In a recent op-ed published in the Record, Sayer Theiss ’29 called on the College to reject the normalization of political violence. I have no wish to argue this point. I don’t believe even the most radical members of the student body wish to argue this point. The underlying issue with that article was that it focused on one incident — the cutting down of the U.S. flag, which the College had lowered to half-staff in honor of Charlie Kirk — and pointed to this as a sign that a portion of our campus had entered a state of bloodlust. Theiss begins one paragraph by asserting that cutting down the flag constituted “the de facto acceptance of political violence.” That seems pretty uncharitable.
Surely there are plenty of other reasons a person would want to protest the commemoration of a man whose rhetoric was, as the very same op-ed admitted, “abhorrent.” But to Theiss, removing the flag was not the only act of violence — even disagreeing about the lowering of the flag “walks a fine line between criticizing Kirk and his beliefs and outwardly accepting the political violence against him.” How, exactly? Can an individual not simultaneously condemn political violence and express distaste that Kirk is being honored by the College?
It seems that Theiss’ reluctance to analyze the connection between the flag incident and our growing culture of political violence led him to some misguided conclusions. Nowhere is this more clear than in his call to action, where he asks us to consider the lowering of the flag to be a condemnation of all political violence. This has little basis in reality. It may be tempting to comfort oneself with the belief that the half-staff flag was a “recognition by the College of a nation in distress,” but at the end of the day, the flag was lowered because of a presidential proclamation that began with the words, “as a mark of respect for the memory of Charlie Kirk.”
A more thoughtful op-ed could have spent less time retreading its familiar and rather tired arguments against political violence and instead focused its attention on how the administration handled the lowering of the flag. After all, the only notice we were given that Kirk was going to be commemorated was a brief announcement in Daily Messages. Anyone could have overlooked it. I certainly did.
No members of the faculty or student body were provided with any opportunity to discuss the merits or drawbacks of the half-staff decision. The choice whether the College should honor Kirk was taken completely out of the hands of its community. Instead, the College followed a policy of blind obedience, in which “[f]acilities receives an email from the governor’s office with orders to fly the flag at half-staff and follows them.”
Is it any wonder that, in this environment unfavorable for open and honest discourse, the flag was cut down? If the College continues to follow this dubious policy — one that calls on us to automatically honor someone’s life, however unpleasant they may have been — we may find our campus more unsettled than ever before.
Theiss, by refusing to question the administration’s behavior and calling on us all to meekly accept the half-staff decision, might ironically be undermining the “stable democratic norms” he values above all else. After all, if students cannot express their true feelings about a blatant racist, sexist, and homophobe’s commemoration without being labeled as purveyors of political violence, one wonders when they can speak up at all.
Enough about Theiss’ op-ed. Let me offer a vision of what could have happened two weeks ago. Let us say, hypothetically, that Charlie Kirk was who some people claimed he was — a martyr for the First Amendment. In the spirit of that hallowed amendment, the College should have provided an environment conducive to actual free discourse and democracy. On Sept. 10, we could have received an email that alerted the campus about Trump’s presidential proclamation. It could have asked: Should we, as a community, comply or not comply? The next day could have been devoted to reasoned conversations between people of differing beliefs and values. After the discussion drew to a close, the campus could have held a vote. If enough of the student body, the faculty, and the administration agreed that lowering the flag, whether as a tribute to all victims of political violence or a tactical retreat in the face of a hostile presidential administration, was the right decision, then dissenters could have at least taken some solace in the fact that democracy had run its course.
However, if enough people had taken the opposite stance, then America’s flag could have flown at full staff as a message that the College’s commitment to democratic norms, civilized debate, and the well-being of its community is stronger than any threat of governmental wrath. That seems much more conducive to the continuation of a “stable, free, and democratic society,” don’t you think?
Leigh Murphy ’27 is a history major from New York City, N.Y.
