In contemporary academic settings, shaming has become a powerful tool for shaping ethical debates, particularly on polarizing topics like Zionism and Israel. On many campuses, any form of support for Israel is deemed inherently shameful. This article examines the rise of “shaming” as a tactic in academia, questioning its legitimacy and exploring the ethical boundaries of such practices within universities. Ariel Colonomos reflects on how shame, far from fostering critical dialogue, risks undermining the core mission of academia: open debate and intellectual inquiry.
Shame has crept into our discussions within the most learned spaces, where critical distance should be a priority, and where the love of knowledge ought to serve as a unifying sentiment. Today, university has become a stage for unrestrained passions, which are profoundly shaping its debates. Some of these passions threaten to undermine its very vocation. One striking example is the discourse surrounding the use of force by the State of Israel. Increasingly, criticism of Israeli policies is accompanied by efforts to shame those who do not a priori and automatically condemn or criminalize the State. For many, Israel and Zionism have become shameful terms—repellent words invoked to provoke feelings of disgrace and disgust. Shame as a powerful social emotion, however, is insidious, as it undermines the core purpose of academic life: to think and to debate.
Provoking shame
Shaming an interlocutor, an adversary, or even an enemy is a common tool in discussions. It is banal. Who hasn’t resorted to playing on emotions to rally others to their position—or worse, to discredit them? This is hardly surprising. However, the systematic use of such a stratagem, particularly within an academic setting, is cause for concern. When shaming becomes one of the defining features of verbal exchanges, it transforms into a modus operandi—one that we can identify as “shaming.” What we are witnessing is the deliberate creation of a “climate of shame,” designed to discredit those that are seen as opponents. Anyone expressing a viewpoint that diverges from the prevailing orthodoxy finds their position reduced not to a legitimate perspective requiring debate, but to a shameful conviction, and ultimately, a shameful act.
What about the Israel debate on campus? Demonstrations against Israeli policies have long been part of university life. Boycott movements, particularly BDS, have a deep history. Yet, since Hamas’s attacks on October 7, the scale of pro-Palestinian protests on university campuses in the United States and Europe has only grown. The words “Israel” and “Zionism” have rapidly become negative rallying cries, used to shame those who associate themselves positively with them—or are presumed to do so. This is especially true for Jews who feel a historical attachment to Israel or who simply affirm its right to exist. Of course, anyone sharing this latter conviction may find themselves targeted by this “shaming” operation.
This operation follows a recognizable choreography: aggressive outbursts accompanied by dramatic mimicry, theatrical displays (Jewish symbols such as the Star of David juxtaposed with swastikas, Palestinian flags draped over Jewish objects of worship, or “red hands”), inflammatory historical analogies, and reductio ad Hitlerum arguments (“Gaza is the Warsaw Ghetto”). In contrast, Hamas is often framed as a “resistance” movement, as described by Judith Butler, a prominent figure on the “global left.” This kind of activism has become routine in demonstrations and debates surrounding Israel. But has it influenced the policies of the states where it has occurred, particularly in the U.S. and Europe? The impact appears limited. Its effects on the university, however, are far more pronounced.
One of the most significant consequences of this modus operandi is the stigmatization and subsequent ostracization of many Jewish students and faculty members on campus. For those employing this tactic, the dividing lines are stark: there are Zionist Jews (“bad Jews”) and anti-Zionist Jews (“good Jews”). The latter, at the very least, must provide a disclaimer—a kind of “not guilty clause”—by prefacing any discussion with a declaration of their opposition to the current Israeli government and its policies. While such critical stances are not inherently problematic and may even be important in the current context, the expectation that they must be a default position imposed by others is troubling. Why should such disclaimers be required? Can we imagine asking a Chinese or Iranian individual to engage in such ritualistic disavowals when discussing their country, a Turk when speaking about Turkey, an American during Trump’s presidency, or a Korean to declare non-allegiance to North Korea? Many non-Jews are similarly subjected to this moral scrutiny, compelled to clarify their allegiances whenever they engage in debates about Israel.
In the fields of sociology and political science, the study of emotions in political mobilizations has grown significantly over the last two decades. Morality, feelings of shame, and their correlate—accusations of guilt—are integral components of mobilization processes, regardless of the cause. In the field of international relations, the conflicts and mobilizations that students encounter in books and classrooms often resonate deeply with their personal commitments. The emphasis placed by universities in the United States and elsewhere on social engagement during student recruitment only heightens this interplay between theory and practice.
In the academic literature of the 1970s, critical debates on Zionism, the State of Israel, and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict were framed through Marxist and Third Worldist lenses. Later, the postcolonial turn redirected critiques of Israel, offering a new modality of contestation. These postcolonial theories, particularly popular among students, have profoundly influenced discussions within universities. Shame, precisely, occupies a central role in postcolonialism. According to its proponents, old and new colonial powers used “shaming” as a tool to demean the dominated and consolidate their domination. By asserting their superiority and embedding it within colonial and social institutions, these powers sought to make the colonized ashamed of their very identity. The postcolonial critique aims to reverse this process. Israel has become the target of this new strategy of criticism, one that seeks to delegitimize its very existence. By casting Israel as the locus of all injustices, merely uttering its name is intended to evoke maximum indignation.
Academic freedom and hindered knowledge
In a thought-provoking and moving testimonial, Columbia alumnus Shai Goldman reflects on the education he received at two vastly different institutions. He compares his time at Columbia University—a historic and prestigious institution, widely regarded as a temple of knowledge—to his earlier studies at a yeshiva in Israel. His experience, he explains, can be summarized in two words: at Columbia, he encountered a “pedagogy of shame,” which stood in stark contrast to the yeshiva’s “pedagogy of pride.” At Columbia, Western thought was treated as shameful—even though it formed the core of one of its flagship courses. By contrast, the yeshiva exalted the greatness of the texts it studied and commented on.
This account of a dual experience is both disconcerting and thought-provoking. While it is undeniably personal, and other students may have perceived these environments differently, it raises important questions about the role of moral emotions in shaping knowledge and the parameters of discourse within academia. Granted, yeshiva teaching, despite its emphasis on pride, may not provide the most comprehensive access to knowledge, and Columbia remains an outstanding institution overall. Yet, this comparison invites a broader reflection on how moral sentiments—whether shame or pride—inform pedagogical approaches and influence intellectual development in academic settings.
In the entrenched and privileged world of universities, protests against Israel have had unprecedented consequences. In the United States, a series of resignations by presidents of major universities has underscored the tensions surrounding this issue. Among the most notable examples are the leaders of Penn and Harvard, both of whom were called to testify before Congress prior to their departures. These resignations have been followed by others. Meanwhile, commissions and working groups—such as one at Columbia, whose president also stepped down this summer—have been tasked with redefining antisemitism. Most significantly, in both the U.S. and Europe, these events have triggered a crucial debate on the interplay between freedom of speech and academic freedom.
In the United States, freedom of speech is frequently invoked to defend the right of all individuals to express their ideas—a principle enshrined in the First Amendment of the Constitution. University professors and administrators often cite this foundational rule to advocate for pluralism and protect dissenting views, even those critical of a state or group. However, this stance is not without its limitations and criticisms. First, the liberal philosophy underpinning freedom of speech acknowledges that this freedom has boundaries: when speech causes harm or incites violence, regulation becomes necessary (even in the U.S., violent hate speech is not protected under free speech laws). Second, there is a deeper critique of this principle’s applicability in academia. Robert Post, one of the most respected legal scholars in this field, argues that freedom of expression in the First Amendment sense has no place in academic settings. “As academics, we spend our time discriminating against speech,” he explains. In a café, one might freely claim that the Earth is flat, but such a statement would have no place in a university. Similarly, while it might be permissible in a public space to shout that “the Rothschild bank is responsible for Palestinian genocide,” such a claim would be deemed false and unworthy of a platform in academic lectures or conferences.
The university must remain a space where the rights of every individual to engage in scholarly and civil discussion are protected, ensuring the institution can fulfill its principal mission: the production of knowledge. In this context, there is no room for pressure or intimidation.
Academic freedom is the subject of significant debate. For some, it is primarily about asserting the independence of universities from external interference, particularly political pressures—such as when the state seeks to impose curricula or specific ideas within academic departments. It is easy to see why this principle is vital. However, there is also a broader dimension to academic freedom, particularly in democracies where the risk of state-imposed course content is relatively limited compared to totalitarian, authoritarian, or theocratic regimes. Universities must remain spaces where every individual has the right to participate in scholarly and civil discussions. The protection of individual rights is essential for universities to fulfill their principal mission: the production of knowledge. In this context, there is no room for pressure or intimidation—whether it comes from the state, the “tyranny of the majority,” or the tyranny of particularly vocal and active minorities.
And yet, many pro-Palestinian demonstrations have given rise to acts of intimidation that have actively silenced dissenting voices. This is particularly concerning because open debate and the expression of opposing views are essential to active pedagogy and meaningful intellectual reflection. Worse, the effects of such intimidation often linger, discouraging individuals from expressing opinions that challenge the imposed orthodoxy.
This strategy of intimidation disproportionately impacts the most vulnerable: those who lack confidence, particularly younger individuals. But the politics of shame and intimidation has another insidious consequence—it fuels a dangerous cycle of escalating extremes. While thoughtful, reserved, or nuanced individuals retreat from the conversation, others who are more combative and unrestrained step forward, often responding to intimidation with equal brutality. These reactions are not necessarily thoughtful or constructive (and may, in turn, deepen the shame and silence of the more reserved voices). Worse still, they can be hateful, further polarizing the discourse. As a result, reactionary and unfiltered voices dominate the conversation, feeding into a brutalized debate. While such voices are often amplified outside the university—particularly on social media—their echoes reverberate within campus discussions. At both ends of the spectrum, both academics and individuals who invoke their academic credentials to gain authority contribute to this cycle, often through inflammatory diatribes disseminated in the grey zones of social networks. Without clear institutional guidelines to counter intimidation, universities risk a downward spiral—a fatal loss of purpose and meaning.
The responsibility of the university
It is easy to identify what the university should not do; determining what it should do, and what steps it must take, is far more challenging. The task—ensuring an intellectual environment conducive to creativity and free inquiry—is immense, as every academic and student knows.
The strategy of shame has placed considerable pressure on university administrations to boycott Israel and its academic institutions. Some professional associations, particularly in disciplines like anthropology, have raised the possibility of boycotting Israeli institutions. More recently, the American Association of University Professors (AAUP) reversed its long-standing opposition to academic boycotts. While Israel was not explicitly named, the timing of this decision likely reflects recent events. Despite this, just as most Western states remain allies of Israel, the majority of major universities have maintained their partnerships with Israeli institutions. The arguments against academic boycotts are well known and predate October 7: such measures are largely ineffective; they disproportionately target entities whose members often oppose the very governments the boycott seeks to pressure; universities typically produce knowledge that challenges governmental positions; and academic exchange benefits all students by fostering openness to the world.
However, one crucial argument is often overlooked, rooted in the very nature of boycotts: a boycott embodies a rejection of contact deemed—and rendered—shameful. It seeks to avoid “defilement.” The rallying cry of “Zionists out of our universities” reflects a desire for internal purification, while a boycott serves as a shield against external contamination. This fear of defilement has no place in the university, as it perpetuates harmful and toxic fantasies. The pedagogy of shame must be replaced by a pedagogy of pride—the pride of participating in a global community of knowledge.
A strong, responsible voice is urgently needed, as embarrassment and indecision have prevailed for far too long. It is essential to reflect on the roles of all parties involved. Who is responsible for maintaining the academic peace that institutions should proudly uphold? The answer is everyone. It is a collective responsibility to preserve a space where no one is forced to yield to intimidation of any kind. We must work toward an environment where a Millian “marketplace of ideas” can flourish, as long as it adheres to the fundamental rules of decency. Misconceptions must be challenged, biases scrutinized, and “unreasonable partiality” actively countered. It is equally unreasonable to demand that academics—particularly in disciplines like philosophy or law—abstain from normative judgments, as their very purpose is to reflect on matters of right and wrong, good and evil. On the contrary, such discussions should be encouraged when they rest on a foundation of rigorous and coherent knowledge. However, the vague and unsupported normative claims often found in short-sighted social science research are deeply damaging.
This “shaming” operation aligns with a broader demand for moralization—one that is so paradoxically restrictive and liberty-destroying that it ultimately signals failure.
These principles may sound abstract, but they demand concrete applications to foster an environment defined by sincerity, trust, love of knowledge, and intellectual courage. These virtues are currently lacking, numbed by negative passions, chief among them the shame that some actively seek to instill. Ideology is often criticized for its divisiveness, but shame is just as destructive. It operates insidiously, embedding itself in consciences under the guise of moralization. Ironically, this moralization is so restrictive that it signals failure rather than progress.
The university is not only collectively responsible for the production of knowledge but also for its communication and dissemination—through the teaching it offers and the relationships it fosters among its members. Allowing the politics of shame to persist prepares the ground for the worst outcomes. The inventiveness and intellectual vitality that have made universities admirable would inevitably decline. Genuine communication, in the fullest sense of the word, requires a set of productive reciprocal expectations—expectations that elevate rather than demean us. To counter shame, the university must send clear signals of encouragement and work to rebuild a demanding yet honest community of knowledge.
The academic world serves as a laboratory for the exploration of moral emotions, and these deserve serious study. The task ahead is daunting: to understand the effects of emotions on cognition and learning, to establish rules for constructive discourse, to restore trust, and to critically examine pernicious ideologies, shallow knowledge, and destructive feelings. Above all, we must reignite the desire to learn. One of the vital missions of the social sciences and the humanities is to study how emotions shape new norms. To the shame that destroys public space and stifles creativity, let us prefer a world defined by openness, audacity, and civility.
Ariel Colonomos
CNRS Research professor at Sciences Po. Recent publications: Le beau savoir – Pour une esthétique des sciences humaines ( Albin Michel, 2023), Pricing Lives – The Political Art of Measurement(Oxford UP, 2023).
