private Dinner, Trump Demanded Loyalty,” the New York Times reported on May 11. “Comey Demurred.” The story was a straightforward narrative of events from Comey’s perspective, capped with an obligatory denial from the White House. The next day, the Washington Post reported, “Comey associates dispute Trump’s account of conversations.” The Post did not identify Comey’s associates, other than saying that they were “people who have worked with him.”
Maybe they were the same associates who had gabbed to the Times. Or maybe they were different ones. Who can tell? Regardless, the story these particular associates gave to the Post was readable and gripping. Comey, the Post reported, “was wary of private meetings and discussions with the president and did not offer the assurance, as Trump has claimed, that Trump was not under investigation as part of the probe into Russian interference in last year’s election.”
On May 16, Michael S. Schmidt of the Times published his scoop, “Comey Memo Says Trump Asked Him to End Flynn Investigation.” Schmidt didn’t see the memo for himself. Parts of it were read to him by—you guessed it—“one of Mr. Comey’s associates.” The following day, Robert Mueller was appointed special counsel to oversee the Russia investigation. On May 18, the Times, citing “two people briefed” on a call between Comey and the president, reported, “Comey, Unsettled by Trump, Is Said to Have Wanted Him Kept at a Distance.” And by the end of that week, Comey had agreed to testify before the Senate Intelligence Committee.
As his testimony approached, Comey’s people became more aggressive in their criticisms of the president. “Trump Should Be Scared, Comey Friend Says,” read the headline of a CNN interview with Brookings Institution fellow Benjamin Wittes. This “Comey friend” said he was “very shocked” when he learned that President Trump had asked Comey for loyalty. “I have no doubt that he regarded the group of people around the president as dishonorable,” Wittes said.
Comey, Wittes added, was so uncomfortable at the White House reception in January honoring law enforcement—the one where Comey lumbered across the room and Trump whispered something in his ear—that, as CNN paraphrased it, he “stood in a position so that his blue blazer would blend in with the room’s blue drapes in an effort for Trump to not notice him.” The integrity, the courage—can you feel it?
On June 6, the day before Comey’s prepared testimony was released, more “associates” told ABC that the director would “not corroborate Trump’s claim that on three separate occasions Comey told the president he was not under investigation.” And a “source with knowledge of Comey’s testimony” told CNN the same thing. In addition, ABC reported that, according to “a source familiar with Comey’s thinking,” the former director would say that Trump’s actions stopped short of obstruction of justice.
Maybe those sources weren’t as “familiar with Comey’s thinking” as they thought or hoped? To maximize the press coverage he already dominated, Comey had authorized the Senate Intelligence Committee to release his testimony ahead of his personal interview. That testimony told a different story than what had been reported by CNN and ABC (and by the Post on May 12). Comey had in fact told Trump the president was not under investigation—on January 6, January 27, and March 30. Moreover, the word “obstruction” did not appear at all in his written text. The senators asked Comey if he felt Trump obstructed justice. He declined to answer either way.
My guess is that Comey’s associates lacked Comey’s scalpel-like, almost Jesuitical ability to make distinctions, and therefore misunderstood what he was telling them to say to the press. Because it’s obvious Comey was the one behind the stories of Trump’s dishonesty and bad behavior. He admitted as much in front of the cameras in a remarkable exchange with Senator Susan Collins of Maine.
Comey said that, after Trump tweeted on May 12 that he’d better hope there aren’t “tapes” of their conversations, “I asked a friend of mine to share the content of the memo with a reporter. Didn’t do it myself, for a variety of reasons. But I asked him to, because I thought that might prompt the appointment of a special counsel. And so I asked a close friend of mine to do it.”
Collins asked whether that friend had been Wittes, known to cable news junkies as Comey’s bestie. Comey said no. The source for the New York Times article was “a good friend of mine who’s a professor at Columbia Law School,” Daniel Richman.
Every time I watch or read that exchange, I am amazed. Here is the former director of the FBI just flat-out admitting that, for months, he wrote down every interaction he had with the president of the United States because he wanted a written record in case the president ever fired or lied about him. And when the president did fire and lie about him, that director set in motion a series of public disclosures with the intent of not only embarrassing the president, but also forcing the appointment of a special counsel who might end up investigating the president for who knows what. And none of this would have happened if the president had not fired Comey or tweeted about him. He told the Senate that if Trump hadn’t dismissed him, he most likely would still be on the job.
Rarely, in my view, are high officials so transparent in describing how Washington works. Comey revealed to the world that he was keeping a file on his boss, that he used go-betweens to get his story into the press, that “investigative journalism” is often just powerful people handing documents to reporters to further their careers or agendas or even to get revenge. And as long as you maintain some distance from the fallout, and stick to the absolute letter of the law, you will come out on top, so long as you have a small army of nightingales singing to reporters on your behalf.
“It’s the end of the Comey era,” A.B. Stoddard said on Special Report with Bret Baier the other day. On the contrary: I have a feeling that, as the Russia investigation proceeds, we will be hearing much more from Comey. And from his “associates.” And his “friends.” And persons “familiar with his thinking.”
In April, COMMENTARY asked a wide variety of writers,
thinkers, and broadcasters to respond to this question: Is free speech under threat in the United States? We received twenty-seven responses. We publish them here in alphabetical order.
Floyd AbramsFree expression threatened? By Donald Trump? I guess you could say so.
When a president engages in daily denigration of the press, when he characterizes it as the enemy of the people, when he repeatedly says that the libel laws should be “loosened” so he can personally commence more litigation, when he says that journalists shouldn’t be allowed to use confidential sources, it is difficult even to suggest that he has not threatened free speech. And when he says to the head of the FBI (as former FBI director James Comey has said that he did) that Comey should consider “putting reporters in jail for publishing classified information,” it is difficult not to take those threats seriously.
The harder question, though, is this: How real are the threats? Or, as Michael Gerson put it in the Washington Post: Will Trump “go beyond mere Twitter abuse and move against institutions that limit his power?” Some of the president’s threats against the institution of the press, wittingly or not, have been simply preposterous. Surely someone has told him by now that neither he nor Congress can “loosen” libel laws; while each state has its own libel law, there is no federal libel law and thus nothing for him to loosen. What he obviously takes issue with is the impact that the Supreme Court’s 1964 First Amendment opinion in New York Times v. Sullivan has had on state libel laws. The case determined that public officials who sue for libel may not prevail unless they demonstrate that the statements made about them were false and were made with actual knowledge or suspicion of that falsity. So his objection to the rules governing libel law is to nothing less than the application of the First Amendment itself.
In other areas, however, the Trump administration has far more power to imperil free speech. We live under an Espionage Act, adopted a century ago, which is both broad in its language and uncommonly vague in its meaning. As such, it remains a half-open door through which an administration that is hostile to free speech might walk. Such an administration could initiate criminal proceedings against journalists who write about defense- or intelligence-related topics on the basis that classified information was leaked to them by present or former government employees. No such action has ever been commenced against a journalist. Press lawyers and civil-liberties advocates have strong arguments that the law may not be read so broadly and still be consistent with the First Amendment. But the scope of the Espionage Act and the impact of the First Amendment upon its interpretation remain unknown.
A related area in which the attitude of an administration toward the press may affect the latter’s ability to function as a check on government relates to the ability of journalists to protect the identity of their confidential sources. The Obama administration prosecuted more Espionage Act cases against sources of information to journalists than all prior administrations combined. After a good deal of deserved press criticism, it agreed to expand the internal guidelines of the Department of Justice designed to limit the circumstances under which such source revelation is demanded. But the guidelines are none too protective and are, after all, simply guidelines. A new administration is free to change or limit them or, in fact, abandon them altogether. In this area, as in so many others, it is too early to judge the ultimate treatment of free expression by the Trump administration. But the threats are real, and there is good reason to be wary.
Floyd Abrams is the author of The Soul of the First Amendment (Yale University Press, 2017).
Ayaan Hirsi AliFreedom of speech is being threatened in the United States by a nascent culture of hostility to different points of view. As political divisions in America have deepened, a conformist mentality of “right thinking” has spread across the country. Increasingly, American universities, where no intellectual doctrine ought to escape critical scrutiny, are some of the most restrictive domains when it comes to asking open-ended questions on subjects such as Islam.
Legally, speech in the United States is protected to a degree unmatched in almost any industrialized country. The U.S. has avoided unpredictable Canadian-style restrictions on speech, for example. I remain optimistic that as long as we have the First Amendment in the U.S., any attempt at formal legal censorship will be vigorously challenged.
Culturally, however, matters are very different in America. The regressive left is the forerunner threatening free speech on any issue that is important to progressives. The current pressure coming from those who call themselves “social-justice warriors” is unlikely to lead to successful legislation to curb the First Amendment. Instead, censorship is spreading in the cultural realm, particularly at institutions of higher learning.
The way activists of the regressive left achieve silence or censorship is by creating a taboo, and one of the most pernicious taboos in operation today is the word “Islamophobia.” Islamists are similarly motivated to rule any critical scrutiny of Islamic doctrine out of order. There is now a university center (funded by Saudi money) in the U.S. dedicated to monitoring and denouncing incidences of “Islamophobia.”
The term “Islamophobia” is used against critics of political Islam, but also against progressive reformers within Islam. The term implies an irrational fear that is tainted by hatred, and it has had a chilling effect on free speech. In fact, “Islamophobia” is a poorly defined term. Islam is not a race, and it is very often perfectly rational to fear some expressions of Islam. No set of ideas should be beyond critical scrutiny.
To push back in this cultural realm—in our universities, in public discourse—those favoring free speech should focus more on the message of dawa, the set of ideas that the Islamists want to promote. If the aims of dawa are sufficiently exposed, ordinary Americans and Muslim Americans will reject it. The Islamist message is a message of divisiveness, misogyny, and hatred. It’s anachronistic and wants people to live by tribal norms dating from the seventh century. The best antidote to Islamic extremism is the revelation of what its primary objective is: a society governed by Sharia. This is the opposite of censorship: It is documenting reality. What is life like in Saudi Arabia, Iran, the Northern Nigerian States? What is the true nature of Sharia law?
Islamists want to hide the true meaning of Sharia, Jihad, and the implications for women, gays, religious minorities, and infidels under the veil of “Islamophobia.” Islamists use “Islamophobia” to obfuscate their vision and imply that any scrutiny of political Islam is hatred and bigotry. The antidote to this is more exposure and more speech.
As pressure on freedom of speech increases from the regressive left, we must reject the notions that only Muslims can speak about Islam, and that any critical examination of Islamic doctrines is inherently “racist.”
Instead of contorting Western intellectual traditions so as not to offend our Muslim fellow citizens, we need to defend the Muslim dissidents who are risking their lives to promote the human rights we take for granted: equality for women, tolerance of all religions and orientations, our hard-won freedoms of speech and thought.
It is by nurturing and protecting such speech that progressive reforms can emerge within Islam. By accepting the increasingly narrow confines of acceptable discourse on issues such as Islam, we do dissidents and progressive reformers within Islam a grave disservice. For truly progressive reforms within Islam to be possible, full freedom of speech will be required.
Ayaan Hirsi Ali is a research fellow at the Hoover Institution, Stanford University, and the founder of the AHA Foundation.
Lee C. BollingerI know it is too much to expect that political discourse mimic the measured, self-questioning, rational, footnoting standards of the academy, but there is a difference between robust political debate and political debate infected with fear or panic. The latter introduces a state of mind that is visceral and irrational. In the realm of fear, we move beyond the reach of reason and a sense of proportionality. When we fear, we lose the capacity to listen and can become insensitive and mean.
Our Constitution is well aware of this fact about the human mind and of its negative political consequences. In the First Amendment jurisprudence established over the past century, we find many expressions of the problematic state of mind that is produced by fear. Among the most famous and potent is that of Justice Brandeis in Whitney v. California in 1927, one of the many cases involving aggravated fears of subversive threats from abroad. “It is the function of (free) speech,” he said, “to free men from the bondage of irrational fears.” “Men feared witches,” Brandeis continued, “and burned women.”
Today, our “witches” are terrorists, and Brandeis’s metaphorical “women” include the refugees (mostly children) and displaced persons, immigrants, and foreigners whose lives have been thrown into suspension and doubt by policies of exclusion.
The same fears of the foreign that take hold of a population inevitably infect our internal interactions and institutions, yielding suppression of unpopular and dissenting voices, victimization of vulnerable groups, attacks on the media, and the rise of demagoguery, with its disdain for facts, reason, expertise, and tolerance.
All of this poses a very special obligation on those of us within universities. Not only must we make the case in every venue for the values that form the core of who we are and what we do, but we must also live up to our own principles of free inquiry and fearless engagement with all ideas. This is why recent incidents on a handful of college campuses disrupting and effectively censoring speakers is so alarming. Such acts not only betray a basic principle but also inflame a rising prejudice against the academic community, and they feed efforts to delegitimize our work, at the very moment when it’s most needed.
I do not for a second support the view that this generation has an unhealthy aversion to engaging differences of opinion. That is a modern trope of polarization, as is the portrayal of universities as hypocritical about academic freedom and political correctness. But now, in this environment especially, universities must be at the forefront of defending the rights of all students and faculty to listen to controversial voices, to engage disagreeable viewpoints, and to make every effort to demonstrate our commitment to the sort of fearless and spirited debate that we are simultaneously asking of the larger society. Anyone with a voice can shout over a speaker; but being able to listen to and then effectively rebut those with whom we disagree—particularly those who themselves peddle intolerance—is one of the greatest skills our education can bestow. And it is something our democracy desperately needs more of. That is why, I say to you now, if speakers who are being denied access to other campuses come here, I will personally volunteer to introduce them, and listen to them, however much I may disagree with them. But I will also never hesitate to make clear why I disagree with them.
Lee C. Bollinger is the 19th president of Columbia University and the author of Uninhibited, Robust, and Wide-Open: A Free Press for a New Century. This piece has been excerpted from President Bollinger’s May 17 commencement address.
Richard A. Epstein
Today, the greatest threat to the constitutional protection of freedom of speech comes from campus rabble-rousers who invoke this very protection. In their book, the speech of people like Charles Murray and Heather Mac Donald constitutes a form of violence, bordering on genocide, that receives no First Amendment protection. Enlightened protestors are both bound and entitled to shout them down, by force or other disruptive actions, if their universities are so foolish as to extend them an invitation to speak. Any indignant minority may take the law into its own hands to eradicate the intellectual cancer before it spreads on their own campus.
By such tortured logic, a new generation of vigilantes distorts the First Amendment doctrine: Speech becomes violence, and violence becomes heroic acts of self-defense. The standard First Amendment interpretation emphatically rejects that view. Of course, the First Amendment doesn’t let you say what you want when and wherever you want to. Your freedom of speech is subject to the same limitations as your freedom of action. So you have no constitutional license to assault other people, to lie to them, or to form cartels to bilk them in the marketplace. But folks such as Murray, Mac Donald, and even Yiannopoulos do not come close to crossing into that forbidden territory. They are not using, for example, “fighting words,” rightly limited to words or actions calculated to provoke immediate aggression against a known target. Fighting words are worlds apart from speech that provokes a negative reaction in those who find your speech offensive solely because of the content of its message.
This distinction is central to the First Amendment. Fighting words have to be blocked by well-tailored criminal and civil sanctions lest some people gain license to intimidate others from speaking or peaceably assembling. The remedy for mere offense is to speak one’s mind in response. But it never gives anyone the right to block the speech of others, lest everyone be able to unilaterally increase his sphere of action by getting really angry about the beliefs of others. No one has the right to silence others by working himself into a fit of rage.
Obviously, it is intolerable to let mutual animosity generate factional warfare, whereby everyone can use force to silence rivals. To avoid this war of all against all, each side claims that only its actions are privileged. These selective claims quickly degenerate into a form of viewpoint discrimination, which undermines one of the central protections that traditional First Amendment law erects: a wall against each and every group out to destroy the level playing field on which robust political debate rests. Every group should be at risk for having its message fall flat. The new campus radicals want to upend that understanding by shutting down their adversaries if their universities do not. Their aggression must be met, if necessary, by counterforce. Silence in the face of aggression is not an acceptable alternative.
Richard A. Epstein is the Laurence A. Tisch Professor of Law at the New York University School of Law.
David FrenchWe’re living in the midst of a troubling paradox. At the exact same time that First Amendment jurisprudence has arguably never been stronger and more protective of free expression, millions of Americans feel they simply can’t speak freely. Indeed, talk to Americans living and working in the deep-blue confines of the academy, Hollywood, and the tech sector, and you’ll get a sense of palpable fear. They’ll explain that they can’t say what they think and keep their jobs, their friends, and sometimes even their families.
The government isn’t cracking down or censoring; instead, Americans are using free speech to destroy free speech. For example, a social-media shaming campaign is an act of free speech. So is an economic boycott. So is turning one’s back on a public speaker. So is a private corporation firing a dissenting employee for purely political reasons. Each of these actions is largely protected from government interference, and each one represents an expression of the speaker’s ideas and values.
The problem, however, is obvious. The goal of each of these kinds of actions isn’t to persuade; it’s to intimidate. The goal isn’t to foster dialogue but to coerce conformity. The result is a marketplace of ideas that has been emptied of all but the approved ideological vendors—at least in those communities that are dominated by online thugs and corporate bullies. Indeed, this mindset has become so prevalent that in places such as Portland, Berkeley, Middlebury, and elsewhere, the bullies and thugs have crossed the line from protected—albeit abusive—speech into outright shout-downs and mob violence.
But there’s something else going on, something that’s insidious in its own way. While politically correct shaming still has great power in deep-blue America, its effect in the rest of the country is to trigger a furious backlash, one characterized less by a desire for dialogue and discourse than by its own rage and scorn. So we’re moving toward two Americas—one that ruthlessly (and occasionally illegally) suppresses dissenting speech and the other that is dangerously close to believing that the opposite of political correctness isn’t a fearless expression of truth but rather the fearless expression of ideas best calculated to enrage your opponents.
The result is a partisan feedback loop where right-wing rage spurs left-wing censorship, which spurs even more right-wing rage. For one side, a true free-speech culture is a threat to feelings, sensitivities, and social justice. The other side waves high the banner of “free speech” to sometimes elevate the worst voices to the highest platforms—not so much to protect the First Amendment as to infuriate the hated “snowflakes” and trigger the most hysterical overreactions.
The culturally sustainable argument for free speech is something else entirely. It reminds the cultural left of its own debt to free speech while reminding the political right that a movement allegedly centered around constitutional values can’t abandon the concept of ordered liberty. The culture of free speech thrives when all sides remember their moral responsibilities—to both protect the right of dissent and to engage in ideological combat with a measure of grace and humility.
David French is a senior writer at National Review.
Pamela GellerThe real question isn’t whether free speech is under threat in the United States, but rather, whether it’s irretrievably lost. Can we get it back? Not without war, I suspect, as is evidenced by the violence at colleges whenever there’s the shamefully rare event of a conservative speaker on campus.
Free speech is the soul of our nation and the foundation of all our other freedoms. If we can’t speak out against injustice and evil, those forces will prevail. Freedom of speech is the foundation of a free society. Without it, a tyrant can wreak havoc unopposed, while his opponents are silenced.
With that principle in mind, I organized a free-speech event in Garland, Texas. The world had recently been rocked by the murder of the Charlie Hebdo cartoonists. My version of “Je Suis Charlie” was an event here in America to show that we can still speak freely and draw whatever we like in the Land of the Free. Yet even after jihadists attacked our event, I was blamed—by Donald Trump among others—for provoking Muslims. And if I tried to hold a similar event now, no arena in the country would allow me to do so—not just because of the security risk, but because of the moral cowardice of all intellectual appeasers.
Under what law is it wrong to depict Muhammad? Under Islamic law. But I am not a Muslim, I don’t live under Sharia. America isn’t under Islamic law, yet for standing for free speech, I’ve been:
- Prevented from running our advertisements in every major city in this country. We have won free-speech lawsuits all over the country, which officials circumvent by prohibiting all political ads (while making exceptions for ads from Muslim advocacy groups);
- Shunned by the right, shut out of the Conservative Political Action Conference;
- Shunned by Jewish groups at the behest of terror-linked groups such as the Council on American-Islamic Relations;
- Blacklisted from speaking at universities;
- Prevented from publishing books, for security reasons and because publishers fear shaming from the left;
- Banned from Britain.
A Seattle court accused me of trying to shut down free speech after we merely tried to run an FBI poster on global terrorism, because authorities had banned all political ads in other cities to avoid running ours. Seattle blamed us for that, which was like blaming a woman for being raped because she was wearing a short skirt.
This kind of vilification and shunning is key to the left’s plan to shut down all dissent from its agenda—they make legislation restricting speech unnecessary.
The same refusal to allow our point of view to be heard has manifested itself elsewhere. The foundation of my work is individual rights and equality for all before the law. These are the foundational principles of our constitutional republic. That is now considered controversial. Truth is the new hate speech. Truth is going to be criminalized.
The First Amendment doesn’t only protect ideas that are sanctioned by the cultural and political elites. If “hate speech” laws are enacted, who would decide what’s permissible and what’s forbidden? The government? The gunmen in Garland?
There has been an inversion of the founding premise of this nation. No longer is it the subordination of might to right, but right to might. History is repeatedly deformed with the bloody consequences of this transition.
Pamela Geller is the editor in chief of the Geller Report and president of the American Freedom Defense Initiative.
Jonah GoldbergOf course free speech is under threat in America. Frankly, it’s always under threat in America because it’s always under threat everywhere. Ronald Reagan was right when he said in 1961, “Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it on to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same.”
This is more than political boilerplate. Reagan identified the source of the threat: human nature. God may have endowed us with a right to liberty, but he didn’t give us all a taste for it. As with most finer things, we must work to acquire a taste for it. That is what civilization—or at least our civilization—is supposed to do: cultivate attachments to certain ideals. “Cultivate” shares the same Latin root as “culture,” cultus, and properly understood they mean the same thing: to grow, nurture, and sustain through labor.
In the past, threats to free speech have taken many forms—nationalist passion, Comstockery (both good and bad), political suppression, etc.—but the threat to free speech today is different. It is less top-down and more bottom-up. We are cultivating a generation of young people to reject free speech as an important value.
One could mark the beginning of the self-esteem movement with Nathaniel Branden’s 1969 paper, “The Psychology of Self-Esteem,” which claimed that “feelings of self-esteem were the key to success in life.” This understandable idea ran amok in our schools and in our culture. When I was a kid, Saturday-morning cartoons were punctuated with public-service announcements telling kids: “The most important person in the whole wide world is you, and you hardly even know you!”
The self-esteem craze was just part of the cocktail of educational fads. Other ingredients included multiculturalism, the anti-bullying crusade, and, of course, that broad phenomenon known as “political correctness.” Combined, they’ve produced a generation that rejects the old adage “sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never harm me” in favor of the notion that “words hurt.” What we call political correctness has been on college campuses for decades. But it lacked a critical mass of young people who were sufficiently receptive to it to make it a fully successful ideology. The campus commissars welcomed the new “snowflakes” with open arms; truly, these are the ones we’ve been waiting for.
“Words hurt” is a fashionable concept in psychology today. (See Psychology Today: “Why Words Can Hurt at Least as Much as Sticks and Stones.”) But it’s actually a much older idea than the “sticks and stones” aphorism. For most of human history, it was a crime to say insulting or “injurious” things about aristocrats, rulers, the Church, etc. That tendency didn’t evaporate with the Divine Right of Kings. Jonathan Haidt has written at book length about our natural capacity to create zones of sanctity, immune from reason.
And that is the threat free speech faces today. Those who inveigh against “hate speech” are in reality fighting “heresy speech”—ideas that do “violence” to sacred notions of self-esteem, racial or gender equality, climate change, and so on. Put whatever label you want on it, contemporary “social justice” progressivism acts as a religion, and it has no patience for blasphemy.
When Napoleon’s forces converted churches into stables, the clergy did not object on the grounds that regulations regarding the proper care and feeding of animals had been violated. They complained of sacrilege and blasphemy. When Charles Murray or Christina Hoff Summers visits college campuses, the protestors are behaving like the zealous acolytes of St. Jerome. Appeals to the First Amendment have as much power over the “antifa” fanatics as appeals to Odin did to champions of the New Faith.
That is the real threat to free speech today.
Jonah Goldberg is a senior editor at National Review and a fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
KC JohnsonIn early May, the Washington Post urged universities to make clear that “racist signs, symbols, and speech are off-limits.” Given the extraordinarily broad definition of what constitutes “racist” speech at most institutions of higher education, this demand would single out most right-of-center (and, in some cases, even centrist and liberal) discourse on issues of race or ethnicity. The editorial provided the highest-profile example of how hostility to free speech, once confined to the ideological fringe on campus, has migrated to the liberal mainstream.
The last few years have seen periodic college protests—featuring claims that significant amounts of political speech constitute “violence,” thereby justifying censorship—followed by even more troubling attempts to appease the protesters. After the mob scene that greeted Charles Murray upon his visit to Middlebury College, for instance, the student government criticized any punishment for the protesters, and several student leaders wanted to require that future speakers conform to the college’s “community standard” on issues of race, gender, and ethnicity. In the last few months, similar attempts to stifle the free exchange of ideas in the name of promoting diversity occurred at Wesleyan, Claremont McKenna, and Duke. Offering an extreme interpretation of this point of view, one CUNY professor recently dismissed dialogue as “inherently conservative,” since it reinforced the “relations of power that presently exist.”
It’s easy, of course, to dismiss campus hostility to free speech as affecting only a small segment of American public life—albeit one that trains the next generation of judges, legislators, and voters. But, as Jonathan Chait observed in 2015, denying “the legitimacy of political pluralism on issues of race and gender” has broad appeal on the left. It is only most apparent on campus because “the academy is one of the few bastions of American life where the political left can muster the strength to impose its political hegemony upon others.” During his time in office, Barack Obama generally urged fellow liberals to support open intellectual debate. But the current campus environment previews the position of free speech in a post-Obama Democratic Party, increasingly oriented around identity politics.
Waning support on one end of the ideological spectrum for this bedrock American principle should provide a political opening for the other side. The Trump administration, however, seems poorly suited to make the case. Throughout his public career, Trump has rarely supported free speech, even in the abstract, and has periodically embraced legal changes to facilitate libel lawsuits. Moreover, the right-wing populism that motivates Trump’s base has a long tradition of ideological hostility to civil liberties of all types. Even in campus contexts, conservatives have defended free speech inconsistently, as seen in recent calls that CUNY disinvite anti-Zionist fanatic Linda Sarsour as a commencement speaker.
In a sharply polarized political environment, awash in dubiously-sourced information, free speech is all the more important. Yet this same environment has seen both sides, most blatantly elements of the left on campuses, demand restrictions on their ideological foes’ free speech in the name of promoting a greater good.
KC Johnson is a professor of history at Brooklyn College and the CUNY Graduate Center.
Laura KipnisI find myself with a strange-bedfellows problem lately. Here I am, a left-wing feminist professor invited onto the pages of Commentary—though I’d be thrilled if it were still 1959—while fielding speaking requests from right-wing think tanks and libertarians who oppose child-labor laws.
Somehow I’ve ended up in the middle of the free-speech-on-campus debate. My initial crime was publishing a somewhat contentious essay about campus sexual paranoia that put me on the receiving end of Title IX complaints. Apparently I’d created a “hostile environment” at my university. I was investigated (for 72 days). Then I wrote up what I’d learned about these campus inquisitions in a second essay. Then I wrote about it all some more, in a book exposing the kangaroo-court elements of the Title IX process—and the extra-legal gag orders imposed on everyone caught in its widening snare.
I can’t really comment on whether more charges have been filed against me over the book. I’ll just say that writing about being a Title IX respondent could easily become a life’s work. I learned, shortly after writing this piece, that I and my publisher were being sued for defamation, among other things.
Is free speech under threat on American campuses? Yes. We know all about student activists who wish to shut down talks by people with opposing views. I got smeared with a bit of that myself, after a speaking invitation at Wellesley—some students made a video protesting my visit before I arrived. The talk went fine, though a group of concerned faculty circulated an open letter afterward also protesting the invitation: My views on sexual politics were too heretical, and might have offended students.
I didn’t take any of this too seriously, even as right-wing pundits crowed, with Wellesley as their latest outrage bait. It was another opportunity to mock student activists, and the fact that I was myself a feminist rather than a Charles Murray or a Milo Yiannopoulos, made them positively gleeful.
I do find myself wondering where all my new free-speech pals were when another left-wing professor, Steven Salaita, was fired (or if you prefer euphemism, “his job offer was withdrawn”) from the University of Illinois after he tweeted criticism of Israel’s Gaza policy. Sure the tweets were hyperbolic, but hyperbole and strong opinions are protected speech, too.
I guess free speech is easy to celebrate until it actually challenges something. Funny, I haven’t seen Milo around lately—so beloved by my new friends when he was bashing minorities and transgender kids. Then he mistakenly said something authentic (who knew he was capable of it!), reminiscing about an experience a lot of gay men have shared: teenage sex with older men. He tried walking it back—no, no, he’d been a victim, not a participant—but his fan base was shrieking about pedophilia and fleeing in droves. Gee, they were all so against “political correctness” a few minutes before.
It’s easy to be a free-speech fan when your feathers aren’t being ruffled. No doubt what makes me palatable to the anti-PC crowd is having thus far failed to ruffle them enough. I’m just going to have to work harder.
Laura Kipnis’s latest book is Unwanted Advances: Sexual Paranoia Comes to Campus.
Eugene KontorovichThe free and open exchange of views—especially politically conservative or traditionally religious ones—is being challenged. This is taking place not just at college campuses but throughout our public spaces and cultural institutions. James Watson was fired from the lab he led since 1968 and could not speak at New York University because of petty, censorious students who would not know DNA from LSD. Our nation’s founders and heroes are being “disappeared” from public commemoration, like Trotsky from a photograph of Soviet rulers.
These attacks on “free speech” are not the result of government action. They are not what the First Amendment protects against. The current methods—professional and social shaming, exclusion, and employment termination—are more inchoate, and their effects are multiplied by self-censorship. A young conservative legal scholar might find himself thinking: “If the late Justice Antonin Scalia can posthumously be deemed a ‘bigot’ by many academics, what chance have I?”
Ironically, artists and intellectuals have long prided themselves on being the first defenders of free speech. Today, it is the institutions of both popular and high culture that are the censors. Is there one poet in the country who would speak out for Ann Coulter?
The inhibition of speech at universities is part of a broader social phenomenon of making longstanding, traditional views and practices sinful overnight. Conservatives have not put up much resistance to this. To paraphrase Martin Niemöller’s famous dictum: “First they came for Robert E. Lee, and I said nothing, because Robert E. Lee meant nothing to me.”
The situation with respect to Israel and expressions of support for it deserves separate discussion. Even as university administrators give political power to favored ideologies by letting them create “safe spaces” (safe from opposing views), Jews find themselves and their state at the receiving end of claims of apartheid—modern day blood libels. It is not surprising if Jewish students react by demanding that they get a safe space of their own. It is even less surprising if their parents, paying $65,000 a year, want their children to have a nicer time of it. One hears Jewish groups frequently express concern about Jewish students feeling increasingly isolated and uncomfortable on campus.
But demanding selective protection from the new ideological commissars is unlikely to bring the desired results. First, this new ideology, even if it can be harnessed momentarily to give respite to harassed Jews on campus, is ultimately illiberal and will be controlled by “progressive” forces. Second, it is not so terrible for Jews in the Diaspora to feel a bit uncomfortable. It has been the common condition of Jews throughout the millennia. The social awkwardness that Jews at liberal arts schools might feel in being associated with Israel is of course one of the primary justifications for the Jewish State. Facing the snowflakes incapable of hearing a dissonant view—but who nonetheless, in the grip of intersectional ecstasy, revile Jewish self-determination—Jewish students should toughen up.
Eugene Kontorovich teaches constitutional law at Northwestern University and heads the international law department of the Kohelet Policy Forum in Jerusalem.
Nicholas LemannThere’s an old Tom Wolfe essay in which he describes being on a panel discussion at Princeton in 1965 and provoking the other panelists by announcing that America, rather than being in crisis, is in the middle of a “happiness explosion.” He was arguing that the mass effects of 20 years of post–World War II prosperity made for a larger phenomenon than the Vietnam War, the racial crisis, and the other primary concerns of intellectuals at the time.
In the same spirit, I’d say that we are in the middle of a free-speech explosion, because of 20-plus years of the Internet and 10-plus years of social media. If one understands speech as disseminated individual opinion, then surely we live in the free-speech-est society in the history of the world. Anybody with access to the unimpeded World Wide Web can say anything to a global audience, and anybody can hear anything, too. All threats to free speech should be understood in the context of this overwhelmingly reality.
It is a comforting fantasy that a genuine free-speech regime will empower mainly “good,” but previously repressed, speech. Conversely, repressive regimes that are candid enough to explain their anti-free-speech policies usually say that they’re not against free speech, just “bad” speech. We have to accept that more free speech probably means, in the aggregate, more bad speech, and also a weakening of the power, authority, and economic support for information professionals such as journalists. Welcome to the United States in 2017.
I am lucky enough to live and work on the campus of a university, Columbia, that has been blessedly free of successful attempts to repress free speech. Just in the last few weeks, Charles Murray and Dinesh D’Souza have spoken here without incident. But, yes, the evidently growing popularity of the idea that “hate speech” shouldn’t be permitted on campuses is a problem, especially, it seems, at small private liberal-arts colleges. We should all do our part, and I do, by frequently and publicly endorsing free-speech principles. Opposing the BDS movement falls squarely into that category.
It’s not just on campuses that free-speech vigilance is needed, though. The number-one threat to free speech, to my mind, is that the wide-open Web has been replaced by privately owned platforms such as Facebook and Google as the way most people experience the public life of the Internet. These companies are committed to banning “hate speech,” and they are eager to operate freely in countries, like China, that don’t permit free political speech. That makes for a far more consequential constrained environment than any campus’s speech code.
Also, Donald Trump regularly engages in presidentially unprecedented rhetoric demonizing people who disagree with him. He seems to think this is all in good fun, but, as we have already seen at his rallies, not everybody hears it that way. The place where Trumpism will endanger free speech isn’t in the center—the White House press room—but at the periphery, for example in the way that local police handle bumptious protestors and the journalists covering them. This is already happening around the country. If Trump were as disciplined and knowledgeable as Vladimir Putin or Recep Tayyip Erdogan, which so far he seems not to be, then free speech could be in even more serious danger from government, which in most places is its usual main enemy.
Nicholas Lemann is a professor at Columbia Journalism School and a staff writer for the New Yorker.
Michael J. LewisFree speech is a right but it is also a habit, and where the habit shrivels so will the right. If free speech today is in headlong retreat—everywhere threatened by regulation, organized harassment, and even violence—it is in part because our political culture allowed the practice of persuasive oratory to atrophy. The process began in 1973, an unforeseen side effect of Roe v. Wade. Legislators were delighted to learn that by relegating this divisive matter of public policy to the Supreme Court and adopting a merely symbolic position, they could sit all the more safely in their safe seats.
Since then, one crucial question of public policy after another has been punted out of the realm of politics and into the judicial. Issues that might have been debated with all the rhetorical agility of a Lincoln and a Douglas, and then subjected to a process of negotiation, compromise, and voting, have instead been settled by decree: e.g., Chevron, Kelo, Obergefell. The consequences for speech have been pernicious. Since the time of Pericles, deliberative democracy has been predicated on the art of persuasion, which demands the forceful clarity of thought and expression without which no one has ever been persuaded. But a legislature that relegates its authority to judges and regulators will awaken to discover its oratorical culture has been stunted. When politicians, rather than seeking to convince and win over, prefer to project a studied and pleasant vagueness, debate withers into tedious defensive performance. It has been decades since any presidential debate has seen any sustained give and take over a matter of policy. If there is any suspense at all, it is only the possibility that a fatigued or peeved candidate might blurt out that tactless shard of truth known as a gaffe.
A generation accustomed to hearing platitudes smoothly dispensed from behind a teleprompter will find the speech of a fearless extemporaneous speaker to be startling, even disquieting; unfamiliar ideas always are. Unhappily, they have been taught to interpret that disquiet as an injury done to them, rather than as a premise offered to them to consider. All this would not have happened—certainly not to this extent—had not our deliberative democracy decided a generation ago that it preferred the security of incumbency to the risks of unshackled debate. The compulsory contraction of free speech on college campuses is but the logical extension of the voluntary contraction of free speech in our political culture.
Michael J. Lewis’s new book is City of Refuge: Separatists and Utopian Town Planning (Princeton University Press).
Heather Mac DonaldThe answer to the symposium question depends on how powerful the transmission belt is between academia and the rest of the country. On college campuses, violence and brute force are silencing speakers who challenge left-wing campus orthodoxies. These totalitarian outbreaks have been met with listless denunciations by college presidents, followed by . . . virtually nothing. As of mid-May, the only discipline imposed for 2017’s mass attacks on free speech at UC Berkeley, Middlebury, and Clare-mont McKenna College was a letter of reprimand inserted—sometimes only temporarily—into the files of several dozen Middlebury students, accompanied by a brief period of probation. Previous outbreaks of narcis-sistic incivility, such as the screaming-girl fit at Yale and the assaults on attendees of Yale’s Buckley program, were discreetly ignored by college administrators.
Meanwhile, the professoriate unapologetically defends censorship and violence. After the February 1 riot in Berkeley to prevent Milo Yiannapoulos from speaking, Déborah Blocker, associate professor of French at UC Berkeley, praised the rioters. They were “very well-organized and very efficient,” Blocker reported admiringly to her fellow professors. “They attacked property but they attacked it very sparingly, destroying just enough University property to obtain the cancellation order for the MY event and making sure no one in the crowd got hurt” (emphasis in original). (In fact, perceived Milo and Donald Trump supporters were sucker-punched and maced; businesses downtown were torched and vandalized.) New York University’s vice provost for faculty, arts, humanities, and diversity, Ulrich Baer, displayed Orwellian logic by claiming in a New York Times op-ed that shutting down speech “should be understood as an attempt to ensure the conditions of free speech for a greater group of people.”
Will non-academic institutions take up this zeal for outright censorship? Other ideological products of the left-wing academy have been fully absorbed and operationalized. Racial victimology, which drives much of the campus censorship, is now standard in government and business. Corporate diversity trainers counsel that bias is responsible for any lack of proportional racial representation in the corporate ranks. Racial disparities in school discipline and incarceration are universally attributed to racism rather than to behavior. Public figures have lost jobs for violating politically correct taboos.
Yet Americans possess an instinctive commitment to the First Amendment. Federal judges, hardly an extension of the Federalist Society, have overwhelmingly struck down campus speech codes. It is hard to imagine that they would be any more tolerant of the hate-speech legislation so prevalent in Europe. So the question becomes: At what point does the pressure to conform to the elite worldview curtail freedom of thought and expression, even without explicit bans on speech?
Social stigma against conservative viewpoints is not the same as actual censorship. But the line can blur. The Obama administration used regulatory power to impose a behavioral conformity on public and private entities. School administrators may have technically still possessed the right to dissent from novel theories of gender, but they had to behave as if they were fully on board with the transgender revolution when it came to allowing boys to use girls’ bathrooms and locker rooms.
Had Hillary Clinton had been elected president, the federal bureaucracy would have mimicked campus diversocrats with even greater zeal. That threat, at least, has been avoided. Heresies against left-wing dogma may still enter the public arena, if only by the back door. The mainstream media have lurched even further left in the Trump era, but the conservative media, however mocked and marginalized, are expanding (though Twitter and Facebook’s censorship of conservative speakers could be a harbinger of more official silencing).
Outside the academy, free speech is still legally protected, but its exercise requires ever greater determination.
Heather Mac Donald is a fellow at the Manhattan Institute and the author of The War on Cops.
John McWhorterThere is a certain mendacity, as Brick put it in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, in our discussion of free speech on college campuses. Namely, none of us genuinely wish that absolutely all issues be aired in the name of education and open-mindedness. To insist so is to pretend that civilized humanity makes nothing we could call advancement in philosophical consensus.
I doubt we need “free speech” on issues such as whether slavery and genocide are okay, whether it has been a mistake to view women as men’s equals, or to banish as antique the idea that whites are a master race while other peoples represent a lower rung on the Darwinian scale. With all due reverence of John Stuart Mill’s advocacy for the regular airing of even noxious views in order to reinforce clarity on why they were rejected, we are also human beings with limited time. A commitment to the Enlightenment justifiably will decree that certain views are, indeed, no longer in need of discussion.
However, our modern social-justice warriors are claiming that this no-fly zone of discussion is vaster than any conception of logic or morality justifies. We are being told that questions regarding the modern proposals about cultural appropriation, about whether even passing infelicitous statements constitute racism in the way that formalized segregation and racist disparagement did, or about whether social disparities can be due to cultural legacies rather than structural impediments, are as indisputably egregious, backwards, and abusive as the benighted views of the increasingly distant past.
That is, the new idea is not only that discrimination and inequality still exist, but that to even question the left’s utopian expectation on such matters justifies the same furious, sloganistic and even physically violent resistance that was once levelled against those designated heretics by a Christian hegemony.
Of course the protesters in question do not recognize themselves in a portrait as opponents of something called heresy. They suppose that Galileo’s opponents were clearly wrong but that they, today, are actually correct in a way that no intellectual or moral argument could coherently deny.
As such, we have students allowed to decree college campuses as “racist” when they are the least racist spaces on the planet—because they are, predictably given the imperfection of humans, not perfectly free of passingly unsavory interactions. Thinkers invited to talk for a portion of an hour from the right rather than the left and then have dinner with a few people and fly home are treated as if they were reanimated Hitlers. The student of color who hears a few white students venturing polite questions about the leftist orthodoxy is supported in fashioning these questions as “racist” rhetoric.
The people on college campuses who openly and aggressively spout this new version of Christian (or even Islamist) crusading—ironically justifying it as a barricade against “fascist” muzzling of freedom when the term applies ominously well to the regime they are fostering—are a minority. However, the sawmill spinning blade of their rhetoric has succeeding in rendering opposition as risky as espousing pedophilia, such that only those natively open to violent criticism dare speak out. The latter group is small. The campus consensus thereby becomes, if only at moralistic gunpoint à la the ISIS victim video, a strangled hard-leftism.
Hence freedom of speech is indeed threatened on today’s college campuses. I have lost count of how many of my students, despite being liberal Democrats (many of whom sobbed at Hillary Clinton’s loss last November), have told me that they are afraid to express their opinions about issues that matter, despite the fact that their opinions are ones that any liberal or even leftist person circa 1960 would have considered perfectly acceptable.
Something has shifted of late, and not in a direction we can legitimately consider forwards.
John McWhorter teaches linguistics, philosophy, and music history at Columbia University and is the author of The Language Hoax, Words on the Move, and Talking Back, Talking Black.
Kate Bachelder OdellIt’s 2021, and Harvard Square has devolved into riots: Some 120 people are injured in protests, and the carnage includes fire-consumed cop cars and smashed-in windows. The police discharge canisters of tear gas, and, after apprehending dozens of protesters, enforce a 1:45 A.M. curfew. Anyone roaming the streets after hours is subject to arrest. About 2,000 National Guardsmen are prepared to intervene. Such violence and disorder is also roiling Berkeley and other elite and educated areas.
Oh, that’s 1970. The details are from the Harvard Crimson’s account of “anti-war” riots that spring. The episode is instructive in considering whether free speech is under threat in the United States. Almost daily, there’s a new YouTube installment of students melting down over viewpoints of speakers invited to one campus or another. Even amid speech threats from government—for example, the IRS’s targeting of political opponents—nothing has captured the public’s attention like the end of free expression at America’s institutions of higher learning.
Yet disruption, confusion, and even violence are not new campus phenomena. And it’s hard to imagine that young adults who deployed brute force in the 1960s and ’70s were deeply committed to the open and peaceful exchange of ideas.
There may also be reason for optimism. The rough and tumble on campus in the 1960s and ’70s produced a more even-tempered ’80s and ’90s, and colleges are probably heading for another course correction. In covering the ruckuses at Yale, Missouri, and elsewhere, I’ve talked to professors and students who are figuring out how to respond to the illiberalism, even if the reaction is delayed. The University of Chicago put out a set of free-speech principles last year, and others schools such as Princeton and Purdue have endorsed them.
The NARPs—Non-Athletic Regular People, as they are sometimes known on campus—still outnumber the social-justice warriors, who appear to be overplaying their hand. Case in point is the University of Missouri, which experienced a precipitous drop in enrollment after instructor Melissa Click and her ilk stoked racial tensions last spring. The college has closed dorms and trimmed budgets. Which brings us to another silver lining: The economic model of higher education (exorbitant tuition to pay ever more administrators) may blow up traditional college before the fascists can.
Note also that the anti-speech movement is run by rich kids. A Brookings Institution analysis from earlier this year discovered that “the average enrollee at a college where students have attempted to restrict free speech comes from a family with an annual income $32,000 higher than that of the average student in America.” Few rank higher in average income than those at Middlebury College, where students evicted scholar Charles Murray in a particularly ugly scene. (The report notes that Murray was received respectfully at Saint Louis University, “where the median income of students’ families is half Middlebury’s.”) The impulses of over-adulated 20-year-olds may soon be tempered by the tyranny of having to show up for work on a daily basis.
None of this is to suggest that free speech is enjoying some renaissance either on campus or in America. But perhaps as the late Wall Street Journal editorial-page editor Robert Bartley put it in his valedictory address: “Things could be worse. Indeed, they have been worse.”
Kate Bachelder Odell is an editorial writer for the Wall Street Journal.
Jonathan RauchIs free speech under threat? The one-syllable answer is “yes.” The three-syllable answer is: “Yes, of course.” Free speech is always under threat, because it is not only the single most successful social idea in all of human history, it is also the single most counterintuitive. “You mean to say that speech that is offensive, untruthful, malicious, seditious, antisocial, blasphemous, heretical, misguided, or all of the above deserves government protection?” That seemingly bizarre proposition is defensible only on the grounds that the marketplace of ideas turns out to be the most powerful engine of knowledge, prosperity, liberty, social peace, and moral advancement that our species has had the good fortune to discover.
Every new generation of free-speech advocates will need to get up every morning and re-explain the case for free speech and open inquiry—today, tomorrow, and forever. That is our lot in life, and we just need to be cheerful about it. At discouraging moments, it is helpful to remember that the country has made great strides toward free speech since 1798, when the Adams administration arrested and jailed its political critics; and since the 1920s, when the U.S. government banned and burned James Joyce’s great novel Ulysses; and since 1954, when the government banned ONE, a pioneering gay journal. (The cover article was a critique of the government’s indecency censors, who censored it.) None of those things could happen today.
I suppose, then, the interesting question is: What kind of threat is free speech under today? In the present age, direct censorship by government bodies is rare. Instead, two more subtle challenges hold sway, especially, although not only, on college campuses. The first is a version of what I called, in my book Kindly Inquisitors, the humanitarian challenge: the idea that speech that is hateful or hurtful (in someone’s estimation) causes pain and thus violates others’ rights, much as physical violence does. The other is a version of what I called the egalitarian challenge: the idea that speech that denigrates minorities (again, in someone’s estimation) perpetuates social inequality and oppression and thus also is a rights violation. Both arguments call upon administrators and other bureaucrats to defend human rights by regulating speech rights.
Both doctrines are flawed to the core. Censorship harms minorities by enforcing conformity and entrenching majority power, and it no more ameliorates hatred and injustice than smashing thermometers ameliorates global warming. If unwelcome words are the equivalent of bludgeons or bullets, then the free exchange of criticism—science, in other words—is a crime. I could go on, but suffice it to say that the current challenges are new variations on ancient themes—and they will be followed, in decades and centuries to come, by many, many other variations. Memo to free-speech advocates: Our work is never done, but the really amazing thing, given the proposition we are tasked to defend, is how well we are doing.
Jonathan Rauch is a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution and the author of Kindly Inquisitors: The New Attacks on Free Thought.
Nicholas Quinn RosenkranzSpeech is under threat on American campuses as never before. Censorship in various forms is on the rise. And this year, the threat to free speech on campus took an even darker turn, toward actual violence. The prospect of Milo Yiannopoulos speaking at Berkeley provoked riots that caused more than $100,000 worth of property damage on the campus. The prospect of Charles Murray speaking at Middlebury led to a riot that put a liberal professor in the hospital with a concussion. Ann Coulter’s speech at Berkeley was cancelled after the university determined that none of the appropriate venues could be protected from “known security threats” on the date in question.
The free-speech crisis on campus is caused, at least in part, by a more insidious campus pathology: the almost complete lack of intellectual diversity on elite university faculties. At Yale, for example, the number of registered Republicans in the economics department is zero; in the psychology department, there is one. Overall, there are 4,410 faculty members at Yale, and the total number of those who donated to a Republican candidate during the 2016 primaries was three.
So when today’s students purport to feel “unsafe” at the mere prospect of a conservative speaker on campus, it may be easy to mock them as “delicate snowflakes,” but in one sense, their reaction is understandable: If students are shocked at the prospect of a Republican behind a university podium, perhaps it is because many of them have never before laid eyes on one.
To see the connection between free speech and intellectual diversity, consider the recent commencement speech of Harvard President Drew Gilpin Faust:
Universities must be places open to the kind of debate that can change ideas….Silencing ideas or basking in intellectual orthodoxy independent of facts and evidence impedes our access to new and better ideas, and it inhibits a full and considered rejection of bad ones. . . . We must work to ensure that universities do not become bubbles isolated from the concerns and discourse of the society that surrounds them. Universities must model a commitment to the notion that truth cannot simply be claimed, but must be established—established through reasoned argument, assessment, and even sometimes uncomfortable challenges that provide the foundation for truth.
Faust is exactly right. But, alas, her commencement audience might be forgiven a certain skepticism. After all, the number of registered Republicans in several departments at Harvard—e.g., history and psychology—is exactly zero. In those departments, the professors themselves may be “basking in intellectual orthodoxy” without ever facing “uncomfortable challenges.” This may help explain why some students will do everything in their power to keep conservative speakers off campus: They notice that faculty hiring committees seem to do exactly the same thing.
In short, it is a promising sign that true liberal academics like Faust have started speaking eloquently about the crucial importance of civil, reasoned disagreement. But they will be more convincing on this point when they hire a few colleagues with whom they actually disagree.
Nicholas Quinn Rosenkranz is a professor of law at Georgetown. He serves on the executive committee of Heterodox Academy, which he co-founded, on the board of directors of the Federalist Society, and on the board of directors of the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education (FIRE).
Ben ShapiroIn February, I spoke at California State University in Los Angeles. Before my arrival, professors informed students that a white supremacist would be descending on the school to preach hate; threats of violence soon prompted the administration to cancel the event. I vowed to show up anyway. One hour before the event, the administration backed down and promised to guarantee that the event could go forward, but police officers were told not to stop the 300 students, faculty, and outside protesters who blocked and assaulted those who attempted to attend the lecture. We ended up trapped in the auditorium, with the authorities telling students not to leave for fear of physical violence. I was rushed from campus under armed police guard.
Is free speech under assault?
Of course it is.
On campus, free speech is under assault thanks to a perverse ideology of intersectionality that claims victim identity is of primary value and that views are a merely secondary concern. As a corollary, if your views offend someone who outranks you on the intersectional hierarchy, your views are treated as violence—threats to identity itself. On campus, statements that offend an individual’s identity have been treated as “microaggressions”–actual aggressions against another, ostensibly worthy of violence. Words, students have been told, may not break bones, but they will prompt sticks and stones, and rightly so.
Thus, protesters around the country—leftists who see verbiage as violence—have, in turn, used violence in response to ideas they hate. Leftist local authorities then use the threat of violence as an excuse to ideologically discriminate against conservatives. This means public intellectuals like Charles Murray being run off of campus and his leftist professorial cohort viciously assaulted; it means Ann Coulter being targeted for violence at Berkeley; it means universities preemptively banning me and Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Condoleezza Rice and even Jason Riley.
The campus attacks on free speech are merely the most extreme iteration of an ideology that spans from left to right: the notion that your right to free speech ends where my feelings begin. Even Democrats who say that Ann Coulter should be allowed to speak at Berkeley say that nobody should be allowed to contribute to a super PAC (unless you’re a union member, naturally).
Meanwhile, on the right, the president’s attacks on the press have convinced many Republicans that restrictions on the press wouldn’t be altogether bad. A Vanity Fair/60 Minutes poll in late April found that 36 percent of Americans thought freedom of the press “does more harm than good.” Undoubtedly, some of that is due to the media’s obvious bias. CNN’s Jeff Zucker has targeted the Trump administration for supposedly quashing journalism, but he was silent when the Obama administration’s Department of Justice cracked down on reporters from the Associated Press and Fox News, and when hacks like Deputy National Security Adviser Ben Rhodes openly sold lies regarding Iran. But for some on the right, the response to press falsities hasn’t been to call for truth, but to instead echo Trumpian falsehoods in the hopes of damaging the media. Free speech is only important when people seek the truth. Leftists traded truth for tribalism long ago; in response, many on the right seem willing to do the same. Until we return to a common standard under which facts matter, free speech will continue to rest on tenuous grounds.
Ben Shapiro is the editor in chief of The Daily Wire and the host of The Ben Shapiro Show.
Judith ShulevitzIt’s tempting to blame college and university administrators for the decline of free speech in America, and for years I did just that. If the guardians of higher education won’t inculcate the habits of mind required for serious thinking, I thought, who will? The unfettered but civil exchange of ideas is the basic operation of education, just as addition is the basic operation of arithmetic. And universities have to teach both the unfettered part and the civil part, because arguing in a respectful manner isn’t something anyone does instinctively.
So why change my mind now? Schools still cling to speech codes, and there still aren’t enough deans like the one at the University of Chicago who declared his school a safe-space-free zone. My alma mater just handed out prizes for “enhancing race and/or ethnic relations” to two students caught on video harassing the dean of their residential college, one screaming at him that he’d created “a space for violence to happen,” the other placing his face inches away from the dean’s and demanding, “Look at me.” All this because they deemed a thoughtful if ill-timed letter about Halloween costumes written by the dean’s wife to be an act of racist aggression. Yale should discipline students who behave like that, even if they’re right on the merits (I don’t think they were, but that’s not the point). They certainly don’t deserve awards. I can’t believe I had to write that sentence.
But in abdicating their responsibilites, the universities have enabled something even worse than an attack on free speech. They’ve unleashed an assault on themselves. There’s plenty of free speech around; we know that because so much bad speech—low-minded nonsense—tests our constitutional tolerance daily, and that’s holding up pretty well. (As Nicholas Lemann observes elsewhere in this symposium, Facebook and Google represent bigger threats to free speech than students and administrators.) What’s endangered is good speech.
Universities were setting themselves up to be used. Provocateurs exploit the atmosphere on campus to goad overwrought students, then gleefully trash the most important bastion of our crumbling civil society. Higher education and everything it stands for—logical argument, the scientific method, epistemological rigor—start to look illegitimate. Voters perceive tenure and research and higher education itself as hopelessly partisan and unworthy of taxpayers’ money.
The press is a secondary victim of this process of delegitimization. If serious inquiry can be waved off as ideology, then facts won’t be facts and reporting can’t be trusted. All journalism will be equal to all other journalism, and all journalists will be reduced to pests you can slam to the ground with near impunity. Politicians will be able to say anything and do just about anything and there will be no countervailing authority to challenge them. I’m pretty sure that that way lies Putinism and Erdoganism. And when we get to that point, I’m going to start worrying about free speech again.
Judith Shulevitz is a critic in New York.
Harvey SilverglateFree speech is, and has always been, threatened. The title of Nat Hentoff’s 1993 book Free Speech for Me – but Not for Thee is no less true today than at any time, even as the Supreme Court has accorded free speech a more absolute degree of protection than in any previous era.
Since the 1980s, the high court has decided most major free-speech cases in favor of speech, with most of the major decisions being unanimous or nearly so.
Women’s-rights advocates were turned back by the high court in 1986 when they sought to ban the sale of printed materials that, because deemed pornographic by some, were alleged to promote violence against women. Censorship in the name of gender–based protection thus failed to gain traction.
Despite the demands of civil-rights activists, the Supreme Court in 1992 declared cross-burning to be a protected form of expression in R.A.V. v. City of St. Paul, a decision later refined to strengthen a narrow exception for when cross-burning occurs primarily as a physical threat rather than merely an expression of hatred.
Other attempts at First Amendment circumvention have been met with equally decisive rebuff. When the Reverend Jerry Falwell sued Hustler magazine publisher Larry Flynt for defamation growing out of a parody depicting Falwell’s first sexual encounter as a drunken tryst with his mother in an outhouse, a unanimous Supreme Court lectured on the history of parody as a constitutionally protected, even if cruel, form of social and political criticism.
When the South Boston Allied War Veterans, sponsor of Boston’s Saint Patrick’s Day parade, sought to exclude a gay veterans’ group from marching under its own banner, the high court unanimously held that as a private entity, even though marching in public streets, the Veterans could exclude any group marching under a banner conflicting with the parade’s socially conservative message, notwithstanding public-accommodations laws. The gay group could have its own parade but could not rain on that of the conservatives.
Despite such legal clarity, today’s most potent attacks on speech are coming, ironically, from liberal-arts colleges. Ubiquitous “speech codes” limit speech that might insult, embarrass, or “harass,” in particular, members of “historically disadvantaged” groups. “Safe spaces” and “trigger warnings” protect purportedly vulnerable students from hearing words and ideas they might find upsetting. Student demonstrators and threats of violence have forced the cancellation of controversial speakers, left and right.
It remains unclear how much campus censorship results from politically correct faculty, control-obsessed student-life administrators, or students socialized and indoctrinated into intolerance. My experience suggests that the bureaucrats are primarily, although not entirely, to blame. When sued, colleges either lose or settle, pay a modest amount, and then return to their censorious ways.
This trend threatens the heart and soul of liberal education. Eventually it could infect the entire society as these students graduate and assume influential positions. Whether a resulting flood of censorship ultimately overcomes legal protections and weakens democracy remains to be seen.
Harvey Silverglate, a Boston-based lawyer and writer, is the co-author of The Shadow University: The Betrayal of Liberty on America’s Campuses (Free Press, 1998). He co-founded the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education in 1999 and is on FIRE’s board of directors. He spent some three decades on the board of the ACLU of Massachusetts, two of those years as chairman. Silverglate taught at Harvard Law School for a semester during a sabbatical he took in the mid-1980s.
Christina Hoff SommersWhen Heather Mac Donald’s “blue lives matter” talk was shut down by a mob at Claremont McKenna College, the president of neighboring Pomona College sent out an email defending free speech. Twenty-five students shot back a response: “Heather Mac Donald is a fascist, a white supremacist . . . classist, and ignorant of interlocking systems of domination that produce the lethal conditions under which oppressed peoples are forced to live.”
Some blame the new campus intolerance on hypersensitive, over-trophied millennials. But the students who signed that letter don’t appear to be fragile. Nor do those who recently shut down lectures at Berkeley, Middlebury, DePaul, and Cal State LA. What they are is impassioned. And their passion is driven by a theory known as intersectionality.
Intersectionality is the source of the new preoccupation with microaggressions, cultural appropriation, and privilege-checking. It’s the reason more than 200 colleges and universities have set up Bias Response Teams. Students who overhear potentially “otherizing” comments or jokes are encouraged to make anonymous reports to their campus BRTs. A growing number of professors and administrators have built their careers around intersectionality. What is it exactly?
Intersectionality is a neo-Marxist doctrine that views racism, sexism, ableism, heterosexism, and all forms of “oppression” as interconnected and mutually reinforcing. Together these “isms” form a complex arrangement of advantages and burdens. A white woman is disadvantaged by her gender but advantaged by her race. A Latino is burdened by his ethnicity but privileged by his gender. According to intersectionality, American society is a “matrix of domination,” with affluent white males in control. Not only do they enjoy most of the advantages, they also determine what counts as “truth” and “knowledge.”
But marginalized identities are not without resources. According to one of intersectionality’s leading theorists, Patricia Collins (former president of the American Sociology Association), disadvantaged groups have access to deeper, more liberating truths. To find their voice, and to enlighten others to the true nature of reality, they require a safe space—free of microaggressive put-downs and imperious cultural appropriations. Here they may speak openly about their “lived experience.” Lived experience, according to intersectional theory, is a better guide to the truth than self-serving Western and masculine styles of thinking. So don’t try to refute intersectionality with logic or evidence: That only proves that you are part of the problem it seeks to overcome.
How could comfortably ensconced college students be open to a convoluted theory that describes their world as a matrix of misery? Don’t they flinch when they hear intersectional scholars like bell hooks refer to the U.S. as an “imperialist, white-supremacist, capitalist patriarchy”? Most take it in stride because such views are now commonplace in high-school history and social studies texts. And the idea that knowledge comes from lived experience rather than painstaking study and argument is catnip to many undergrads.
Silencing speech and forbidding debate is not an unfortunate by-product of intersectionality—it is a primary goal. How else do you dismantle a lethal system of oppression? As the protesting students at Claremont McKenna explained in their letter: “Free speech . . . has given those who seek to perpetuate systems of domination a platform to project their bigotry.” To the student activists, thinkers like Heather MacDonald and Charles Murray are agents of the dominant narrative, and their speech is “a form of violence.”
It is hard to know how our institutions of higher learning will find their way back to academic freedom, open inquiry, and mutual understanding. But as long as intersectional theory goes unchallenged, campus fanaticism will intensify.
Christina Hoff Sommers is a resident scholar at the American Enterprise Institute. She is the author of several books, including Who Stole Feminism? and The War Against Boys. She also hosts The Factual Feminist, a video blog. @Chsommers
John StosselYes, some college students do insane things. Some called police when they saw “Trump 2016” chalked on sidewalks. The vandals at Berkeley and the thugs who assaulted Charles Murray are disgusting. But they are a minority. And these days people fight back.
Someone usually videotapes the craziness. Yale’s “Halloween costume incident” drove away two sensible instructors, but videos mocking Yale’s snowflakes, like “Silence U,” make such abuse less likely. Groups like Young America’s Foundation (YAF) publicize censorship, and the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education (FIRE) sues schools that restrict speech.
Consciousness has been raised. On campus, the worst is over. Free speech has always been fragile. I once took cameras to Seton Hall law school right after a professor gave a lecture on free speech. Students seemed to get the concept. Sean, now a lawyer, said, “Protect freedom for thought we hate; otherwise you never have a society where ideas clash, and we come up with the best idea.” So I asked, “Should there be any limits?” Students listed “fighting words,” “shouting fire in a theater,” malicious libel, etc.— reasonable court-approved exceptions. But then they went further. Several wanted bans on “hate” speech, “No value comes out of hate speech,” said Javier. “It inevitably leads to violence.”
No it doesn’t, I argued, “Also, doesn’t hate speech bring ideas into the open, so you can better argue about them, bringing you to the truth?”
“No,” replied Floyd, “With hate speech, more speech is just violence.”
So I pulled out a big copy of the First Amendment and wrote, “exception: hate speech.”
Two students wanted a ban on flag desecration “to respect those who died to protect it.”
One wanted bans on blasphemy:
“Look at the gravity of the harm versus the value in blasphemy—the harm outweighs the value.”
Several wanted a ban on political speech by corporations because of “the potential for large corporations to improperly influence politicians.”
Finally, Jillian, also now a lawyer, wanted hunting videos banned.
“It encourages harm down the road.”
I asked her, incredulously, “you’re comfortable locking up people who make a hunting film?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “It’s unnecessary cruelty to feeling and sentient beings.”
So, I picked up my copy of the Bill of Rights again. After “no law . . . abridging freedom of speech,” I added: “Except hate speech, flag burning, blasphemy, corporate political speech, depictions of hunting . . . ”
That embarrassed them. “We may have gone too far,” said Sean. Others agreed. One said, “Cross out the exceptions.” Free speech survived, but it was a close call. Respect for unpleasant speech will always be thin. Then-Senator Hillary Clinton wanted violent video games banned. John McCain and Russ Feingold tried to ban political speech. Donald Trump wants new libel laws, and if you burn a flag, he tweeted, consequences might be “loss of citizenship or a year in jail!” Courts or popular opinion killed those bad ideas.
Free speech will survive, assuming those of us who appreciate it use it to fight those who would smother it.
John Stossel is a FOX News/FOX Business Network Contributor.
Warren TreadgoldEven citizens of dictatorships are free to praise the regime and to talk about the weather. The only speech likely to be threatened anywhere is the sort that offends an important and intolerant group. What is new in America today is a leftist ideology that threatens speech precisely because it offends certain important and intolerant groups: feminists and supposedly oppressed minorities.
So far this new ideology is clearly dominant only in colleges and universities, where it has become so strong that most controversies concern outside speakers invited by students, not faculty speakers or speakers invited by administrators. Most academic administrators and professors are either leftists or have learned not to oppose leftism; otherwise they would probably never have been hired. Administrators treat even violent leftist protestors with respect and are ready to prevent conservative and moderate outsiders from speaking rather than provoke protests. Most professors who defend conservative or moderate speakers argue that the speakers’ views are indeed noxious but say that students should be exposed to them to learn how to refute them. This is very different from encouraging a free exchange of ideas.
Although the new ideology began on campuses in the ’60s, it gained authority outside them largely by means of several majority decisions of the Supreme Court, from Roe (1973) to Obergefell (2015). The Supreme Court decisions that endanger free speech are based on a presumed consensus of enlightened opinion that certain rights favored by activists have the same legitimacy as rights explicitly guaranteed by the Constitution—or even more legitimacy, because the rights favored by activists are assumed to be so fundamental that they need no grounding in specific constitutional language. The Court majorities found restricting abortion rights or homosexual marriage, as large numbers of Americans wish to do, to be constitutionally equivalent to restricting black voting rights or interracial marriage. Any denial of such equivalence therefore opposes fundamental constitutional rights and can be considered hate speech, advocating psychological and possibly physical harm to groups like women seeking abortions or homosexuals seeking approval. Such speech may still be constitutionally protected, but acting upon it is not.
This ideology of forbidding allegedly offensive speech has spread to most of the Democratic Party and the progressive movement. Rather than seeing themselves as taking one side in a free debate, progressives increasingly argue (for example) that opposing abortion is offensive to women and supporting the police is offensive to blacks. Some politicians object so strongly to such speech that despite their interest in winning votes, they attack voters who disagree with them as racists or sexists. Expressing views that allegedly discriminate against women, blacks, homosexuals, and various other minorities can now be grounds for a lawsuit.
Speech that supposedly offends women or minorities has already cost some people their careers, their businesses, and their opportunities to deliver or hear speeches. Such intimidation is the intended result of an ideology that threatens free speech.
Warren Treadgold is a professor of history at Saint Louis University.
Matt WelchLike a sullen zoo elephant rocking back and forth from leg to leg, there is an oversized paradox we’d prefer not to see standing smack in the sightlines of most our policy debates. Day by day, even minute by minute, America simultaneously gets less free in the laboratory, but more free in the field. Individuals are constantly expanding the limits and applications of their own autonomy, even as government transcends prior restraints on how far it can reach into our intimate business.
So it is that the Internal Revenue Service can charge foreign banks with collecting taxes on U.S. citizens (therefore causing global financial institutions to shun many of the estimated 6 million-plus Americans who live abroad), even while block-chain virtuosos make illegal transactions wholly undetectable to authorities. It has never been easier for Americans to travel abroad, and it’s never been harder to enter the U.S. without showing passports, fingerprints, retinal scans, and even social-media passwords.
What’s true for banking and tourism is doubly true for free speech. Social media has given everyone not just a platform but a megaphone (as unreadable as our Facebook timelines have all become since last November). At the same time, the federal government during this unhappy 21st century has continuously ratcheted up prosecutorial pressure against leakers, whistleblowers, investigative reporters, and technology companies.
A hopeful bulwark against government encroachment unique to the free-speech field is the Supreme Court’s very strong First Amendment jurisprudence in the past decade or two. Donald Trump, like Hillary Clinton before him, may prattle on about locking up flag-burners, but Antonin Scalia and the rest of SCOTUS protected such expression back in 1990. Barack Obama and John McCain (and Hillary Clinton—she’s as bad as any recent national politician on free speech) may lament the Citizens United decision, but it’s now firmly legal to broadcast unfriendly documentaries about politicians without fear of punishment, no matter the electoral calendar.
But in this very strength lies what might be the First Amendment’s most worrying vulnerability. Barry Friedman, in his 2009 book The Will of the People, made the persuasive argument that the Supreme Court typically ratifies, post facto, where public opinion has already shifted. Today’s culture of free speech could be tomorrow’s legal framework. If so, we’re in trouble.
For evidence of free-speech slippage, just read around you. When both major-party presidential nominees react to terrorist attacks by calling to shut down corners of the Internet, and when their respective supporters are actually debating the propriety of sucker punching protesters they disagree with, it’s hard to escape the conclusion that our increasingly shrill partisan sorting is turning the very foundation of post-1800 global prosperity into just another club to be swung in our national street fight.
In the eternal cat-and-mouse game between private initiative and government control, the former is always advantaged by the latter’s fundamental incompetence. But what if the public willingly hands government the power to muzzle? It may take a counter-cultural reformation to protect this most noble of American experiments.
Matt Welch is the editor at large of Reason.
Adam. J. WhiteFree speech is indeed under threat on our university campuses, but the threat did not begin there and it will not end there. Rather, the campus free-speech crisis is a particularly visible symptom of a much more fundamental crisis in American culture.
The problem is not that some students, teachers, and administrators reject traditional American values and institutions, or even that they are willing to menace or censor others who defend those values and institutions. Such critics have always existed, and they can be expected to use the tools and weapons at their disposal. The problem is that our country seems to produce too few students, teachers, and administrators who are willing or able to respond to them.
American families produce children who arrive on campus unprepared for, or uninterested in, defending our values and institutions. For our students who are focused primarily on their career prospects (if on anything at all), “[c]ollege is just one step on the continual stairway of advancement,” as David Brooks observed 16 years ago. “They’re not trying to buck the system; they’re trying to climb it, and they are streamlined for ascent. Hence they are not a disputatious group.”
Meanwhile, parents bear incomprehensible financial burdens to get their kids through college, without a clear sense of precisely what their kids will get out of these institutions in terms of character formation or civic virtue. With so much money at stake, few can afford for their kids to pursue more than career prospects.
Those problems are not created on campus, but they are exacerbated there, as too few college professors and administrators see their institutions as cultivators of American culture and republicanism. Confronted with activists’ rage, they offer no competing vision of higher education—let alone a compelling one.
Ironically, we might borrow a solution from the Left. Where progressives would leverage state power in service of their health-care agenda, we could do the same for education. State legislatures and governors, recognizing the present crisis, should begin to reform and renegotiate the fundamental nature of state universities. By making state universities more affordable, more productive, and more reflective of mainstream American values, they will attract students—and create incentives for competing private universities to follow suit.
Let’s hope they do it soon, for what’s at stake is much more than just free speech on campus, or even free speech writ large. In our time, as in Tocqueville’s, “the instruction of the people powerfully contributes to the support of a democratic republic,” especially “where instruction which awakens the understanding is not separated from moral education which amends the heart.” We need our colleges to cultivate—not cut down—civic virtue and our capacity for self-government. “Republican government presupposes the existence of these qualities in a higher degree than any other form,” Madison wrote in Federalist 55. If “there is not sufficient virtue among men for self-government,” then “nothing less than the chains of despotism” can restrain us “from destroying and devouring one another.”
Adam J. White is a research fellow at the Hoover Institution.
Cathy YoungA writer gets expelled from the World Science Fiction Convention for criticizing the sci-fi community’s preoccupation with racial and gender “inclusivity” while moderating a panel. An assault on free speech, or an exercise of free association? How about when students demand the disinvitation of a speaker—or disrupt the speech? When a critic of feminism gets banned from a social-media platform for unspecified “abuse”?
Such questions are at the heart of many recent free-speech controversies. There is no censorship by government; but how concerned should we be when private actors effectively suppress unpopular speech? Even in the freest society, some speech will—and should—be considered odious and banished to unsavory fringes. No one weeps for ostracized Holocaust deniers or pedophilia apologists.
But shunned speech needs to remain a narrow exception—or acceptable speech will inexorably shrink. As current Federal Communications Commission chairman Ajit Pai cautioned last year, First Amendment protections will be hollowed out unless undergirded by cultural values that support a free marketplace of ideas.
Sometimes, attacks on speech come from the right. In 2003, an Iraq War critic, reporter Chris Hedges, was silenced at Rockford College in Illinois by hecklers who unplugged the microphone and rushed the stage; some conservative pundits defended this as robust protest. Yet the current climate on the left—in universities, on social media, in “progressive” journalism, in intellectual circles—is particularly hostile to free expression. The identity-politics left, fixated on subtle oppressions embedded in everyday attitudes and language, sees speech-policing as the solution.
Is hostility to free-speech values on the rise? New York magazine columnist Jesse Singal argues that support for restrictions on public speech offensive to minorities has remained steady, and fairly high, since the 1970s. Perhaps. But the range of what qualifies as offensive—and which groups are to be shielded—has expanded dramatically. In our time, a leading liberal magazine, the New Republic, can defend calls to destroy a painting of lynching victim Emmett Till because the artist is white and guilty of “cultural appropriation,” and a feminist academic journal can be bullied into apologizing for an article on transgender issues that dares to mention “male genitalia.”
There is also a distinct trend of “bad” speech being squelched by coercion, not just disapproval. That includes the incidents at Middlebury College in Vermont and at Claremont McKenna in California, where mobs not only prevented conservative speakers—Charles Murray and Heather Mac Donald—from addressing audiences but physically threatened them as well. It also includes the use of civil-rights legislation to enforce goodthink in the workplace: Businesses may face stiff fines if they don’t force employees to call a “non-binary” co-worker by the singular “they,” even when talking among themselves.
These trends make a mockery of liberalism and enable the kind of backlash we have seen with Donald Trump’s election. But the backlash can bring its own brand of authoritarianism. It’s time to start rebuilding the culture of free speech across political divisions—a project that demands, above all, genuine openness and intellectual consistency. Otherwise it will remain, as the late, great Nat Hentoff put it, a call for “free speech for me, but not for thee.”
Cathy Young is a contributing editor at Reason.
Robert J. ZimmerFree speech is not a natural feature of human society. Many people are comfortable with free expression for views they agree with but would withhold this privilege for those they deem offensive. People justify such restrictions by various means: the appeal to moral certainty, political agendas, demand for change, opposing change, retaining power, resisting authority, or, more recently, not wanting to feel uncomfortable. Moral certainty about one’s views or a willingness to indulge one’s emotions makes it easy to assert that others are doing true damage or creating unacceptable offense simply by presenting a fundamentally different perspective.
The resulting challenges to free expression may come in the form of laws, threats, pressure (whether societal, group, or organizational), or self-censorship in the face of a prevailing consensus. Specific forms of challenge may be more or less pronounced as circumstances vary. But the widespread temptation to consider the silencing of “objectionable” viewpoints as acceptable implies that the challenge to free expression is always present.
The United States today is no exception. We benefit from the First Amendment, which asserts that the government shall make no law abridging the freedom of speech. However, fostering a society supporting free expression involves matters far beyond the law. The ongoing and increasing demonization of one group by another creates a political and social environment conducive to suppressing speech. Even violent acts opposing speech can become acceptable or encouraged. Such behavior is evident at both political rallies and university events. Our greatest current threat to free expression is the emergence of a national culture that accepts the legitimacy of suppression of speech deemed objectionable by a segment of the population.
University and college campuses present a particularly vivid instance of this cultural shift. There have been many well-publicized episodes of speakers being disinvited or prevented from speaking because of their views. However, the problem is much deeper, as there is significant self-censorship on many campuses. Both faculty and students sometimes find themselves silenced by social and institutional pressures to conform to “acceptable” views. Ironically, the very mission of universities and colleges to provide a powerful and deeply enriching education for their students demands that they embrace and protect free expression and open discourse. Failing to do so significantly diminishes the quality of the education they provide.
My own institution, the University of Chicago, through the words and actions of its faculty and leaders since its founding, has asserted the importance of free expression and its essential role in embracing intellectual challenge. We continue to do so today as articulated by the Chicago Principles, which strongly affirm that “the University’s fundamental commitment is to the principle that debate or deliberation may not be suppressed because the ideas put forth are thought by some or even by most members of the University community to be offensive, unwise, immoral, or wrong-headed.” It is only in such an environment that universities can fulfill their own highest aspirations and provide leadership by demonstrating the value of free speech within society more broadly. A number of universities have joined us in reinforcing these values. But it remains to be seen whether the faculty and leaders of many institutions will truly stand up for these values, and in doing so provide a model for society as a whole.
Robert J. Zimmer is the president of the University of Chicago.