MARCH 8 — A few years ago, at a conference on human rights and democracy, a senior academic pulled me aside after my talk and said, “You make strong arguments, but be careful. You don’t want to be seen as an activist.”
I had heard this before.
At conferences, in academic discussions, even in casual conversations, people would ask with scepticism, “Are you from an NGO?”—as if working with civil society somehow discredited scholarly work.
The underlying message was clear: serious academics should observe, analyse, and critique from a distance, but never engage too closely with real-world struggles. A scholar can study politics but must never be seen as political.
Why was activism framed as a liability rather than a responsibility?
That conversation stuck with me—not because I was unaware of the risks, but because it confirmed something I had long suspected.
Many scholars believe in justice, yet they shrink from being associated with activism. They fear that the label will delegitimise their work, limit their career prospects, or bring institutional backlash.
And they’re not wrong. Universities, despite their rhetoric of academic freedom, often punish those who refuse to stay within “acceptable” boundaries of intellectual engagement.
But history tells us a different story. The most transformative thinkers —those whose work has shaped societies — were not just scholars. They were also activists.
Why do we celebrate scholar-activists from afar but reject our own?
History is filled with scholar-activists who have played pivotal roles in shaping society.
In the United States, W.E.B. Du Bois used his scholarship on race and inequality to push for civil rights, despite facing relentless institutional pushback.
Angela Davis, a towering intellectual and activist, has spent her life challenging racism, prison injustice, and economic inequality.
Noam Chomsky, one of the most cited scholars in history, has not only revolutionised linguistics but has also been one of the fiercest critics of US foreign policy, corporate power, and media manipulation.
In Latin America, Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed became a cornerstone for liberation education, inspiring grassroots movements despite being banned by authoritarian regimes.
In Asia, the late Benedict Anderson, known for Imagined Communities, did not merely theorise nationalism — his research actively challenged state narratives, leading to his blacklisting from Indonesia for years.
In the Philippines, Walden Bello has seamlessly blended academic work with political action, using his research on globalisation and inequality to challenge economic policies that entrenched poverty.
In India, historian Romila Thapar has consistently defended academic freedom against political interference.
We hold these figures in high regard, cite their works, and celebrate their contributions in intellectual spaces.
And yet, when our own scholars engage in similar efforts, they are often met with suspicion, hostility, or outright repression.
The same institutions that honour international scholar-activists are often the ones silencing, sidelining, or intimidating their own.
Why do we revere scholar-activism when it is distant but degrade it when it is among us?
In South-east Asia, critical academics have faced travel bans, defamation lawsuits, and political intimidation. — Picture by Miera Zulyana
Scholar-activism and the cost of speaking out
For those who refuse to conform to the idea of the detached intellectual, the consequences can be severe.
In authoritarian regimes, scholar-activists are often criminalised. In Myanmar, academics who aligned with the Civil Disobedience Movement were arrested following the military coup.
In China, critical scholars face surveillance, dismissal, or forced exile. In Turkey, hundreds of academics were purged from universities for signing a petition opposing military actions against Kurdish communities.
Even in democratic settings, institutional suppression operates in more insidious ways — denial of research grants, exclusion from decision-making bodies, or career stagnation.
In South-east Asia, critical academics have faced travel bans, defamation lawsuits, and political intimidation. Some are ostracised in their own institutions, labelled as “troublemakers” rather than valued for their contributions.
The irony is stark. We celebrate academic freedom in theory but punish those who exercise it in practice.
Universities: Spaces of critical thought or controlled knowledge?
At the heart of this dilemma is the changing role of universities. Once seen as bastions of intellectual freedom, they are increasingly beholden to corporate interests, state agendas, and performance metrics that prioritise funding over knowledge production.
Many institutions subtly (or explicitly) discourage politically engaged scholarship, fearing that it may bring “unwanted attention” or jeopardise institutional partnerships.
Yet, historically, universities have been catalysts for change. The anti-apartheid movement in South Africa was fueled by student and academic activism.
Latin American universities have long been hubs for resistance against military dictatorships.
The Tiananmen Square protests in China had strong student and academic participation. The very history of education is intertwined with political struggle.
But today, we are witnessing a retreat. Increasingly, educators are expected to produce research that is “neutral,” “objective,” and, most importantly, unthreatening to existing power structures.
Many young academics are warned early in their careers: stay within safe topics, avoid controversy, and publish only in ways that strengthen institutional rankings rather than challenge real-world injustices.
This erosion of intellectual courage is not accidental — it is a structural shift designed to make academia less disruptive to political and economic interests.
Reclaiming the role of educators in society
Despite these challenges, we must not abandon scholar-activism. The role of educators is not merely to teach within classrooms but to contribute to society in meaningful ways.
A scholar who remains silent in the face of injustice is not neutral; they are complicit.
Knowledge must not be reduced to a commodity — something produced only for academic journals or ranking metrics.
It must serve a larger purpose. Whether through public engagement, policy advocacy, or direct involvement in social movements, scholars must reclaim their role as public intellectuals, not just passive observers.
But doing so requires courage — not just from individual academics, but from institutions that claim to value academic freedom.
Universities must protect, not police, scholar-activists. They must recognise that their role is not just to produce graduates for the job market but to cultivate critical thinkers who can challenge the systems that sustain inequality, oppression, and injustice.
Scholar-activism is not an exception — It is the standard
The idea that scholars must “choose” between being academics and engaged citizens is a false dilemma.
We do not ask doctors to choose between practising medicine and advocating for public health. We do not ask engineers to choose between designing infrastructure and addressing climate concerns.
Why, then, do we expect scholars to remain detached from the world they study?
The very act of producing knowledge is political. What we choose to research, the voices we amplify, and the narratives we construct all have consequences.
The question is not whether scholars should engage, but how we do so effectively and responsibly.
So, can one be both a scholar and an activist? We already are. The question is not whether scholar-activism is valid but how it can be done with integrity, depth, and impact.
For those of us who embrace this role, the challenge is not just to justify our work but to persist in it — even when the cost is high.
Because if we do not, the space for critical thought, dissent, and meaningful change will only continue to shrink. And history will not be kind to those who stood by in silence.
* Khoo Ying Hooi, PhD is Associate Professor in the Department of International and Strategic Studies, Universiti Malaya.
** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.
