Princeton University loves to make their banners and publicity photos visually diverse, but the same effort is not put in to support under-represented groups on campus. The PR team must spend hours sifting through materials for the perfect photo: usually consisting of no signs of protest, two or more people of color, and at least one woman. However, the University will do nothing to prevent the extension of speaking invitations to: George Will, a (racist) sexual assault denier; Amy Wax, an anti-immigrant purporter of scientific racism; Ryan T. Anderson, a virulently homophobic and transphobic “scholar;” Tzipi Hotovely, a militant settler-Zionist; and Peter Singer, an abelist (eugenicist) professor here. All of these examples have come from last year here at Princeton, a stretch of twelve months that is concentrated and representative. Regardless of whether the individuals referenced above have the right to “speak freely,” as the author of a pre-read of the same name and Princeton professor Keith Whittington would insist, their messages actively cultivate a toxic environment for marginalized students. This overshadows any academic merits that the proponents of eliminating the category of hate speech, which Whittington and Eisgruber support, would insist matter. By not just acknowledging these speakers’ beliefs, but also giving them a platform from which to espouse their rhetoric, Princeton upholds the very social systems (white supremacy, patriarchy, cis-hetero-normativity, colonialism) that these individuals seek to reinforce. As Desmond Tutu, South-African anti-apartheid activist, eloquently explained, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.” These university events, both implicitly and explicitly, deny queer, transgender, disabled, non-white, immigrant, or otherwise oppressed students’ equal right to be here. This makes these speakers and events untenable with the university’s supposed dedication to “inclusion.” In light of this, how can the university address these harms when it finally acknowledges them? Like any kindergartner can explain, a full apology includes acknowledging the harm that has been caused, stopping the harmful action, apologizing for past mistakes with the intention to avoid them in the future, and making tangible efforts to repair the damage. These are all actions the university can easily undertake once the Eisgruber administration stops hiding behind the guise of upholding “free speech.”
While a kindergarten apology offers a good framework, we must acknowledge that the scope and variety of the harm caused by an institution is vastly different from that done by an individual. As a result, it necessitates an altered approach. The largest difference is in scale. An institution affects hundreds or more people, while an individual action rarely affects as many. While undertaking the steps of an apology in a private manner works on an individual scale, the scale at which institutions cause harm necessitates public recompense. The directness of the harm caused also dictates the appropriate response. Interpersonal harm is motivated and caused by one actor; institutional harm is much more slippery. While it is sometimes traceable to a specific person, it always involves invoking the priorities and values of the institution and thus requires intervention on that over-arching level. With these differences in mind, we can use the analogy to help our understanding.
It is impossible to begin addressing harm without first recognizing the role one has played in it. Though this step of the apology process is inherently symbolic since it does nothing to change the actual events occurring, in most cases Princeton University administrators still refuse to take it. A recent example comes from the “Title IX” implementation reform protests that occurred last spring where the university spokesperson Ben Chang denied any occurrences of harm on behalf of the institution. Part of the student movement involved collecting testimonies of how the internal reporting process failed survivors of sexual harassment and assault on campus, but they were rebuffed as “simply inaccurate or incomplete in substantially important ways that distort what actually transpired” because of their anonymity—a measure designed to protect students from retaliation. Reacting to the airing of grievances by denying their existence prevents any possibility of further engagement, not to mention reinforces the cultural norm of victim-blaming. Acknowledgement is inadequate when it does not accept the responsibility for having caused harm.
Even when the university attempts to acknowledge past harm, it sometimes does so in costly and ineffective ways that fail to initiate the rest of the apology process. The newest art installment outside Robertson Hall exemplifies this point. A generous explanation of its purpose would be that it serves as a permanent acknowledgement of the racially-motivated bigotry of Woodrow Wilson. Of course, a more accurate description of “Double Sights” is that it is a monument to justify the veneration of a steadfast white supremacist by presenting his political achievements as an equally important component in his “complicated” legacy as his blatant hatred of black people. There is no part of Wilson’s legacy that is not tainted by his aggressively racist politics; even the League of Nations, often attributed as his largest contribution to the world, was entangled with imperialism. Ho Chi Minh, who would go on to lead a revolution for Vietnamese independence from French colonial rule (and later American imperialism), was denied entrance in a show of blatant hypocrisy with respect to Wilson’s visions of self-determination. By centering Wilson’s “complexity” and minimizing the history of racial oppression behind this monument, the university makes the experiences of black students a mere footnote in the history of a white supremacist. This new blight on our campus also fails at addressing the current needs of black students still marginalized based on racial identity, as eloquently detailed in a recent op-ed by two of the organizers involved in protesting, who explain that it is “cementing [that Wilson was a … misunderstood … white supremacist] in the form of a monument” and “does not add to the conversation, but instead dominates it, officiating Princeton’s stance on Wilson’s legacy and stamping out student dissent,” ultimately failing at initiating an apology. This installment serves to recognize that Wilson caused harm, but does not acknowledge it as worthy of an apology because of its emphasis on “positive” (white, western self-determination) ends justifying the (undeniably racist) means. The mindset of acknowledging the harm you have caused in order to mitigate its effects is directly opposed to the mindset of recognizing the harm so that you can justify the harmful action; one seeks to understand and one seeks to deny. Both Chang’s comments on the testimonies of survivors and Eisgruber’s dedication of the monument to “dialogue” are failures of the university to acknowledge the harm it causes.
The university should acknowledge the harm they have caused marginalized students over the years in the form of a statement. Let’s imagine our simple example of harm and apology: a kindergartner apologizing for taking their classmate’s toy before they were done with it. Once the class teacher has noticed the harm (here, only a stolen toy) and explained this harm to the errant child, the child then can choose to deny the harm or acknowledge it. The difference is between the kindergartner responding with “they lied to you” versus “yes, I did that thing which I recognize was mean.” As children grow into adults, their denials tend to become more complex; they learn to minimize or redirect or theologize instead of merely lie. However, their acknowledgements remain the same. There are only a few ways to convey “I harmed you with my action,” and that explains the university’s hesitance. Once spoken, an acknowledgement cannot be misconstrued as anything other than admitting fault. The usual hesitance is further complicated by the fact that any decisions by administrators reflect directly on President Eisgruber as the figurehead of the institution. His personal convictions set the tone for his employed administrators and he has both symbolic and tangible control over any decision he wishes. Eisgruber’s ego is so fragile that I’m certain the very thought of acknowledging that his policies, such as defending a professor’s use of racial slurs in lecture and encouraging national protection of “free speech,” have directly made marginalized students feel unwelcome on this campus makes him tremble. This is presupposing, without firm foundations, that he cares about the well-being of these segments of the student body. An apology should center the person harmed, however, instead of the person who caused the harm. Speaking only for myself, I can say that hearing Eisgruber acknowledge how many blatantly homophobic and transphobic speakers his administration condoned under the guise of “free speech” would be a small step towards quelling my rage with Princeton University. “I am sorry,” I imagine the statement going, “that I hid my policies behind the label of ‘academic’ so that I could call your pain melodramatic. I hear you when you inform me that you spent every year of your time here explaining why you deserve basic respect to your classmates. I understand I made an environment and culture where such harms were treated casually.” Words, however nice they may be, change very little in the long run, though.
Once harm is acknowledged, stopping the harmful action is the next logical step. Most people want to think of themselves as kind and decent human beings, which usually translates to avoiding causing harm to others. Acknowledging harm does not necessarily entail stopping harmful actions, as the separation of these steps suggests. How someone can continue perpetuating harm after an apology and still consider themselves a decent person requires cognitive dissonance. The term refers to the mental conflict of holding a newly-conflicted belief and requires the individual to respond to the differences, either through reconciliation or some defense mechanism (primarily rejection or avoidance). Cognitive dissonance is a powerful enemy for those who seek to build a more just and equitable society. Because few people are content imagining themselves as mean or cruel, we prefer to find ways to avoid confronting the ways we harm others rather than to change our behavior. This is how some people who support anti-racist work also support the police, an institution we must acknowledge arose from fugitive slave catchers and disproportionately impacts communities of color on numerous levels (as previously explained in “Hearts and Hostility” in the Prog). This is the harm of cognitive dissonance. When someone tells you that you have caused them harm, they are offering you an invitation to create a better space—not a condemnation of your character. Teaching others how to hold the discomfort of having caused harm and engage constructively is an underappreciated yet tremendously important endeavor.
Princeton’s administrators must learn to recognize expressions of frustration as an invitation to create a better university. Working within a system, whether it is the bowels of Nassau Hall or the microphone of an assembly, requires the hope and the vision to transform the institution into something better. If student activists truly thought there was no way to reduce the harm that the administration causes, their offices would be a pile of ashes instead of booked for meetings or demonstrations. Changing their behaviors to stop harm would look like the university instituting a policy that hateful views (accounting for cis-hetero-sexist, racist, ableist, etc. biases) espoused by a speakers will have them disinvited from the campus. It means finding ways to fire or retire professors who sexually harass students or use racial slurs. This step looks like Eisgruber being willing to attend a public town hall with students trying to fix the broken cogs of the Title IX reporting process instead of aloofly running off to his mansion to complain about the student body. This step looks like Rochelle Calhoun, Michelle Minter, Deborah Prentice, and so many other high-level administrators acknowledging they may need to refresh themselves on the needs of marginalized students. We have been and will continue to be fighting for the recognition of our equal standing in the campus community—Princeton, take heed.
By the time an institution has acknowledged and stopped a harmful policy, the apology is almost a formality. It takes the form of a statement which should follow from the acknowledgement and now carries weight because of the change in actions. Without acknowledging that one has caused harm, the apology will fail to show remorse for the harm; it becomes forced and hollow. This is the equivalent of saying “I’m sorry you are mad at me for doing whatever annoyed you.” Without stopping the harmful action, the apology is meaningless because it serves to acknowledge the harm but not prioritize dealing with the effects. This is no less than taunting, the institutional equivalent of the school bully holding a smaller child’s backpack above their head and saying “my bad, did I take your stuff?” The point of a statement of apology after a statement of acknowledgment of the fault and changing the harmful policies is primarily to outline the institution’s next step of the process: repairing the harm. Reparations, as an intentional redistribution of one’s unearned privileges, is the hardest step for individuals and its importance is often minimized by those who benefit from societal power imbalances. Reparations become vital for an institutional apology because of the institution’s role in reinforcing these power imbalances—but what does this look like?
Reparations to address the harm caused to marginalized students on this campus by the Eisgruber administration’s policies must take the form of dedicating money and resources, both broadly defined, to uplifting those communities. The university has the responsibility to counteract their own messaging that certain groups do not belong on campus or that their members are not equally deserving of respect. One step would be to not just increase the funding for identity centers on campus, but to also increase their staffing. Another would be to implement mandatory sensitivity training when new administrators are hired, and to value the importance of recurring training by providing the space and encouragement (or requirement, for those certain tenured professors who cannot be kicked out) to continue growth in understanding and meeting the needs of marginalized students. There could be serious commitment to maintaining forums to hear and address (not just dismiss) student feedback. The university could pay to change the name of the “Woody Woo” major and take down their recent monument. They could stop sending issues to “committees” to outwait current students and ultimately stop progress. Most importantly, the decision of what reparations look like for Princeton must involve the input of those harmed by the institution.
Given that the current administration of Princeton University barely acknowledges their direct profit from enslaved black people hundreds of years ago, it seems unlikely that Eisgruber’s ego will allow the other administrators working under his name to grow and to recognize the harm that they have caused marginalized students in the current day. When the university leadership does decide to address the harm they have caused, they must take care to fully acknowledge it, stop it, apologize for it, and take tangible actions to mitigate and compensate for it. Without doing each of the steps of a proper apology, the university will continue to fail at their alleged goal of “diversity and inclusion.” Admittance is not enough to satisfy marginalized groups as “included.” The campus culture must also be hospitable and recognize their humanity. Princeton must do better, not for the sake of their reputation, but for the sake of the generations of students harmed by this university. Until then, the only certainty is that students with the energy to do so will voice their discontent.
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