Student Union
Cancel Culture Divides Students, Professors
Arianna Mbunwe said she was fed up when her school appeared to remain silent last year during protests that followed the death of African American George Floyd in police custody in Minnesota.
Mbunwe, a junior at the University of Georgia (UGA), ignited a debate over so-called "cancel culture" when she opened a Twitter account called "ariexposesuga" to call attention to what she perceived as racially offensive incidents on campus.
In September 2020, she posted screenshots of messages from a group chat among University of Georgia Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity members. One fraternity brother posted: "Lord give me the strength to not call that woman [Mbunwe] a racial slur."
The fraternity chapter self-suspended indefinitely in response.
"I just wanted people to realize what they were doing was wrong and change their behavior for the better," Mbunwe said through email. "Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't, but that's their own free will."
Not all of Mbunwe's classmates saw it that way. Some accused Mbunwe of perpetuating cancel culture, a pattern of ostracizing, boycotting and publicly shaming people or organizations over perceived offenses.
"It created, especially at UGA, an anti-cancel culture," said sophomore Patrick Mosley, political affairs director of his school's chapter of College Democrats. "Especially if you're outside of that more liberal sector of UGA."
Meredith Clark, assistant professor in the Department of Media Studies at the University of Virginia-Charlottesville, defends cancel culture as "an expression of agency, a choice to withdraw one's attention from someone or something whose values, (in)action, or speech are so offensive, one no longer wishes to grace them with their presence, time, and money," she wrote in the journal Communication and the Public in October 2020.
But canceling, which usually targets celebrities, politicians and companies, tends to drive a wedge between progressive liberals and social conservatives, according to Pippa Norris of Harvard University's Kennedy School of Government.
"The public outing of heretics and dissenters is nothing new, as exemplified by the fanatical prosecution of religious nonconformists, the medieval punishment by stocks and pillory in the town square, or the notorious Salem witch trials," Norris wrote in August 2020.
In today's context, there is genuine concern if legitimate criticism has morphed into "a tidal wave eroding tolerance of … free speech, and enforcing a progressive or left-wing orthodoxy among professors, administrators, and student," she continued.
"But is there evidence, beyond some specific anecdotes, that this has actually occurred?"
Poll: Threat to freedom
A majority of Americans — both liberal and conservative — think so: A new Harvard CAPS-Harris poll shared exclusively with The Hill newspaper found 64% of Americans perceive cancel culture as a threat to freedom. Many students complain on social media that cancel culture has gone too far, dividing people on lines of race, gender, political views, age and class.
Mimi Groves, an incoming freshman at the University of Tennessee-Knoxville, was pressured to withdraw after a Snapchat video circulated of her when she was 15, using a word considered a racial slur. The video was three seconds long and three years old.
The controversy didn't erupt until May 2020 when Groves urged people in a tweet to "protest, donate, sign a petition, rally, do something" in support of the Black Lives Matter movement, as reported by The New York Times. A former classmate objected to her tweet, citing the three-year-old slur, and recirculated the video.
Groves was swiftly removed from her university's cheer team and soon withdrew from the school after receiving pressure from admissions officials, she told The New York Times. VOA's attempts to reach her were unsuccessful.
Professors also get canceled, critics say.
Georgetown Law School fired adjunct professor Sandra Sellers in March over a widely viewed video that showed her making what were considered racially insensitive comments about her Black students.
And at Duke University in North Carolina, biostatistics professor Megan Neely was forced to resign in January 2019 after an outcry ensued over an email she sent, asking Chinese international students to speak English in department buildings.
'No room for discussion'
Some students say their political beliefs will get them canceled for being in the minority on college campuses, which have largely leaned liberal and Democrat.
"It's not an explicit cancel culture, like Twitter going after a person, but a social cancel culture where if you're a conservative, we're not going to support you or hear out your ideas," said Andrew Waldman, a Pennsylvania State University freshman involved with his campus's College Republicans.
"You'll see people isolate conservatives and refuse to work with conservatives because they are conservative and no other reason," he said. "That's one of the issues with cancel culture, in my opinion: It's canceling their ability to help students."
Dan Mills, a freshman at the University of Massachusetts Amherst and communications director of College Republicans, said he is also discouraged by cancel culture on his campus.
"I'll be in a class and I'll have an idea that I want to say, but I'll think it's something that I can't say in a Zoom of 150 people," Mills said. "So, it can be frustrating because you hear the same ideas over and over again in the class, and there's really no room for discussion of it. Sometimes even if I really want to say something, I will, but I'll really have to skirt around what I want to say and leave people to figure it out."
Waldman said his philosophy is that "if you don't like what someone is saying, then you should engage in a discussion with them. To prevent that conversation from happening in the first place is how you get an ignorant and uninformed population, and I think that's one of the things that causes the political polarization that happens in our society today because we're not allowed to have those discussions."
Florida bill
In response to fears of "cancel culture" in higher education, the Florida House of Representatives passed a bill in late March that would require institutions to survey "viewpoint diversity" on their campuses and prohibit universities from banning controversial speakers. Opponents, including university faculty leaders, fear a "chilling effect" on campus speech.
While most Americans see "cancel culture" as a problem, according to the Harvard poll, there is disagreement about how to curtail it.
"In most instances of cancel culture that we see, these people are good people and they make a mistake," said Waldman. "The questions should be, 'How can we help these people and teach them that saying things like this isn't OK anymore?' and, 'How can we expand the conversation without closing it down?"
Others see exposing wrongdoing through social media as a means to bring about social justice. While Mbunwe says she does not see her posts as "canceling" anyone, she says that she uses her platform to bring awareness to social justice and health and safety issues that impact her community.
"The people who complain about cancel culture are those who are scared of accountability and are scared they are going to have some of their past mistakes brought to light," Mbunwe said. "Instead of welcoming accountability, a lot of people are scared of it, and I think that needs to change."
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Columbia students on edge as police presence remains on campus after raid to clear protesters
Police remain on Columbia University’s campus, even after clearing out student protesters and their encampment. But questions remain about how the university and the students move forward. Tina Trinh reports from New York.
Columbia University student journalists had an up-close view for days of drama
Student journalists on the Columbia University campus knew what was coming long before police with riot shields arrived to begin arresting the pro-Palestinian protesters.
They had watched the situation spiral as the protesters stood their ground, refusing to abandon Hamilton Hall and using a pulley system to bring supplies into the building they had occupied.
The reporters, working for university and online U.S. and international publications, suspected negotiations with administrators were going nowhere when the protesters began donning COVID-era masks to hide their identities. Some began sleeping on the floor in journalism classrooms or offices out of fear of missing something.
But when a journalism professor began writing the phone number to call if they were arrested in permanent marker on their arms, that was the moment it became clear: They were capturing history.
The police operation Tuesday night that cleared out Hamilton Hall capped two weeks of drama over the protests at Columbia, which student journalists at the Ivy League school lived through as they were covering it.
Other media were being kept off campus, so these reporters were the only ones who could capture what was happening.
"I just woke up and I was like, I'm going to go and take some pictures," said Seyma Bayram, a Columbia journalism fellow focused on creating a longform investigative podcast unrelated to the protests.
The encampments were a visual feast. There were musical performances, students reading and helping each other write papers for their classes. She wanted to document it all.
By Monday, students were facing suspension if they didn't leave. Crowds marched around the encampment chanting. Students were given written notices from the administration, warning them to go. They ripped them up, dumped them in trash bins. Rumors were flying.
That night, Bayram was unwilling to go home, sleeping on her office floor.
"How," she wondered, "are they going to remove the students. They're not leaving."
By Tuesday, she was exhausted. The student reporters charged their cameras and other gear and waited.
Many protesters were starting to leave, recalled Shayeza Walid, a graduate journalism student at Columbia, who covered the arrests for the news website Al-Monitor.
The sun was setting as they held hands and chanted, knowing they faced academic repercussions by remaining. Many had given up covering their faces by now, Walid said.
To her, the chants sounded like a hymn and she saw the protesters, some clad in Palestinian keffiyehs, crying. She doubts she will ever forget it.
"It felt so both inspirational and devastating because these were the kids who were willing to get arrested," she recalled.
And then police started assembling outside, setting up barricades. Even on campus, Bayram could tell by the photos posted on social media that police action was imminent. And then the police were there.
"I don't know, it was just like all of a sudden there were just like police, ... riot gear everywhere," Bayram said.
The student journalists were walking backward, filming as they went, Bayram said.
She was pushed off campus. Police buses and officers were everywhere. Around her, people were being arrested.
"Those of us who are pushed out, like student reporters and faculty, I think we were just all horrified that no press was present outside of, or inside of, Hamilton Hall," Bayram said.
Walid recalled that the reporters paired up for safety. Her partner, an international student, had never seen so many police in one place. "And frankly, I hadn't either," Walid said.
She said the police also seemed shocked when they came into campus and saw how few students were left. "It was very evidently disproportionate from where we were standing," she said.
Before the arrests, protesters inside the campus used a megaphone to lead those protesting outside in chants, recalled Cecilia Blotto, a graduate journalism student, who has been publishing photos and video to Uptown Radio, a project of the university's journalism program.
"Columbia, you are a liar," she recalled them chanting, along with "Disclose, divest! We will not stop, we will not rest."
Then Blotto saw police buses pull up, officers exiting with shields and zip ties. Then they played a recording saying that if the protesters didn't disperse they would be arrested.
"People were like being dragged out on the street, with like four cops holding a leg and an arm each. I saw some really, like, striking images of people, like, yelling shame at the cops, while they were dragging out students," Blotto said. She tried to film it all.
Emily Byrski, a graduate student who had a phone number written on her arm in case she was arrested, said the students weren't totally unprepared. There had been a training session.
Still, she said, there had been so many false alerts.
"It's like the boy who cried wolf. Like, there were two or three nights here where we were told, there was a rumor going around that the NYPD was coming, please come to campus," she recalled.
Byrski had knee surgery earlier in the year, so was unable to run as police descended. She limped along with her buddy.
"So we're sort of seeing this all happen from inside and trying to document it as the NYPD is grabbing people, like shoving them to the ground. It was pretty horrifying to see, like, right a foot away from me," Byrski said.
She said she has seen professors cry over the last week. She is pondering it all, uncertain what to make of it.
"I'm just sort of in shock," Byrski said. "I think we all kind of were in shock."
Botched US student aid application form rollout leaves many in limbo
The last thing standing between Ashnaelle Bijoux and her college dream is the FAFSA form — a financial aid application that's supposed to help students go to college but is blocking her instead. She has tried to submit it over and over. Every time, it fails to go through.
"I feel overwhelmed and stressed out," said Bijoux, 19. She came close to tears the last time she tried the form. "I feel like I'm being held back."
Normally a time of celebration for high school seniors, this spring has been marred by the federal government's botched rollout of the new FAFSA application. By May 1, students usually know where they're headed to college in the fall. This year, most still haven't received financial aid offers. Three months before the start of fall classes, many don't know where they're going to college, or how they're going to pay for it.
"We're asking them to make probably one of the biggest financial decisions — and decisions that will have the biggest implications on their lives going forward — without all of the information," said Justin Draeger, president and CEO of the National Association of Student Financial Aid Administrators.
FAFSA, or Free Application for Federal Student Aid, went through a massive overhaul that was supposed to make it simpler and shorter. But a series of blunders by the Education Department made it harder than ever, delaying college decisions by months and raising fears that hundreds of thousands of students will forgo college entirely.
Across the United States, the number of students who have successfully submitted the FAFSA is down 29% from this time last year, and it's even worse at schools with more low-income students, according to the National College Attainment Network.
The group's CEO, Kim Cook, warned members of Congress this month about a potentially "catastrophic" drop in college enrollments that would make the decreases of the pandemic seem mild.
For Bijoux of Norwich, Connecticut, the FAFSA problems threaten to undermine the promise of higher education.
To her, college is a chance to seize the opportunities that weren't available to her mother, who immigrated from Haiti to the U.S. as an adult. Bijoux hopes to become a therapist and set a positive example for her three younger brothers.
If her FAFSA goes through, she should be eligible for enough financial aid to help with the $13,000-a-year tuition at Southern Connecticut State University. If not, she might go to a local community college, but even that would require loans if she can't complete the FAFSA.
"That's why it hurts, because it's like you work so hard to go somewhere and do something and make something of yourself," Bijoux said. "I thought I would start at a four-year (college) and then work hard continuously, like I've been doing basically my whole life. But that's not the case."
The updated FAFSA form has one section filled out by students and another by their parents. But when Bijoux finishes her part, nothing shows up on her mom's online account. She keeps trying, but nothing seems to change.
Similar problems have been reported across the country, along with numerous other bugs that the Education Department has scrambled to fix. Families who call for customer service have faced long wait times or say the call center hung up on them.
It "drains all the momentum" from families working to send their children to college, especially those navigating the process for the first time, said Anne Zinn, a counselor at Norwich Free Academy, where Bijoux goes to school.
"I can only say so many times, 'Just be patient, just be patient,' before they throw their hands up and they're like, 'Why am I doing this? I'm just going to go get a job,'" she said.
The rollout has attracted bipartisan criticism in Congress, and it's being investigated at the request of Republicans. Last week, Richard Cordray, the federal student loan chief who oversaw the FAFSA update, announced he's stepping down at the end of June.
For colleges, too, the delays pose a major threat.
Enrollment decreases like those being projected now could put many small colleges out of business or necessitate deep cuts in staff. Some colleges are pushing for emergency relief just to stay afloat, said Angel Pérez, CEO of the National Association for College Admission Counseling.
"If they don't get checks from the federal government to basically get them through next year, they will not survive," Pérez said.
FAFSA has been the linchpin of student financial aid for decades. It's used to determine eligibility for the federal Pell grant, a scholarship for low-income students, and it's required to receive federal student loans. Colleges and states also use FAFSA to distribute their own scholarships.
FAFSA had long been maligned for being tedious, difficult and intimidating to families without college experience. Congress passed legislation in 2020 meant to simplify the form. The Education Department was ordered to reduce the number of questions from more than 100 to about 40 and change the formula to expand aid to more students.
Problems started piling up as soon as the new form went online in December, already months overdue.
The first applications were incorrectly processed using an outdated calculation for inflation. Later, a federal contractor miscalculated a different formula on more than 200,000 applications. Each mistake added to delays, leaving students waiting longer to hear anything about financial aid.
Even more worrisome is a misstep that blocked students from finishing the form if they have a parent without a Social Security number. Advocates say the system locked out hundreds of thousands of students who are U.S. citizens or permanent residents but whose parents are not.
The Education Department on Tuesday said it's giving those parents a new way to enter their tax information manually. But as recently as this week, some students said they were still blocked from submitting the form.
Federal education officials say they're addressing lingering bugs but making progress. More than 8 million student applications have now been processed and sent to colleges, the agency said, and new applications are being processed within three days.
Still, the wait is far from over. It usually takes weeks for schools to prepare financial aid offers. Some colleges have extended decision deadlines to give students more time to weigh their options. But some stuck to May 1, forcing students to choose a college — and make a nonrefundable payment to hold their spot — without knowing all their scholarship options.
In Baltimore, Camryn Carter is waiting to find out if he'll get a full ride to the University of Maryland or face tens of thousands of dollars in student loans.
A top student and captain of his baseball and wrestling teams, Carter sees college as a step up in life. He thinks back to the times in the grocery store line when he had to put items back on the shelf because his mom couldn't afford the bill. A college degree would give him the stability he didn't always have, the 18-year-old said.
But when he looks at tuition, it's intimidating. Along with Maryland, he's also considering McDaniel College, a private school in Maryland. If he enrolls there, he expects to borrow almost $30,000 a year.
"I try to make the best decisions now so I can have a good future," he said. "I'm a little nervous that things won't work out. But I'm faithful."
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