Columbia University President: What I Plan to Tell Congress Tomorrow

Last December, three of my peers testified before the House Committee on Education and the Workforce about antisemitism on university campuses. Tomorrow I will have the opportunity to appear before the same committee and share what we have learned as we battle this ancient hatred at Columbia University.

Oct. 7 was a day, like Sept. 11, 2001, that changed the world. None of us anticipated the horrific Hamas terrorist attack in Israel, nor the impact of those events across universities like Columbia and all of American society. The committee before which I will testify tomorrow is itself a diverse body, representing the broad spectrum of views that makes America unique in its tolerance of—and pride in—rigorous debate. That makes it not unlike a university, and it is my hope that we can begin to find common ground in finding solutions to antisemitism—not just to make college campuses safer and more welcoming to Jewish students, but for the sake of our democracy.

Since the Oct. 7 Hamas attack, I have spent the most of my time addressing its aftershocks. It is hard to describe how difficult this has been, especially on a large, diverse urban campus with students from all over the world and a long tradition of political activism.

For the thousands of Jewish and Israeli members of our community, the attack had a deep personal impact. Many knew people who had been killed or taken hostage. Indeed, to many in our community, Israel’s very survival appeared to be at stake. At the same time, for other members of our community, many of whom also have direct ties to the region, Oct. 7 and the ensuing war in Gaza were part of a larger story of Palestinian displacement, as well as a continuing and escalating humanitarian catastrophe. Not surprisingly, passions ran deep, demonstrations erupted, feelings were hurt, some members of our community were frightened and many more were concerned.

As president of the university, my immediate responsibility was to ensure the physical safety and security of our community. We were for the most part successful in that respect. Most of our students, faculty and staff understood this priority, welcomed it and were crucial partners in helping us keep our campus safe.

A more complicated issue was the conflict between the free-speech rights of pro-Palestinian protesters and the impact that these protests were having on our Jewish students and their supporters. Some things that were said at those protests and on social media were profoundly unsettling and frightening. Trying to reconcile the speech rights of one part of our community with the rights of another part of our community to live in a supportive environment or at least an environment free of fear, harassment and discrimination, has been the central challenge at our university and on campuses across the country.

This challenge raised unprecedented questions: Who could demonstrate? Where? When? What kinds of speech were protected and what kinds were not? What rules were being violated? What disciplinary procedures were needed and what actions did the circumstances warrant? The answers were not always easy, and at times we were simultaneously implementing new policies and modifying existing ones. Six months later, we have learned, sometimes the hard way, several important lessons that should help us better address these questions going forward.

First, it is important to recognize that, by and large, we have not been dealing with two “warring camps” in this debate. Contrary to the depiction we have seen on social media, the most of people protesting do so from a place of genuine political disagreement, not from personal hatred or bias or support for terrorism. Their passion, as long as it doesn’t cross the line into threats, discrimination or harassment, should be protected speech on our campus, especially if it reflects diplomatic, political, historical or policy beliefs. Indeed, debating these kinds of issues, even though they may be discomforting to some, is an essential part of what a university should be about.

At the same time, while disagreement and debate are to be welcomed at a university, that should happen within specific parameters. Calling for the genocide of a people—whether they are Israelis or Palestinians, Jews, Muslims or anyone else—has no place in a university community. Such words are outside the bounds of legitimate debate and unimaginably harmful. No cause is so important as to justify threatening annihilation to anyone. There has to be a better way to make an argument.

Second, while there may be some easy cases, drawing the line between permissible and impermissible campus speech is enormously difficult. The U.S. Supreme Court has struggled for more than two centuries to define the limits of free speech under the First Amendment, and that struggle continues. Don’t expect universities to figure it out overnight. When such fundamental issues are at stake, we need to think hard about where we set the boundaries, and we are doing precisely that.

In thinking about these boundaries of permissible speech, one idea that we have adopted at Columbia is to define a designated space for protests. This approach allows for fewer limits on speech—usually a desirable value at a university—because those who don’t want to hear what is being said need not listen. It also means that the core functions of the university—teaching and learning, research in libraries and labs—can continue uninterrupted.

Third, it is essential to remember that universities and their presidents aren’t politicians. To the extent that we are present in the public conversation, it should be more as constructive facilitators, not commentators. My own view is that official university statements should be limited to issues that speak directly to life on campus. The university should return to its core mission of fostering a range of perspectives and the scholarship, discoveries and good citizenship that flow from it. At the same time, students and faculty should feel unconstrained in developing their own opinions.

Fourth, universities are communities, and we should become models for how people grow and thrive when they live side by side with others who are different. The last half-century has seen groups previously excluded from the academy pouring in—women, Black people, Jews, Muslims and many more. It is a great thing for higher education to reflect society and for groups that have been marginalized or excluded to be welcomed. But in responding to this positive shift, I fear that we may have underinvested in the many things that we share and in the common human experiences that bind us together.

Despite the intense upheaval of the last six months, this larger truth should not be lost. Antisemitism has been with us for thousands of years, and we must forcefully and relentlessly reject its current resurgence. Not only is this bias intolerable in its own right, but as the late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks warned, “Antisemitism is always an early warning sign of a dangerous dysfunction within a culture because the hate that begins with Jews never ends with Jews.” It is no accident that antisemitism, Islamophobia, racism and discrimination against sexual identity often coexist.

It is not the responsibility of Jewish people to eradicate antisemitism. That is a job for all of us. We must urgently and relentlessly fight this terrible form of hate. Universities, the great purveyors of education, must be leaders in fighting all forms of discrimination. That means shifting our focus from slogans toward education, community, compassion and human decency so that we can shape citizens who will become exemplars of a better society.