Advocacy and Analysis

In an Op-ed column in this past Sunday’s NY Times, Stanley Fish discussed the case of Kevin Barrett, the University of Wisconsin Ph.D. and coordinator for the “Muslim-Jewish-Christian Alliance for 9/11 Truth,” who is scheduled to teach a course on “Islam: Religion and Culture” this fall, but who has argued that the US government was directly responsible for the 9/11 attacks. After he discussed these views on a conservative talk show, State Representative Stephen Nass (R) lead calls for Barrett’s dismissal from the university.

In his editorial, Fish argues that much of the ensuing controversy over whether or not  Barrett’s political opinions should be protected misses the point of what “academic freedom” does and does not cover. The point of academic freedom, Fish argues, “has nothing to do with content,” but rather “is the freedom of academics to study anything they like; the freedom, that is, to subject any body of material, however unpromising it might seem, to academic interrogation and analysis.”  Therefore, he concludes,

Any idea can be brought into the classroom if the point is to inquire into its structure, history, influence and so forth. But no idea belongs in the classroom if the point of introducing it is to recruit your students for the political agenda it may be thought to imply.

Ironically, Fish’s essay advocating a clear distinction between advocacy and analysis has been roundly criticized for its implicit ideological agenda (for some of these discussions, see Long Sunday and Sherman Don).

I, too, will consider Fish’s editorial and the issues it raises, but will approach them somewhat indirectly, by turning first to two other recent incidents which underscore the power of speech and its implicit limits. On July 9th, Zinedine Zidane’s headbutt of Marco Materazzi was in response to verbal taunting. Although FIFA states that both parties denied that the taunting was racist in nature, they nevertheless gave Materazzi a surprisingly harsh two-game suspension. More recently, on July 28 Mel Gibson was pulled over for drunken driving, and proceeded to launch into a profanity laced, anti-Semitic tirade, saying among other things, "F------ Jews... The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world."

Although there are numerous important distinctions between the Materazzi, Gibson and Barrett controversies, there are nevertheless suggestive points of convergence between the three incidents, ones which inevitably complicate any simple response to the Barrett matter.

To begin with, both the Materazzi and the Gibson controversies underscore both the visceral power of certain kinds of speech, and the general sense that, even in a environment where trash-talking is not only condoned but even encouraged, there are certain kinds of speech which many regard as being fundamentally off-limits. A recent NY Times article, for instance, notes that, although trash-talking is tacitly encouraged in many American professional sports,

Current and former athletes and officials of the four traditional major professional sports leagues in North America said that rarely, if ever, did trash talking in their sports take the form of racial, ethnic or politically charged comments.

Similarly, movie stars are allowed, and even encouraged, to make outrageous statements off-camera, but there was a general sense that Gibson’s drunken ramblings last week had crossed an important line—leading Gibson to issue a rather extraordinary public apology. (See Juan Cole for a good discussion of how these ramblings fall into a broader pattern of anti-Semitic statements and beliefs).

The second, related, issue which the Materazzi and Gibson incidents underscore involves the degree to which both stars are inevitably seen, both on and off the field/stage, as representing their corporate sponsors and their coordinating institutions. Therefore, while a certain kinds of speech and behavior are implicitly condoned, there are inevitably points at which the speech/behavior is deemed so offensive that it impacts the public image of the company or organization (eg., FIFA, Disney, etc.). Here again, however, the threshold for permissible public expression is somewhat arbitrary. For instance, while the public backlash against Tom Cruise for his Scientology pronouncements last year seems somewhat iffy (regardless of whether one agrees with him or not), and the right-wing orchestrated boycott of the Dixie Chicks over their critique of the administration a few years ago was certainly totally unwarranted, many would nevertheless have welcomed a decision by Disney to decline to distribute Gibson’s upcoming movie, Apocalypto (though it now appears likely that Disney will stand behind him after all). Similarly, while professional athletes are generally given considerable leeway to say what they wish on and off the field, I think FIFA and other professional bodies are correct to take an increasingly hard line on racist slurs ().

Returning to the question of Kevin Barrett, I agree strongly with the University of Wisconsin-Madison Provost Patrick Farrell’s announcement that Barrett retained the university’s support: 

We cannot allow political pressure from critics of unpopular ideas to inhibit the free exchange of ideas. That classroom interaction is central to this university's mission and to the expansion of knowledge. Silencing that exchange now would only open the door to more onerous and sweeping restrictions.

It is in cases like this - difficult cases involving unconventional ideas - that we define our principles and determine our future. Instead of restricting politically unpopular speech, we will take our cue from the bronze plaque in front of Bascom Hall that calls for the 'continual and fearless sifting and winnowing' of ideas.

This decision is undoubtedly the correct one. While Barrett may very well be completely wrong, it would be nevertheless be even more wrong to succumb to political and largely partisan pressure (initiated by a Republican politician) to suppress a call for closer examination of the Bush administration’s role in the events preceding and following 9/11.

There is much that we still don’t know about the 9/11 attacks, due in no small part to the Administration’s own repeated evasions. For instance, as the Washington Post reports  today,

Some staff members and commissioners of the Sept. 11 panel concluded that the Pentagon's initial story of how it reacted to the 2001 terrorist attacks may have been part of a deliberate effort to mislead the commission and the public rather than a reflection of the fog of events on that day, according to sources involved in the debate.

Suspicion of wrongdoing ran so deep that the 10-member commission, in a secret meeting at the end of its tenure in summer 2004, debated referring the matter to the Justice Department for criminal investigation, according to several commission sources. Staff members and some commissioners thought that e-mails and other evidence provided enough probable cause to believe that military and aviation officials violated the law by making false statements to Congress and to the commission, hoping to hide the bungled response to the hijackings, these sources said.

To be sure, the 9/11 panel is not accusing the Pentagon of actually planning the attacks, but the point that there were probably systematic attempts to present false information about what had happened should at the very least be an incentive to look more carefully at the administration' s role in the entire affair.

While I agree with Provost Farrell’s decision in this instance, however, I think there are limits to how much it could be universalized. That is to say, I can imagine instances in which university faculty were found to be engaged in speech so egregious that, even if it were conducted entirely outside of the classroom, the university could reasonably have qualms about remaining publicly associated them. For instance, if Barrett were found to be associated with an association with explicitly racist views (e.g., the KKK or Neonazism), would the university not be justified in choosing to sever its relationship with him, even if there was no evidence that these views directly impacted his teaching? I believe so, but also recognize that this is a potentially slippery argument, since one person’s KKK or Neonazi affiliation might possibly be another person’s “Muslim-Jewish-Christian Alliance for 9/11 Truth.” The question of where precisely to draw the line is an extremely tricky one--one might be tempted to fall back on established juridical norms banning "hate speech," but given the Bush Administration's repeated attempts to criminalize critique of administration policy and doctrine, this might well be problematic as well.

To return to Stanley Fish’s editorial, however, he gets several things wrong. First of all, Fish suggests that the controversy (and Provost Farrell’s response) revolves around the assumption that Barrett has used the classroom to share “with students his strong conviction that the destruction of the World Trade Center was an inside job perpetrated by the American government.” In fact, the AP report of the controversial radio interview in question claimed merely that Barrett “acknowledged discussing Sept. 11 in teaching classes, but said it was only to give both sides of the issue, not to convert anyone to his point of view.” The university’s subsequent investigation, furthermore, found that evidence that Barrett had, or was planning to, use the classroom in order to advance his own personal views (the NY Times published a correction today similarly stating that “A university review determined that although Mr. Barrett presented a variety of viewpoints, he had not discussed his personal opinions in the classroom”).

That is essentially a factual mistake about the Barrett case itself. More problematic is the philosophical and pedagogical distinction Fish attempts to make between analysis and advocacy. Fish states that “no idea belongs in the classroom if the point of introducing it is to recruit your students for the political agenda it may be thought to imply,” and later continues,

It is perfectly possible to teach a viewpoint without embracing it and urging it. But the moment a professor does embrace and urge it, academic study has ceased and been replaced by partisan advocacy. And that is a moment no college administration should allow to occur.

As Michael Bérubé notes in a discussion of Fish’s essay,

I happen to agree that it’s illegitimate to use the classroom to recruit students to a political agenda.  But I don’t agree that it’s illegitimate to embrace and urge viewpoints.  (The question is whether you embrace and urge them in such a way as to dismiss all competing viewpoints, and penalize students who advance them.) And I think it’s a very, very serious mistake to confuse the two under the heading of “advocacy.”

Bérubé’s point here is a valuable one, but it relies on a distinction between “politics” and “viewpoints” which is potentially problematic.

What are the bounds of the political? Is it political to argue against Orientalism in a course on Asia of the Mideast? Is it “political” to critique sexism and racism in courses dealing closely with histories and cultures of  women and people of color? Is it political to include material on women and people of color in the course syllabus in the first place? Could even the most fair-minded instructor really be avoid “penalizing” a student exposing virulently racist or sexist views in a term paper for a course on, say, African American culture or women’s literature? Of course, the grade would probably be explained as being based on the objective merit of the paper, or the instructor might perhaps give the student a good grade simply as professional insurance, but I find it improbable that instructors in such a situation would not feel that the student had somehow “missed the point” of the course. Is that "point" a purely analytical one, or does it not easily slip into a form of advocacy?

Bérubé concludes his post by citing a 1996 essay by Louis Menand which notes a hypothetical “situation in which a professor knows that, say, Heart of Darkness is not a racist text but teaches it as if it were because she believes that students should be impressed with the need to combat racism.”  Menand concludes that this sort of hypothetical “advocacy” need not be critiqued for being advocacy, but rather for being fundamentally dishonest.

I haven’t read the rest of Menand’s essay, but out of context this example appears rather odd. Why choose a case of someone deliberately misreading a text, when one could just as easily make a similar point about using, say, The Birth of a Nation or Triumph of the Will in order advance critiques of racism or Nazism? How would it be “dishonest” to do so? Conversely, could such an instructor honestly claim that she was not “advocating” an anti-racist and anti-Nazi viewpoint? My point here is certainly not that we should ban all advocacy in the classroom, but rather that the distinction between "advocacy" and mere "viewpoints" is not necessarily as clear-cut as it might appear.

Comments

[Evan Jones]

Your argument relating to Kevin Barrett—"Barrett may very well be completely wrong," but because of the importance of academic freedom he should nonetheless be protected by his University—rings clear and true. Provost Farrell's statement, "We cannot allow political pressure from critics of unpopular ideas to inhibit the free exchange of ideas," is, of course, as true as true can be. I wonder, however, how the continuation of your argument might change if the opening premise became, "Barrett may very well be absolutely right."

As for Mel Gibson, your expansion of the discussion was interesting, but grew farther and farther from the point. It seems clear to me that Gibson's intent, grossly inappropriate and oh so worthy of apology, was merely to insult the officer in question. Was he sorry? You bet. Had the officer's name been Rojas or Chow, is there any doubt his remarks would have veered off in the direction of Bruce Lee or Pancho Villa? The old saw, "Instant asshole, just add alcohol" would seem very much at home here. Not all alcoholics are assholes, but Gibson made it perfectly clear that with a little alcohol and a fast car he has the potential to excel.

Found my way here via Abbas Raza's selection for Three Quarks Daily today. Hope to come back often.

[crojas]

Evan,

Many thanks. Most of the commentators over at 3QD seem to be speaking more to their own understanding of the Barrett incident, so I particularly appreciate your interest in the specific argument I was trying to develop.

Regarding the Barrett incident itself, yes, I definitely think that his political views on this topic should not impact the university's decision to allow him to teach the course. I am not certain, however, that I understand where you are going with your final question? Certainly, if one supports Barrett's rights might be completely wrong, would not one be equally supportive of his views even if he were "absolutely right"?

Regarding Gibson, I realized after the fact that the Juan Cole post I linked to was not the one I had in mind at the time, but since quite a few readers had already followed the link, and since I can't remember precisely which post I was actually thinking of, I decided to leave it for the time being. At any rate, I was trying to make two points with the Gibson example.

First, I think that there is reason to believe that his drunken ramblings were necessarily completely random. I am certainly not an expert of Gibson's religious or political views, but it is well-known that his Passion of the Christ was widely criticized for its apparent anti-Semitic implications. Furthermore, it is also well-known that Gibson's father, Hutton Gibson, is an outspoken Holocaust denier, and Gibson fils has consistently refused to explicitly distance himself from those views. Does that mean Mel himself is necessarily anti-Semitic? Of course not, but it does help to explain was his drunken ramblings that night were seen has potentially meaningful.

At any rate, my main point is not about Gibson himself, but rather to say that there are many people (like, apparently, Mel's father) who hold and articulate beliefs that many of us agree are untenable and dangerous.

Therefore, I wanted to propose two thought experiments. First, if a professor were a vocal and public supporter of such beliefs outside the classroom, would his university be justified in taking action even if those statements and actions did not directly impact his teaching or scholarship? I'm inclined to think that there might be certain situations in which such action might actually be warranted.

Second, I wonder about the inverse scenario--what if, say in a course on the Holocaust, the professor is confronted with a student who insists that the Holocaust did not even take place? Would it be appropriate, even possible, to accept such an extreme view as merely a "difference of opinion"? But, if the student were given a poor grade for missing the point of the class, what would prevent him from claiming that the professor was "advocating" a specific set of political believes which the student did not share?

Of course, I am playing the devil's advocate, but to make a couple of points. First, though I strongly support academic freedom, I do think that there might be reasonable limits to what positions that freedom might sanction. Second, I disagree with the attempts by Fish, Bérubé, and Menand to distinguish between either politics and analysis (Fish) or between "advocacy" and viewpoints (Bérubé and Menand). Basically, I think that many (or all?) "viewpoints" are, at some level, political, and to argue otherwise is disingenuous.

[James]

Carlos,

我发现了您不得了的blog.

The distinction between "politics" and "advocacy" in determining the real "freedom" that academics should possess reminds me of how Zizek describes the Lacanian Real in *The Puppet and the Dwarf*. Zizek writes, "The real is *simultaneously* the Thing to which direct access is not possible and the obstacle that prevents this direct access; the thing that eleudes our grasp and the distorting screen that makes us miss the Thing. More precisely, the Real is ultimately the very shift of perspective from the first standpoint to the second" (77). It seems that Fish and company are caught trying to articulate the shift between perspectives (fair and balanced [all rights reserved]), revealing the ideological limits of their ability to access a "real" freedom of speech. The ideological limits perhaps are related to the power structure of the classroom, which leads to the more difficult questions that you raise as to what determines the boundaries of responsible speech and how these boundaries should be policied.

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