Ohio’s public universities are at the center of a fierce national debate over free speech, academic freedom, and the future of higher education. Nearly three months after the state enacted Senate Bill 1—the Advance Ohio Higher Education Act—students and faculty across Ohio’s campuses are still grappling with its sweeping effects. The law, which took effect in late June 2025, eliminates diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) programs, scholarships, and policies from public universities, and imposes new regulations on classroom discussions and faculty evaluations. Its passage has set off a wave of uncertainty, anxiety, and, for many, a sense of profound loss.
“In my in-person classes, there’s this tension of what they can and can’t say, [and] then we have a code of ethics to follow,” said Rochelle Woodson, a junior at Wright State University. Woodson, whose social work program once embraced DEI principles, explained that faculty and students now approach discussions with caution, fearing repercussions for straying into controversial territory. “Prior, I feel like my professors taught very [openly] and there were no questions, hidden tones.”
Since students returned for the 2025-26 academic year in August, the impact of SB 1 has been felt acutely. According to Salon, students from universities statewide report the loss of vital support systems, scholarships, and the freedom to express themselves. Some fear Ohio’s law may become a model for other states, particularly as GOP-led efforts to curtail DEI provisions and reshape higher education take hold in places like Florida and Oklahoma.
SB 1, authored by Republican state Sen. Jerry Cirino and signed into law by Governor Mike DeWine, was billed by its proponents as a measure to foster academic freedom and restore “diversity of thought” on campus. The law regulates classroom discussions on “controversial beliefs” such as immigration, closes campus identity centers for marginalized students, and requires professors to be evaluated based on students’ perceptions of classroom bias. “Our Founders treasured diversity of thought so highly they made free speech our very first guaranteed right,” Cirino said in a January news release. “It’s time to bring that right back to campus.”
But for many students and faculty, the reality has been the opposite. Dylan Repertorio, a former Cleveland State University student, told Salon he transferred to a university in Albany, New York, because he saw how the law would limit his academic opportunities and strip away critical support networks. “Part of the reason why I left as a whole was [because] my degree is not going to be worth as much,” Repertorio said. “I’m not going to be able to learn the things I want to learn when I’m paying for my degree. But also, why would I contribute to an economy in a state that doesn’t care about me? Why am I here?”
Repertorio argued that SB 1 “result[s] in less freedom” for students, not more. He also warned that similar legislation could soon spread to other states. “If they could do this to higher education, it’s going to spread into other parts of people’s lives.”
Some universities, including The Ohio State University in Columbus, began complying with SB 1 even before its official passage. OSU shuttered its Center for Belonging and Social Change, eliminated DEI offices and staff, and most recently, banned students from writing on university sidewalks with chalk—a move critics say is designed to stifle pro-Palestinian speech.
Eloni McClain, a pre-law junior at OSU, told Salon that her instructors now avoid discussing the scientific contributions of women and people of color or “equality in science” for fear of violating the law. The Black Student Association lost funding, and the CBSC closed. “It just feels like there’s less safe spaces for students to go to based on their identity,” McClain said.
The bill passed the Ohio Legislature despite a record number of opposing testimonies. Faculty at Youngstown State University led a seven-week, statewide campaign to put the law’s fate to a public vote in November, but fell short of the 250,000 signatures needed for a ballot referendum, gathering just over 195,000. The law went into effect as planned.
Students and faculty report a new climate of self-censorship. Professors now include disclaimers in their syllabi, assuring students they are not attempting to indoctrinate anyone. “On the first day, [in] every class I went to, a professor had to give a disclaimer, saying that they’re not trying to indoctrinate us or force us to believe anything,” said Samantha George, a senior at Youngstown State University. “And that was something that never really had to happen prior to this.”
George, who is majoring in English education, said her program has been hard hit. Professors appear nervous, and the university has eliminated what was once a required class on diversity and equity in the classroom. She worries the rollbacks will affect her future as a teacher, especially if similar restrictions reach K-12 education. “All it really feels like is them trying to restrict education to the people they think deserve it,” George said. “Removing DEI and all these other things that ensure people who maybe wouldn’t have the chance to get an education actually can go get one—it just feels like they’re trying to make education so inaccessible that people just can’t do it.”
Nica Delgado, a graduate student at Kent State University, described the campus as “lifeless and exclusionary” since the closure of the Multicultural Center and cancellation of events like Hispanic Heritage Month celebrations. Delgado, who had planned to apply for scholarships now eliminated by SB 1, was forced to take out a $20,000 loan for her master’s degree after finishing her undergraduate studies debt-free. “The legislators that pushed this through took something from our students in Ohio that they will never understand, and they took programs from us that truly saved lives and kept people in school,” Delgado said. “It’s doing such a disservice to history, and it’s doing a disservice to the future of Ohio.”
As Ohio’s universities adjust to the new reality, the broader national conversation over campus free speech has intensified. In September 2025, a coalition of 17 Republican state attorneys general, led by Iowa’s Brenna Bird, issued a letter warning universities against suppressing conservative speech. The letter specifically criticized the use of “exorbitant” security fees as a means to limit campus events, referencing the recent politically motivated killing of Turning Point USA cofounder Charlie Kirk. The attorneys general cautioned universities not to discriminate based on viewpoints and threatened investigations if complaints arise.
In the wake of Kirk’s death, Arizona State University initially attempted to impose high security costs and relocate a prayer vigil organized by the College Republicans and TPUSA, but relented after public outcry and legal threats. Meanwhile, Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton is investigating the University of North Texas after a student defending Kirk was removed from class, while others mocking his death faced no immediate discipline. The Southeastern Legal Foundation has also threatened litigation against institutions that suppress conservative speech or impose excessive administrative fees on conservative student groups, as reported by the Washington Examiner.
Less than two weeks after Kirk’s death, tens of thousands of TPUSA chapter requests have been made nationwide, with reports of pushback against these groups already surfacing. The debate over free speech and academic freedom on campus, far from subsiding, seems only to be gaining momentum.
For Ohio’s students and faculty, the new academic year has brought more questions than answers about the future of higher education, support for marginalized communities, and the boundaries of free expression. The effects of SB 1, and the broader national battle over campus speech, are likely to reverberate for years to come.
