When the academic article "Witnessing Silence: The Palestinian Genocide, Institutional Complicity, and the Politics of Knowledge" was published in June 2025, its author expected it to quietly circulate among those already immersed in the discourse on Palestine and decolonial education. Yet, according to the author’s reflection in a September 16, 2025, piece, the response was anything but quiet. Academics and university staff from across the UK reached out, expressing gratitude for the language the article gave to a reality many had been living but struggled to articulate: the profound silence of their institutions in the face of mass suffering in Gaza.
Since the outbreak of the Israel-Hamas war on October 7, 2023, which began after Hamas attacked Israel and Israel responded with a ground invasion of Gaza, college campuses in the UK and the US have become battlegrounds not just of protest, but of institutional response—or, as many see it, lack thereof. According to the Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics, as of April 2025, Gaza had seen 17,954 children killed, 39,384 children orphaned, and 7,065 children injured, many with life-changing disabilities. The Gaza health ministry places the total Palestinian death toll at over 60,000. These are numbers that, for many, demand acknowledgment. Yet, as the academic author noted, UK higher education institutions have issued few, if any, direct statements on the crisis, often resorting to vague references such as “ongoing events in the Middle East” and frequently omitting the word “Palestine” altogether.
This silence is not merely a matter of institutional tone. It signals recognition—or the lack thereof. The contrast is stark when compared to the sector’s swift and specific responses to other global tragedies, such as the war in Ukraine, the Christchurch mosque attacks, or the murder of George Floyd. In those cases, universities named the violence and the communities affected. When it comes to Gaza, the choice to avoid explicit language is felt as abandonment by many within these institutions.
The stakes are not just rhetorical. In January 2024, the International Court of Justice took the extraordinary step of issuing provisional measures that recognized a plausible risk of genocide in Gaza—a term also invoked by Amnesty International, United Nations experts, and legal scholars. The avoidance of this language by universities is, as the article’s author put it, “not caution. It is abandonment.”
For many Muslim, Arab, and pro-Palestinian staff and students, the institutional silence has translated into a climate of anxiety, exhaustion, and what some describe as “moral injury”—the psychological toll of witnessing profound injustice while being expected to remain silent. According to testimonies gathered by the article’s author, early career researchers self-censor in lectures and grant proposals, students are afraid to name Palestine in their dissertations, and professional services staff are torn between personal conviction and institutional messaging. Some have received formal warnings; others speak only in private, worried about reputational damage or being labeled disruptive.
This burden of caution is not equally distributed. For many, the silence confirms a haunting awareness that their lives—and the lives of those they care about—are treated as less valuable. As documented by Kearns et al. (2019), conflicts in the Middle East rarely provoke the same outrage or mobilization as tragedies elsewhere. When universities, too, remain vague or silent, the omission feels like confirmation that some losses are simply harder to name.
Silence, however, is not the only response. Across New England, pro-Palestinian protests have commanded the spotlight for nearly two years. Students have organized rallies, built encampments, signed petitions, and occupied buildings. Their activism has brought attention to the crisis, but at a cost. According to The Boston Globe, colleges have ramped up disciplinary actions against protests they claim are antisemitic, and the Trump administration has made the movement’s excesses a focal point in its efforts to reshape higher education.
As the war approaches its third year, organizers say the landscape has grown more hostile. Many activists report a “cautious mindset,” especially international students who risk legal jeopardy or deportation for participating in protests. Nuriel Vera-DeGraff, a senior at Harvard University who helped lead pro-Palestinian protests, described the chilling effect: “It’s hard because people aren’t really talking about what’s happening in Gaza at the moment, unfortunately, but the situation, if anything, is just escalating for the worse.”
Despite the risks, student activists are finding new ways to organize. They are focusing on educational campaigns, building community networks for international students, and providing legal or financial support. At Boston University, students recently demanded that a building be renamed to honor a Palestinian journalist. At Harvard, students participate in “Keffiyeh Thursdays,” wearing traditional Palestinian scarves. MIT activists have publicized the school’s ties to Israel and organized fundraisers, from art fairs to basketball tournaments, to support Palestinian families.
Institutions have responded with increased restrictions and surveillance. In the UK, at least 28 universities launched formal disciplinary proceedings against students and staff over pro-Palestinian activism since October 2023, involving more than 100 people. Reports suggest that as many as 250 to 300 university employees across the sector have been investigated or threatened with dismissal simply for expressing pro-Palestinian views. University security teams have adopted “US-style” surveillance tactics during protests, often under pressure from professional networks. In the US, schools like Harvard have disciplined pro-Palestinian student groups, prohibited demonstrations in campus spaces, and changed disciplinary proceedings.
For activists, the crackdown is both a challenge and a call to adapt. Richard Solomon, of MIT’s Coalition for Palestine, was suspended and barred from campus for attending a protest in Harvard Square. He remains undeterred: “I don’t think MIT students are going to shut up and go back to their problem sets just because the administration is threatening them or retaliating for their activism and free speech.”
Some see the repression as a test of universities’ stated values. Kaden Paulson-Smith, a professor at the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, put it bluntly: “If we’re going to see our institutions take a stand for their alleged values and beliefs, this is it—this is the test.”
Faculty, too, are weighing in. Across several University of Massachusetts campuses, professors have urged the system’s board to divest from funds that support Israel. Heike Schotten, a political science professor at UMass Boston, described the strategy as two-pronged: advocate for divestment and push for greater transparency.
For many, the heart of the issue is the ethical contradiction between universities’ public commitments to justice, inclusion, and academic freedom, and their selective silence or repression when it comes to Palestine. As the academic article’s author argued, “Neutrality, when applied unevenly, is not neutrality at all. It becomes complicity, dressed up as caution.”
As the new academic year begins, students and staff alike are recalibrating their tactics. Some focus on public education and building alternative institutions; others work quietly to support affected communities. The slogan “we keep each other safe” has become a north star for many organizers, a reminder that solidarity can persist even under pressure.
Institutions still have choices to make. As the author of "Witnessing Silence" concluded, there is still time for universities to act—not by offering perfect words, but by showing they are listening, naming what is happening, and protecting those who speak. For many, silence is not safety; it is precisely what they are struggling to survive.
