AUGUST 19 — For a long time, writing about academic freedom in Malaysia could feel like a rather lonely exercise.

I remember myself almost as a loner on the subject. Not entirely, of course, because there have always been academics, students, civil society groups and others who fought for this space. 

But within the mainstream university environment, particularly public universities, “academic freedom” was hardly a phrase institutions rushed to embrace.

It was much easier to talk about excellence, rankings, employability, innovation, impact and internationalisation. Academic freedom was different because it raised questions about power.

Then, on August 15, Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim announced the government’s intention to repeal the Universities and University Colleges Act 1971 (UUCA or AUKU which stands for Akta Universiti dan Kolej Universiti 1971 in Bahasa Melayu). 

Almost overnight, academic freedom seemed to be everywhere. The term was suddenly trending. 

University leaders began speaking about it. Statements welcomed greater autonomy and democratic space.

Certainly, I welcome this sudden interest. I have spent years arguing that academic freedom matters, so I would much rather hear the term being discussed than avoided.

But precisely because it has now moved so quickly into mainstream university discussion, I feel compelled to return to a more basic question. What exactly do we mean by academic freedom?

We should not take the definition for granted. Nor should we allow it to be defined according to whatever happens to be politically convenient at a particular moment.

Academic freedom is not permission granted from above. That is precisely the point. 

There is already a long international history behind the idea. Unesco’s 1997 Recommendation concerning the Status of Higher-Education Teaching Personnel remains one of the clearest reference points. 

It understands academic freedom as encompassing the freedom to teach and discuss, to conduct research and publish its results, to express views about the institution of higher education system in which one works, to be free from institutional censorship and to participate in professional and representative academic bodies.

I find that definition important because it immediately tells us that academic freedom is not simply about whether an academic is free to write an article or conduct a research project.

It also includes the freedom to speak about the university itself. That is often where things become uncomfortable.

An academic may be encouraged to produce publications, win grants, speak at international conferences and improve the university’s ranking. 

But what happens when the same academic questions university governance, criticises an appointment process, challenges a government policy or speaks publicly about something the institution would rather keep quiet? That too is part of academic freedom.

The United Nations has progressively placed this idea within the wider framework of the right to education. 

Most importantly, in 2024, the UN Special Rapporteur on the right to education, Farida Shaheed, presented an entire report to the Human Rights Council on the right to academic freedom.

I think that report deserves much more attention in Malaysia now that we have suddenly become so interested in the term. 

Shaheed treats academic freedom not as a special privilege enjoyed by professors, but as a human right connected to the production, development, exchange and communication of knowledge. 

Her report understands it broadly, including the freedom to access, produce and disseminate information, to think freely, and to develop, express and engage with different forms of knowledge within one’s area of study or expertise. 

It applies both inside the academic community and in engagement with the wider public.

That last statement is crucial, because academic freedom does not stop at the university gate. 

An academic does not cease to be an academic when speaking to the media, writing for the public, participating in civic debate or questioning policies outside the classroom. 

The distinction sometimes made between the supposedly “proper” academic inside the university and the troublesome public academic outside it misunderstands what academic freedom is meant to protect.

Shaheed also makes clear that students belong in this conversation. Students have academic freedom too, including the ability to express themselves on matters they study without fear of reprisal. 

This is especially relevant when we talk about UUCA. The debate cannot simply be divided into “student freedom” on one side and “academic freedom” on the other. 

They are connected because both concern the kind of intellectual community a university is supposed to be.

Of course, none of this means that academic freedom is freedom from standards or responsibility. It does not protect plagiarism, fabrication, professional incompetence or harassment, for instance. 

Academics can and should be challenged. Scholarship remains subject to evidence, methodology, ethics and intellectual scrutiny.

But we must also differentiate scrutiny from obedience. An academic should be challenged because the evidence is weak, the methodology is flawed or the argument is unconvincing, not because somebody powerful dislikes the conclusion. That distinction is fundamental.

It is also why academic freedom cannot be reduced to UUCA. Repealing UUCA would be an important reform after more than five decades of a law deeply associated with the regulation of university life. 

But one Act of Parliament is only one part of a much larger architecture surrounding Malaysian universities. There are other laws, university constitutions, disciplinary procedures, appointment systems, administrative rules and, perhaps more importantly, deeply ingrained institutional habits.

There is also something much harder to legislate away, that is the fear culture that has been embedded into university life. 

Universities can formally declare themselves committed to academic freedom while academics quietly learn which subjects are considered “sensitive”, which invitations might create trouble, which public statements are best avoided, and which research findings should perhaps be phrased more carefully. That is how self-censorship becomes institutional culture.

This is also why university autonomy and academic freedom, although closely connected, should never be treated as if they mean the same thing. 

Unesco has long recognised institutional autonomy as an important condition for academic freedom. 

The 2024 Special Rapporteur report similarly emphasises that institutional autonomy is indispensable if academic freedom is to be meaningfully exercised.

But autonomy is not the destination. It is supposed to protect freedom within the university.

That difference is particularly crucial for Malaysia before we embark on this reform.

A university may become more autonomous from the government and still remain deeply hierarchical internally. Management may discourage criticism. Promotion structures may reward conformity. Academics may still worry about what speaking openly could mean for appointments, contracts, research opportunities or careers.

So whenever I hear calls for greater university autonomy, I keep coming back to a very simple question. Autonomy for whom? If power merely moves from the ministry to university management without stronger protections for academics and students, we may simply have relocated the centre of control, and that defeats the purpose of autonomy. 

Academic freedom ultimately requires universities to tolerate intellectual discomfort. 

For me, that may be the hardest part. A genuine university cannot promise that ministers, vice-chancellors, donors, politicians, religious authorities, corporations, activists or even other academics will always like what is said within it. 

Knowledge does not advance because everyone agrees. It advances because assumptions can be questioned, arguments tested and conclusions challenged. 

A university that permits criticism only after that criticism has become politically acceptable is not practising academic freedom. 

Academics themselves also have a responsibility here. We cannot defend academic freedom only for people whose politics we share. 

Its real test may come when someone produces an argument we strongly dislike. We can challenge it fiercely. We can demand evidence. But disagreement itself cannot become grounds for silencing someone.

There is another reason this matters now. For years, Malaysia has invested enormous energy in making its universities globally competitive. 

We talk constantly about rankings, reputation and becoming “world class”. But world-class universities cannot be manufactured through rankings, branding exercises and international partnerships alone.

A serious intellectual culture requires people who are willing to ask difficult questions, including questions about their own institutions and their own government. 

That requires something much harder to manufacture than a ranking. It requires institutional courage. 

So yes, I am glad academic freedom is suddenly being spoken about.

The real challenge will come later, when an academic questions government policy, when research produces politically inconvenient findings, when students organise around an unpopular cause, when a scholar criticises university leadership, or when someone asks a question that those in authority would rather not hear. 

What happens then will tell us much more about the state of academic freedom than the number of statements using the term today.

I certainly hope that one day “academic freedom” will no longer sound troublesome or politically risky inside a Malaysian university. 

But we will know we have made real progress when universities do not need another major political announcement before they are willing not only to speak openly, but to protect it themselves.

* Khoo Ying Hooi, PhD is an associate professor at Universiti Malaya.

** This is the personal opinion of the writers or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.