Free speech is once again in peril at Tufts. From students cowed into self-censorship to administrators fearing federal repercussions, both internal and external forces stifle discourse on campus. For over 70 years, Tufts has maintained a ballast against these forces: the Cannon. Since 1956, when the Medford Historical Society gifted this replica of the U.S.S. Constitution’s “Old Ironsides” to the school, the Cannon has been a staple of campus life. The potency of “Painting the Cannon” lies in its versatility; anyone can say almost anything so long as they have a spray paint can.
Recent events regarding the Cannon mark a new chapter in the struggle for open discourse, an issue upon which the Tribune was born. On March 10, Tufts Republicans painted the Cannon red, white, and blue and emblazoned it with the messages “Tufts [heart emoji]’s Trump!” and “MAGA!” That same night, anonymous students overlaid this message with black and orange paint and the phrases “ACAB” and “Divest from DEVCOM,” among other statements.
The Cannon was functioning exactly as intended: a medium for campus discourse. Tufts Republicans’ message, coupled with their subsequent social media campaign—in which they tagged Tufts University, the Tufts Daily, and Tufts CIVIC, among others—sparked a campus-wide conversation. Opponents of these pro-Trump messages interjected with spray-painted commentary of their own. The colorful debate that played out showcased Tufts’ free speech at its best: The cannon acting as a forum where free speech invigorates dialogue.
What followed was a stark reminder of the censorial forces threatening student expression at Tufts. Instead of permitting a time-honored tradition—which the university enthusiastically advertises on its website—the administration decided to paint the entire Cannon a drab, uniform shade of gray.
According to Tufts’ Executive Director of Public Relations, Patrick Collins, the university reserves the right to repaint the Cannon “when a message…includes hate speech and symbols, crude language, or sexually inappropriate graffiti, attacks an individual or group on campus, or is particularly divisive.” In this case, Tufts found that the “messaging on the cannon contained a derogatory term that is offensive to law enforcement professionals, which we have painted over when it has appeared on the cannon previously.”
Collins went on to state, “We intended to paint over the offending term, but due to a miscommunication, we mistakenly repainted the cannon in its entirety.”
While the Tufts administration may have been well-intentioned, this incident showcases the inherent dangers of suppressing speech. In their effort to redact one term, they silenced the entire conversation, albeit temporarily. If a better metaphor exists for the slippery slope of censorship, we have yet to find it. The regulation of any speech places all speech in peril, regardless of initial intentions. Censorship must only be practiced cautiously and sparingly, if at all. We will see whether the university will crack down on the Cannon again. As to the beacon of free speech that it represents, with the precedent of suppression set, only time will tell.
The university should quell any future censorial actions and allow students the right to express their views in all formats reasonably. The Cannon is one of Tufts’ most beloved traditions, and we stand in firm opposition to any attempts to paint over free speech with the ever-broad and indiscriminate brush of administrative power.
Photo by Justin Lokere