Too often, colleges and universities in the United States comport themselves as institutions that exist in isolation from current affairs. The notion of the “ivory tower of academia” speaks for itself; these are places that analyze the world from the periphery while insisting that they are untouched by it. Bowdoin, at times, succumbs to this illusion.

Yet moments arise when that distance collapses and it becomes impossible to pretend that campus life is separate from the political and social realities unfolding beyond it. The recent circulation of racist and Islamophobic rhetoric tied to a Bowdoin student is one of these moments. When this type of rhetoric is used to dehumanize our peers, that is, in itself, a political choice.

For many students, this language might register as online noise or political disagreement. For others, it lands closer to home. For Muslim students, immigrant students and students of color, this rhetoric echoes a broader landscape of fear and surveillance that already shapes daily life in Maine and across the country.

Bowdoin is not isolated from that very landscape. Just a few miles away is Lewiston, home to one of the largest Muslim communities in the state. Over the past few decades, Lewiston’s Muslim residents have faced persistent xenophobia, violence and scrutiny. In 2002, former Mayor Laurier Raymond wrote a letter urging Somali refugees to stop coming to Lewiston, emboldening local anti-immigration sentiment. Two decades later, Black families face threats from their neighbors solely based on the color of their skin. It is imperative to understand that these are not distant headlines; they are lived realities for people who shop in the same Hannafords, play in the same neighborhoods and attend the same schools as Bowdoin students. Bowdoin students volunteer in these Muslim communities, attend cultural events and benefit from the rich diversity this community brings to Maine. Yet the College struggles in acknowledging its responsibility to stand with this community when hate arrives at its doorstep or when it emerges from our own campus.

In Maine, immigration enforcement is not an abstract federal policy—it is something families fear in their homes and communities. The constant threat of detention and deportation has created an atmosphere in which many immigrants live with heightened anxiety. Families should not have to worry whether their children should miss school. Families should not have to worry about leaving their home to get groceries. This atmosphere deprives immigrants of their most basic right: their dignity. For Muslim communities, this fear is compounded by Islamophobia that positions them as “dangerous” and undeserving of belonging.

When harmful rhetoric circulates within Bowdoin’s community, it does not stay on a screen. It reinforces the narratives that legitimize ICE raids, justify surveillance and allow the separation of families to be treated as political capital. Words that dehumanize do not simply offend; they normalize policies that rely on the idea that some people are less worthy of protection than others.

Calls to dismiss such rhetoric as “just an opinion” are deeply troubling and threatening. There is a stark difference between intellectual disagreement and hate speech. Intellectual debate relies on challenging ideas while respecting one’s humanity, whereas hate speech is a rhetorical process that denies moral worth and agency. Debating tax policies and immigration reform are opinions. Arguing that entire groups of people are inherently dangerous is not a difference of opinion; it is the bedrock for violence.

The Black community has long understood how quickly hateful language becomes material harm. From slavery to Jim Crow to mass incarceration, dehumanization has always been the precursor for violence and exclusion. History—the history that Bowdoin teaches us—shows us that when hate is allowed to masquerade as debate, institutions inevitably fail the people most at risk. I will acknowledge some of the institutional steps that Bowdoin is taking to “strengthen open discourse” and encourage “curiosity of difference” through the McKeen Center’s  Viewpoint Exchange series remain highly important. However, it is equally important to ensure that the conversations we are having do not reiterate messages of hate speech. Furthermore, Bowdoin’s own mission statement commits the College to the common good. The College’s non-discrimination policy explicitly prohibits harassment and discrimination on the basis of religion and national origin. When we treat Islamophobic rhetoric as merely one facet of a “legitimate” debate, we abandon our commitments. It can set a dangerous precedent that some students’ safety is less important than others’ comfort in expressing hate.

For Muslim students at Bowdoin, the message needs to be unequivocal: You belong here. Your presence is not conditional. Your safety and dignity are not negotiable. Solidarity must extend beyond a vacuum of statements and into action through political education, accountability and a willingness to confront how national systems of harm show up locally. What would this look like in practice? It means the administration provides a clear and public condemnation of Islamophobia when it appears on campus. It means creating reporting mechanisms with real consequences, not institutional dead ends. For students, it means showing up by attending teach-ins, learning about the history of Islamophobia and building relationships across differences. We cannot dissect how societies shift from rhetoric to violence in seminars while refusing to recognize those same patterns on our own campus. The point of studying history is not simply to understand the past but to recognize its patterns and refuse to repeat it.

A great community is not defined by its aversion to confronting hate but by its ability to name hate confidently. Hate does not begin with violence. It begins when some people’s fear is acceptable, when some words are harmless and when some communities are expendable.

Jickinson Louis is a member of the Class of 2026. He is the President of the Black Student Union, and his beliefs reflect the opinion of the board.