By Carter Ottele

I’ve been remarkably lucky to edit the B&S for the last two years. Most schools don’t pay their students to print articles with headlines like “Tenured Professors Celebrate 1,000 Days by Selling Souls, Engaging in Wild Orgy” or “Grinnellians Die Alone”; the fact that SPARC continues funding the B&S remains a marvel and a mystery. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my time with this publication, and I look forward to seeing it grow under new leadership. 

However, its continued success depends upon the future of free speech at Grinnell—and at risk of sounding melodramatic, I believe that such a future is at risk. Many Grinnellians, including myself, have grown up in a country that takes free speech for granted. We text crude jokes to our friends, criticize the government in public spaces, and leave harsh reviews on RateMyProfessor. Typically, we perform these actions without hesitating.

Free speech is fragile, though, and it’s under threat both nationally and locally. Nationally, the Trump administration has challenged the First Amendment by excluding journalists from critical spaces, withholding and revoking visas from activists, defunding higher education, supporting book bans…the list goes on. Most B&S readers are aware of these encroachments, and I hope we continue to protest them.

Less discussed is the climate at Grinnell that tends to stifle dialogue and encourage silence. While I don’t believe that universities are nothing more than thoughtless echo chambers, nor accept that “cancel culture” is as pervasive as right-wing sources claim, I do believe that Grinnellians often choose to remain quiet for fear of saying the wrong thing. This fear inhibits us from realizing our potential as both students and human beings. When we refrain from expressing our opinions publicly, we grow to resent those that we disagree with. We also turn to anonymous platforms like YikYak, where in lieu of holding constructive conversations, we feed our worst impulses and lash out at those whom we resent. Simply put, silence breeds polarization.

Sometimes, free speech dilemmas arise in obvious places, like classroom debates; other times, they connect to seemingly unrelated issues. For instance, the S&B published an article on April 28 about a planned alumni trip to Bali, Indonesia. Supposedly, the trip planners selected non-Balinese faculty to lead the trip over certain Balinese professors; when people pushed back, DAR canceled the trip.

This incident demonstrates the ripple effects of unfree speech. In an ideal world, the controversy would have sparked productive discussions between DAR, alumni, Southeast Asian members of the community, and faculty. Instead, everybody ended up worse than before. By canceling the trip, DAR lost a source of revenue, while alumni lost the chance to take a guided tour of Bali. By staying silent, DAR also learned that it’s better to make no decision than make a controversial one, thus reinforcing future behavior. Meanwhile, the faculty chosen to lead the trip discovered that simply being selected can provoke negative reactions, encouraging them to remove themselves from similar situations in the future. Finally, the S&B—a critical source of written expression on campus—framed the issue one-sidedly, reducing the nuanced situation to solely the question of supporting Southeast Asian identity. By avoiding engagement with other perspectives, the S&B shut down whatever chance for productive conversation still remained. The net effect of this series of events is that everyone became less likely to share their opinion going forward.

What I want you, dear reader, to conclude from the Bali debacle is that free speech can be threatened from lots of angles, not just by a reactionary conservative in the Oval Office with authoritarian aims. In many cases, we weaken it unknowingly, in spite of our good intentions. Each time we censor others by excluding their perspectives, or censor ourselves by choosing silence over discussion, we further erode the culture of free speech at Grinnell.

More broadly, I hope you understand how the responsibility to protect free speech falls on all of our shoulders. Just as we may restrict it, we’re also capable of strengthening it. At Grinnell, that means supporting publications like the B&S or S&B—and, when you take issue with them, writing op-eds and emails to voice your thoughts. That means speaking up in class, especially when you disagree with the professor or your classmates. That means reading books that are further to the left or right than you’re accustomed to, watching movies that are crass and shocking, starting conversations with people from disparate backgrounds, and calling your more hesitant peers into tricky discussions. And finally, beyond feeling comfortable sharing unpopular opinions, that means embracing discomfort when others push back, then transforming it into an opportunity for growth.

I know that Grinnellians can protect free speech because I’ve seen how the writers of this publication approach their work. They’re funny, of course, but they’re also thoughtful and intentional. They cleverly connect their articles to broader issues on campus, and they fearlessly author opinions that many readers might disagree with. My colleagues at the B&S give me hope that, when faced with threats to free speech from on and off campus, Grinnellians will decide to dig in their heels.