Shortly after last year’s referendum on Britain’s EU membership, I attended a conference on global politics at a high-ranking university. In one of the panel discussions, I “outed” myself: I admitted I had voted leave. There was a nervous silence, before the discussion swiftly moved on. Afterwards, a member of the panel who was also a good friend approached me. Her voice was strained. She uttered one simple word: “Why?”

In her mind, I had just cast my vote for a third world war and for deporting all EU migrants, including several mutual friends working in British universities. I tried to explain my reasons to her as best I could: that the majority of European wars were not started by populists, but by unresponsive and non-accountable elites. That the EU was a product, not a cause, of peace and prosperity in Europe. That British people, having never lost their democracy in the 20th century, didn’t see the EU’s political project in the same light as other member states. After a deep breath, she was silent. We left things on an awkward note.

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This is the standard response when my leave vote comes up in conversation with friends and colleagues in academia. I never raise the matter, but it quickly becomes apparent that I disagree with the prevailing view (at least in the arts and humanities) that Britain’s withdrawal from the EU is an act of epic foolishness.

When I’m in the mood for debate or just tired of hiding my real views, I come straight out with it. Reactions are mixed: some, like my friend above, express concerned bafflement, as if I am sick in some way. Others are angry, seeing me as enabling the government’s Brexit policies. Many are simply astonished to meet a leave voter in person.

But why should they be? Modern academic inquiry is founded on traditions of freedom of thought and expression, and flourishes in conditions of diversity. Or at least, that’s what we’re told. Too often, however, colleagues assume that everyone in academia shares their political outlook. They leave tropes about respecting diverse opinions in the seminar room. In more informal collegiate settings, dissent can easily be met with passive aggression.

Perhaps it wasn’t always this way, and social media has a lot to answer for. Academics tend to form like-minded enclaves on Facebook and Twitter, where they reinforce their self-image as beleaguered voices of rationality in a world gone mad. And on social media, unpalatable opinions are easier to ignore, sneer at, or even expunge altogether. If this sounds exaggerated, consider that in one online exchange an academic friend I have known for years called my views “stupid”, and lamented that we may no longer be able to be friends. Another wordlessly unfriended me.

In a piece for the London Review of Books, Cambridge political scientist David Runciman described his colleagues who came out in favour of Brexit as “brave”. But if established academics at elite universities like Cambridge need bravery to simply state a contrary view, what must it take for a lowly PhD student, facing a precarious job market, and reliant on the goodwill of supervisors, examiners, and various contacts made over the years? I’m not saying I’m courageous, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about how negative opinions translate into future employment.

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So, what advice do I have to my remain-voting peers when they encounter a leave voter? Don’t react as if that person just admitted to poisoning the neighbour’s dog. I’ve seen people who claim they want to overthrow capitalism, to abolish the concept of gender, and to disenfranchise the elderly, all be met with more tolerance and sympathy than Brexit voters. Do employ the same norms of civility and respect as when teaching students. Consider responding with: “That’s interesting, what reasons would you adduce in support of that view?” If they work in academia, they’re probably more willing than the average person to discuss their views – but their willingness will evaporate if they feel like they’re being harangued.

I’m not suggesting that universities invest in “safe spaces” for Brexit voters. But people should be free to show their true political colours in a university environment, and to discuss them without fear of ostracism. This is with the obvious proviso that your views don’t entail the suppression of anyone else, of course.

At a time of national divisions, universities could do more to promote real dialogue and understanding, as well as urging staff to exercise tolerance towards dissenters. Maybe you’ll change their mind, or maybe they’ll change yours. After all, isn’t openness to intellectual diversity what university should be about?

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