The Political Classroom: Navigating the Minefield of Modern Academia

The morning after the 2024 US presidential election, I got an email from a student. They said they'd miss a graded part of my course because of "what happened last night." In my twenty years of teaching undergrads, I've heard all sorts of reasons for missing deadlines, but this was a first: skipping an assignment because of an election outcome. This particular graded component was linked to showing up, so an extension wasn't an option.

How do you answer a student like that without letting your views show? It was pretty obvious that the student felt that Trump getting re-elected meant they deserved to miss an assignment for a technical writing course here in Canada. It was a "sick day" for politics. If I had said yes, that Trump's re-election was a good reason to miss class, would I have, in a roundabout way, said their political feelings were valid grounds for skipping? If I said no, would that have meant I thought Trump's re-election was no big deal and not worth missing class over?

I ended up saying no. It just didn't make sense to me how the election of a leader in another country could be a valid reason to miss a graded part of a course. Did I accidentally show my political side? I don't think so, and more to the point, I didn't much care. All that mattered then was if the student had a real reason to miss the assignment, and they didn't.

Let's imagine a different classroom, one of my linguistics classes. Say we're talking about the meaning of words, specifically something called a "feature matrix" in the field of semantics. This table illustrates the relationships between words within a specific semantic domain or group. For instance, if we consider "writing equipment," a pencil clearly fits the description more than, say, a chisel. A pencil is handheld, cylindrical, and writes on paper; it has more of the usual features of writing equipment. A chisel, not so much.

We could also use this feature matrix to show the difference between "woman" and "girl":

Woman: +adult, +female, +human

Girl: -adult, +female, +human

The only real difference, linguistically speaking, is that one is an adult and the other isn't. So, according to this, a woman is an adult, female, human. Simple as that.

Now, picture this: A student pipes up, saying this linguistic fact is "harmful," "ignores our current reality," or "erases trans lives." What do I do then? Do I stick to the linguistic facts and risk the student taking it to the university administration, accusing me of being insensitive? Or do I just smile, nod along, and pretend I'm not sure what the word "woman" means anymore? (For the record, I would absolutely reiterate the linguistic/scientific fact.) It's a tricky spot, a moment where the academic purpose of the class suddenly runs headfirst into deeply felt personal and political beliefs.

Here's one last scenario. Picture a global conflict, one that's been all over the news for months, dividing people everywhere. One day, a few students, clearly on one side of this conflict, decide to make a passionate plea right in the middle of class, hoping to rally support for their cause.

I quickly and firmly shut them down. I tell them that no more such appeals will be allowed in the course, not during class, and not on any of our communication channels. Essentially, the class will stay neutral about this conflict, acting as if it simply doesn't exist.

But is that even possible? Can you truly be neutral when a geopolitical conflict is raging and lives are being lost? By shutting down those students, did I accidentally side with the opposing faction? Did I, in trying so hard to keep politics out of my classroom, actually bring it right in? It's a question of whether silence in the face of conflict can ever truly be neutral, or if it always, somehow, takes a side. These are the kinds of tight spots we find ourselves in, trying to navigate the lines between teaching, individual beliefs, and the wider world.

The inevitability of the political discussion

In the university classroom, the role of politics is a minefield that professors must navigate with great care. A core principle of the academic setting is the separation of a professor's personal political views from the curriculum. The power imbalance inherent in the student-professor relationship is significant; a student may feel a deep reluctance to challenge a professor's political stance, fearing that disagreement could subtly or overtly influence their grades. This fear can stifle genuine intellectual inquiry and transform the classroom from a space of open debate into a stage for the professor's personal beliefs, a scenario that betrays the very purpose of higher education.

However, a complete ban on politics is, in many disciplines, both impossible and undesirable. Fields such as history, sociology, political science, and even some branches of linguistics or literature are built around inherently political issues. To ignore these topics would be to teach an incomplete and sanitized version of the subject matter. The university classroom should be a forum where political issues are not just acknowledged but are rationally and dispassionately evaluated. It is an ideal space for students to learn how to engage with complex, emotionally charged topics using critical thinking and evidence, skills that are crucial for navigating a diverse and often divided world.

The challenge intensifies when we consider that not all political ideologies are created equal. We can all agree that systems like feudalism or totalitarianism are demonstrably harmful to human flourishing and inclusive governance. This consensus allows us to critique such systems without fear of being seen as merely pushing a personal agenda. But this clear line becomes blurry in other areas. How, for instance, do we objectively compare socialism and capitalism? The answer often depends on the metrics we use—and those metrics are often themselves products of a particular political system. If our measures of human well-being are framed exclusively within the context of Western democracies, can we ever truly give a fair evaluation of non-democratic systems, like communism? This is the central paradox: we must engage with political ideas to teach effectively, yet in doing so, we risk falling into the trap of uncritically promoting one ideology over another. The professor's task, then, is not to be apolitical but to be an impartial guide, equipping students with the tools to analyze these questions for themselves. That is, insofar as it can be reasonably accomplished in a university classroom, some students already enter the classroom with certain immovable political ideologies, and it is not my mandate to change them. I have better things to do with my time.

Teaching from the podium and not the pulpit

When we expand our understanding of politics beyond mere governance to include the very science of decision-making, it becomes impossible to keep it out of the classroom. Every choice, every framework, and every evaluation we make is, in some way, a political act. The challenge, then, is not to pretend that politics don't exist in our teaching but to manage their presence responsibly.

Unfortunately, this is not always the case. There are countless examples of classrooms where a professor’s political views are so deeply embedded that their lectures become sermons. This can be seen when student groups protest against a speaker or a viewpoint that doesn't align with the prevailing campus ideology. In many Western universities, administrative staff and faculty are overwhelmingly liberal or left-leaning, which can lead to an environment where a particular set of viewpoints is not just common but actively seen as a virtue. This ideological conformity can make it incredibly difficult for students with different perspectives to feel comfortable expressing their thoughts without fear of academic or social consequences.

The only path forward is to create an environment where a wide range of views can be expressed, even if it disrupts the "safe space" that has become a hallmark of modern universities. True intellectual growth comes from engaging with ideas that challenge our own, not from being shielded from them. It means fostering a classroom where the goal is not to reach a comfortable consensus but to develop the tools to think critically about even the most divisive issues. This doesn't mean abandoning a set of ethical standards or endorsing hate speech, but it does mean recognizing that a professor’s role is not to preach a political doctrine but to guide a rigorous and open exploration of ideas.