What institutions forget
Step inside, and the air becomes still.
You are in a space the university rarely acknowledges.
Not a museum, not a library, but something quieter a place where absence does the talking.
This archive is made not only of documents but of omissions.
Not only of what was preserved, but what was edited out.
Universities often tell their histories through polished narratives.
Founders with vision.
Traditions that appear noble.
Decisions painted in the soft light of hindsight.
These stories become the institution’s heartbeat, repeated through orientation days, campus tours, convocation speeches, and online branding. They shape how the university sees itself and how others learn to see it.
Yet silence has a structure too.
Silence is found in the gaps between official stories.
In whose knowledge is celebrated and whose is footnoted.
In the histories that were inconvenient to remember.
In the rituals that unify some while leaving others outside the circle.
Walk a little deeper.
You might notice a hallway dedicated to European intellectual heritage, while ancient centers of learning in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East are left unmentioned. You might pass a display honoring institutional growth that never notes what was lost, who was excluded, or what worldviews were sidelined along the way.
Silence is not an accident.
It is a choice that institutions inherit and continue.
This page invites you to sit with the weight of that silence without rushing to fill it.
What does the university protect by remembering selectively?
What possibilities emerge when those forgotten stories are brought back into the room?
And how might the institution change when the archive is no longer curated by comfort?
Rather than offering clarity, the archive offers invitation:
A space to question what the institution has already decided is worth remembering.
(Re) Narrating the Past
Higher education often presents itself as universal, yet the readings this week reminded me that its forms and purposes are shaped by history and culture. Perkin’s (2007) overview of the history of universities showed how they have shifted from small medieval guilds to large systems serving industry and national needs. Their ability to adapt has made them resilient, but this adaptability can also create problems. When universities align too closely with state or economic interests, they risk losing their independence. If funding or government priorities drive research, critical questions may be sidelined. This does not always look like censorship, but rather like rewarding some areas of inquiry while leaving others underfunded. In this way, academic freedom can slowly erode, and universities risk becoming tools of existing power rather than spaces for independent thought. This pressure feels very present today in debates about funding models, rankings, and the value of different disciplines. STEM and business are often celebrated for their economic contributions, while the humanities and social sciences are seen as less useful. This not only changes how resources are distributed but also reshapes what we think education is for. Can universities stay responsive to society’s needs while also protecting intellectual independence? Or does the chase for relevance make them too much like the market forces they should be critiquing?
Clark’s (1972) concept of the “organizational saga” provided another way of thinking about how universities sustain themselves. The saga, a collective narrative that unites members, can build loyalty and identity. I immediately thought about the rituals, symbols, and traditions I have seen in different universities such as graduation ceremonies, mottos. These stories create belonging, but they can also silence alternative voices. At UBC, for example, long-standing traditions continue to shape community, yet I wonder if some practices unknowingly exclude certain groups or histories. Traditions help create meaning, but Clark makes me ask: are we participating critically, or simply following? Their value may lie in both their power to unite and in our willingness to question who and what they leave out. This concern is also raised in Minthorn and Nelson’s (2018) analysis of a colonized and racist Indigenous campus tour. They show how even an activity that seems welcoming, like introducing students to a campus, can reinforce exclusionary narratives by centering colonial histories and ignoring Indigenous presence. Reading this alongside Clark made me realize that sagas and traditions are never neutral. They can unite, but they can also marginalize.
Peters (2019) added another dimension by pointing out the biases in how the history of higher education is told. The privileging of European universities in comparative histories reproduces a narrow worldview, overlooking ancient centers of learning in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East. I felt uncomfortable recognizing how much my own understanding of “the university” has been shaped by these Eurocentric narratives. At the same time, I must admit that I still see value in some Eurocentric approaches, particularly in the emphasis on rational inquiry, evidence, and the scientific method. I believe that mixing education and science with ungrounded beliefs, whether religious or otherwise, can be harmful. For me, teaching and learning is an evolving process, and if it becomes too tied to tradition alone, innovation and progress may be impeded. This leaves me with a tension: how can we make space for diverse voices and epistemologies without undermining the rigor and accountability that protect knowledge from distortion?
Although universities are often described as neutral, I am not convinced they truly are, or even can be. In conflicts such as the ongoing war between Palestine and Israel, universities often choose silence in the name of protecting academic freedom and avoiding the appearance of partisanship. I understand the reasoning, yet I find myself questioning whether this silence is truly neutrality or whether it becomes a form of conformity. Not taking a stance may seem to preserve independence, but it also risks reinforcing dominant narratives by refusing to acknowledge injustice. This leaves me unsettled, because it suggests that universities cannot fully escape politics. Remaining silent is itself a political act.
References
Clark, B. R. (1972). The organizational saga in higher education. Administrative Science Quarterly, 17(2), 178–184.
Minthorn, R. S., & Nelson, C. A. (2018). Colonized and racist Indigenous campus tour. Journal of Critical Scholarship on Higher Education and Student Affairs, 4(1), 4.
Perkin, H. (2007). History of universities. In J. J. F. Forest & P. G. Altbach (Eds.), International handbook of higher education (pp. 159–205). Springer.
Peters, M. A. (2019). Ancient centers of higher learning: A bias in the comparative history of the university? Educational Philosophy and Theory, 51(11), 1063–1072.