‘If your work doesn’t reach into the future, what’s the point?’
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Just so you know, Henry Giroux isn’t planning to retire. A life filled with woodworking, fishing, gardening, Caribbean cruises – it’s not on his radar, even at 80, even after a long career in academia that started in 1977 at Boston University and continues at McMaster, where he’s been a professor in the department of English & Cultural Studies for 20 years.
Giroux, who has held the McMaster University Chair for Scholarship in the Public Interest for the past decade, has published more books than his age, many as a pioneer in the field of critical pedagogy, cultural studies and higher education.
He has six honorary degrees from universities all over the world, including one being conferred in January by the Universidad Complutense in Madrid.
Giroux also maintains an active teaching schedule — these days, mostly with graduate students.
He’s a frequent contributor to print and online outlets and scholarly journals, and is regularly interviewed by local, national and international media for his perspective on education, American politics and the dangers of neo-fascism.
In this whirlwind of activity, the Faculty of Humanities managed to catch up with him to ask about his past, present and future.
Was there a point at which you made the transition from being an academic and talking about critical pedagogy to being that out-in-the-world activist? Or was that always the way you did things?
I’ve never treated my work solely as a career – it was always more of a vocation. I’ve always considered myself both an academic and a public intellectual, and that really began when I was a high school teacher [in Barrington, Rhode Island] for six years, during the Vietnam war.
Many of my high school students were growing up in a culture that was on fire with resistance and cultural innovations, and they wanted the classroom to take on issues relevant to a range of social issues.
At that time, I was living on the east side [of Providence, Rhode Island] next to Brown University, and I used to go to lectures there. Honestly, many of them I didn’t understand – this was an academic world alien to my own working-class background. One day, Stanley Aronowitz came to Brown and gave a public talk. He had no notes and talked to the audience with a sense of passion, critique, and relevance, combining both rigor and accessibility.
That was a performance I had never seen before – he was a working-class public intellectual who was crossing boundaries and refusing to talk in the kind of stifling jargon often endemic to academic talks. I was sold. That was a moment that changed my life – working-class intellectuals, talking about important issues and doing it with ease in a language in which you could actually recognize yourself, that was moving and passionate. It was like a melody, like the blues unfolding in front of you.
You’re a pioneer in the field of critical pedagogy, and you’ve worked in universities for many years. What role do you see universities playing in helping to fix the world?
This question strikes at the very heart of what universities should aspire to be in today’s world. In an era overshadowed by climate collapse, nuclear threats, the repression of dissent, the censoring of history, and the erosion of democratic principles, higher education must not remain in isolation from these existential crises. They should be bastions of engagement, not withdrawal—a true public good committed not only to preserving democracy but to enabling and invigorating it.
The university’s mission must reach beyond vocational training or corporate modes of governance. It should be a place where learning and justice unite, fostering citizens of critical thought, moral agency, and social responsibility—a bridge to deepen democracy, not just to serve the economy.
To counteract the forces of ignorance, universities should stand as pillars of enlightenment. They must offer the intellectual and ethical support that democracy requires—not only as institutions of learning but as symbols of hope and possibility for a just and compassionate world. Remember, there is no democracy without informed citizens.
Can you talk a little about your work with students?
I want students to be moral witnesses—conscientious beings who see beyond themselves and understand the need to fight for something larger-strive to be informed and critical citizens. Whether they lean left or right is immaterial; what matters is that they engage the world with integrity.
In my classes, writing and dialogue are valued. I show students that rigor and accessibility aren’t contradictory; they’re essentials. Each student is a public intellectual here, finding their voice and agency through conversation and exchange.
They learn that knowledge can have a public presence and isn’t confined to academia; we publish their papers on the Public Intellectuals Project website, as real interventions in the world. They read each other’s work, defend their ideas, and learn the importance of accountability through engagement.
In the end, they experience the profound growth that comes from true dialogue, get a better sense of their own agency, and become self-conscious of the power to use their own voices to express themselves. When they write papers, they read each other’s work, defend their positions to their peers – and all of a sudden, a dialogue takes place in class that they really learn from. They’re immersed in the living dynamic of exchange.
Tell me a little about this recent honorary doctorate from Universidad Complutense de Madrid. What does it mean, both to you and as a recognition of your work?
Receiving an honorary doctorate from Universidad Complutense de Madrid is deeply meaningful. Coming from a working-class background and having taken a less traditional academic path, this recognition affirms both the reach of my work and its resonance with others. It also confirms that my work reaches far beyond the borders of Canada and the U.S.
It’s striking that, now more than ever, critical pedagogy is gaining recognition. There’s a renewed urgency for education to stand as a bulwark against rising fascism, to instill in students not just the knowledge of social justice but the imperative to live it. This honor is a testament to that mission—a shared commitment to education as a force for dignity and transformation in our time.
For years, I have argued that pedagogy extends far beyond universities, and education is much more than formal schooling. In the 21st century, culture itself has become a great educator—whether through social media, mass media, or television, education permeates every corner of cultural life.
The pressing question now is one of public consciousness: How do we educate people to live in a world where actions are tied to social responsibility, where democracy is not given but fought for?
How do you wrench people, especially young people, away from the distractions of media – social and otherwise – long enough to make them care?
It’s not hard to engage young people—they already see past the distractions. They know they’re living in a culture that jeopardizes their future. They also know that they have been written out of the script of democracy.
Today’s youth are politically aware, multicultural, and informed in ways previous generations weren’t. They’re energized, united by the realization that they’re being excluded from the democratic narrative. They know they must fight, and they do so with a global outlook and a powerful sense of purpose—that is they are border crossers, cosmopolitan, and hungry for a world where equality, freedom and social justice matters.
The kind of speaking out that you do can be dangerous, in many different ways. Do you ever feel the danger of what you do?
To be informed, critical, and willing to fight for a better world demands immense courage. It requires a refusal to be silenced by institutional comforts or pressures. Speaking out today is, indeed, dangerous. In times like these, as Hannah Arendt noted, thinking itself has become a risk.
Authoritarian figures in the U.S., Italy, Hungary, and India, among other countries, embrace the language of dehumanization and even extermination. My role as an academic is to confront these threats, knowing full well the cost of civic courage. Taking risks is essential— because if we don’t, we risk complicity in the very forces that will haunt us. Learning from history is crucial in order to recognize the abuse of power and how to confront it. Even at this late stage in my life you have to learn to take a risk, because if you don’t, you’re going to become complicit in something that overall is going to keep you up at night.
Of course, there are always consequences. This is not a free ride. Civic courage comes at a price.
How do you see your legacy?
There are three things I want people to understand about me. First, I did the best I could with the tools that I had. Second, the fight for justice never ends and I sometimes feel I was not radical enough in taking up those struggles. And third, I want this work to extend far beyond who I am – to serve as a lifting point that has some value beyond the immediacy of its publication.
If your work doesn’t reach into the future, what’s the point?
My work has always centered on the public good as a democratizing force, on the power of social connections, and the vital bridge between the personal and the social. From these come empathy, compassion, and a deep care for others—the bedrock of any meaningful life. Critique alone is empty without hope.
Hope is essential because it fuels agency, the belief that a different future is possible and within our grasp if we are willing to confront and overcome the forces that seek to obstruct it.
I’m not here to retire or withdraw. I have no interest in stepping back—going fishing, playing golf, etc. I want to keep making a difference, and I want to do it alongside young people. They challenge me, they push the boundaries of what’s possible, and they make the struggle for agency come alive. Moreover, they push me to be more imaginative and that keeps me going. Retiring? That is not who I am.
I want to see students who embrace their own sense of possibility—not to follow my path, but to look within and declare, “I’m here. I have the tools, and I can shape my world.” That, to me, is the ultimate purpose of education: to spark the courage and conviction for young people and others to make a difference.
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