Students have become ban-happy self-regulators afraid of growing up.
When news emerged last week that two students from the
London School of Economics had been banned from wearing
‘Jesus and Mo’ cartoon t-shirts on a stall at the university’s freshers’ fair,
it was only the most recent act of censorship carried out by students’ unions.
At the latest count, the students’ unions at six universities have banned the
song ‘Blurred Lines’ from being played in their buildings. In the past few
months alone, Derby University students have banned the UKIP candidate for Derbyshire
police and crime commissioner from speaking in debates; the University of East
Anglia has banned the showing of rugby and cricket matches sponsored by
NatWest bank in the union bar; Lancaster University students’ union has banned
‘lads’ mags’ from the campus shop; and students at Essex University look set to ban Starbucks from their
campus.
While a few students may challenge what has been termed a ‘war against
free speech on campus’, or argue that students’
unions are not meant to be the moral arbiters of their members, what’s really
noticeable is the louder clamour for more bans and increased censorship. The
outgoing president of a consortium of students’ unions based in Medway in Kent
has criticised the absence of
a ban on political and religious extremists; and the Lancaster ban on lads’
mags has been labelled as not going
nearly far enough in the perceived battle against sexism on campus.
It seems that far from revelling in the freedom of
having left school and home behind, students are quick to impose new sets of
restrictions upon themselves. This goes beyond socialising and shopping and
impacts upon the academic realm too: research conducted at one university
suggests 88 per cent of students were in favour of a requirement to make all
students abide by a code of conduct and 82 per cent supported minimum
attendance requirements with all the associated form-filling and
register-taking. It seems that students want external monitoring and
regulation because they don’t trust themselves to withstand the temptation to
miss seminars or behave inappropriately in the lecture theatre. This lack
of trust in themselves and each other is one reason why songs such as ‘Blurred
Lines’ and ‘lads’ mags’ are described as ‘dangerous’ by those
campaigning for bans: one can only assume that in their fevered imaginations it
is only a ‘brave’ ban on such incendiary material that prevents mass rape on
campus.
University students nowadays seem to consider
themselves as children in need of protection from a threatening world – with
their fellow students the biggest threat of all. Whereas in the not-too-distant
past, students standing for union elections would have represented a major
political party and felt the need to mention (at least some) nationally
significant issues, today’s potential candidates represent only themselves and
campaign for things such as increased security on campus, better lighting, more
CCTV cameras and greater distribution of rape alarms. The aspiration of
previous generations of students to have their political views taken seriously
has been replaced by campaigns to be looked after better.
The language of the former Medway-consortium president
is revealing: hedescribes it as
‘incredibly worrying’ that students have no ‘protection’ from ‘preachers of
hate’ and that a ban would provide students with ‘a safety net’. Similarly, the
national NUS Zero Tolerance
Accreditation Scheme seeks to make
university campuses ‘a safe space for women’. Both assume that students are
vulnerable, in need of protection, and first and foremost seeking ‘safety’.
These views are not widely challenged because students increasingly perceive
themselves in these terms. Instead of arriving at university excited at the prospect
of independence and optimistic about the challenges to come, many students seek
an immediate return to the security of their school days.
A bizarre example of this trend is perhaps the
nationwide popularity of the students’ union ‘School Disco’ event. At King’s
College London, the event isadvertised thus: ‘It may
be the first day of your university life, but its [sic] time to dust of your school uniform.’
Students can party in rooms labelled ‘tuck shop’, ‘bike-shed’ and ‘playground’,
all the while donning a school uniform. In their very first days away from home
and at university, students are (however ironically) excitedly reminiscing
about a school environment they left only a matter of weeks earlier.
When everyone from the UK prime minister David Cameron to the medical profession considers
adolescence to extend to the age of 25, perhaps it’s understandable that
students see themselves as in a prolonged-state of childhood. But
significantly, universities do little to challenge such infantilisation and
instead frequently reinforce the perception that students are children in need
of looking after. Students are routinely offered advice and guidance on
everything from making friends, health and wellbeing and managing money to
study skills and note-taking. It is no longer assumed that 18-year-olds arrive
at university capable of looking after themselves and ready to learn. Instead,
they are cushioned at every turn from the need to accept responsibility for
their lives and make adult decisions.
At universities today, attendance at lectures and
seminars is made compulsory; reading lists are replaced by downloadable
chapters; end-of-year exams are replaced by smaller, more frequent modular
assessments with pre-determined learning outcomes. Here students are not
accepting responsibility for their own learning; they are merely completing a
set of structured tasks. There are many social and political trends that come
together to result in the infantilisation of young people today – but
universities should not reinforce these trends through treating students like
schoolchildren. Then maybe students can begin to grow up, trust themselves and
each other a bit more, and not feel the need to enforce bans for their own
protection.
No comments:
Post a Comment