Responsibility in Crisis: Knowledge Politics and Global Publics

Academic Presumptions

1-Kennedy: It is perhaps a conceit of those primarily interested in international affairs to imagine that among the most critical questions facing the North American university are those that address the international. For example, one recent publication proposing to address the future of the city of intellect [1] contains no special address to the national location of the global university. Even its index has only one page devoted to the international, and that is with regard to new students. Globalization merits slightly more attention, but is mostly an afterthought. The international or the global is only a derivative of other interests, whether in expanding markets, the information technology revolution, or in the search for expertise itself.

The international or the global can be everywhere at once. This is one of the most common strategies pursued by universities that seek to globalize or make their internationalism comprehensive. That is good bureaucratic strategy, for it gives everyone a stake; at the same time, it leaves (productively?) ambiguous just what internationalizing or globalizing means and dependent on its attachment to other knowledge projects. That may be appropriate, but it also minimizes the challenge of difference with which a more critical engagement of globalizing knowledge might be organized.

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A university's commitment to diversity is usefully understood not only as a national project associated with affirmative action, but also one embedded in the search for the value of differing perspectives from across the world on all manners of intellectual inquiry. By marking the North American university's challenging global location, we can create the conditions that might combine the wealth of the North American university with a humility that comes from being located in one nation within the world, despite our differences within the nation along the lines of race, gender, class and sexual orientation, among other vectors. And with that reminder of national location, we might create a different stream along which notions of asymmetrical collaboration can find new opportunities for learning.

2-Jelin: I find this paper to be extremely U.S.-centered. Reacting from the southern part of the Americas, I must say that the "national" in the title, and the permanent references to the "American" university, provoke a strong reaction in me. The Americas include much more than the United States, and there are multiple "national" universities in the world—as there are nations. The problems with the way "American" and "national" are used is not, in my view, only a choice of words that may not sound politically correct. I think it reflects deeper misunderstandings of the relationships between U.S. institutions and others, in other parts of the world.

Thus, a paradox: the paper attempts to present a world view, with a reference to (North American) universities being IN the world—i.e., located in a time/space bounded matrix, that should include a consideration of concrete power relationships, inequalities, asymmetries, reciprocities, and so on—yet there is no single reference to any "other" being IN the world. Thus, what pervades the paper is a very self-focused notion of "OF the world," from a center that becomes identified with the whole, i.e., an imperial center. In that sense, much of what is said about the "American university" ("sacred space") sounds to me as part of the vision of an imperial eye.

The international links of the U.S. university (not the "American" or "national"), seen from the deep South (I would claim, in both geopolitical senses of the "South"—within the United States and in the world), were always a site of political struggle within the United States (a struggle where the international security agenda of the United States had and has the strongest voice), and a site of political struggle between North and South (or center and periphery, empirePage  49 and backyard).

Within the United States, academic freedom involves pluralism in views about the world. Imperial eyes coexist with respect of others, reciprocity with exploitation. Funding for university-based international studies has followed historically the security considerations of the United States (both which area of the world is defined as a priority, and which subject or theme is to be studied). Up to the 1990, international interests and studies grew considerably in U.S. academia as a result of the Cold War. Governmental funding for higher education international programs (Department of Education Title VI programs, for instance) were clearly justified in terms of national security and U.S. interests. The rationale was to create the knowledge about the rest of the world, and develop the professional capacities needed, to further U.S. interests abroad.

Within this model, however, academic institutions and scholars varied in the way they reacted and "used" the resources that the Cold War governmental attitude implied because there is a plurality of perspectives and views within the U.S. academy, and there are academic and political struggles about what the role of scholars and intellectuals should be. Some accepted the conditions and shared the goals of the government. Others took the message to be about developing free and "neutral" knowledge about world processes and "the others" in the world. And there were those who reacted to U.S. governmentally sponsored attempts to build "academic hegemony", and worked towards introducing and legitimizing diversity and knowledge generated in different locations (i.e., "others' knowledge") into the United States.

Thus, the idea of THE (American, or national) university is, in my understanding, to be replaced by a recognition that there has been always a plurality of positions, and power struggles around them within the U.S. academic world. The challenges, then, are not new and do not come only from outside academia.

Over the years we (scholars in the South) have been approached and/or confronted by U.S. colleagues of all persuasions. It is worthwhile to read back into the experience of Project Camelot in the 1960's [2] because it was an extreme case of a pattern that was much more extensive in space and time. That was a case in which an "academic" research project was, in fact, a cover operation for U.S. intelligence and intervention in Latin America.

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In broader terms, resources for academic work abroad, and the patterns of relationship between the rich colleagues of the North and the poor scholars of the South, have been quite diverse: from junior partners and cheap labor (collecting data or doing fieldwork at exploitative wages), to truly reciprocal and intellectually symmetrical relationships, compensating or attempting to overcome the great inequalities in financial resources; from attempts to export and even impose a given (U.S.) paradigm or model of knowledge to a recognition of diversity, searching for dialogue and mutual enrichment.

In sum, if the plurality of outlooks and the power struggles between forces of the left and the right—in the center, in the periphery, and in the exchanges and links between center and periphery—are recognized, there is little room for neat types and for unproblematic contrasts.

The 1990's, with the end of the Cold War and the clear and uncontested U.S. world hegemony, one of the trends within the United States became stronger: the one that interpreted "globalization" as the expansion of market economies and the U.S. model of international technological innovation and business practices into the rest of the world. This brought about the expansion of U.S. university programs abroad (especially but not only business schools), and the expansion of the number of foreign students attending U.S. universities (to get the "appropriate" training and the "appropriate" connections and networks). Other views, more reciprocal and oriented towards intellectual symmetry, could still exist, but the LARGE funding went to the hegemonic model.

The positions vis-à-vis international partnership (and/or domination) of U.S. universities and scholars was complex and muddled before, and will continue being complex and contested after September 11.

2a-Cohen: On views that transnational conversations are inherently unequal, it may be worth introducing into the "equation" the strong values of transparency and openness that were central to the transition discourses in post-Soviet and post-Apartheid settings and critical in the unfolding of non-governmental organizations and international "communities" of expertise in the post-Cold War era. Such values of transparency, information sharing, and cooperation found their way into the practice of North American universities as they reached toward "partners" overseas. Equally, transnational and global corporations learned that win-win negotiating practices were often more effective than older models of holding back essential information from foreignPage  51 and local counterparts. Open information sharing has been an aspect of most international treaties through the 1990s. But, clearly, the rhetorics of transparency cannot assure that the interests of different partners will be equally realized.

That a "moment" of such transparency, of the valuation of equilibrium in international partnerships, was substantial may be reckoned in the contrast with a new U.S. governmentality towards secrecy and towards the undoing and rejection of many spheres of international cooperation and information sharing. The U.S. administration recently rejected participation in the International Criminal Court; it also pronounced that it would not cooperate in any way with any foreign or international agency bringing an action before the Court.

3-Saruya: Both the curriculum and structure of higher education in Japan have changed in various ways under the intensifying influence of the American university. The most noticeable change is the expansion of English programs which focus on communication. Currently, reading Shakespeare in its original prose, which was relatively prevalent until the 1970s, is rare, and studying a second foreign language is no longer mandatory in basic courses at undergraduate programs. Instead, the English curriculum concentrates more on listening and speaking, mostly in American English. In addition, the number of lectures in English has increased, and short- and long-term programs to study in English-speaking countries have proliferated. Thus, the English curriculum in Japanese higher education has shifted from traditional, broad-based liberal arts courses to more practical courses focused on developing communicative competence in English.

Undergraduate and graduate programs in Japan have been reforming several aspects of their structures using the model of the American university. For instance, although not requisite for admission, some universities consider the TOEFL scores in the admission process as an alternative to other more commonly used English examinations. Other universities have changed their grading system to conform with the American system which ranges from A to F. Some graduate universities offer MBA and MA in International Studies degrees, which are already popular doctoral degrees in Japan, with lectures and seminars conducted in English. Furthermore, in 2001, the government's Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science, and Technology initiated guidelines on establishing law schools resembling those in U.S. universities.Page  52 Responding to the guidelines, some universities such as Tokyo University and Sophia University plans to provide courses in English.

Moreover, until recently, it was not uncommon for permanently-employed professors to start teaching and obtain their doctoral degrees in their later careers. However, some graduate universities have now introduced qualifying examinations, and it is becoming standard practice for current graduate students to finish their dissertations and obtain their degrees before assuming teaching positions. These changes illustrate Japanese universities' adaptation of U.S. university practices, especially those concerning standardization and evaluation.

Other examples reveal a more direct relationship between Japanese and American higher education. In the 1980s some U.S. universities established satellite campuses in Japan to offer American educational programs. In 1982 Temple University founded a campus in Tokyo, and in 1987 Columbia University inaugurated an MA program in TESOL in Tokyo. Furthermore, in 1988, the Nevada-California International Consortium of Universities and Colleges was established to transfer students to universities in Nevada or California after one year of study in Japan.

Japanese universities have been globalizing toward Asian countries as well. In the 1990s, universities began accepting larger numbers of international students, mainly from Asia than ever before. Some universities have established recruitment programs where university representatives visit potential applicants in their home countries. Moreover, other universities founded new campuses with the clear intention of attracting Asian students from across the continent, such as Ritsumeikan Asia Pacific University which was established in 2000.

Overall, universities in Japan have sought to reach out to U.S. and Asian countries beyond their national terrains. They are, in my view, driven by the need for their survival, given a declining national birthrate and the heightened demand for competent English communication skills and distinct professional credentials.

4-Madjid: Just as it is very well justified for America to see itself as the beacon of freedom and democracy, it is also a claim well-based for American institutions of higher learning that they are standard bearers for openness and academic freedom and scientific universalism. Such a position is perceived by most people, I think as the corollary of a society being free and democratic.Page  53 Thousands upon thousands of people from around the world, including those from "unfinished nations," marked by the authoritarianism and despotism of their ruling classes, have had chances to share the blessings of American learning. This came into reality either by the privilege of having direct contact with the American institutions or by reading their intellectual and scientific research products and participating in numerous international discourses with some form of American involvement, and in other open and free intellectual engagements. It may sound hyperbolic, but it could also be just a truism to hope that the unique American position would remain intact and be maintained with the highest degree of consistency and dependability.

5-Gebert: In the spring of 1992 a poem appeared on the front page of Gazeta Wyborcza, Poland's leading daily. Penned by Wisława Szymborska (who was to receive the Nobel Prize for literature in 1994), it was titled "Hatred". [3] It immediately became one of the most important pieces of political writing published in the country at that time.

Gazeta Wyborcza was, and remains, a phenomenon on the Central European media scene. It had been set up in a month's time by a group of young journalists from the underground press, under the leadership of veteran dissident Adam Michnik. We also availed ourselves of the invaluable assistance of some of our older colleagues who, though having worked "aboveground," as the saying went, had managed to preserve their professional and personal integrity. Its creation had been made possible by a political deal struck by the Communist authorities and the "Solidarity" underground in the spring of 1989. Gazeta was to be the voice of the opposition in the forthcoming electoral campaign (hence its title, Electoral Gazette), continuing, legally now, the incredibly successful experience of the underground press, and countering the government's otherwise unbridled control of the media. At that point, we did not think far beyond Election Day.

Gazeta became "the first independent paper between the Elbe and Vladivostok." Immediately immensely successful with its readers, it quickly started making profit and repaid its debts. To this day it remains Central Europe's biggest and most influential daily and the only one to be independently owned. Its success was a tribute to the public involvement of Poland's intelligentsia, which had in the past decade been on the forefront of the anti-Communist struggle. Intellectuals not only wrote and taught their mind, creating theirPage  54 own—illegal—press and education structures. They often manned these structures as well, printing, distributing and organizing, hand in hand with the huge workers' movement they had helped develop. The intellectual-worker alliance was the key to the victory of Poland's bloodless revolution.

The public involvement of intellectuals had by then become something both to be expected and reckoned with, by the authorities and by the people alike. It took many forms: I remember standing all night long in a queue to buy the first legal edition of the poems of Czesław Miłosz, after that émigré poet and critic of the regime had been awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1980. Most of his work is not directly political, but his powerful moral message was in sync with the ethos of the struggle. ["Do not be safe"—in "The Moral Treatise" he admonishes an anonymous tyrant—"The poet remembers. / Words and deeds shall be written down" (Gebert's translation). Another poet—Zbigniew Herbert, who had remained in Poland—strengthened our moral backbone: "Do not forgive. It is not in your power / to forgive in the name of those betrayed at dawn" (Gebert's translation)].

And Szymborska, with her humility, intimacy and decency elevated to a striking philosophy of life was capable, with just one stanza, to demolish the impact of Communist collectivist and relativist indoctrination. Just as much as political tracts and exposed secret documents, poems such as these, philosophical essays, plays and public statements were a fundamental part of the struggle. "Words"—sang Jan Krzysztof Kelus, Poland's later-day Bob Dylan—"were loud as dynamite."

And such, too, was the impact of Szymborska's poem. At the time Jan Olszewski's right-wing Solidarity government was conducting a witch-hunt against also real, but mainly just suspected or wholly imaginary agents of the former Communist secret police. As the tone of public debate deteriorated, Szymborska's poem—published in lieu of an editorial—was widely considered a warning voice against the government's policies. The poet certainly did not write it as a comment on current developments, nor did she ask the paper to publish it as such. Nor was the poem allusive—a tactic often used by writers under Communism, who developed an "Aesopian language" to metaphorically speak about current events. The tactic was so successful that the authorities started to read subversive meanings even in works written in another time and age. In 1968, for instance, the government had banned a performance of aPage  55 patriotic anti-Czarist play by the great nineteenth century Romantic poet Adam Mickiewicz on the grounds that it was "damaging to Poland's international alliances" (i.e. to Soviet domination). The philosopher Leszek Kolakowski then famously quipped: "We have reached the embarrassing situation in which the entire body of world literature has become a set of allusions to the Polish People's' Republic."

But the timing and place of the publication of "Hatred"—Gazeta was in the vanguard of Olszewski's critics—automatically made the poem a public statement on current events. It was widely understood and debated as such, not only among the elites, but also on buses and in coffee shops. It ultimately became one of the many factors that led to Olszewski's downfall.

With the passage of time, and the development of normal democratic institutions, words had lost much of their dynamite quality. This in itself was not an unwelcome development: as the political situation changed from black-and-white to a dazzling spectrum of shades of gray, what was moral integrity started to become stridency, and ethical authority often morphed into insupportable self-righteousness. Yet many deplored the weakening of the moral role of the intelligentsia and its decreased social impact. Still, intellectuals remain active and at times influential participants of the public debate. Media routinely seek out their opinions. Open letters signed by many, a genre which developed under Communism, are still being published, especially when their authors believe a public event needs to be highlighted, either to be approved, or—more often—to be condemned. This is particularly true of cases of anti-Semitism or other intolerance, which seldom pass without being publicly censored. The intelligentsia once the spearhead of the struggle for democracy, has in this democracy admittedly lost most of its political influence. Freedom Union, the party it mainly identifies itself with, fares dismally at the polls. But the intelligentsia's moral voice in Polish society, articulated mainly through liberal media such as Gazeta Wyborcza is yet neither silent, nor insignificant.

5a-Kennedy: As I read Kostek's reflection on the power of Szymborska's poem, I recalled the moment in which Adam Michnik, Gazeta Wyborcza's publisher, and Robert Pinsky, America's former poet laureate, embraced in the night preceding their common award of an honorary degree at the University of Michigan. Public intellectuals and PEN activists both, knowing each other from less celebratory times, they obviously cherished each other. But as theyPage  56 embraced, I also thought about these very different cultures in which they live, with one culture moved by poetry to responsible political action, the other always struggling to place well chosen word in the cacophony of our commodity-seduced public sphere. Pinsky works hard and thoughtfully to cut through that culture, evidenced once again by his reflection on the meanings of 9/11.

9/11
By Robert Pinsky
We adore images, we like the spectacle
Of speed and size, the working of prodigious
Systems. So on television we watched
The terrible spectacle, repetitiously gazing
Until we were sick not only of the sight
Of our prodigious systems turned against us
But of the very systems of our watching.
The date became a word, an anniversary
That we inscribed with meanings—who keep so few,
More likely to name an airport for an actor
Or athlete than "First of May" or "Fourth of July."
In the movies we dream up, our captured heroes
Tell the interrogator their commanding officer's name
Is Colonel Donald Duck—he writes it down, code
Of a lowbrow memory so assured it's nearly
Aristocratic. Some say the doomed firefighters
Before they hurried into the doomed towers wrote
Their Social Security numbers on their forearms.
Easy to imagine them kidding about it a little,
As if they were filling out some workday form.
Will Rogers was a Cherokee, a survivor
Of expropriation. A roper, a card. For some,
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A hero. He had turned sixteen the year
That Frederick Douglass died. Douglass was twelve
When Emily Dickinson was born. Is even Donald
Half-forgotten?—Who are the Americans, not
A people by blood or religion? As it turned out,
The donated blood not needed, except as meaning.
And on the other side that morning the guy
Who shaved off all his body hair and screamed
The name of God with his boxcutter in his hand.
O Americans—as Marianne Moore would say,
Whence is our courage? Is what holds us together
A gluttonous dreamy thriving? Whence our being?
In the dark roots of our music, impudent and profound?—
Or in the Eighteenth Century clarities
And mystic Masonic totems of the Founders:
The Eye of the Pyramid watching over us,
Hexagram of Stars protecting the Eagle's head
From terror of pox, from plague and radiation.
And if they blow up the Statue of Liberty—
Then the survivors might likely in grief, terror
And excess build a dozen more, or produce
A catchy song about it, its meaning as beyond
Meaning as those symbols, or Ray Charles singing "America
The Beautiful." Alabaster cities, amber waves,
Purple majesty. The back-up singers in sequins
And high heels for a performance—or in the studio
In sneakers and headphones, engineers at soundboards,
Musicians, all concentrating, faces as grave
With purpose as the harbor Statue herself. [4]
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I treasure efforts like Pinsky's for the U.S., and look forward to the time when poetry in America might carry public impact like that which Szymborska's stanza managed in Poland. But as we wait, we can also recall that the place in public life of the university, and its various specialties, varies, sometimes consequentially.

6-Konold: I would like to challenge this last sentence. "The international" has not truly been embedded in the North American university if what is constituted as "the international" is defined by debates taking place within those very American spaces. Does the concept of "the international" have any real meaning if its articulation stems from parochial interests, debates, and self-conceptions? Instead, the statement should be articulated in the reverse. America has been embedded in the international precisely because the North American university has defined the international in relation to itself, and has projected itself into the world by producing and disseminating knowledge through channels that it controls. Stated more directly, fundamental inequalities in resources exist in most relationships of exchange between power centers and peripheries; scholars and researchers at U.S. institutions need not emempt themselves from these fundamental inequalities. The North American university, by nature of its resources and its dominant channels of knowledge creation and transfer, has quite successfully embedded America in the international. It has quite unsuccessfully incorporated the international into the university, at least an "international" that has meaning to those who reside outside these national boundaries.

The field of political science offers an example that may mirror similar debates in other disciplines. The division of the field into "American" and "Comparative" politics tends to define "the international" in relation to the "American". America becomes a part of the international by offering itself as the principal comparison, whether the analysis compares democracy, institutions, or values. Certainly, many scholars reject these tendencies, but readers and colleagues often implicitly assume the comparison. Furthermore, funding institutions ask that scholarship of the "international" be justified for its larger relevance, often in relation to our knowledge of "the American."

All too often, scholarship of "the international" remains in the hands of American universities, but the result is that the international is poorly understood while the American is embedded into the international. American universities determine which international collaborations take place, and while important exchange occurs, foreign scholars may return with a greater sensePage  59 of the American than the other way around. Furthermore, universities have projected themselves further into the global sphere by dominating the sources of knowledge production and transfer. Disciplines within the American university define the sorts of knowledge that are valued, as authoritative journals tend to be those published in the United States. Access to knowledge resources, especially web-based versions such as JStor, often unintentionally push the American into the international as American-produced knowledge is more widely accessible in the global sphere.

Undergraduate and graduate programs that incorporate the international are dominated by texts that are international in scope but American by publication, and these texts become the "disciplinary standard." Even when this scholarship is critiqued, it remains the common frame of reference within these critiques and across national boundaries.

I do not intend to argue that scholarship of the international is inherently flawed, but only mean to suggest that we should look more carefully at the resources that exist in the U.S. university system and how these resources do successfully embed America into the international. The real challenge lies is in our efforts to incorporate different visions and voices of the international into the American framework, even when these voices may challenge what have emerged as dominant standards.

7-Sanneh: The universe of the University has been beholden to the idea of universal truth and truthfulness, of veritas verified. The American University as an idea has endorsed the nation's view of its mission which is the production of values and the means and arrangements for their implementation. The American University has shared in the mission of America, a new nation conceived in liberty and the sanctity of life, and committed to the unfinished task of making the fruits of freedom plentiful and imperishable, as Lincoln might have phrased it. Frontiers of knowledge were expanding throughout the nineteenth century, keeping tempo with the new nation's westward expansion and with waves of immigration that stirred the population to new enterprise and purpose. The history of higher education in America is a reflection of this dynamism of territorial expansion and attendant progressive social impulses. America has always been driven by purpose, as Santayana once expressed it ('to be an American is a moral condition'), and the University has characteristically responded to that. Land grant colleges and Universities facilitated and expandedPage  60 the process, with state and federal government support.

The academic enterprise in America has been characterized by a passion for showing how things could be done differently and better, looking to results without getting entangled in the means toward them, as Tocqueville put it. The true end of knowledge has become the inculcating of the habit of self-reliance and individual judgment, and the fostering of the habits of competitive enterprise, not the uncritical transmission of tradition or the replication of past models. The roots of this muscular view of the social order go back to the Puritans, particularly to those associated with Cambridge University, and to their New World Pilgrim heirs, including those who founded Harvard and Yale. As Milton put it, the end of learning is to repair the ruins wrought by our forebears, in effect, "to be like God" (Milton, "Of Education"). The pursuit of truth, Milton insisted, did not need the cowardly license of protection in order to contend with falsehood, its enemy. Whoever knew truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter, Milton asked rhetorically? The Harvard of Increase Mather and of his son, Cotton, as well as of John Eliot, John Dunster, Charles Chauncy, John Udall, among others, was profoundly committed to unstifled intellectual inquiry, with scholarship funds for young people of ability, whatever their social or economic status. In 1647 Massachusetts Bay Colony passed the compulsory common and grammar schools act. When Harvard, deeming itself free from the control of church and state in Britain, assumed the power to grant degrees, it tacitly made in the educational sphere 'the first declaration of independence' some one and a half centuries before the corresponding act in the political sphere. Free intellectual inquiry evoked freedom in the political sphere...

8-Das: In my view we need to give greater historical depth to our understanding of the university in Europe and North America because the relation between the state and the university appears to me to be much more complicated than is suggested in the present paper. Jacques Derrida has suggested that the Kantian idea of the university can be deployed to shed light on some of our present concerns going beyond the local context in which it was first formulated. Kant's "The Conflict of Faculties" written in 1798, sets the tone for a reflection on the university as a faculty or artifact of the State. As Derrida points out, this transformation led to a new social role for the philosopher and intellectual who was no longer seen as an artist or a technician but becamePage  61 a public servant and a teacher and thus an officer of the State. The academy in the late middle ages or the early modern period was still largely a clerical institution and hence had no role to play in the emerging public sphere and was in that sense it was not the space from which any criticism, however oblique, of absolute power could be waged. So two changes from that position can be seen in the reformulation of the university on the model of rationality.

First, was the factory like organization of disciplines and teachers as functionaries of the state, responsible for administering these disciplines? In this context it was the division of the academy into theology, law, and medicine, which was seen as constitutive of higher faculties that were directly concerned with the projects of the state. In the lower faculty of philosophy, the emphasis was on the pursuit of truth. However, one has to remember that this was a delicate balance and that what could upset this moral order was the notion of the state of exception. For Kant, as for Schmitt, everything depended upon who can decide whether, when, and where war can be declared.

I have gone into this detour because it seems to me that there is a delicate balance between knowledge that was essentially instrumentalized in the service of the state (and I don't mean this as a straight-forward criticism) and knowledge in the pursuit of other virtues such as truth, curiosity in the very idea of the university. Indeed it seems to me that unless we forego the temptation of a narrative rendering in terms of "before" and "after"—we will not be able to accurately formulate the force of field within which the modern university as an idea operates. It is the tensions between instrumental forms of knowledge (both in relation to the market and in relation to the state) and the will to truth that we can situate censorship as a series of restrictions rather than an all or nothing affair...(For elaboration, see Das's essay in this volume.)

9-Konold: In the United States, as compared to national contexts, power within educational institutions operates, arguably, through more de-centered channels rather through direct state mandate. Thus, we should be wary of claims that the North American university has become a model for all others if we focus solely on our history of academic freedom and open inquiry. We miss something important about the "institutional histories" mentioned if we focus solely on theoretical, epistemological, and organizational debates that have taken place in the American university.

Part of the peculiar history of U.S. institutions includes their undeniable ties to market forces. The American university is, in many important respects, a for-profit institution in its own right, and this should make us question itsPage  62 designation as a sacred space. University admissions programs "compete" with their peers for a pool of applicants offering ever-better athletic facilities, student centers, and of course, even international curriculum. College tours and sales brochures "sell" an undergraduate experience to students and parents for tuition and fees beyond comparison to those found in other national universities. The sheer number of universities competing for scarce government resources, student enrollment, prominent and victorious athletic programs, and alumni donations is a part of this concept of the university-as-corporation. We see universities creating formal corporate alliances, often for research in science and technology. But we have yet to reflect on the increasingly powerful informal ties with corporate America and its effect on the production of knowledge and education. The university has been a site of professionalization, and the introduction of global education plays an increasingly important role in this process, as corporations demand undergraduates and graduates with ever-more international expertise to fill their positions and meet the expanding needs of corporate globalization. Universities create collective communities, or brand-images, that aid not only in the competition for students, but provide social and professional access to the corporate world. Alumni corporate recruiters return to campuses yearly and increase these ties. Perhaps even more importantly, universities' ever-expanding budgetary and endowment needs increase the reliance on networks of global alumni who will generously share in their own fortunes, thus increasing the links between the university and the for-profit world.

Has the university become a private corporation, or has it not? Certainly, the de-centered American university provides freedom from government censorship that does not exist in other national contexts. But we should shun efforts to envision the university in the United States as above all a sacred space, one divorced from the daily needs of for-profit institutions. If American universities truly have become models for other national universities, we must begin to ask what effect this model has had or will have on other universities, and how the introduction of private universities in countries around the world will shape knowledge production, and more importantly, education and professionalization, in the international sphere. Finally, we must resist efforts to see national governments as the sole holders of power able to label the university "heretical." We may begin to see, or may already be seeing, anPage  63 even more insidious self-censorship within the university in response to private donors and the hidden but powerful for-profit forces of the university.

9a-Patterson: As we reflect more on "the increasingly powerful informal ties with corporate America" and "the hidden but powerful for-profit forces of the university" as Konold rightly urges, it is also important to acknowledge the importance of student activism as a powerful and increasingly effective check to these forces. University and college campuses have long been bases of activism, and this history has been well documented. From my own experiences as an undergraduate at Swarthmore College, I can recall sundry strong and successful student movements that addressed a range of economic issues. Through boycotting clothing produced in sweat-shops and various types of produce served in the campus dining hall (because of the labor conditions under which they were grown and harvested), lobbying for same-sex domestic partner coverage for college employees and a living wage for all university staff, and demanding more transparency in regard to the institution's economic ties to corporations, we helped shape institutional policy.

Here at the University of Michigan in 1983, the Board of Regents was one of the first to divest from apartheid South Africa. In 2002, the Graduate Employees Organization of U-M went on strike and succeeded in achieving most of its goals during a one-day strike and extensive contract negotiations. In Spring 2003, the student group BAMN (the Coalition to Defend Affirmative Action By Any Means Necessary) worked feverishly to prepare for the recent Supreme Court case on affirmative action, organizing rallies, educating members of the university community, engaging with the press and elected officials, and organizing a bus trip for over 1,000 U-M students to Washington D.C. in time for the opening arguments. The power of students to affect administrative policy, force increased transparency, and increase awareness about various policy issues on campus and in the community cannot be underestimated.

10-Konold: If we place undue emphasis on an almost idealized world of the university "beyond "national and parochial interest" prior to September 11, we unintentionally silence the powerful critiques of globalizing forces that had been increasing within and outside the U.S. university. [5] Even more importantly, however, by splitting the university's existence into pre- and post-9/11, we also falsely portray the nature of the sacred space by exaggerating the extent to which it allowed critiques of its own dominant paradigm-namely,Page  64 the globalization of knowledge and the construction of "the international."

Furthermore, this emphasis on pre- and post- 9/11 ignores the ever-present tensions between national interest and the business of the university. Globalization and the interconnections it builds—of knowledge, of culture, of economies, of political institutions—should be viewed as serving American interests, even as a direct American-led policy initiative. Whether these efforts came from government or non-governmental organizations, the primary goal was to build global support for the "universal" yet American values of democracy, freedom of the individual (including economic and political freedoms), and human rights—a global enlightenment project of sorts. Of course, hidden behind these values are very real and very old interests—to open national borders for economic exchange and production, to ensure access to resources, and to open markets after the collapse of the most visible alternative to the American capitalist system. An additional hope was that global engagement would serve national security by making violent conflict too costly.

Many critiques of globalization came from within the university-whether of foreign or economic policy, or the university's own attempts to globalize its curriculum-and attempted to make globalization more liberal, more just, more humanitarian, more along the lines of the universal values as debated and articulated within universities in the United States. Yet surprisingly, no clear alternative to the "universal" and "international" arose from these debates. Many within the university shared the underlying liberal values and goals of engagement of the globalization project, believing that the ultimate result would be increased international understanding. Many critiques thus tended to argue that globalization should only be done better. This attitude is reflected in parts of this position paper and its embrace of the sacred space where universal and plural values peacefully coexisted. I challenge the implications of the statement that though "utopian, naïve, or merely optimistic," most within the university identified "global values and global futures" linked to truly universal values that would lead to a new era of open inquiry. Was this new era of open inquiry an achievable reality given that it existed within an increasingly dominant paradigm of "the international" in the university? The problem with the concept of the sacred space is that by embracing the globalization of knowledge as initiated from the American center, it does not explicitly allow room for other models. Furthermore, an almost hegemonic discourse of "the international" begins toPage  65 silence alternative voices, especially those coming from outside the American university.

Perhaps even more important, and prior to September 11, the university seemed to be implicated in national interests given its own emphasis on globalization and "the international". The university and the government did not seem to be at odds—they could mutually work for the promotion of universal values, as defined largely by American expertise. Government funding institutions encouraged work that fit this liberal paradigm, and scholars framed debates within the discourse of "the international." Because the dominant paradigm was liberal, many within the university have not questioned their own role in being a part of a national interest, or else they were comfortable sharing these interests. It seems that only when national interests and university interests diverge, as in a war-time situation such as after 9/11, do we feel that our sacred space is threatened. I contend that the sacred space was neither as sacred nor as autonomous as the framework of pre- and post-9/11 suggest.

We must challenge the university to resist the imposition of a dominant paradigm, even one of its own making, no matter how universal it views its mission or how international in scope. We must acknowledge the links that exist between the university and national/parochial interests, both when these do and do not match the interests of the university, in order to guard the academic freedom that is the "hallmark" of the American system. Prior to 9/11, the globalization of knowledge as defined by American universities risked becoming such as hegemonic force. While we should fight to protect the sacred space, we must resist attempts to silence its detractors as we move into the post-9/11 world and allow alternative visions to come forward.

11-Jelin: Universities are not "sacred spaces", and should not be. The notion of the "sacred" implies the idea that there is something above and beyond human will and human action that is the ultimate power to judge good and evil, justice and fairness. And that what happens in those sacred spaces is part of that godly design. The sacred refers always to a deity, to a god, that is always and necessarily so, more than human, beyond the human condition. The great religions of the world, and other religious-like belief systems, offer in their Holy Writings and in the wisdom of their leaders, the dogma or creed to be followed. Whatever does not fit with the tenets of the creed is then "heretical".

The idea of free inquiry, of openness in knowledge searching, cannot bePage  66 guided by dogmas or creeds. Unless—and I think this is the metaphor used in the title of the paper—the "sacredness" of the university refers to this freedom of inquiry, unfettered, emancipated from political or worldly commitments and interests. That, in my view, is impossible and undesirable. Impossible because universities need financial resources, and the allocation of resources is always part of the political game. And because scholars are human beings and citizens -with passions, interests, and commitments—that cannot be left at the door of the laboratory or office. Undesirable, because it would imply a strict and narrow definition of the "ivory tower", a search for knowledge without a "for what", without assuming or taking up the political responsibilities involved in any type of inquiry—or of any type of human activity.

The fact that there are different models of universities in the world is a clear indication of their embeddedness in worldly (i.e., political, economic, social and cultural struggles and conflicts) matters. Issues such as whether the responsibility for higher education should be solely in the hands of the state (reflected at times in the public vs. private university conflict, and other times in the conception of access to higher education as a social benefit linked to citizenship rights), whether there should be open admissions and even affirmative action programs or a meritocratic system, not to talk about research resources linked to security issues and industrial interests—all these and many other are clear examples of the fact that there is no "sacredness" in the university.

I see a double danger in using the sacred/heretic metaphor. The first relates to the fact that this conceptualization implies the existence of some meta-human force that will have the last word in defining what is sacred and what is heretic. If this is simply the pursuit of knowledge, one should remember that it does not come from heaven but is based on the existence of a human community that sets the standards of inquiry, hopefully according to some democratic rule. [6]

The second danger is failing to differentiate between religious (and therefore legitimate beliefs in the "sacred") systems and arenas of independent search and public openness that foster dialogue and debate, with open and broad participation. Democratic theory, more than beliefs in the sacred, seems to offer more appropriate tools to analyze and reflect upon the university and its worldly role in times of uncertainty and political turmoil.

Universities and public spheres are to be much more modest thanPage  67 religious systems. In open systems of knowledge, nothing is sacred and there is no absolute TRUTH. Everything is subject to doubt and to change, findings and explanations can be corrected, and knowledge is constructed and not revealed. Thus the need for asserting and reasserting a lay arena of open interaction, and the need to struggle to assure the most horizontal and symmetrical interactions in it.

12-Kennedy: We included sacred space in the title of our position paper, but chose in the end not to include it in the title of the book because it led to relatively unproductive discussions. First, some read our position paper as saying the university was a sacred space, a place apart from everyday life, various publics, markets and the state. Others read it to say that we believe it should be apart from these spheres. Finally, some intimated that our use of sacred was a call to bring religion into secular spaces associated with public universities.

Coauthored documents always represent some kind of compromise, and clever writing can mask different intentions. I believe I had more of a stake in the invocation of sacred space than either Kathleen or David. It falls, therefore, on me more than them to explain the sense behind its use.

In the time between our workshop and this writing, Nancy Cantor delivered a lecture on intellectual diversity that resonates very well with the intentions of our paper, and I draw upon her imagery to help make our point. [7] She suggested that universities might be understood as existing somewhere in between the logic of the monastery, entirely secluded from the world but heavily dependent on shared assumptions, and that of the marketplace, entirely embedded in the world but open to radically different values and assumptions, veering toward one or another value depending on the issue at hand. Those images are useful.

First, to be sure we do not argue that the university is a place apart. Indeed, invoking the sanctity of the university space is a way to argue that its distinction from the logics of markets, states and publics should be preserved. In that very act, the implication of universities in these other spheres of social life is marked, for if universities were not so implicated, there would be nothing to defend.

Secondly, if this were a place entirely unto itself, there would be little space for productive heresies. While monasteries might produce heresies, they are not always viewed as so productive for the monastery itself, and rarely have muchPage  68 productivity beyond the shared assumptions of the community. Universities should be set up to test the bounds not only of academic community, but also the intellectual integrity of the social networks in which they are embedded, or to which they might be connected.

Thirdly, and here is where I probably differ more from my coauthors, I do find too little religion in our secular universities. By this I don't mean we should have more professions of faith in our universities' public squares; quite the contrary. I believe we should be considering more directly the normative, evidentiary, and rhetorical frameworks embedded in different religious systems, do more to compare them to frameworks embedded in political, economic, and scientific systems, and consider more explicitly the articulation of each of these systems with one another. The research and educational priorities of public universities are not set to engage these questions well.

This is not, however, necessary to the invocation of sacred space and heretical knowledge. It is only a reflection of our particular conjuncture. I would propose, only, that one of the most productive heresies that might be articulated from within the sacred space of the university is one that questions the adequacy of the secular standpoint for engaging the challenge of difference in international affairs. [8] The invocation of national interests inevitably carries certain religious presumptions. Globalization and international security shape discussions of appropriate religiosities. And even efforts to articulate broader normative foundations, even when they are addressing religious heritage, rarely escape religious inheritance. Jürgen Habermas is a good example.

My notion of sacred space is clearly informed by Habermas's ideal communication community. [9] That notion doesn't describe an existing condition, it is rather a philosophical standpoint embedded in communication structures that enables us to recognize ways in which communication is distorted. When we extend that to the university, and recognize the ways in which the sacred space is shaped by power, wealth, and public obligations, we mark the ways in which conditions external to the "pure" academic engagement shape analysis. It opens the space for critique.

Of course many have argued that Habermas's notions are embedded themselves in problematic assumptions of the public sphere and the limits of a male Central European bourgeois society. [10] There is much room for productive disagreement about that, but I also note that in most of those discussions, thePage  69 limits of relying on the Judeo-Christian heritage are themselves not marked, even as they become markedly apparent in his own reflections on the association of religious heritage with critical reasoning. [11]

I am not advocating some return to civilizational studies, for religious systems are themselves understood best not only in their principal homes but also necessarily in their transnational transformations. [12] And I am not suggesting that religious studies ought to have a new privileged place in the halls of university departments. I am suggesting, however, that scholars in different disciplines ought to consider the challenge of religiosity in the articulation of questions that presume secular foundations, and this might be one of the most productive heresies the university's sacred space might offer.

13-Cohen: The North American university (or, more generally, perhaps any institution of higher learning) inevitably bears the image, or caricature, of an "ivory tower," condensing different meanings including independence and irrelevance. Albeit the work of the caricature, the university is thickly engaged with the world at many points—and demonstrably beyond the applied fields—while it works to realize fully the benefits of an independence from state or corporate oversight and control.

But we can move beyond a discussion of caricature to recognize the university in a different way, that is as institution constructed of contradictory interests and forces introduced over time, and never fully resolved. In this sense, the university may resemble "the colonial state." I inevitably draw here on the theorization of the colonial state by Bruce Berman and John Lonsdale: "The colonial state ... was only the partly intended outcome of the often contested interaction of numerous impersonal structural forces and subjective agents, both metropolitan and local." [13]

The challenge here may be in considering the ways in which the university can contain and support contending orientations: on the one hand serving the nation, national values, and national interests; on the other, serving the world and interests, standards, values, and goals broader than the nation. The university has done so before, though with risk and damage.

To return to the caricature, it may worth asking the question: in whose interests is it to see the university as apart, as bounded, as an ivory tower, rather than as an unsettled frame of contradictory interests and forces?

14-Cohen: Of course, universities consistently take up and engage timelyPage  70 issues. Multiple interests and pressures, as well as particular constituencies, assure that timely issues are addressed. The university today is in part the composition of surviving elements from enormous ranges of such engagements over time. Yet the university is also an economy in which only a relatively small number of engagements and initiatives can sustain themselves or be sustained. In a sense, the university's response to a new American attention to Islam—seeking fresh federal government funds for Middle East studies, constituting a range of focused conferences, symposia, and courses, assuring the supply of language courses, assisting students at risk—may be posited as conventional, vulnerable in time to the pressures and desires of new issues.