A Princeton Student's View: Free Speech Rules vs. Who Actually Speaks Up in Class

Suheyla Akman 
‘28

Is there a difference between formal protections for free expression and who actually feels free to speak at Princeton?

On many occasions, like freshman orientation events or panels open to the public, we are reminded of the university’s policies on free speech and academic freedom. President Eisgruber explained to incoming students this year that the University does not restrict expression on the basis of content, but it does enforce time, place, and manner rules. He further emphasized that the University’s responsibility is to equip students with the skills and settings to talk about “difficult things.”

But in lecture halls and precepts, students like me – a practicing Muslim woman from Turkey – often experience pressures that are enforced socially, rather than through the university’s official disciplinary mechanisms. The limits of free speech are rarely physical here on campus. It is not the fear of being removed from a classroom for your ideas, but more often, the invisible chilling effect of entering a classroom where your identity communicates a message before you’ve said a word.

Although Eisgruber’s recent speech attempted to reassure students that they can and should express their ideas at Princeton, an important practical question was neglected: What happens when a student’s identity is visible in a course touching on sensitive political and cultural topics? A student’s identity can impact how they experience and participate in conversation, especially in discussions that touch on assumptions about their own community. I am often the only person wearing a hijab in the classroom – whether it be a lecture hall filled with 150 students, or a seminar of just ten. Topics related to terrorism, national security, or the Middle East are almost guaranteed to be mentioned during politics or international affairs courses. The professor is usually responsible for establishing the conversational tone and directing the discussion, and when professors speak about these difficult subjects insensitively or with overly broad generalizations, the atmosphere in the room shifts almost instantly to one of self-consciousness about how my identity is being perceived. 

During a lecture focused on terrorism in a course about international relations, the professor constantly mentioned terrorist groups in a way that was skewed to generalize all Muslims as terrorists. I spoke to the professor afterward, and he said he didn't think that was true. Still, the environment didn’t feel the same for me afterward; I felt that I was letting ignorance continue in how people were often taught about Muslims. I left the lecture teary-eyed, and I no longer felt as comfortable coming to class, but I continued to do so.

In another lecture I attended recently, a professor mentioned Islamophobia rising in the United States after a domestic terrorism incident that occurred in 2015. He included an image of generic searches from the American population after this event, and he read aloud the phrase “kill Muslims” from the presentation slide almost six times within the span of two minutes. 

I could physically feel the gazes of surrounding students shift towards me as the professor quoted the disparaging statements; I felt a knot in my throat form.

The issue was not mentioning a terrorist incident or Islamophobia. Rather, it was the absence of respect, professionalism, and pedagogical carefulness. Hearing this statement being read by my professor without prior warning made me conclude that the teacher had given little or no consideration to how a student like me would feel sitting in the audience, and so I felt as though I could never speak in that class again because of the way that lecture had affected me emotionally. 

When a subject is presented in a way that may construe an entire faith and its followers as extremist, students belonging to that religion face an unspoken dilemma: Do you speak up and risk having your personal perspective be understood as an unofficial statement on behalf of a whole group, or do you remain silent to avoid being reduced to a token who is acting defensively?

The natural response for most students is to remain silent. You stop raising your hand, you hesitate to speak when called on, and potentially just stop attending lectures. The consequences for speech range from losing friends to bad grades. This is an example of chilled speech and self-censorship: No formal rule prohibits you from speaking, yet the cost of doing so seems too high.

This dilemma is not unique to Muslim students on campus. Many evangelical Christians, Jewish students, conservative students, and students from minority backgrounds have expressed to me that they worry their comments in class will be construed as representing an entire group. When a student fears that an opinion or statement will be interpreted as a statement reflecting a group identity rather than as an individual contribution, intellectual debate and conversations weaken. 

Despite the rules in place, students question who is really free to speak at Princeton and when. This gap reveals the limitations in relying on institutional statements or rules as sufficient to protect free speech and facilitate a culture of free expression. I believe institutional statements are just one part of creating the environments where students feel like they can freely express their ideas.

If Princeton aims to cultivate a campus where difficult ideas can be debated, then pedagogical standards must match institutional language. Professors must explore hard topics without resorting to sensationalism or careless generalizations that alienate the very students whose contributions are needed in dialogue. For example, a better way for the professors to have approached the incidents I described above would have been to provide context, separate extremist violence from religious beliefs, and allow students to critically examine the issue without making assumptions.

Free expression is not reducible to a right to speak without being removed by campus security. Instead, it requires making students feel like individual thinkers, rather than representatives of their identity. Until Princeton addresses the social forces that pressure students to calculate the cost of raising their hand, its commitment to free inquiry remains unrealized. 

Suheyla Akman '28 is studying Public & International Affairs with a certificate in Entrepreneurship and Near Eastern Studies. On campus, she is active in Princeton Women in Entrepreneurship, the Princeton Club Equestrian Team, Blossom Together, Princeton Students for Immigrant Empowerment, and the Center for Career Development. Originally from Turkey, she brings a global perspective to her passion for defending open dialogue and free expression at Princeton.