Better Together

A pluralistic society requires citizens who can engage across differences, not just coexist in parallel worlds. If universities do not model this, who will?

My humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together.
--Desmond Tutu

Once upon a time, the purpose of Australian higher education was to equip students for citizenship in a diverse, pluralistic society. At their best, universities acted as melting pots—places where young people encountered others from various backgrounds, learned to navigate differences, and emerged more capable of engaging with the world beyond campus. However, a curious trend has emerged today: the re-segregation of student housing, shared areas, and even recognition ceremonies based on race, religion, and sex. This is often presented as progress. In truth, it is a regression from the very ideals that universities once championed.

I grew up in the United States during an era when racial segregation was the law in many parts of the country. Despite living in a city with a large black population, I rarely encountered black individuals. Schools, theatres, and sporting facilities were all racially divided, reinforcing ignorance, prejudice, and mutual suspicion. The civil rights movement changed this. It was not an easy process—policies like mandatory school busing were met with resistance by both black and white parents—but integration gradually dismantled the psychological and legal barriers that had kept people apart. Over time, the result was a society where diversity was not just a theory. Black mayors, police commissioners, and even a black president reflected a whole new reality.

Now, in a troubling twist, Australian universities have forgotten the lessons of segregation and undone all that painful progress. Racially exclusive housing, identity-based common areas, and segregated ceremonies are justified as necessary for 'support' and 'inclusion.' The irony is breathtaking: the very structures once used to exclude minorities are being voluntarily reintroduced, this time under the banner of social justice. But segregation, no matter how well-intentioned, does not empower—it isolates. It tells students they are too fragile to live alongside those different from them, even though the future of our society depends on learning how to do exactly that.

Proponents of these initiatives argue that separate spaces allow historically marginalised groups to find solace and solidarity, free from bias. But university is supposed to prepare students for life beyond campus. In the real world, people must live, work, and collaborate across lines of race, religion, and sex. If students are trained to retreat into self-imposed enclaves whenever they feel discomfort, how will they develop the resilience and adaptability that higher education is meant to foster?

This is not just a theoretical concern. Segregation, even when voluntary, deepens societal divisions. It fosters an 'us vs. them' mentality, sustains harmful stereotypes, and perpetuates misunderstandings. Historically, segregation was justified using arguments eerily similar to those heard today: that different groups have unique needs, that intermingling is fraught with risks, and that separation provides safety and comfort. The motivations may differ, but the effect is distressingly familiar—a balkanised society where people increasingly see themselves as members of rigidly defined groups rather than as citizens of a shared society.

A common response to those who express concern is often that modern forms of segregation are optional, unlike their historical predecessors. But self-segregation, too, carries consequences. It normalises the idea that people should be sorted and separated by identity, rather than encouraged to engage with one another. It reinforces existing divisions instead of healing them. Worse, it signals a broader cultural shift toward avoiding, rather than confronting, ideological and cultural differences—a trend already reinforced by social media echo chambers and political polarisation.

This dilemma has recently come to the forefront at a university where I once served as Vice-Chancellor. In response to rising campus antisemitism, a designated safe room was established for Jewish students who feel threatened by campus anti-semitism. The impulse is well-intentioned and understandable—students should not fear for their safety on campus—but this raises a deeper question: is the solution to hostility separation, or should universities ensure that all students feel safe everywhere on campus? A university that cannot protect its students risks legitimising segregation as a permanent feature rather than addressing the root problem of intolerance.

Universities should resist the impulse to fragment their communities. There is nothing wrong with student groups forming friendships around shared experiences, nor with organisations that provide support for particular identities. But institutionalising separation—especially in the spaces where students live, study, and interact—sends the wrong message. It tells students that difference is something to be managed through physical and social barriers rather than through engagement and understanding.

The modern university faces many challenges, but few are as pressing 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?

An earlier version of this article appeared in The Australian newspaper.