Before anyone said a word, the atmosphere said it all.
Folders had been passed around with the words “OFFICE OF THE GOVERNOR” emblazoned upon them in bright gold letters—the virtuous seal of Virginia stamped just above, heel on the neck of tyranny. Campus police officers lingered in the halls outside the Newcomb Ballroom as attendees filed in with buttoned shirts, jackets, dresses and polished shoes. Taking their seats were the presidents of every public university in the Commonwealth, as well as many of its private institutions. They looked nonchalant, chit-chatting and networking as students wandered the rest of the building without the slightest idea of what was happening on the third floor. These kids had never heard the phrase “Higher Education Summit on Free Speech and Intellectual Diversity” because it had never been publicized: not on the university website, not in the newspaper and certainly not stapled to any pillar or signpost. The governor was coming down from Richmond to save our free speech, and no one was talking about it.
At 9:15, with everyone at the tables still putting sugar in their coffee, President Ryan steadied the microphone and began his opening address. The Governor’s office, specifically Secretary of Education Aimee Guiderra, had specifically chosen UVA as the host for this event, so all eyes were glued to Ryan and his administration. From the moment he finished until 4 P.M, a choreographed display of panels, speeches, roundtable discussions and Youngkin’s keynote would unfold—everything to be shaped by the tone and subject matter of Ryan’s opening remarks.
Of course, he praised UVA’s role in fostering viewpoint diversity. Mentioning the “six weeks of tumult” over the Israel-Hamas War that had fallen over Grounds, Ryan shared how the University has done all it can to make sure everyone feels safe and able to express themselves—and that the goal moving forward will be to maintain such a standard.
“The answer to offensive speech is not censorship, but more speech,” he said. The room seemed to take note of this statement with an elevated interest. I watched as the Republicans in the room seemed to feed off of it, unsure how suspicious they should feel as the mostly liberal administration agreed with them. As Ryan finished his remarks he asked the audience “where is there a model outside of universities that has more ideological diversity?” The rhetorical silence quickly turned to sarcastic laughter as he quipped, “Congress?” But in all honesty, the comment seemed to reach many of those present, as it was by far the most quoted statement of the entire day. Whether because of its profound significance or simply because it was one of the first things spoken, remains unclear.
A line of chairs were then placed on the stage, as one of the summit’s organizers, Melody Barnes of Karsh Institute, led the day’s first panel, “Examples of Strong Policies in Virginia.”
Jonathan Alger of JMU sat beside the presidents from the University of Richmond, NVCC, and VMI, as each responded to questions that poked into the free speech policies of their respective administrations. The spread of public and private, community and military, gave a diverse panorama of Virginia’s higher education, yet they all essentially said the same thing: the first amendment should not be undermined, each institution had done their very best to maintain it, and here’s how to sheppard its principles into the future. Alger boasted that intellectual diversity establishes the very “heart of the educational mission.” It sets its rhythm, and the duty of universities and their leadership is to exert and grow the “civic muscles” of free dialogue.
Toward the end, Kevin Hallock from the University of Richmond remarked that “everyone agrees with free speech until it gets at all complicated” to which, of course, the rest of the panel aptly and enthusiastically agreed. Positivity radiated from the stage, yet each seemed to feel the need to prove something to the audience.
As panelists parted with closing remarks, Algers pulled from his breast pocket a purple hardcover of the American Constitution and, waving it in the air, spoke on how he has personally made sure each student receives a copy at orientation.
“What do you get when you mix red and blue together?” he asked only to answer his own question. “Purple.”
The audience laughed in a cheerful vision of harmony between the political factions. The idea that each could fully express themselves. Ryan’s quote on collegiate diversity had already been quoted three separate times, and various words from Jefferson even more than that. But these slogans seemed to only exemplify how surface level the summit was growing, becoming a race to save face while saying all the right things. “Popular. Purple. Pocket Sized” the campaign for these constitutions boasted—get your own slice of personal freedom…free with the price of tuition. If only purple constitutions and a list of accomplishments by UVA and friends were enough to change the atmosphere. I could see, when the laughter subdued, that the same old divisive grimace on everyone’s face resurfaced again.
Continuing on, panelists from free speech organizations filled the gap until the Governor. Most notably, Raj Vinnakota, President of the Institute for Citizens and Scholars, and Mike Wasserman of The Constructive Dialogue Institute shared a glimmer of light when they brought up the dangers of “dichotomous thinking.” Their belief considered that perhaps the next step in expanding free expression was to “broaden opinions” outside of the classical two party struggle. In response, Jonathan White from Christopher Newport University delivered a speech on Lincoln and how divisive politics were far worse in the 19th century—which saw civil war and a congressman left bloodied and beaten on the senate floor. All of which began the long windup to Youngkin’s arrival.
When news of his presence finally reached the ballroom, you could feel everyone stir and squirm. The summit flooded with cameras. NBC-29, CBS-19, The Daily Progress—each hungry for a story, all swirling around the podium fastening new microphones and getting the right angle for tripods. The ballroom doors had been barricaded, and aids and security personnel watched the entrances as fourth year Peter Lee Hamilton introduced the Governor. Biting directly into what had been sidestepped the entire day, Hamilton redirected the vocabulary of the summit and spoke to conservatives.
“There is a campaign where people want to silence you,” he said about liberal administrations in a measured tone. The Republican leadership present, Jefferson Council members among them, dove into his words, relishing in what they truly wanted from this day: the ability to use free speech as the springboard for their own agenda. After the event, Hamilton spoke with me about how he considered nailing everything on its head and calling out Diversity, Equity and Inclusion initiatives in Higher Ed, but instead he skated around it with everyone aware of his intentions…until the side doors swung open and Governor Glenn Youngkin made his approach in a shower of applause.
He took the stage with a sense of ease, his movements and hand gestures a bit awkward from his height, but with a confidence and folksy affectation that bred confidence and questionable comfort.
“I am particularly encouraged and inspired by the fact that this is the first of its kind,” the governor opened. It wasn’t long before he jumped right into the distress he felt at seeing “headlines […] of students afraid to express their viewpoints out of fear of retribution.” Jim Ryan sat stone faced while Youngkin encouraged a new era of “strong leadership” needed in universities, and the nation as a whole. Questions of how exactly higher ed can foster free speech spilled from the governor’s podium, opening discussions about offensive language, outside influences on students, and how to prevent “violent rhetoric from escalt[ing]” into a scene similar to the one Charlottesville experienced in 2017. In fact, posing questions seemed to be the name of the game for Youngkin as he listed just about every how? relating to the topic of free expression:
“How do you disagree without being disagreeable? How do you invite and not alienate diverse perspectives? How do you define civil discourse? How does a community hold everyone accountable?” These and more were left open ended and unanswered by the Governor.
With a final encouragement of “It’s time to go to work,” Youngkin again accepted his applause with a grassroot smile. He wavered at the podium until it subdued, turning to an aid with a hopeful “all set?” then puttering out of the building through the side door with his contract seemingly fulfilled.
Once gone, it didn’t take long for the rumble of hungry stomachs to draw everyone out of their seats and grab a boxed lunch. Guidera encouraged each table to contribute to an “action plan.” Finally, a concrete outline of future policy that might be able to elicit change out of what the audience had learned. Yet, the only sounds that reached my ears as I circled the room were the crunching of chips, the thump of friendly back-pats and the chitter of small talk. Jim Ryan left the summit after Youngkin’s remarks, never to return, filing out with his fellow presidents for a meeting among them. For the most part, action plans remained quite inactive.
As lunchtime neared its end, the room thinned significantly. Outside in the cold, a small group of students had assembled at the Rotunda, denouncing gun violence. A few fliers began to circle the ballroom from some unknown source: a list of demands in big bold letters beginning with “END. GUN. VIOLENCE. NOW.” The reactions from attendees came as a surprise—or maybe not so much. Far and wide, scoffs and rolled eyes were the most prevalent response to these fliers: not the encouraging words or applause I would have expected toward students exercising their free speech.
Mary Kate Cary and Gerard Alexander—of Think Again and The Blue Ridge Center respectively—finally filled the last panel with concrete examples of programs bolstering intellectual diversity, a full five hours from opening remarks. The two of them discussed the topics of “two party tribalism” and “heterodoxy” that had seemingly been forgotten over the lunch table, while more and more people began gathering their things and heading home. The great importance of the issue at hand seemed to wane in the bored attendees, only transforming briefly into a penchant for aggravation as delegates from FIRE replaced the panelists on the stage.
For a ballroom that had remained mostly silent throughout the day, the idea that free speech could be ranked drew a plethora of not-so-lovely questions and comments from the crowd. FIRE, an organization dedicated to student rights of expression, released a thick packet this year, ranking America’s universities on their first amendment friendliness. UVA, at a cozy number 6 in the nation, had little to say but JMU, members of the Virginia Community College System and others expressed their outrage over the C- and D equivalents they had received.
A new enemy had surfaced: a throng of evil, establishment pencil pushers that thought they could tell our institutions about freedom. Cornered by a public thrashing, the duo from FIRE had no choice but to table the discussion while kindly encouraging further questions—for another time of course. And with that, the room became little more than a ghost town.
I watched the little hand strike 3 in the afternoon, which meant time for the final “action plan discussion.” I sat there with baited breath hoping to catch a glimpse at these long awaited outlines, to feast on the outpouring of ideas, but my excitement was cut short when Aimee Guidera—Viceroy of Virginia Civic Virtue—grabbed the mic one last time.
“Who would like to call it a day?” she said. A communal yes intoned from the few that remained, and it was so. The summit had reached its end.
Alas, the action plans would remain blank. Guiderra assigned policy-making homework in an effort to drag something from all this, but by then nearly everyone—except for a handful of patriots—were following their feet out the door. It had been a noble effort, this governor’s event, if it had not been for the political earplugs Youngkin and his audience had twisted and plunged into their cochleas.
Appearances clouded most of the day, and with the apparent acceptance of free speech, leaders were able free themselves from the issue and continue on with their causal, partisan gridlock. If the rankings seemed favorable and speeches held enough constitutional water, both sides could return to their agendas.
Across the morning and afternoon, a few brave panelists attempted to expose the threat that divisive university politics posed toward free expression—not just for students but for faculty as well. Yet, far and wide, the day had emerged as a combination of tail-covering, entrenched bitterness toward the other side, and mostly unchanged minds.
But that’s not to say free expression is not alive within higher education: rather that it is at risk of becoming just another dagger in the unnecessary political skirmish. Simply the fact that I can write this article, that I can criticize whole administrations and even the Governor without being expelled or, worse, jailed, highlights the beauty of this essential liberty. We, the college students, are the focus after all. But most of us are too busy moaning about dining hall food, the delay of construction projects or the bouncer who wouldn’t let us into a bar, that we miss the gift we’ve been given. The American undergrad can be both young and heard at the same time. Each of us seem to take free speech for granted, from the students to professors and even administration—precisely because we can.
So, if somehow a hush-hush, polarized summit made even one person realize that fact, then perhaps it was a success after all.
The opinions expressed within this piece represent the views of the author alone and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Jefferson Independent.
Great ‘n’ Good Jimbo had to slink out in order to vet some more DEI hires.