By R. Barbara Gitenstein
President Emerita, The College of New Jersey
Barbara Gitenstein
NEW YORK — Right after October 7, 2023, my concerns about the war in Gaza and Israel was focused on the reality of the horror and losses on both sides—those who died or were taken hostage at the hands of Hamas and those who died at the hands of the Israeli Defense Forces. Ironically on October 7, my husband and I were at the Metropolitan Opera watching Nabucco, Verdi’s opera about the Hebrew exiles in Babylon. The fact that the Metropolitan made no comment during the performance about the events of that morning shocked me. At a later performance that week, they commemorated those who died by a special singing of the famous choral piece, Va Pensiero. I feared then exactly what happened: the future world would be covered by dead bodies—on both sides—responses to the violence would be uninformed or overly cautious, and most observers would be all too certain of those who were victims and those who were perpetrators.
On November 16, I wrote on my personal blog of my pain that so many of my academic colleagues could not sympathize with the pain Jewish Americans were feeling: “When I heard of the carnage and the taking of hostages on October 7, my heart broke, first by the actions of Hamas and second by what I knew (feared) Israel’s response would be: to sow salt in the earth of Gaza.” I have never been more devastated to be so right. The numbers of dead and injured in Gaza are staggering; some 100 Israeli hostages are still in captivity; no international forum will take up the cause of the women who have made accusations of sexual violence during the initial raids in October.
But after December 5, my attention was diverted from the horror of these deaths and acts of violence in themselves and turned to the impact of these horrors on an enterprise to which I have dedicated my entire adult life—higher education.
The December 7 congressional hearing was an embarrassment to everyone on all sides. The three presidents had been so over schooled in the legal ramifications of their speech that they seemed unaware of the implications of serious events on their campuses. They sounded timid; they sounded like bureaucrats. Those congressmen who were jockeying for position as the most MAGA of MAGA posed questions that implied simple answers to complex questions and then faulted the presidents for arguing for nuance. The goal was not to get an answer. The goal was to make the presidents look bad. And they succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. Within weeks, two of the presidents who testified had resigned their positions.
The April 17 Congressional hearing was a repeat performance by the congressmen, but the single president, President Sharif of Columbia seemed to have learned some lessons from her predecessors. She forthrightly decried antisemitic rhetoric and antisemitic threats. However, both she and her supportive trustees who joined her on the panel seemed too anxious to throw aside the protections of free inquiry and speech that is the bedrock of learning in institutions of higher education. It still baffles me that so little mention has been made by anyone about certain aspects of the testimony of the trustees. In one case, for instance, the trustees without hesitation affirmed that if they knew at the time they granted tenure to a faculty member who had made offensive statements they would never have awarded him tenure. Those quick affirmations were terrifying on so many grounds. First, there was no mention that granting tenure in American higher education is not simply a decision at the board level. It is the result of a rigorous, and in some cases tedious, process that is affirmed by the board, but only after review by colleagues, academic administration and recommendation by the president. The Columbia trustees seemed comfortable setting aside this process. Furthermore, the implication of a political litmus test for tenure is chilling.
As has been noted by others, all of the presidents who testified were women and all were from Ivy League institutions. Both of these facts had impact on how they were treated and why they were treated with such disdain. I have serious doubts that any male colleague would have been treated or even reacted in the same way as these women.
The concept of elite higher education is anathema to many who question the impact of small powerful groups on the lives and experiences of the larger community. Some political leadership is eager to take advantage of that grievance. Ironically, some of the most vocal politicians on this problem are products of these elite educations: Elise Stefanik graduated from Harvard; Ron DeSantis has degrees from both Harvard and Yale. But the impact of what these ivy presidents said had impact on how all of higher education is viewed by the American public.
We were already in pretty bad shape before these hearings. Like most institutions of authority, we have lost ground with the American public. We cost too much; we seem too closeted; we seem too narrow in our political affiliations.
Then, the public viewed what these presidents said and espoused. And then, President Sharif called in the Manhattan Police to disperse the encampment on the Columbia campus. As in 1968 Columbia University became the epicenter of student activism and protest against the United States’ involvement in a war.
Since April 18, the news has been permeated with views of students and faculty being forcibly removed from lawns and quads across the country. Buildings have been taken over. Accusations of outside agitators have been asserted. Sometimes, I feel as if I am hearing a 50-year-old news reel of the Vietnam protests. But this time, the stakes are higher.
If I could give advice to any of my colleagues, I would say the following:
1. Go with your principles, don’t allow your public relations or legal team to constrain what you say when you know it is right and necessary. 2. Go out and get to know your students. Listen to them. If you are attentive, you will not confuse your students with outside agitators. 3. It is important to recognize the difference between members of your community and outsiders. First you have to determine if in fact outsiders are involved. Even if these outsiders are of good will, their presence complicates the communication platforms and your ability to hear what your community is advocating. It is perfectly reasonable in times of crisis to limit access to your campus to those who belong to your current community: students, faculty, staff, administrators, and members of your board(s). 4. Not all your students or faculty will be reasonable. Be frank with the community, allowing them to be frank with you. Begin with the assumption that the communication is with a shared purpose—to support the mission of the institution. 5. There is a possibility that you will receive votes of no confidence. Accept that as part of frank communication. After all, you have the authority to discipline both students and faculty. 6. Compromise and reconsideration are good. Perhaps your stance was too rigid; perhaps it did not take into account factors that if you listen with an open mind will gain traction. Changing your mind is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of maturity and a commitment to teaching. 7. Insisting on nuance is your job. It really is possible that two opposing views have value. A comment can be antisemitic or Islamophobic even though the person is not an antisemite or an Islamophobe. There can be more than one victim. Allow the community to appreciate those facts. It is also important that students and faculty understand that freedom of speech does not mean that there are no consequences to action; civil disobedience entails acceptance of sanctions. 8. Take some time to review your policies and procedures with regard to protest, controversial speakers, freedom of speech, emergency management plan. Make sure that they are responsive to the realities of today. 9. Keep your board informed throughout, but sometimes realize your understanding of the situation will necessarily be different from theirs. It will (or should be) more informed than theirs. Since that is the case, you will need to accept the fact that you might be removed from your job. 10. And finally, do not call in off campus police forces unless it is absolutely necessary. Once that happens, none of my advice above will help.*
R. Barbara Gitenstein is a former president of The College of New Jersey, a senior fellow and consultant for the Association of Governing Boards, and the author of the recently reviewed Experience is the Angled Road: Memoir of an Academic.
