As we find ourselves in the midst of another presidential election with exaggerations, mischaracterizations, and accusations flying freely overhead, conditions are ripe for bitter disagreements on campuses. Now seems a good time to revisit Sarah Schulman’s 2016 Conflict Is Not Abuse: Overstating Harm, Community Responsibility, and the Duty of Repair, a book that presents an opportunity to discover common concerns about constructive disagreement from a potentially unfamiliar perspective.

At its heart, Conflict Is Not Abuse criticizes the tendency for disagreement to be dramatically misrepresented as abuse, but it does so while speaking directly to an audience Schulman assumes remains deeply committed to modern academic concepts of inclusion, safety, and equity. Not only does this book illustrate that shared ideals can emerge from unexpected schools of thought, it gives insight into how to appeal to those with perspectives that may not be immediately associated with values such as open inquiry and constructive disagreement.

Conflict Is Not Abuse examines both historical and personal conflicts to arrive at conclusions that may resonate with many heterodox thinkers: accusations of “harm” are often exaggerated and serve to protect the internal sense of self of the accuser; overreaction to “triggers” is frequently a projection of internal strife; group dynamics contribute to shunning and mistreatment of the accused.

For those concerned with promoting viewpoint diversity, open inquiry, and constructive disagreement, as Heterodox Academy (HxA) members are, Conflict Is Not Abuse offers a lot to chew on. Schulman’s thesis–that “at so many levels of human interaction there is the opportunity to conflate discomfort with threat, to mistake the internal anxiety for exterior danger, and in turn escalate rather than resolve” (pp. 17)—articulates a common threat to free intellectual thought in higher education and beyond.

But Schulman’s thesis alone is not what makes Conflict Is Not Abuse a worthwhile read. What makes this book compelling is that it champions heterodox values in an academic language and context that have arguably been at odds with values such as open inquiry and constructive disagreement.

Schulman is a self-described “queer intellectual” (pp. 18) and, as such, Conflict Is Not Abuse is firmly positioned within the postmodern tradition. Schulman compares “the Traumatized” with “the Supremacist” to argue that mere conflict is not abuse. According to Schulman, “the Traumatized” experience internal unrest due to systemic oppression, such as racism, misogyny, and transphobia, and as a result, are prone to gross exaggerations of abuse. Meanwhile, “the Supremacist” hesitates to relinquish the power bestowed upon them due to their Whiteness or other privileged identity, and so is similarly prone to conflate conflict with abuse. These two groups are supported by their communities who rally behind accusations and use shunning as punishment, eliminating possibilities for dialogue and reconciliation.

Peppered throughout Conflict Is Not Abuse are anecdotes from Schulman’s own life detailing disagreements with and between peers in which difference was declared to be abuse. At times, these retellings border on gratuitous ruminations and may be familiar (even too familiar) to those within academia, as they successfully illustrate Schulman’s theory that underlying emotional struggles often spark accusations of abuse and mistreatment.

Beyond personal exchanges, global and national examples of conflict add more scaffolding to Conflict Is Not Abuse. In particular, the criminalization of HIV non-disclosure in Canada is offered as an example of exaggerated state-sanctioned harm accusations, while the 2014 Gaza war, according to Schulman, exemplifies how “the Traumatized” and “the Supremacist” may be one and the same.

Any given assertion in this book may elicit either strong praise or indignant pause. Schulman rails against male and white “Supremacies,” laments the limits that digital communications impose on meaningful dialogue and conflict resolution, suggests that situations of actual physical violence should not be met with police presence, and criticizes the one-dimensionality of “believe all women.” Maybe some of those points raise your hackles while others draw out a nod of agreement, and that’s exactly what makes Conflict Is Not Abuse still an engaging read.

Many readers may disagree with Schulman on any number of her points or her assessment of historical conflicts—and that’s okay. An embrace of viewpoint diversity, open inquiry, and constructive disagreement necessitates that we pursue curious and charitable engagement with a wide array of perspectives and disciplines. And sometimes, we even find ourselves coming to similar conclusions, but through very different means. Common ground is often closer than you think.