TRANSCRIPT: "Entitled to Judge"
Student Aishwarya Varma reflects on freedom of expression on campus.
This is the transcript for Banished — “Entitled to Judge.”
AMNA KHALID: This is Banished and I’m Amna Khalid.
Celebrated as the bedrock of democracy, freedom of expression is often seen as an American or western value. Yet the concept has a rich and global history. In the spring of 2023 I offered a course on the global history of free expression. The course tracks the long and turbulent history of freedom of expression from ancient Athens and medieval Islamic societies to the Enlightenment and the drive for censorship in totalitarian and colonial societies. Twenty-one students enrolled in the course with many on the waitlist. This was by far the most interesting course I have taught, not least because students were clearly hungry for a space to discuss contentious topics. It became the norm for me to teach the class and then to hold additional “class” sessions in my office with students who wanted to continue the conversation. Teaching this course was truly exhilarating — as a class we wrestled with ideas together, students challenged each other and me, we questioned and reconsidered deeply held views.
For the final assignment I asked students to write a letter to a person of their choosing reflecting on if and how their learning in class has made them rethink the parameters of speech and expression in their own contexts . Many addressed their letters to a peer or friend at Carleton College. Others wrote to members of their families. For the next few episodes I’ll be featuring some of the student letters that really stood out. I believe they deserve a wider audience and I’m grateful for their permission to share their work. Today I am sharing with you Aishwarya Varma’s letter to her friend Grace. Here’s Aishwarya reading out her own letter.
AISHWARYA VARMA:
Dear Grace,
If you would’ve asked me a year ago, I would’ve told you that the entire world was ordered according to race. Inequities perpetuated by slavery and segregation were present in all aspects of society, and everyone should do their part to correct these injustices. White people sat atop the pyramid of privilege. I was certainly aware of some of the isms and phobias– ableism, sexism, and homophobia, to name a few– that could marginalize white people. But I still operated under the belief that racism was the most pervasive and dehumanizing -ism at play. The murder of George Floyd awakened me to these injustices, and I found myself unwaveringly angry, all the time. Why were the heaps of white people that I called peers staying silent at such a critical moment in time? Did they not care about equality? Or speaking up against injustice? Or standing in solidarity with all people of color? After all, I was one of the two women of color in our friend group. Did our friends, including you, not care about my safety or mental health?
Adam. The was the shot heard around Carleton in winter of 2022. It was a common motif during our disagreements, and it, amongst other conflicts, decided the fate of our friendship. I was so hurt by your response. How could you defend his actions? He publicly and drunkenly disrespected the Black Lives Matter campaign– a movement that, in my eyes, was indisputably fighting for the equal rights of Black people. You chose to defend him, which meant that you supported this behavior. Perhaps some part of you agreed with it. And I couldn’t be friends with someone so different to me. So, we parted ways. On one hand, this gave me the power to find solace in my own community. I gained new friends, particularly people of color, who validated my emotions, and I felt I could confide in and trust them. I found comfort in the fact that we shared similar worldviews. At the same time, I’ve noticed that within these circles and generally throughout the Carleton community I’ve encountered little disagreement. At one point, I thought this was a good thing. Recently, I’ve started to deconstruct my racialized view of the world, which dictated who can do and say what. Here, I provide a list of views that I’ve held at Carleton, coupled with an explanation of how these beliefs have been changed and complicated.
● Belief 1: White people can’t teach sensitive topics; they could never understand what it’s like to be a minority or oppressed.
● Belief 2: My perspective must be the right perspective, as I have always stood for human rights and equality.
● Belief 3: Harmful ideas shouldn’t be espoused publicly.
● Belief 4: Racism is whatever I say it is.
Allow me to reflect on how these beliefs of mine have changed.
Belief 1: “White people can’t teach sensitive topics; they could never understand what it’s like to be a minority or be oppressed”.
Learning about topics like Slavery or the Holocaust, or misunderstood religions like Islam, require the professor to have some lived experience of the topic they taught. I was particularly skeptical of white professors’ ability to teach about marginalized groups. Given their position at the top of the privilege pyramid, it was difficult for me to believe that they would be able to handle these topics with the sensitivity they deserved. On the other hand, I felt more sympathetic toward a professor that was a minority teaching a sensitive subject, even though they might not have had the lived experience of the group related to that topic.[1] For example, it seemed more acceptable for a Black, Christian professor to teach Islam than a white, Christian professor. And these ideas seemed universal, no matter what context I was in. I believed in this so fervently, without ever realizing that viewing society through a racialized lens could be just as reductive and exclusionary as the racism I’ve felt on campus. It negatively confines all of us to categories, making it difficult for anyone to venture out of their prescribed box. Grouping people by their identities is often arbitrary and rooted in untruths. How could I be sure that the Black professor would do a better job of portraying Islam sensitively, without propagating negative stereotypes of the religion? While there are many benefits of taking a course with a professor that has lived experience that informs the subject they teach, or maybe provides a minority perspective that could enrich the course, their race or identity groups do not guarantee quality teaching. And what exactly qualifies as lived experience? One can be sure that the lived experience of a Black professor teaching slavery at Carleton in our current moment does not compare to the life of a slave in South Carolina in the eighteenth century. Or the lived experience of a Muslim professor from Senegal teaching Global Islamic Studies will be vastly different from the experience of Sufi Muslims in South Asia. Lived experience is a concept that can be easily complicated.[2] And, by adopting this mindset, I’ve done professors a great disservice. Considering minorities have never truly been comfortable in classroom settings, I felt entitled to receive a certain education and felt the need to be vocal for all the other minorities in the classroom. I cannot deny, however, that my knowledge of these subjects is far less than that of a professor. If I thought reducing a professor to their identity might save ignorant students from a reductive, oversimplified education through a course they teach, why didn’t I also realize that excluding that course from my schedule solely because of their identity would also keep me ignorant about that topic? They may have been the only professor teaching that subject! After all, I’m here to learn more about these topics. More often than not, the only experience I’ve had with these subjects is through news, social media, or what I’ve heard from friends. This is not to say that professors without lived experience are not capable of mishandling sensitive topics; I’ve certainly seen examples of this during my college career. However, at present, I would never hope to deny a professor their right to teach a course based on their identities. Instead, they should be judged based on their expertise and teaching prowess.
Belief 2: “My perspective must be the right perspective, as I have always stood for human rights and equality”.
I have believed so strongly for the last four years that my perspective was undoubtedly the right perspective to have. Things were so black and white in my mind. Conservatives, especially if they’re white, were definitively bad people. They were the brainwashed, uneducated majority that religiously watched Fox and Friends, stalked Ron DeSantis’ Twitter, and trolled liberals in their spare time. On campus, being the “devil’s advocate” in class was a surefire way to get canceled, as anyone that ideologically stepped out of the liberal bubble was surely a conservative. Why else would they take such an inflammatory, harmful position if they didn’t believe it themselves? But clearly, I’ve created several linear assumptions about people I don’t even know. Respect for my peers became conditional– as long as they supported my worldview, they could be engaged with me. I know I’m not the only person who’s adopted this mindset. I do think our campus has become an echo chamber – where important conversations have become unproductive and unfulfilling. We’ve regurgitated one-liners from social media posts about colorblindness and allyship without critically thinking about why these things hold true. In some ways, Carleton has become a puritanical society, where students risk being ostracized if they don’t vocally acknowledge their privilege and condemn the -isms. This is not to say that I don’t believe in genuine conversations about tackling issues of equality on our campus. Obviously, we should be mindful of minorities in these conversations, but if everyone in the room agrees, even if they feel internal dissonance, people will forget why they believed these things in the first place.[3] Aren’t college campuses where we’re given the freedom to explore ourselves and the world around us? We’ve all been given a golden opportunity to learn at a prestigious liberal arts college in the United States. I respect the principle of preventing harm, but shielding ourselves from learning difficult topics does much more harm than good. We must bear witness to injustice, as this might be the only way for us as a society to prevent its repetition. If anything, the real world is far more dangerous than our tiny liberal bubble, and blocking ourselves from engaging with diverse perspectives does not prepare us for navigating the harsh world around us. Furthermore, some of my most valuable lessons have come at a great cost to my mental health. While learning need not necessarily be traumatic, being a student at a prestigious college like Carleton allows me to learn about sensitive and tough topics in a safe and forgiving environment. The concept of preventing harm — a justification I’ve used to defend the ideas I’ve previously held — has also been completely deconstructed and complicated in the last few months.
Belief 3: “Harmful ideas shouldn’t be espoused publicly”.
In retrospect, I know why I felt the need to inhabit this mindset. I know what it feels to be a racial minority at a predominantly white institution, and what it’s like for everyone around me to claim that the racism that I’ve experienced wasn’t a big deal. I’ve felt this from you and others within our group. It hurts to feel like I’m not seen by the people I call friends. In adopting this mindset, I wanted to validate other minorities in ways I wasn’t. I wanted to fend off any harm that might come to them. After taking this class, my original intentions in terms of changing society remain, although I am conflicted about how to bring about change. I’ve learned that historically, controversial ideas don’t go away by sweeping them under the rug. If anything, they become even more radical and inflammatory, like Nazism under the Weimar Republic.[4] Similarly, right-wing ideas won’t disappear if we stop talking about them; if anything, the lack of conversation on campuses breeds internal dissonance and ignorance, which could encourage people to adopt harmful ideas in turn. I’ve also noticed that affirming and validating minorities has become more of a meaningless practice than a living truth. Fearing the repercussions, people on our campus maintain their silence whenever they disagree with the dominant liberal discourse. They mindlessly repost infographics about oppression to virtue-signal to others. They yammer on about “knowing their privilege” & “listening and learning”.[5]
I support the collective effort towards education about racism. My irritation lies in the fact that many of these people don’t actually believe what they say. I think it’s highly probable that if I questioned or argued with a fellow Carl on a view they hold on racism, they would not only take me to be a conservative but also fail to defend their own point of view. I have two thoughts regarding this. First, if we always judge a person by a single thing they say, aren’t we just as ignorant as those who espouse bigoted views? And if we cannot argue why we believe what we believe, and why we act the way we do, what’s the point of holding these views at all?[6] I myself often forget why I adopted these tenets in the first place.
Belief 4: “Racism is whatever I say it is”.
I know we’ve disagreed, especially concerning racism. You’ve outrightly defended known racists and exclaimed that they didn’t deserve to be canceled over one mistake they’ve made. We’ve even disagreed on what constitutes racism itself, where you’ve fallen on the right end of the spectrum. I got so angry when you told me that racism had lost its meaning. How could you say that, considering you’re a white woman with no understanding of what it’s like to be brown? I completely shut down the possibility of a conversation because I thought so fervently that I was right. In my mind, there was no way we could go so far left that we’d transcend the bounds of reason. But after hearing about the recent events at Hamline – where a Muslim student was offended by an art history professor showing a 14th-century Islamic painting of Muhammad in a class on global art history -- and going through a period of deep introspection, I realized that well-intentioned people can indeed go too far left -- something that only ever seemed beneficial earlier. And the consequences can hurt the very minorities I sought to protect. One of the purported definitions of Islamophobia is that it is exactly what Muslims say it is. At first, I felt I couldn’t contest this definition; as a non-Muslim, I have no idea what it’s like to experience Islamophobia, and thus my opinion on what constitutes it wouldn’t be valid. But Islam is a vast religion in itself, practiced by almost two billion people from diverse cultural, linguistic, and racial backgrounds. One Muslim might say it’s Islamophobic, but what if another Muslim says it’s not? How do I weigh these perspectives considering hatred and intolerance can be interpreted differently?[7] By taking one perspective over the other, aren’t I also essentializing a group? If we are unable to appreciate the diversity within a group, the consequences can be dire. In the Hamline case, the professor lost her job. If people are not allowed to share ideas freely without being limited to the bounds of their identity, how can we guarantee that important conversations like these continue?[8] [9]
There are huge parallels between this situation and ours; if you didn’t contest the definition of racism I set forth, I might’ve never truly thought about why I felt so strongly about what I did.[10] These conversations must happen with friends, especially when they have different identities, and I regret not continuing what could’ve been a productive moment for us.
I’m not typically someone who has regrets, although I have one regret when it comes to you. After our falling out, I delved deep into anti-racism literature. The voices of scholars like Ibram X. Kendi and Ruby Hamad occupied my mind. Consequently, I felt justified in taking certain liberties, as my experience as a woman of color was obviously indisputable. For one, I felt entitled to the narrative surrounding our story. I also felt entitled to judge those who associated with you as racists, cowards, and phonies. These distinctions– the us versus them– soon became hardened in my mind. I canceled you, those who associated with you, and those who associated with people who associated with you. It was a domino effect that extended throughout campus and left me with few whom I could call friends. I became unrecognizable. I used to be a girl who could get along with anyone and see the good in everyone. Now, I was a Saturday night shut-in who had little energy for those that were different from me. I was a self-appointed morality judge at Carleton– a position that gave me the power to validate myself and others like me and isolate those who contested my worldview. In retrospect, I’ve learned that people aren’t their associations, nor are they defined by their mistakes. It was wrong to judge a whole group of people about a situation that I felt entitled to control. My examination of their entire character was contingent on a single criterion– their association with you. This is not to say my experiences regarding racism weren’t real. They absolutely were. It was my reality. It was wrong, however, to make that an undeniable reality for others. I monopolized the thoughts, beliefs, and associations of my peers at Carleton, and it’s something I regret deeply.
I still think that there were fundamental misalignments in our friendship. After reflection, however, I see our differences differently. Following our breakup, I stopped seeing you as a human being. This wasn’t healthy for either of us — it gave way to a fruitless, year-long pursuit of ideological purity for me, and likely ended some friendships for you. It’s not that I felt that we weren’t equal, but I forgot to recognize the complexity that is inherent in being human. Sometimes, we contradict ourselves. We act selfishly and make mistakes. We might fail to acknowledge another perspective and live in ignorance. But our differences needn’t put us on separate planets. If anything, I’ve learned that our differences are what unites us. So, I forgive you. Not only for me, but for all of us.
Sincerely,
Aishwarya
AMNA KHALID: Aishwarya Varma graduated from Carleton College and is a software engineer at Target.
The next few episodes will feature more student letters.
If you like what you heard today don’t forget to rate and share Banished and do leave a comment so we know what you think. Thanks for listening. This is Banished, and I, as always am Amna Khalid. Until next time!
[1]John Hamilton McWhorter, Woke Racism: How a New Religion Has Betrayed Black America (London: Forum, 2022), 11-12.
[2] Amna Khalid, “Most of All, I Am Offended as a Muslim,” The Chronicle of Higher Education, January 11, 2023.
[3] John Stuart Mill, Richard V Reeves, Jonathan Haidt, Dave Cicirelli, and Heterodox Academy. 2018. All Minus One: John Stuart Mill's Ideas on Free Speech Illustrated (New York: Heterodox Academy), 27.
[4] Jacob Mchangama, Free Speech: A Global History from Socrates to Social Media (New York: Basic Books, 2022), chapter 10.
[5] John Hamilton McWhorter, Woke Racism: How a New Religion Has Betrayed Black America (London: Forum, 2022), 15.
[6] John Stuart Mill, Richard V Reeves, Jonathan Haidt, Dave Cicirelli, and Heterodox Academy. 2018. All Minus One : John Stuart Mill's Ideas on Free Speech Illustrated (New York: Heterodox Academy), 26-27.
[7] Nadine Strossen, Hate: Why We Should Resist It with Free Speech, Not Censorship (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 122.
[8] Amna Khalid, “Most of All, I Am Offended as a Muslim,” The Chronicle of Higher Education, January 11, 2023.
[9] Alexander Jabbari, “Where Religion and Neoliberal Diversity Tactics Converge,” The Chronicle of Higher Education, January 12, 2023.
[10] John Stuart Mill, Richard V. Reeves, Jonathan Haidt, Dave Cicirelli, and Heterodox Academy. 2018. All Minus One: John Stuart Mill's Ideas on Free Speech Illustrated (New York: Heterodox Academy), 32.
This is great. I must commend you for having the bravery to teach a topic like this in today's atmosphere - and in such an evidently reasoned and level-headed way. I know only too well what effects self-censorship has in the classroom, and how rapidly complaints can get out of hand. Kudos to you.
Gravitas. This is the word that comes to mind after reading this letter. Because in truth, getting to know someone and to fully plumb the depths of a relationship is much more profound than simply categorizing an individual by a limited and superficial (or just plain old wrong) criteria. It takes work and a sustained commitment. But to fully invest in the experience of our shared humanity, there's simply no other way. This is a great letter/essay.