Three things are certain: antisemitism is on the rise; hatred of Muslims is increasing; and everyone – but especially those at universities with time to reflect – should be very, very troubled by this. Without taking account of the hate waves, it is impossible to understand why the seemingly mundane act of pitching a tent on campus has become so high stakes: is it announcing a desire to annihilate Israel, or is it a perfectly legitimate way to protest against particular US (and university) policies?
University administrations are not supposed to take a stance on the content of student activism, but many have declared encampments as such to be unsafe. If anything, though, student (and professor) safety seems to have been endangered by police brutally coming after peaceful protesters.
To be sure, today’s encampments are not hippie festivals; people might show up with guitars, but next to the guitar is a Hezbollah flag. To understand that camps do not pose a peril as such – and in fact can enable democratic action – we need to recall the 2010s: squares from Cairo’s Tahrir to Madrid’s Puerta del Sol saw encampments that were peaceful, self-policing and pluralistic; inside them, very different citizens could develop solidarity, but also engage each other across divisions.
Protesters coming together need to show what the sociologist Charles Tilly memorably called “WUNC”: worthiness, unity, numbers and commitment. These might be achieved with demonstrating, once described by Eric Hobsbawm as “next to sex, the activity combining bodily experience and intense emotion to the highest degree”. Encampments create further possibilities: they might foster community, and they mark a site where those with particular beliefs can be found and engaged. They also serve as laboratories of how people want to live together; as progressive philosophers put it, they “prefigure” a different future.
The anthropologist David Graeber, one of the organizers of Occupy, always insisted that the point of what happened in Zuccotti Park had been to show the world how supposedly naive anarchist ideals of free cooperation among equals could be realized.
One might find free libraries, improvised kitchens, drums, chants and all the other communitarian kitsch. But the encampments of the 2010s proved not only remarkably resilient; they also served, for protesters on Kyiv’s Maidan, as sites where a new social contract could be negotiated. The gatherings in Tahrir Square – where devout and secular citizens camped together peacefully – also held out this promise. Open and diverse camps markedly contrasted with the fortress-style constructions anti-globalization activists created at the time of World Trade Organization and G8 meetings: they were not located in city centers, remained closed even to journalists, and essentially provided staging grounds for confrontations with the police.
The campus camps have largely followed the example of the “movements of the squares”. Anyone who has bothered to look will have seen that Columbia’s camp is not a site of “mob rule”; there are strict guidelines, including ones about alcohol and littering. Of course, no rules can entirely prevent bad actors appearing (by that logic, no demonstration should ever happen, since what Mike Johnson called “lawless agitators” might join). The question is whether organizers will insist on something like the Hezbollah flag disappearing right away (apparently they did) and use the moment to school young progressives that Iran, Hezbollah’s backer, might not be the greatest ally for anyone who cares about women, life and liberty. All the self-policing in the world, however, will not change the fact that a campus is different from a public square; universities have the right to keep outsiders out and to prohibit conduct that specifically endangers their educational mission.
Ideally, an encampment – or multiple encampments – would allow for unexpected, productive encounters and have an educative effect (or even produce empathy). To be sure, such encounters may well feel unsafe at first; but being serious about addressing conflicts together means being willing to take such risks. By contrast, the more encamping appears like claiming exclusive territory, the more it will be experienced as coercion. The “community guideline” at Columbia that tells people not to engage with “Zionist counter-protesters” is problematic: if you simply want to show how many you are, march; but if you’re sitting in a place, the advantage is precisely that people can find you and try to engage you.
Many university administrations’ responses have been heavy-handed; they have also not lived up to a basic feature of the rule of law: clear and consistent messages about what is allowed and what is not. Yet, no matter how harshly universities act, Republicans bent on instrumentalizing the antisemitism charge will never be satisfied even by presidents sending in cops in ostentatious riot gear (except that it produces TV images of “chaos” that work for the opposition in an election year). Centrists, instead of defending rights to protest, are performing seemingly reasonable even-handedness in condemning Trumpists while also delegitimizing students. One does not have to agree with the encampments’ agendas (I differ on crucial points), to see that the former are a threat to democracy, while the latter have the potential to strengthen it.
Jan-Werner Müller is a professor of politics at Princeton University and a Guardian US columnist
