Anyone with reasonable social skills in today’s pluralist world is well aware of the hot-button issues to avoid in conversations. Topics which polite people avoid, some of which are known in America as the ‘culture war’ issues—of sexual orientation, abortion, moral values, religion in the public square and so on—threaten to turn a nice social setting into a minefield.

The threat is as real in the university setting, notwithstanding the common belief that students are apathetic. This is unsurprising, given the recent buzz in the blogosphere over the government’s decision to retain Section 377A of the Singapore Penal Code which criminalises acts of gross indecency between males.

When a hot-button issue is raised, often, everyone has a view. I have observed four interesting aspects of the phenomenon regarding such debate. First, whether one has really thought through the various points of view, many have gut reactions and consider themselves to be in one camp or the other. Second, each camp views the other with suspicion. Sometimes, the attacks are personal and visceral. Third, they tend to have a low tolerance for fence-sitters, who are frequently pressurised by both camps to take sides. Finally, many become overnight experts in fields they are, if we think about it, not really qualified to comment on—for example, politicians are asked to comment on science, pastors on law, atheists on the interpretation of religious texts, scientists on sociology and so on.

Against this backdrop, I run two courses in the Faculty of Law—a first-year core module LC1002B “Introduction to Legal Theory” and an upper year elective LL4404/LL5404/LL6404 “Jurisprudence”—during which I engage these topics in classroom and online IVLE discussions. Both courses concern the philosophy of law and require students to explore law’s relation with politics, morality, justice, power and other social phenomena. Philosophical courses conducted in a professional school in Singapore’s pragmatic setting, unsurprisingly, are challenged with doubts about their utility and anxiety over their level of abstraction. Even the upper year elective’s course title often has students asking, “Juriswhat? What’s that?”

To counter the low expectations of some students, I have learnt to embrace the transformation of my classrooms into minefields. Taking off from these hot-button issues, I ask students to think about the proper justification for laws which restrict the freedom of individuals. Are laws that criminalise homosexual practices unsound, for example, as these acts harm no one? Can an individual consent to particular acts, and does society not have the right to prohibit certain behaviour as long as an individual consents? Do private acts have public repercussions? Must laws never enforce controversial moral norms? If so, why prohibit polygamy if it is not against the morals of some? Is the controversy over abortion best
resolved by allowing abortion and leaving it to each pregnant woman to decide? After all, those who are anti-abortion are not forced to abort. But if so, why would such rhetoric be unacceptable in the case of slavery? What distinguishes the two issues? Are laws that require evil acts, such as racial persecution, considered laws just because they are passed by the legislature?

My experience has been that when theory is pegged to concrete situations, it is not regarded
as highfalutin. When students react, I invite them to consider whether their responses are rational to another person who does not share the same moral viewpoint. They are also asked to consider if they embrace contradictory assumptions. For example, if they believe that right or wrong is a matter of each person’s personal opinion, why would they consider it absolutely ‘wrong’ that another ‘imposes’ a view on them?

In the course of such discussions, students have been excited to read more as they are challenged to consider whether their viewpoints are defensible. Indeed, many have shared of how class discussions have been faithful companions on their bus journeys, conversations in the canteen and so on.

As I employ these topics over the years, I have found some tips helpful. First, I must assume that my students are not unreasonable persons, but sincerely hold their opinions. Some may change their minds, but throughout the discussion, it is important that they feel valued as individuals, especially when I disagree with them. Second, the teacher’s role is not necessarily to teach a particular viewpoint, but to impart a passion for truth and a willingness to examine one’s viewpoint for incoherence. Students must be taught the difference between personal convictions and defensible opinions. Third, there is a subtle modeling that is constantly going on. More than substantive views, students are ‘picking up’, unbeknownst to them, a model of discoursing and relating. How should a person who disagrees be treated with dignity and respect? How should one express disagreement? What does it mean to speak with gentleness and to listen with humility? Fourth, I remember that there are persons in the discussion for whom the issues are not academic but personal. How would they feel as we talk about these issues? How could I demonstrate acceptance of each person?

The author ( front row, fourth from the left) and students from her
Jur ispr udence class strike a lighthear ted pose. She dedicates
this article to this delightful group and hopes they will continue
conversing.

Of course, human conversations are imperfect, and sensitivity and concern may not be received well when the disagreement over these issues is fundamental. Still, in a world where we are bound to disagree on some issues close to our hearts, an ancient proverb is a good start: “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. The tongue of the wise makes knowledge acceptable.”¹

Endnote
1. Proverbs 15:1–2a, New American Standard Bible (1977).