Campuses shouldn’t be safe spaces to breed intolerance

Once upon a time, Australian universities served a higher purpose: preparing students not just for careers, but for citizenship in a diverse, pluralistic society.  

At their best, they were melting pots—places where young people encountered others from different backgrounds, learned to navigate differences, and emerged more capable of engaging with the world beyond campus. 

Today, however, a curious trend has taken hold: the re-segregation of student housing, common areas, and even graduation ceremonies—this time along lines of race, religion, and sex. Universities insist this is progress. In truth, it is a step backward, a retreat from the ideals they once championed. 

I grew up in the United States during an era when racial segregation was the law. Despite living in a city with a large Black population, I rarely encountered Black individuals. Schools, theatres, and sports facilities were divided by race, entrenching ignorance, prejudice, and mutual suspicion. 

 The civil rights movement changed that. It was not an easy process—court-ordered busing, for instance, faced bitter resistance from both Black and white parents—but integration gradually dismantled the legal and psychological barriers that had kept people apart.  

Over time, diversity ceased to be an abstract ideal. Black mayors, Black police commissioners, even a Black president became part of the fabric of society. 

Yet, in a strange and troubling twist, Australian universities are now actively undoing this painful progress. Racially exclusive computer labs sparked controversy when non-Aboriginal students at the Queensland University of Technology attempted to use them.  

The University of Technology Sydney is building a National First Nations College. James Cook University (and many others) hold separate graduation ceremonies for Indigenous students.  

Universities justify these initiatives as necessary for “support” and “inclusion.” The irony is striking: the very structures once used to exclude minorities are being reintroduced, this time under the banner of social justice. 

But segregation—even well-intentioned segregation—does not empower. It isolates. It tells students they are too fragile to coexist with those unlike them. Worse, it deprives them of the very skills a diverse society requires: the ability to engage, to debate, and to find common ground. 

Proponents argue that separate spaces allow historically marginalised groups to find solace and solidarity without the fear of bias. But universities exist to prepare students for the real world.  

And in the real world, people must live, work, and collaborate across lines of race, religion, and gender. If students are trained to retreat into self-imposed enclaves at the first sign of discomfort, how will they develop the resilience and adaptability that higher education is meant to foster? 

This is not just a theoretical concern. Even voluntary segregation deepens divisions. It fosters an us-versus-them mentality, fuels stereotypes, and reinforces misunderstandings.  

Historically, segregation was justified using arguments eerily similar to those heard today: different groups have unique needs, intermingling is risky, separation provides safety.  

The motivations may have changed, but the result is all too familiar: a fractured society where people increasingly see themselves as members of rigid identity groups rather than citizens of a shared community. 

A common response is that modern segregation is optional, unlike its historical predecessors. But self-segregation still carries consequences. It normalises the idea that people should be sorted and separated by identity rather than encouraged to engage with one another.  

Worse, it reflects a broader cultural shift toward avoiding ideological and cultural differences instead of confronting them—a trend already reinforced by social media echo chambers and political polarisation. 

This dilemma recently hit home at Macquarie University, where I once served as Vice-Chancellor. In response to rising campus antisemitism, administrators designated a “safe room” for Jewish students.  

The impulse was well-meant and understandable—students should not fear for their safety on campus—but it raised a deeper question: is the solution to hostility separation? Or should universities ensure that every student feels safe everywhere on campus?  

A university that cannot protect its students risks legitimising segregation as a permanent feature rather than addressing the root problem: intolerance. 

Universities should resist the impulse to fragment their communities.  

There is nothing wrong with students forming friendships around shared experiences. Affinity groups and support networks have their place.  

But institutionalising separation—especially in the very spaces where students study, socialise, and interact—sends the wrong message. It tells students that difference is a problem to be managed through exclusion rather than engagement. 

The modern university faces many challenges, but few are as urgent as the question of whether it will remain a place of integration or slide further into self-imposed division. A pluralistic society requires citizens who can engage across differences, not just coexist in parallel worlds.  

If universities do not model this, who will? 

Emeritus Professor Steven Schwartz is a Senior Fellow at the Centre for Independent Studies and the former vice-chancellor of Macquarie University, Murdoch University, and Brunel University (London).