Alyson Carrel (Northwestern) asked me to post this message which she just sent on the ADR prof list serv.  It’s worth your time if you haven’t already read it, and if you have it’s worth a second read.

I’ve been reflecting deeply on my values over the past few weeks. As our institution and colleagues have come under attack, I’ve found myself asking how my values should guide my response—and whether I even have a role to play. 

Like many of you, I find comfort in serving as a neutral. I pride myself on my ability to see all sides of a situation. I don’t usually have to take a stand. In fact, I can’t take a stand—my ability to remain neutral and hold space for multiple perspectives is the value I bring to the world (or so I tell myself). But I no longer feel like I have that luxury. 

Art Hinshaw recently asked whether our field is facing an existential crisis—and what comes next for us. That question hits close to home. 

As many of you know, on March 27, the U.S. House Committee on Education and the Workforce sent Northwestern a letter deriding the legal representation of a Pro-Palestinian protester by one of our legal clinics. They demanded that we turn over information related to “what constitutes appropriate work” in the clinic, as well as the budget and funding sources for all of the Bluhm Legal Clinic (including the Center on Negotiation, Mediation, and Restorative Justice) before 12pm ET on April 10, 2025. 

In response, many of our colleagues, students, alumni, and attorneys wrote letters and statements of support that literally moved me to tears. One letter, which circulated widely in the clinical circles (and that many of you signed), gathered over 1,000 signatures from law professors. Each of the letters took on arguments related to the importance of academic freedom, the First Amendment, and the rule of law, asking Northwestern to take a stand and not comply with the House Committee’s demands. 

Two days before the deadline, media channels began announcing that the Trump Administration was freezing over $790 million in federal funding to Northwestern. The university has still not received official word from the federal government about the freeze in federal funding, but some of our colleagues across the university have received over 100 stop work orders for projects funded by the government. 

One day before the deadline, Professor Sheila Bedi, who has been at the center of the House Committee’s inquiry, and Professor Lynn Cohn—founder and longtime former director of our Center on Negotiation, Mediation, and Restorative Justice, filed a lawsuit against the federal government trying to prevent documents from being turned over to the House Committee. 

Less than an hour before the deadline, and during the TRO hearing, the government’s attorney announced that the House committee was withdrawing their request for documents. 

Lynn’s decision to join the lawsuit meant a great deal—especially given her background in dispute resolution. It sends a powerful message to our students: when we teach the value of dialogue and collaborative processes, we do so with the understanding that these are tools, not mandates. When we teach students how to work with others to reach mutually satisfactory agreements, we do so in the context of a spectrum of process choices. In the age-old debate about settlement, no one argued ALL cases should be settled. When you face a negotiator acting in bad faith, sometimes you must name it. To borrow a phrase from Bob Mnookin, when “bargaining with the devil”, you must consider if negotiating will ever stop the bullying. That insight matters now. 

Just as important as the individual decision to take legal action was the collective effort that surrounded it. At the very hour Sheila and Lynn filed their lawsuit, I stood alongside Annie Buth, my fellow co-director of the Center, and a large group of Northwestern faculty, students, and alumni gathered at the faculty senate meeting wearing purple shirts that said with “Don’t Give In. It Won’t Stop Here.” We delivered that stack of supporting letters and statements I mentioned above, urging the Board of Trustees not to comply with congressional demands. That kind of coordinated action doesn’t happen by accident. It required thoughtful organizing—bringing together people across departments, disciplines, and even campuses. The skills at the heart of this organizing—facilitating group dialogue, navigating disagreement, building consensus—are the very ones we teach in our classes.  

Underlying both the legal and organizing efforts was something deeper: connection and community. Without it, trust erodes, and conflict quickly escalates. With it, we’re more likely to approach hard conversations with curiosity rather than suspicion. That brings me to a final point: the role of relationship. Relationships don’t just happen—they require time, care, and attention. This is a core insight of restorative justice. We don’t teach restorative practices solely as a tool for addressing past harms; we teach them as a framework for being in right relationship with one another, even and especially before conflict arises. Community is something we build—together. 

Before I close, I want to say a word about AI. I use it often and see tremendous value in what it can do (and yes, I used it to help fine-tune this post). But this moment has reminded me that some decisions—especially the hardest ones—require deep personal reflection and connection with others that no tool can replicate. As we teach students how to integrate AI into their work, we must also help them stay connected to their values. It is these values that inform our personal decisions about how to respond in moments like this. Weighing the pros and cons, considering the implications for ourselves and others. Technology can enhance how they analyze a case, but it can’t replace the process of understanding who they are and how they want to show up in moments of challenge. 

This is one of the gifts of our dispute resolution courses. We don’t just teach students how to analyze facts—we help them understand people, including themselves. We teach them to see what’s beneath the surface: the needs, motivations, and values driving a conflict. We show them that, even in the most difficult circumstances, they have a choice in how they respond. They learn to recognize the power of community and the necessity of connection. As we continue in this era shaped by AI and rapid technological change, our field has an essential role to play—reminding us that reflection, relationship, and human understanding are not optional, they are foundational. 

 Sincerely and with a heartfelt thanks for your support, 

Alyson