Notes

First Drafts, Conversations, Stories in Progress

Debating the New Campus PC
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Readers tackle the Atlantic cover story “The Coddling of the American Mind” by Jonathan Haidt and Greg Lukianoff, who then respond to their critics at length. (Here’s a subsequent debate in Notes over the numerous campus protests sparked by students at Yale and Mizzou.)

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Are Professors Being the Oversensitive Ones?

Atlantic reader Adam Needelman agrees with the sentiment of the previous reader who called Lukianoff and Haidt “grumpy old men”; he calls their essay “a lazy rehash of the same cyclical generation bashing we get every ten years.” He also sees a double standard:

The section of the essay hyperventilating about trigger warnings complains of a “chilling effect” on “teaching and pedagogy.” It fails to mention that chilling effects are incumbent on the cowardice of those being chilled. Why is it that when professors so fear criticism that they choose to compromise on their principles and job performances, it’s not discussed as being too thin-skinned, but when students fear offense, it is?

Furthermore, why is it when Jerry Seinfeld essentially says “I am a grown man and professional comedian, but I will not perform at colleges because I am worried the kids may be mean to me,” we call the kids thin-skinned, but not the man deathly afraid of criticism? Could it be because we have emotional attachment to the idea of younger people being more thin-skinned?

Haidt responds first:

Mr. Needelman asserts that what the faculty fears is being criticized. It is not. It is being brought up on charges before the university’s Equal Opportunity Commission, or some other internal body that is charged with investigating all student complaints.

Under the 2013 Department of Education revised guidelines that we describe in the article, any student who deems what a professor says to be “unwelcome” can file harassment charges. These charges must be adjudicated by some body created by the university. This adjudication forces the professor to spend dozens of hours to write defenses, sit through testimony, and respond to official emails. It is a nightmare and a time drain dropped into a busy semester.

See what happened to Laura Kipnis. This happened to me too, in a more abbreviated form. I am now gun-shy; I am afraid of offending the most sensitive student that I can imagine, and so I am now a more cautious, less spontaneous, and less interesting teacher.

Lukianoff responds at even greater length:

Being concerned about some negative trends resulting from decisions made by educators and parents over the past couple decades doesn’t sound like to me like “generation bashing,” as the reader put it. Jon and I are concerned that society is telling students that they are far more fragile than they actually are, and we believe that is not only harming their mental health, but also selling them short.

As for our “hyperventilating about trigger warnings,” our argument is that trigger warnings do not necessarily help the people they claim to help, people who suffer from PTSD, and might put professors in a position where they have to fear for their jobs if they cannot live up to the impossible task of predicting everything a student might claim is offensive and warrants a trigger warning.

He goes on to cite many examples of professors facing much more than just hurt feelings:

Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt, authors of the current Atlantic cover story “The Coddling of the American Mind,” were eager to respond to a half-dozen of the most forceful criticisms from their readers selected from the hello@ account. Here’s Sebastian:

As a member of the class of 2014 at an American university, I knew I was in for a treat from the first line of the essay: “Something strange is happening at America’s colleges and universities.” I immediately thought of the grumpy old man, sitting on his front porch, lecturing at anyone who will listen about “kids these days” and “the problem with young people.”

Sure enough, in the second section we get: “Childhood itself has changed greatly during the past generation. Many Baby Boomers and Gen Xers can remember riding their bicycles around their hometowns, unchaperoned by adults.” This is a terrific new twist on an old classic: “In my day, we walked to school through the snow and the rain, uphill both ways!”

Lukianoff responds to his young reader:

We’ve seen a number of variations of this criticism: questioning why we should listen to “grumpy old men.” (By the way, I’m 40. I know that’s old to some of you, but maybe not so much to others).

While I’m hesitant to call this critique an argument, as it doesn’t substantively address what we talk about or propose in the article, I do understand where it is coming from. We can all recall eye-rolling moments when we saw older folks lecturing the younger generation about how hard it was in “their day,” and it may often be a good idea to take these nostalgic remarks with a grain of salt. Our memories can be tricky things, and psychology shows that we’re not all that good at remembering how good or bad things were in the past and are prone to revising and overgeneralizing.

But is my reader saying that generational critiques are presumptively meritless? To treat an older person’s critiques or advice as merely deluded nostalgia is essentially to say that people from older generations have no wisdom to offer younger generations. As people who take seriously even the advice of ancient thinkers, we simply don’t believe that’s true.

But I want to go one step further: it’s easy to roll your eyes at someone who says “it was harder in my day,” but does that mean he or she is wrong?

My father was born in 1926 in Yugoslavia and his father died when he was six years old. He lived through the terror of the Nazi occupation and World War II.

A reader from Maine suggests so:

I am not an economic determinist; I don’t believe that all social phenomena can be attributed to economic causes. However, the fact that Lukianoff and Haidt don’t once talk about the consumerist revolution in American higher education is astounding. That is, undoubtedly, the #1 reason for the rise in “vindictive protectiveness.”

When money becomes the one and only value within institutions of higher ed, then the people who pay that money—or the people who act as the proxy for that money—will have the final say on what they feel is appropriate to encounter in class. This means edutainment, lessons built around emotional management—not rational or critical discussion about the messy reality of the world. Administrators would sooner censure an “offensive” teacher than lose one tiny part of their budget.

Add to this the reality of a job market that simply cannot absorb new college grads, and a massive debt bubble, and you have the right pieces for the construction of an escapist pleasure dome—a place for students to avoid the impending doom they feel about a vicious world.

Your thoughts? Email hello@theatlantic.com. Haidt and Lukianoff have penned responses to a half-dozen of your most critical emails and we'll be posting them starting Monday morning.

Atlantic reader Paula has a similar stance on trigger warnings as the college instructor who was raped:

I was in a literature class when my professor read a poem that was in the perspective of someone jumping off a skyscraper. This was the method my sister used to end her life.

For whatever reason, I couldn’t handle it that day and started seeing things. I left the room to get a cup of coffee and calm down. At the end of class, I went back to ask what the homework was, only to find my professor apologizing profusely for selecting that poem despite knowing what happened to my sister. He said he should’ve at least given me a warning.

I was taken aback. I told him that I chose to take a literature class, and he selected a poem that would teach the lesson best to the whole class. I couldn’t handle it, so that was my own responsibility.

Honestly, since all my professors knew I had mental issues, it was quite refreshing just for once to not be singled out, to be treated like a normal person. I seriously don’t understand why people want trigger warnings.

Another reader agrees:

As a dark-skinned Latino gay male, I am deeply alarmed that this new wave of stifling political correctness has swept college campuses. Such efforts and policies are ostensibly used to “protect” students like me from “offense.” But these people do not realize that they’re doing the very thing they accuse the “victimizers” and “oppressors” of doing—condescending to people like me.

This new political correctness simply crystallizes the ugly paternalism the left sometimes inflicts on minorities.

The latest Atlantic cover story, “The Coddling of the American Mind,” has gotten a ton of email response from readers. A young instructor at an Ivy League university prefers to remain anonymous because she “enjoys a teaching fellowship that I would very much like to keep”:

I take the health and well-being of my students very seriously. If I believed that trigger warnings and sanitized curricula and what the authors term “protective vindictiveness” genuinely helped my students, I’d be a wholehearted supporter.

Unfortunately, I don’t believe that these measures do make my students safer. They just make schools like mine much lazier.

Vindictive protectiveness focuses ire on individual transgressions instead of systemic problems. It creates an atmosphere in which the administrative elite are more concerned with empty gestures than real change. They would rather use empty gestures—like, say, ousting a professor for making a joke about an assignment “killing” his students—to distract from an absence of real change, like preventing suicides on campus.

And let’s be real: the motivating concern behind top-down enforcement of mental hygiene on campuses is not that a delicate mind might be harmed in the making of their diploma. It’s lawsuits. Lawsuits and bad press. And that makes for really, really bad policy.

I appreciate the distinction drawn in this article between PCness and protective vindictiveness (VP):