Tyranny, Fear, and Parrhesia: Truth in the Neoliberal University, or "How Do I Know I'm not Heidegger?"

Out of the resoluteness of the German students to stand their ground while German destiny is in its most extreme distress comes a will to the essence of the university. This will is a true will, provided that German students, through the new Student Law, place themselves under the law of their essence and thereby first define this essence. To give oneself the law is the highest freedom. The much-lauded "academic freedom" will be expelled from the German university; for this freedom was not genuine because it was only negative.

—Heidegger (1990, 10)

The day after Donald Trump was elected, we had our weekly meeting in the Provost's Office at the University of South Carolina. I was Vice Provost for International Affairs at the time. I have since resigned. The room was glum. While the politics of the office were mixed, there were no open Trump supporters in the room. People took turns lamenting the outcome. They worried about how the students would react. They worried about what the faculty would do. A number of professors had canceled classes. What should we do? How would our overwhelmingly Republican Board react if they heard about the cancellation of classes, our legislature, the parents of our students, who all too often remind us that they are paying the bills. Should we be afraid?

I looked round the room and said, "we are like Heidegger in 1932," when both in July and again in November the Nazis won the largest share of seats in the Reichstag. We have a decision to make.¹ In the face of lies and racism, in the face of incipient authoritarianism and a charismatic leader, we have to decide where does the university stand? My colleagues stared at me and did not answer directly. I was being paranoid. Our first obligation was to preserve the institution. We had to weather the storm. It couldn't last. We would just ignore these people and do the right thing. Let's not be self-indulgent and irresponsible.

I feel certain that many in German universities in the 1930s told themselves similar things, as did many people in the U.S. federal government the last four years. We all did. It's not like I immediately tendered my resignation, or led a march on the statehouse, or did any number of things that a more courageous person than I might have done. There were pragmatic challenges to be met, expectations to be managed. What did it serve to have the university become a political target? How did this help the students, the faculty, the ever-present "stakeholders"? The one question that was never voiced in this meeting or any subsequent one, was what does the university owe the truth? More importantly, what do we as intellectuals, as scientists and scholars, owe the truth? And what does it mean to manage and operate within an institution dedicated to the production and dissemination of knowledge that does not repeatedly and insistently pose to itself that question?

Ours was a conversation that was repeated in one form or another around conference tables and no doubt dinner tables on and near campuses nationwide. Some people did decide to march. Some held teach-ins. A few continued to cancel classes or gave class time over to students voicing their anxiety about what happened. The conservative press had a field day.² But mostly, especially at large public universities, others did what we did. The question of what the university owes the truth got pushed to the background. We could not afford to be political. There were goals to meet, strategic plans to fulfill, self-studies to write for accreditation, performance appraisals to complete, and always, always assessment. We needed to demonstrate continuous quality improvement, and value added. We needed to rise in reputational rankings, understand and manipulate the algorithms of U.S. NEWs, Times Higher Education, QS, etc.: because, if we did not do these things, student numbers would drop, donor dollars decline, the ability to recruit and retain...