The debate surrounding the utility of academic boycotts of the United States has intensified following a September 9 proposal by University of Ottawa political scientist Daniel Stockemer. Writing in University Affairs, Stockemer advocated for a cessation of taxpayer-funded travel to American conferences as a form of protest against ongoing trade disputes and the perceived erosion of democratic values south of the border. While the suggestion seeks to leverage institutional funding as a diplomatic tool, it has sparked a rigorous counter-argument from scholars who contend that physical presence in the United States is not a sign of complicity, but a strategic necessity for those defending academic freedom and social equity.
A Chronology of Academic Tensions
The call for a boycott emerges against a backdrop of escalating cultural and political friction within American higher education. Since 2022, the political landscape in states such as Florida has been marked by legislative efforts to curtail discussions on race, gender, and social equity. Central to this conflict is the Individual Freedom Act, colloquially known as the "Stop WOKE Act," which restricts how instructors can teach topics related to systemic racism and historical privilege.
Concurrent with these legislative shifts, the U.S. Supreme Court’s 2022 decision in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, which overturned Roe v. Wade, ignited widespread concern regarding the state of reproductive rights. These events have created a climate of uncertainty for international academics, particularly those from marginalized backgrounds, who must weigh the professional benefits of U.S.-based collaboration against the risks of traveling to a country where their identities or research topics may be subject to institutional or legislative hostility.
Data and Institutional Context
The economic impact of academic travel is significant. According to data from the National Science Foundation and various university accounting departments, international faculty participation in U.S. academic symposia accounts for a non-trivial portion of conference revenue and global intellectual exchange. When scholars from Canada and abroad choose to abstain from these events, the immediate consequence is a reduction in cross-border knowledge transfer.
However, advocates for continued engagement argue that the "boycott" model fails to account for the vulnerability of domestic U.S. faculty. At the University of Florida, for example, internal reports and media coverage from outlets like The New York Times have documented instances where faculty members have faced administrative scrutiny for violating state-mandated curriculum restrictions. By withdrawing, international scholars risk isolating the very individuals who are currently engaged in the most precarious battles for intellectual freedom.
The Strategic Necessity of Presence
The argument for "showing up" is rooted in the belief that physical presence acts as a safeguard. For feminist economists and scholars of race and gender, the refusal to attend conferences at major institutions like Harvard Business School or the Allied Social Science Associations (ASSA) is viewed as a retreat from an essential platform.
When the International Association for Feminist Economics (IAFFE) opted to maintain its presence at the 2022 ASSA conference in New Orleans following the Dobbs decision, the objective was not to signal approval of the legislative climate, but to occupy space. The delegation organized pickets and plenaries directly addressing the ruling, effectively using the conference as a site of resistance rather than a venue for business-as-usual.
This approach mirrors the philosophy of "good trouble"—a term popularized by the late Congressman John Lewis—which emphasizes that progress requires active, often uncomfortable, participation in spaces of systemic injustice. For many, the decision to travel is informed by professional duty. Experts in fields such as cooperative economics and racial capitalism, for instance, maintain that their research findings are particularly relevant to U.S. institutions that have historically struggled with exclusionary practices.
The Intersection of Identity and Border Policy
The decision to engage with the United States is further complicated for scholars who hold dual citizenships or familial ties to the region. The logistical hurdles associated with border crossings have become increasingly stringent. For those who grew up in the U.S. or maintain family networks in cities like New York or Philadelphia, the "boycott" is not a theoretical policy choice but a disruption of personal and professional continuity.
Furthermore, the rise of discriminatory rhetoric and policies—ranging from anti-immigrant sentiment to the suppression of LGBTQ+ discourse—has made the act of traveling to the U.S. a deeply personal risk. Yet, the consensus among many Black feminist scholars and other marginalized academics is that the "luxury" of boycotting is outweighed by the duty to provide solidarity to students and junior faculty within the U.S. who cannot easily leave their posts. By traveling to symposiums, such as the Women of Color Political Science Symposium in Boston, Canadian academics provide a critical bridge for peers who are being silenced. These interactions often reveal the depth of the crisis, as scholars trade personal stories of being forced to sanitize their research or alter their attire to avoid professional repercussions.
Broader Implications for Academic Diplomacy
The debate over academic boycotts touches upon the fundamental role of the university in a globalized, yet increasingly polarized, world. Should taxpayer funds be used to support engagement with nations whose internal policies violate the values of the donor country?
From a policy perspective, a total boycott risks creating an "intellectual vacuum" where only the most dominant voices remain. When international scholars withdraw, they remove a critical layer of accountability. The presence of international observers often acts as a deterrent against the most extreme forms of administrative overreach. Furthermore, the resignation of high-profile figures, such as former Harvard President Claudine Gay, serves as a reminder that the institutional pressures within elite U.S. universities are immense. If these institutions are to evolve, they require consistent, external pressure from the global academic community.
Conclusion: The Cost of Disengagement
The current tension between the desire to protest U.S. policy and the necessity of academic collaboration presents a profound dilemma. While the desire to use economic levers to express political disapproval is understandable, the prevailing argument among many in the field is that silence is a less effective tool than vocal, visible dissent.
For Canadian academics, the choice to continue attending American conferences is not an endorsement of current U.S. leadership or state-level policies. Rather, it is a strategic maneuver designed to bolster the resilience of those working on the front lines of democratic defense. By maintaining these channels of communication, scholars ensure that the fight for academic freedom remains a global, rather than merely domestic, concern. As the political landscape in the U.S. continues to shift, the academic community will likely remain divided on the efficacy of the boycott, yet the necessity of maintaining solidarity across borders remains a dominant theme in the discourse surrounding higher education policy. Ultimately, the work of challenging inequality and promoting open inquiry requires a persistent, and often inconvenient, commitment to being present where one’s voice is most needed.
