Reflections on the weaponization of “civil” discourse and the silencing of dissent in higher education: An example from Florida

The increasing polarization in our civic discourse is something that directly impacts me both personally and professionally. For context, I am a White woman with an invisible disability, a spouse to a person of color who is also an immigrant, a parent of children who are biracial, and a health anthropologist whose research explores the challenges experienced by people with visible and invisible disabilities. My teaching centers on preparing occupational therapy students to provide culturally responsive services to increasingly diverse populations across many settings. For the past 20 years, I have worked in higher education in Florida, which was, for a long time, the place where people aspired to relocate to as they neared retirement. For me, the draw was the opportunity to work in a public institution with a diverse student body, many of whom are the first in their families to attend college. Most important to me was the prospect of being part of an institution that sought to be a transformative change agent for its students, their families, and the broader community. However, in the current climate, where the concepts of diversity, equity, and inclusion have been described as “discrimination, exclusion, and indoctrination” by the governor, I find myself personally and professionally at odds with the social and educational politics of the state. For example, over the past several years, we have seen the introduction and passing of legislation focused on restricting everything from what can be discussed in K-12 classrooms to how civil discourse is framed on college campuses. The overall result of these efforts is an attempt to silence dissenting viewpoints. One of the earliest efforts to limit speech in Florida schools was the passage of HB 1557, also commonly referred to as the “Don't Say Gay” bill. The stated purpose of this bill was to “prohibit classroom discussion about sexual orientation or gender identity in certain levels or in a specified manner.” HB 1069, which was passed the following year, expanded on the classroom instruction components of HB 1557 by prohibiting the use of gender pronouns that align with one's gender identity. This law, sometimes referred to as the “Don't Say They” bill, also expands book-banning policies and restricts how health education is taught in Florida schools. The enactment of these laws led to questions about how teachers were allowed to talk about diversity in families or share anything about their own families in their classrooms. For LGBTQIA+ individuals, this raised questions about whether they could even display family photos on their desk. Were they able to engage in conversations that acknowledge that not all families are the same? What did this mean for the children of same-sex couples or children dealing with their own sexual orientation or gender identity? Fears of repercussion led some teachers to remove books from their classroom libraries that included any mention of these topics. Importantly, these bills were challenged in court, resulting in a settlement. The outcome allows students and teachers to talk about gender identity and sexual orientation; however, these concepts cannot be included as part of classroom instruction. This is just one form of silencing that teachers and students are facing today. At the university level, the approach to silencing students and faculty has been multipronged. Legislatively, this effort has included bills that defund DEI initiatives, weaken faculty unions, faculty governance, and academic freedom protections, while requiring the creation of offices on state university campuses to promote invitations to speakers from “multiple, divergent, and opposing perspectives” on public policy. There is also now a requirement that the Florida Department of Education and Board of Governors develop “objective” surveys to test the extent to which competing ideas are discussed in college courses. For many faculty across Florida, this effort to make it seem as if debate is welcome in these settings feels disingenuous at best. It is hard to believe that debate on complex topics is being encouraged when the governor continues to push an antidiversity agenda. Moreover, Florida law now requires public colleges and universities to revise their general education curriculum to ensure that none of these courses are based on theories that suggest any form of discrimination is inherent in US-based systems or institutions or were created to facilitate or maintain inequities across the economic, political, or social landscape. As the discourse on diversity has become more polarized, and Florida feels like ground zero for dismantling all things diversity-related, I cannot help but reflect on the life I have built here for my family and whether Florida is still a place we can call home. The increasing rhetoric on immigration and our inability to have respectful conversations on why we need a more humane immigration system make me question whether Florida is still a welcoming space for families that look like mine. On the professional side, as academic freedom in Florida classrooms is increasingly under a microscope, I also find myself spending a significant amount of time thinking about the content I teach and why it matters. As part of this reflective process, I have thought about my own positionality and why it is important to expose my students to concepts related to health inequalities, social justice, diversity, equity, and inclusion in thoughtful and nuanced ways while facilitating discussion on these important, but sometimes uncomfortable, topics. I have spoken with many colleagues who are worried about what could happen if they continue to teach about these topics, even though they have spent years, like me, developing their expertise through research, writing, and teaching. It would probably be easier to walk away, allowing fear of possible reprisal for making students “uncomfortable” or feeling “guilty” because of their perceived privilege. While walking away might be easier, in doing so, I would be doing myself and my students a disservice. I know the importance of using a multidisciplinary lens as well as an intersectional approach when looking at complex health problems and considering the impact that social, political, and economic factors have on the outcome. In my work on disability access and inclusion as well as other justice issues, I have seen firsthand how systems create barriers for people to achieve meaningful participation in their communities. I have also seen the importance of providing students with the knowledge and understanding needed to work with clients who do not look like them or share common life experiences. Importantly, I cannot think about my work and its relevance for future health professionals without also considering the context in which the training process is occurring. Although I live and teach in a diverse community, too often people incorrectly assume they know everything they need to about cultural diversity. I am mindful of this fact at the beginning of each semester. First, I spend time introducing why exploring our positionalities, cultural beliefs, and practices are critical components of providing culturally responsive care. This self-reflective practice should be ongoing. I stress the need to recognize how historical and social realities influence clients. I also start off the course with a reminder to students that it is OK to have opposing views on the topics we will explore throughout the semester, but we need to be respectful in how we disagree. A lack of cultural awareness can have a significant negative impact on the development of a collaborative, client-centered relationship, reducing the likelihood of positive rehabilitation outcomes. Ultimately, this failure to develop an effective treatment partnership has long-term implications for clients, their families, and the rehabilitation system more broadly. If we do not understand how clients’ cultural beliefs and practices impact their daily lives, how can we help them set and achieve therapy goals that are meaningful to them? The healthcare system is already challenging enough; if practitioners are not self-aware enough to learn about their clients’ needs based on their positionality, we do them a disservice. To illustrate these points, I will share an example from my teaching—specifically from my two-semester research course where students develop and implement a research project. One of my student groups was interested in exploring whether occupational therapy students were prepared to provide culturally responsive care for transgender and gender-nonconforming clients. None of the students in this group identified as a member of this community, but some had friends or family who did. Based on my teaching on what it means to be a culturally responsive therapist, these students were interested in exploring how other programs prepared students to address the complex needs of clients with different life experiences than themselves. They were concerned that they did not receive enough training in their clinical courses related to providing gender-affirming care. This led them to wonder if students in other programs were being exposed to this much-needed content. The first step in their project was to collect qualitative data from individuals who self-identify as transgender and/or gender nonconforming. This project is important to my discussion here in many ways. If these students had not learned about self-reflection and how to think in a culturally responsive way about potential client populations, they would have entered the field ill-prepared. Having been exposed to concepts related to culture, diversity, and inclusion from an anthropological perspective, they understood the need to learn from members of the transgender community about their experiences with healthcare providers and the systemic barriers they faced when seeking care. As the discourse on topics like this becomes more polarized and faculty are silenced by legislatures whose goal is to promote conservative viewpoints on social and political issues, students will be less likely to develop the skills needed to provide culturally responsive care. The message here is there is value in having a safe space to learn about complex issues critical to meeting the healthcare needs of a community, and this space must be protected. However, I would be lying if I did not acknowledge how the recent legislation and other actions toward higher education in the state have impacted me as an educator. These efforts to restrict students from learning about the beauty of diversity and the importance of ensuring equal access for people across systems led me to consider diametrically opposed thoughts; do I reconsider how I teach this critically relevant content based on fear now that scholarship on diversity and justice has been co-opted by conservative politicians and used as a tool to dismantle academic freedom? Or do I continue to teach using what I have learned in anthropology, critical disability studies, and social and occupational justice? I always come to the same conclusion: stay the course and teach what I think students need to consider. But with this comes the recognition that students can record me without my permission and report me for teaching content that they believe runs counter to their worldviews, otherwise referred to as “shielding” students from ideas that may cause discomfort. There has been little, if any, guidance regarding what a potential punishment might look like for faculty who are accused of shielding. As it currently stands, the legislation holds the university responsible for investigating such charges and puts the institution at risk of losing funding if this does not occur. The institution and its board of trustees are then ultimately responsible for disciplining the faculty members in question, although it is not clear what disciplinary action would entail. One could argue on its face that students should not be shielded from opposing viewpoints. However, some conservative politicians have made it abundantly clear, through both their public comments and legislative agendas, that the concern is not about protecting dialogue on difficult topics from multiple perspectives but, rather, it is using any means necessary to silence liberal viewpoints. Ironically, one fundamental goal of a tertiary education is to prepare students to engage in these types of conversations and to respectfully debate the merits of dissenting viewpoints. This silencing is also taking place on our campuses through other less overt ways. For example, the Board of Governors now annually requests that the faculty senates within the state university system endorse a statement promoting civil discourse on campus. One might argue that endorsing such a statement is a positive act, as the majority of faculty believe in the importance of civil discourse in our classrooms and on our campuses. However, it seems hypocritical to ask faculty to endorse the ability to engage in a form of free speech while our ability to use our disciplinary knowledge and expertise in an educational capacity is being constrained if it involves the examination of inherent bias in systems, as many social scientists and others do in their work. Notably, efforts to eliminate dialogue on critical social issues are not isolated to Florida. We continue to see other conservative legislatures build on the lessons learned here to silence many in university communities through the imposition of similar laws and policies. As these types of laws are introduced with greater frequency in other states, we see that our classrooms are no longer safe zones to question and explore diverse viewpoints; they are spaces to reinforce a particular perspective that does not accurately reflect historical and social realities. Now more than ever, it is important for faculty to actively participate in faculty governance as well as in faculty unions when available because these are key spaces for collective voice and action. We cannot allow fear to silence us in our classrooms, campuses, or broader communities.