Why College Protests Make Better Leaders

The principle of free speech demands we allow protests to take place on college campuses. But must we merely tolerate campus demonstrations, or do we have some deeper stake in allowing them to continue—even when they are loud, impulsive, and irritating to the surrounding society? That question goes to the heart of universities’ civic mission: We should want our colleges to educate citizens who will be not only skillful thinkers, listeners, and speakers but also engaged proponents of this country’s ideals. Young people develop civic competence by experimenting with political action as well as by participating in respectful classroom discussions. Much of collegiate learning occurs through extracurricular activities. Some of these activities—such as debate clubs—are widely celebrated, whereas others—such as protests—make society uncomfortable. All are important. We should remember that today’s activists may become tomorrow’s leaders.  When I am frustrated with protesters on Princeton’s campus, I try to remind myself that the university has had multiple excellent trustees who not only protested, but were arrested or disciplined for civil disobedience during their student days. They grew up to be distinguished professionals, model citizens, and influential members of their communities. That is not a coincidence. Even when their views are naive or ill-considered, protesters are among the minority of people willing to take risks and devote time and energy to the pursuit of a better world. To be sure, protest is not the only or necessarily the best way to do that. Students   will find different paths to pursue their beliefs and grow as citizens. I remember joining only one protest during my student days. I found it deeply unsatisfying; marching behind placards with oversimplified slogans was not for me.  I sometimes challenged professors in the classroom, however, arguing civilly but aggressively, a behavior that some appreciated or accommodated and others resented. I look back at my youthful arrogance with bemusement and occasional embarrassment, but I am glad that I spoke up.  Students who brashly question authority in their youth will need to temper their impudence if they are to be effective leaders as adults; students who always defer meekly to authority are unlikely to become leaders at any point. Encounters with protest—as participants, observers, or opponents of it—are useful parts of learning for students who will eventually leave their campuses for a fractious, rough-and-tumble political world. Universities must adhere fastidiously to their truth-seeking mission, and they must honor standards different from those that govern the political realm, but it does not follow that they can or should remain aloof from the issues of the day. The long-term perspective of higher education matters to the treatment of student conduct just as it does to the cultivation of curiosity-driven research. Jim Reische, who served for many years as the chief communications officer at Williams College, illustrates the point with a personal story: When he was a student at the University of Michigan, he spray-painted “Corporate Deathburgers” on a local McDonald’s. He was arrested but earned his degree; very few people ever knew about his rash vandalism.  Today, the “Deathburger” episode might cause an internet sensation and live forever in online archives. Reische laments that development: Making dumb mistakes is part of growing up, and we need to allow young people to learn from their errors. Many students have acted boldly, and occasionally made dumb mistakes, because they were outraged by historical wrongs, incendiary speakers, cultural stereotypes, or other provocations. At their best, colleges hold students accountable when they break rules, but also show enough leniency that these young people can develop and mature as human beings.  For that reason, collegiate sanctions for mild acts of civil disobedience may sometimes be relatively light—probation or a formal warning, for example, rather than suspension or expulsion. This aspect of campus life often sits badly with outsiders. When protesters shout offensive slogans or break rules at Princeton, I invariably hear from a few alumni who say that these students are “terrorists” or “criminals” and demand that they be expelled from the university.  That viewpoint is almost always wrong: Protesters are not terrorists, and the point of college is education, not punishment. In other words, students prepare for citizenship in a disputatious society by practicing the civic arts—by asserting and advocating for their views—not by meekly absorbing lessons from their instructors. That is how you get ready for adulthood in a nation characterized by public debate. Read more: The Dangers of Curtailing Free Speech on Campus Polite limits on campus conversation are infeasible in a nation characterized by, inJustice William Brennan’s words from the 1964 New York Times v. Sullivan, “a profound nationalcommitment to the principle that debate … should be uninhibited, robust, and wide-open.” Educating citizens for that raucous political world requires that not only books,laboratories, lectures, and seminars, but also banners and armbands be welcomedinside the college gate. The freedoms to pursue curiosity-driven questions, dream big, speak boldly, and blunder occasionally are all essential to the civic mission of American colleges and universities. These exceptional freedoms make colleges and universities seem different and at times peculiar. They exist, as former Princeton president William Bowen put it, “at a slight angle to the world.”  That orientation is a virtue; it gives academic institutions their critical edge. It is also a vulnerability. It means that there will always be a receptive crowd for criticisms that exaggerate the separation between universities and the broader society. This essay is adapted from Terms of Respect, available from Basic Books, an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.