We need to talk about Kalven

This time he’s given a keynote speech to the Committee for Academic Freedom’s conference on “Navigating academic freedom: perils and prospects”.

His speech makes a pretty forceful case for institutional neutrality in universities. But it also raises an important question about regulatory overreach – and whether OfS is itself using free speech legislation to impose what he would call a “contested political philosophy” on the sector.

Ahmed’s position is uncompromising. Universities exist for “the pursuit of knowledge”, and free speech is “fundamental to their existence”. But then comes this claim:

Financial concerns notwithstanding, this is not about balancing free speech against such mere interests or concerns as external accreditations, relations with foreign governments or potential donations. There is no balancing. There is no compensating for free speech and academic freedom. Without them, what you have is simply not a university.

That converts rhetoric into regulation with real teeth. Ahmed isn’t just offering guidance, he’s defining what counts as a university at all. And central to his vision is that universities should not take institutional positions on controversial social or political issues.

Laying down the law

The Higher Education (Freedom of Speech) Act 2023 requires universities to “secure” freedom of speech for individuals and to “promote” academic freedom. It protects speech “within the law” and prohibits viewpoint discrimination. But does it require universities themselves to be neutral on social issues?

Ahmed suggests it does. Drawing on Michael Oakeshott’s distinction between “civil associations” and “enterprise associations”, he argues that universities should be forums for debate, not entities pursuing shared political goals. That philosophical position has some pedigree – but it is not in the statute. Ahmed appears to be importing the American Kalven Committee doctrine from 1960s Chicago and presenting it as a regulatory requirement under UK law.

The potential overreach is obvious when we think about the opposing view, which was well put on the site by Jonathan Grant back in February 2024.

Grant reminds us that the University of Bologna – the West’s oldest university – was founded by immigrant students who “were being harassed and persecuted by the local population”. They formed communities for mutual protection and hired lecturers. As Grant observes:

This is the founding story of the West’s oldest university – the University of Bologna, in Italy. A university founded by students for students. It is a story of student action. It is a story of social justice. It is a story of progress.

For Grant, social justice is not a recent imposition on universities – it is their founding purpose. He traces it through Harvard’s religious mission in 1646, University College London’s secular alternative to Oxford and Cambridge in 1826 – “the first university in England to welcome students of any religion or social background” – and the American land grant universities established through the Morrell Act of 1862 to support “the liberal and practical education of the industrial classes”.

The historical record, Grant argues, is unambiguous:

All of these foundation stories – Bologna, Harvard, UCL, Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool and many many other great institutions – are based on social justice. Their foundations are social acts that centre on diversity, equity and inclusion.

That all challenges Brett Stephens’ critique in the New York Times that “the social justice model of higher education, currently centered on diversity, equity and inclusion efforts” has “blew up the excellence model, centered on the ideal of intellectual merit”. Grant’s response is that the so-called social justice model was embraced by those immigrant Bologna students “nearly a millennia ago”.

We need to talk about Kalven

Grant traces the modern push for institutional neutrality back to the Kalven Committee at the University of Chicago in the 1960s. The committee declared:

From time-to-time instances will arise in which the society, or segments of it, threaten the very mission of the university and its values of free inquiry. In such a crisis, it becomes the obligation of the university as an institution to oppose such measures and actively to defend its interests and its values.

Grant identifies the problem – the “get-out-of-jail-card” for “self-interested exceptionalism”:

It is this self-interested exceptionalism that so undermines the reputation of a university. They are willing to fight for funding for students and research, for special visas for international students, for planning permission for a signature lab – all which will impact on their bottom line – but (in some cases) are unwilling stand up for equity, support the voice for first nationers, fight against apartheid or, dare I say it, challenge the populist, post truth polarisation that characterises much of contemporary debate in Western democracies.

More fundamentally, Grant argues that “arguing for institutional neutrality is in itself taking an institutional position”. A university that stayed silent on apartheid was not neutral – it was supporting the status quo through its silence.

He also identifies an intellectual inconsistency in the neutrality position. Commentators “make a big deal about freedom of expression which is framed as an individual right, but in the same breadth claim that such a right does not exist for the institution”. If individuals have free expression rights, why don’t institutions?

Ahmed’s case for neutrality

Ahmed’s answer to that question is sophisticated and deserves serious engagement. His argument is not that institutions lack rights, but that institutional position-taking creates chilling effects that breach the duty to “secure” individual academic freedom.

His speech presents three detailed scenarios – each combining real elements from cases reported to OfS – where institutional policies or positions suppress individual speech. One involves compelled speech through diversity statements, another concerns pronouns policies, a third addresses foreign government pressure. In each case, Ahmed argues that institutional actions failed to meet the statutory duty.

But the most interesting passage comes when he addresses institutional autonomy directly:

Institutions might ask, in this context, whether this regulation is consistent with the spirit of academic freedom. After all, doesn’t freedom mean (among other things) freedom from interference by a regulator? The answer distinguishes institutional autonomy from the freedom of the individual. Academic freedom, as defined in Part A1 of HERA, is about the rights of individual academics; and where institutions are at risk of not securing these, it may make sense for a regulator (a) to guide them to do so and (b) to give individual academics a route of redress.

That’s the core of Ahmed’s position – that academic freedom belongs to individuals, not institutions. Institutional position-taking risks suppressing individual dissent. Therefore, neutrality is not his personal preference, but a necessary consequence of the statutory duty to secure free speech.

The polling data he presents bulks it out. An OfS survey found that 21 per cent of academics don’t feel free to discuss controversial topics in teaching, rising to 34 per cent for ethnic minority academics. And a quarter of those who do not feel free cite fear of physical attack.

The chilling effect cuts both ways

Ahmed’s chilling effect argument shouldn’t be waved away. Power imbalances in institutions are real – disagreeing with your employer’s official position carries professional risk. Grant himself cites the Jo Phoenix case, where the Open University was found liable for constructive dismissal after Phoenix’s gender-critical views led to harassment by colleagues.

But Ahmed’s argument isn’t perfect – because enforced neutrality has chilling effects too.

He says universities can have social media policies requiring staff to clarify personal views, must actively oppose foreign government interference, and condemn threats to their institutional mission. These aren’t neutral positions – they are carefully bounded institutional speech that Ahmed considers necessary.

If a university officially adopts a Kalven-style neutrality doctrine, it signals something to its academics. It says activism is unprofessional, that moral questions are beyond the university’s remit, that taking public positions is inappropriate. Progressive academics – particularly those who see their scholarship as connected to social justice – will feel this pressure.

Grant illustrates this with the Australian marriage equality referendum of 2017. Michael Spence, then vice chancellor of the University of Sydney – now at University College London – argued that advocating a yes vote would have “a potentially chilling effect on debate”. He said:

I do not believe it appropriate for us to adopt an institutional position. In saying so I want to stress that I do not mean to sound insensitive to the very real pain experienced by those currently unable to marry under Australian law. But I think the issue goes to [the] heart of the function of the university as an institution.”

Margaret Gardner at Monash University – now governor of the state of Victoria – took a different view:

Since it was founded, Monash has stood for the principles of fairness, tolerance and diversity. Support for marriage equality is consistent with these values and our commitment to championing those values.

Grant notes that “universities say they don’t want to be political, but the decision not to take a stance is a political decision”. Neutrality is not a neutral position – it’s a substantive choice with real consequences.

Law v ideology

The Higher Education (Freedom of Speech) Act requires universities to take “reasonably practicable steps” to secure free speech. The language and Ahmed’s subsequent pronouncements inherently involve balancing – practicability depends on context, resources and competing considerations.

But Ahmed declares:

There is no balancing. There is no compensating for free speech and academic freedom.

The absolutism goes beyond the statutory text and the underpinning human rights legislation. It also sits uncomfortably with Ahmed’s own guidance, which acknowledges that universities have to navigate competing duties and practical constraints. His examples show nuance – universities can have conduct codes, can oppose foreign interference, and can protect institutional interests when threatened.

The problem isn’t so much that Ahmed has identified a real concern about chilling effects. The problem is that he presents this concern as requiring absolute institutional neutrality – a philosophical position drawn from American academic culture, not a clear requirement of UK legislation.

And so ironically, when he presents one contested vision of what universities should be as the only legally permissible option, OfS risks doing exactly what the free speech legislation was meant to prevent – suppressing viewpoints on the grounds that they are incompatible with institutional mission.

Legitimate concerns

Ahmed is right that institutional position-taking can suppress individual academic speech. His polling shows real self-censorship. His case examples – while anonymised – reflect genuine problems. The chilling effect argument deserves engagement, not dismissal.

But for me, some important qualifications limit how far the argument can stretch.

First, the law does not require eliminating all discomfort. The HEFoSA protects speech “within the law” – it does not guarantee anyone will feel comfortable. He’d be the first to argue that academia involves disagreement. As he himself says in his speech, students will encounter views that are “shocking or offensive”. That is “the purpose and benefit of higher education rather than something to be concerned about”.

Second, chilling effects are symmetrical. If we worry that institutional progressivism chills conservative speech, we have to also worry that enforced neutrality chills progressive speech. Ahmed only counts costs in one direction. A regulator genuinely concerned about chilling effects would acknowledge both risks and seek proportionate responses – not mandate universal neutrality.

Third, Ahmed’s rhetoric exceeds what his argument needs to work. The chilling effect concern might justify something like: “Universities should carefully consider whether institutional positions might suppress individual academic speech, and ensure robust protections for dissent.” But Ahmed says universities that do not prioritise free speech above all else “are simply not a university”. That’s not regulation – it is definitional exclusion.

And anyway, the argument becomes even more stretched when we remind ourselves that the HEFoSA principles are intended to apply to students’ unions, albeit through the university. SUs are not knowledge-producing institutions engaged in research and teaching – they are democratic membership organisations explicitly designed to represent student interests and take collective political positions. Part of their purpose is to aggregate individual student voices into institutional advocacy.

An SU that wins a democratic mandate from its members to campaign for divestment from fossil fuels, or to oppose government policies, is doing exactly what it was created to do. To them they have to remain neutral on contested issues strips them of a core function. If enforced neutrality prevents an elected sabbatical officer from campaigning on issues their members elected them to address, the law has moved from protecting students’ speech to prohibiting it.

Ahmed’s framing will also feel bizarre to specialist providers – the huge number of OfS-registered institutions that do not fit the traditional university model. When Ahmed declares that without free speech “what you have is simply not a university”, what of the digital skills specialist, the drama conservatoire, or the professional training provider? These providers may value open debate, but their core mission is higher-technical vocational preparation, not the “pursuit of knowledge” in Ahmed’s sense.

When he defines universities exclusively through one philosophical tradition – the liberal arts ideal of unfettered inquiry – his approach risks imposing requirements designed for some US-research universities onto institutions with fundamentally different purposes. A specialist provider focused on training nurses or software developers may reasonably take institutional positions on professional standards, workplace ethics, or industry practices without threatening academic freedom – because their mission is professional formation, not pure scholarship.

Power play

The debate is ultimately about power – who decides what universities are for. Grant argues that universities have always been activist institutions pursuing social justice, and that enforced neutrality is a political project to silence them. Ahmed argues that universities exist for knowledge production through open inquiry, and that institutional activism corrupts this mission.

Both positions should be engaged with in an academic sense. But when an actual regulator takes sides in the debate and presents one contested philosophical position as legally required, that looks like overreach. The HEFoSA protects individuals’ rights to speak freely. It does not – and should not – dictate whether institutions themselves can speak.

Ahmed concludes his speech by encouraging academics to “exercise” their academic freedom – to “invite speakers with opposed and controversial views, to set challenging texts, to teach syllabi that are disruptive and uncomfortable”. Fair enough. But the same courage should apply to institutions. If individual academics have the right to controversial speech, why not universities themselves?

The risk of his approach is that it uses free speech legislation to restrict institutional expression in the name of protecting individual expression. That’s not just ironic – it may itself be the kind of overreach that threatens academic freedom.