Don’t let speakers preach to their own choir

Speaking at the American Whig-Cliosophic Society on Feb. 5, J Street founder Jeremy Ben-Ami acknowledged that many people who come to his events are already “his people” — they agree with him and are excited to hear their position reaffirmed. J Street is a nonprofit and lobby that self-describes as “pro-Israel, pro-peace, pro-democracy.” Although Ben-Ami took questions from students who, in turn, considered his positions too supportive of Israel or not supportive enough, Ben-Ami is correct that, in general, political speakers preach to their own choirs.

This phenomenon does not stop at FitzRandolph Gate, and it undermines the value of inviting acclaimed speakers to Princeton. It is more educational to engage with speakers with whom we disagree than to develop our ideologies with guidance from our political heroes. Engagement with our opposites can range from simply listening with an open mind to asking a challenging question and — crucially — considering the speaker’s answer. However we go about it, showing up to listen to our political opponents, and subsequently adjusting our views or strengthening our conviction in opposition, is an essential learning experience.

In September, my colleague Charlie Yale wrote that “opportunities to deeply engage with the nation’s political bigwigs are formative to our student body, many of whom will go on to become major political and intellectual leaders.” Yale is correct that our future leaders need more opportunities to question and engage with speakers. But if our future leaders are only engaging with speakers with whom they agree, the experience is markedly less meaningful.

Just five hours before Ben-Ami’s talk, former United States Ambassador to the United Nations Linda Thomas-Greenfield visited the School of Public and International Affairs as part of the Dean’s Leadership Series. While Ambassador Thomas-Greenfield’s anecdotes about “Gumbo Diplomacy” and her takeaways from meeting with the UN Security Council via Zoom were compelling, the moment I remember most vividly is a student’s question about the Ambassador’s use of the United States’ veto to shut down several resolutions relating to Israel’s war in Gaza. The ambassador seemed uncomfortable with the student’s — admittedly confrontational — inquiry, and she admitted that she couldn’t explain the logic of the decision, adding that it was not so much her veto as that of the Biden Administration.

We were all better for having heard the ambassador’s answer — or perhaps for having heard what the ambassador didn’t say. Such a powerful moment was the result of a student showing up to engage with a speaker with whom she disagreed.

While I don’t know if the student who asked the question had come into the talk with an open mind or if she would have shifted her thinking had the ambassador given a more substantial defense of the veto, I take heart in the fact that she showed up. But neither attendance nor asking tough questions is enough. Intellectual growth is predicated on wrestling with dissent in good faith.

While busy Princetonians are perhaps not inclined to spend time that could be used for a reading at yet another speaker event, this community has been known to show up to protest controversial speakers. And while protest is a valuable form of political engagement, it is worth considering listening to a speaker before we interrupt them. Protest makes a statement, but dialogue is an avenue for intellectual growth.

Since childhood, my peers and I were encouraged to engage with discomfort. As protests over racial inequality erupted across America in 2020, for example, my classmates and I were reminded to lean into our discomfort and to discuss issues that challenged our concepts of justice and privilege. And as our generation faces intense polarization and disagreement, discomfort surrounding difference extends further into our relationships.

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While at Princeton, we have an opportunity to pick the minds of, to use Yale’s phrase, the “nation’s political bigwigs.” We must not forgo that opportunity for fear of discomfort, nor should we seek “gotcha moments” through questions that we don’t actually want answered.

Each time I sit in the audience and hear from an ambassador, a foreign leader, or a political operative, I’m reminded of the distinct privileges that the University offers. That some might squander these opportunities in order to avoid the intellectual challenges that they present is an affront to everything that the intellectually curious scholar — and, I would hope, the average Princetonian — stands for.