But for those who do manage to secure an award, choices are not exactly limitless. Many departmental grants will not fund travel to countries currently on the U.S. State Department’s travel warning list.
This seems logical at first: University policy should, on the face of it, work to keep students secure, especially as they do work that has been sponsored, directly or indirectly, by the University.
But a deeper look at the list raises the question: How much responsibility for sensible decision-making can we put on undergraduates?
Currently, this policy means that the many grants will not sponsor work to be carried out in any of the 31 countries on the list, which includes, perhaps surprisingly, Haiti, Mexico, Israel, Pakistan and Nepal. While an appeal process exists, it is obscure and not well-publicized, and it is just another hurdle for any student wishing to work in these areas.
Many of these countries have been put on the list because Americans have previously faced tangible threats while working in these countries, and it is feared that the countries are unstable and dangerous for American citizens. The closure of an American embassy or consulate or a drawdown of its staff will also put a country on this list. It is important to note that even countries whose placement on the warning list is unsurprising are far from uniformly dangerous. For example, after appealing the travel restrictions, Princeton students have traveled to peaceful pockets of Kenya and safely conducted research.
It is obvious that there is some risk involved in going to any of these locations, but the question is: What are we missing if we continue to prevent scholarly work from taking place in these locations at this time?
As interest in the Middle East begins to rise, with the conflicts in Israel, Iraq and Afghanistan and the War on Terror continuing to get more complicated, we realize how necessary it is to document the social and historical contexts of these battles. Efforts to find sustainable solutions must be centered on mutual understanding. Unfortunately, a policy that makes it harder for scholarly work to be conducted in these areas will mean that our work remains largely speculative or, at best, dependent solely on external information.
Princeton undergraduates will not be able to observe or understand the importance of online social networking to the rising political movements in Iran, or perhaps study and volunteer to curtail the outbreak of cholera in Haiti. Neither can someone study Buddhism at one of the most concentrated centers of spiritual philosophy in Nepal or work to understand the subjugation of women in Saudi Arabia. We are stymieing a new generation of researchers, a generation that has the potential to embrace new ideas that we have historically shunned and find solutions to long-running conflicts.
A particularly absurd aspect of this policy is that it applies not just to American citizens, but also to international students at Princeton, who may not face the same risks as Americans when traveling abroad. Some of these countries may even be home to people who will not be funded to work there.
The travel warning list need not disappear; threats and risks from a particular project should be made clear to all students. But at the heart of the issue lies the question: Are we responsible enough to decide where we want to go? Should we be shielded from people that perhaps most need our help and understanding? Will we continue to remain “safe” as we ignore opportunities to look at the aftermath of modern war firsthand? This does not imply going with a notebook to an active battle zone in Afghanistan, but maybe to Lebanon, which today bears scars from many wars, recent and old.
I can say from experience that people in Pakistan have felt closest to Americans when they have created immediate connections with people and not stood behind embankments or security guards. Todd Shea, an American humanitarian and hero in the flood relief efforts this summer who has now made Kashmir his home, said that it is the very nature of his not being protected by a security guard that lets Pakistanis open up to him. And it was when they saw American helicopters bearing aid, and not American military drones, that Pakistanis nodded and perhaps for a few moments thought of America as a friend. But importantly and lastingly, they thought of Americans as friends. This policy means more than the protection of students from implied “dangerous” situations around the world. It is a barrier to academia and cultural understanding and is ultimately a political statement.
Zeerak Ahmed is a sophomore from Lahore, Pakistan. He can be reached at zahmed@princeton.edu
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