Silent onlookers — The moral failure to protect education

One of my favourite stories is “The Butterfly and the Tank,” a powerful novella written by Nobel Prize-winning author Ernest Hemingway. First published in Esquire magazine in November 1938, the piece is based on Hemingway’s experiences in the Spanish Civil War. In it, Hemingway exposes a chilling truth about human nature: the greatest tragedies aren’t just caused by brute force but by the silence of those who stand by and do nothing. One of the story’s images—a delicate butterfly on a collision course with an unstoppable tank—serves as a stark metaphor for the senseless destruction of war and the failure of bystanders to intervene.

Today, as the Department of Education faces dismantlement, American higher education stands at a similar crossroads: an invaluable institution threatened by a relentless political project. If we allow funding cuts and policy rollbacks to continue unchecked, we risk crushing a higher education system that has long been a pillar of opportunity, innovation, and democratic engagement.

As a professor who studies leadership in higher education, I believe we must think deeply about what our inaction will cost us — not just in this moment, but for generations to come. The question remains: Will we fight to protect higher education, or will we become the silent onlookers whom Hemingway warned us about?

Just as in this story, where a butterfly represents beauty, innocence, and fragility, American colleges and universities — especially public institutions — embody some of our most important ideas like intellectual freedom, critical inquiry, and democratic access to the body of knowledge.

These higher education institutions need to be tended to with regular investments, public support, and protections to thrive. When these pillars are withdrawn, academic programming, research initiatives, and student access diminish, leaving the entire enterprise of post-secondary education susceptible to annihilation.

The tank image in Hemingway’s story symbolizes the overpowering, impersonal force of war, crushing anything in its path. Today, that force manifests as the intentional, aggressive withdrawal of funding from higher education, the growing influence of political projects over academic freedom, and the effort to dismantle essential societal institutions, such as the Department of Education.

This movement threatens to destroy the very important idea of providing access to higher education, giving rise to privatization, where market-driven models take priority over the public good.

One of the most important features of the story is the passive role of onlookers—bystanders who fail to act as the devastation unfolds. Similarly, in our country right now, many policymakers, institutional leaders, and the public are watching the dismantling of our nation’s higher education system and the obliteration of the post-secondary landscape without taking action to mediate the crisis.

Just as in the story, where Hemingway warns of the moral failure to act, the slow but deliberate destruction of higher education is proceeding, not just because of aggressive administrative measures, but because too many people are standing by instead of advocating for the preservation of key societal institutions.

The depiction of war in Hemingway’s story seems to point out how even those removed from the horrific battlefield — like the butterfly — can become victims of its destruction. The same can be said of higher education: while there are those who think that the dismantling of the higher education system through funding cuts and policy changes won’t impact their lives, the long-term impacts are unavoidable. When higher education is undermined, economic mobility declines, research efforts are diminished, and the tapestry of democracy becomes ragged as fewer people have access to critical thinking and evidence-based dialogue.

Hemingway’s “The Butterfly and the Tank” critiques apathy in the face of destruction. Similarly, the crisis in higher education demands that we not remain passive. The question is: will we let American universities be crushed, or will we step in before it’s too late?

Yet, even in the face of destruction, history reminds us that resistance and renewal are possible. The fight for higher education is not just about preventing loss — it is about reclaiming a vision of education as a social force for good. Hope in dark times often begins with access to education. Throughout history, learning has been a tool of resistance — freedom schools in apartheid South Africa kept students informed, while enslaved people in the U.S. risked their lives to become literate, knowing education was key to liberation.

Mutual support has also sustained communities through hardship. During the Great Depression, cooperative food exchanges emerged, and during COVID-19, grassroots networks provided food, medicine, and financial aid, reinforcing that survival is a shared responsibility.

Social movements — from the U.S. Civil Rights Movement to global pro-democracy protests — demonstrate that hope is active, not passive. Organizing, protesting, and demanding change in the face of injustice are acts of defiance that shape history.

Cultural traditions, storytelling, and spirituality provide deep sources of strength. Spirituals and oral histories have helped people navigate hardship and preserve identity, showing that resilience is often rooted in cultural and spiritual foundations. Leadership at all levels — grassroots organizers, community elders, and political figures — has guided people through crises. Figures like Nelson Mandela, Harriet Tubman, and Václav Havel inspired collective action and a commitment to justice.

Hope is also found in simple acts of kindness — sharing resources, checking on neighbors, and offering emotional support. These gestures affirm that no one is alone and that care is a powerful force.

Ultimately, however, hope is more than just a feeling — it is a force for change. History demonstrates that through belief, collective strength, and unwavering advocacy, people not only endure but rise, resist, and thrive.