Over the past week, my alma mater has been all over my (and probably your) news feed. The general dramatic headline: There will not be safe spaces or trigger warnings at the University of Chicago, according to a letter sent by John Ellison, dean of students at the university, to incoming freshmen. The letter immediately became a dot on the timeline of the ongoing national debate on campus politics, political correctness, and academic freedom—the media narrative being that an administration takes a stand on free speech and academic freedom, and that’s followed swiftly by support and pushback from students, experts, and pundits.
I went to the University of Chicago for undergrad in the early 2000s. I studied economics and sociology, and I have very fond memories of the school’s peculiar culture: the way students laughed off the bitter winters, the way pulling all-nighters at the library (shoutout to the A-level) was cool, the super weird school traditions like Scavhunt—so strange that The New Yorker once devoted nearly 4,000 words to it. It’s a place where people knowingly enrolled even though they’ve been told it’s a place “where fun comes to die.” I think we took pride in the image that we were young people who wanted to participate in school that was intellectually rigorous (the “life of the mind”), where a class about Nabokov’s Lolita or Foucault’s History of Sexuality were so popular it was hard to find a seat, where education was its own end, and everyone was a bit odd in their own way.
I think my peers and I worried that culture (beloved by us) was starting to fade when I graduated in 2007: The school had switched from the UnCommon App to the Common App. The school started to rise in rankings, which was favorable for alumni job-wise, but we worried that it was at the cost of the school’s identity and the students it would attract. The University of Chicago is about hard classes, but it’s also about community.
In New York, where I live now, alumni are often close-knit friend groups—my soon-to-be spouse regularly laments that he knows more alumni from the U of C than his own university—that meet up regularly to have discussions not dissimilar to classes. (It’s also interesting to note that some 20 percent of U of C alumni end up in academia.) With Ellison’s letter, we all pondered what it’s going to mean, and we did that together online.
This week, I’m going to highlight some of the interesting discussions I’ve seen on social media and responses from the University of Chicago community. My colleague Alia Wong will join me in discussing these comments from students and alumni who share deep connections to the school and each other. For them, Ellison’s letter is personal, in contrast to the way the national debate on campus politics can sometimes feel removed.
From one alum, Laura Oppenheimer:
I take an inordinate amount of pride in how hard I worked as a student at the U of C. My courses were not dumbed down, no one held my hand, and I was expected to read, grapple with, and discuss everything—ranging from Plato and Marx, to Four Hours in My Lai and Night. The reading was difficult, and frequently, so was the subject matter.
What I wish Ellison had said was, “as students at the University of Chicago, you will be expected to read, study and discuss many types of work, including work that may be upsetting, or work you may disagree with. This is part of a rigorous, academic education.”