By Ruby Ingra
March 30, 2021
I’m a literature and journalism student, so the power and influence of words have never been lost on me. Increasingly, in academic and scholarly discussions, the topic of trigger warnings vs. censorship is becoming prevalent.
One of my new classmates was discussing an interaction she had last year with a course coordinator. When my classmate asked for advanced trigger warnings related to some depictions of violence and graphic themes within the course content, the coordinator responded with “this is a class for adults.”
In one of my own classes last year, our first tutorial centred around the discussion of an article from The Atlantic, The Coddling of the American Mind. It describes the increasing interest in content warnings as ‘something strange’ that is overtaking schools:
“A movement is arising, undirected and largely driven by students, to scrub campuses clean of words, ideas, and subjects that might cause discomfort or give offense.”
Trigger warnings are treated as childish requests – immature challenges to the established academic status quo. However, I don’t think any student is advocating for the censorship of artistic expression. Instead, we ask to have advance warning that we’ll be reading our third book this year that includes a rape scene. The Atlantic article asks “what exactly are students learning when they spend four years or more in a community that policies unintentional slights, places warning labels on works of classic literature, and in many other ways conveys that words can be forms of violence that require strict control by campus authorities, who are expected to act both as protectors and prosecutors?” I question why classic literature should be exempt from practicing content warnings simply because it functions as high art. Knowing in advance about possible triggers is hardly an imposition upon learning.
More out of a passive-aggressive curiosity than anything else, I counted the number of books I’ve been required to read for university (so far) that include scenes of sexual violence. Eleven in total, which averages at 2.2 books per semester; or exactly one-third of all the books I’ve read for university.
Therefore, I find it hard to comprehend why trigger warnings are treated with such disregard within communities and institutions that actively promote possible triggers. Students aren’t demanding coddling and protection, but instead are requesting respect of personal boundaries when necessary. Film and TV have had a content warning system in Australia since the 70s. With some adaption, a similar classification system could easily be introduced to the publishing sector – or at the very least, learning institutions.
Universities and education cannot be allowed to lack in overdue changes in the name of the great academic tradition. Learning should always remain adaptive, flexible, and reflective of the social contexts which impact its past, present, and future. A tutor I have this semester was worried that trigger warnings would spoil the stories for us, but on that note I assure you, we’re adults – we’ll be OK.
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