Student Life at OHS describes the school’s mission as building “a worldwide community of intellectually adventurous students” who “share diverse perspectives in thoughtful and respectful ways.” But the office draws a sharp limit: “Free inquiry at OHS does not mean debating or questioning the validity of someone’s identity, disputing whether people are entitled to human rights, or continually disregarding how someone wishes to be addressed.”

That line between curiosity and care has become the measure by which one of OHS’ most controversial student societies, Political Pulse, is judged.

Founded to be an uncensored space for political discussion, the student-run chat now sits at the center of an ongoing debate about how far free speech should go, and what responsibility a community has in moderating it.

Luke Cardosi (‘27), the society’s founder, said he created Political Pulse to protect open discourse, even when it made people uncomfortable. “Just because something is offensive doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t talk about it,” he said. “We coordinated with Student Life to make sure we didn’t violate policy, and we agreed that no topic should be outright banned from discussion. What matters is that rhetoric stays sensitive and empathetic.”

That conversation with Student Life, Cardosi said, shaped the society’s ground rules. Under California’s Leonard Law and Stanford’s free speech policy, OHS must protect speech that would be protected under the Constitution. “We make sure we’re in compliance,” Cardosi said. “Since membership in Political Pulse isn’t compulsory, you accept that you might disagree or even be offended.”

Georgia Childers (‘26), one of the leaders, believes that this founding premise is what makes the society so important for all its members. “People have this preconceived notion that politics are divisive, which they are,” she said. “But when you talk to someone who disagrees with you, you usually can’t come out of it thinking they’re a monster.”

Childers said the society intentionally allows students to argue freely. “I think that’s actually a really good thing,” she said. “There are very few conversations that need to not be had.” 

To her, the value in Political Pulse is in learning how to confront differences without retreating or resorting to outrage. 

But confronting differences does not come without its costs. Within the society’s group chat—home to over 100 students—discussions about policy can sometimes give way to personal confrontation. The same openness that purportedly encourages civil discourse can also invite provocation. 

Cardosi recalled one conversation last year about puberty blockers that began as a discussion of medical ethics but soon became personal. Two students, he said, exchanged views about whether the treatment should be available to minors, when a third interjected to call the discussion “transphobic” and threatened to report it to Student Life. “After that,” he said, “there were a lot of personal shots fired back and forth.” Moderators stepped in when the threat devolved into spamming and hostility. 

The episode marked an enduring question for the society: at what point does civil discourse break down and stop being productive?

Aimee Burmeister (‘28), a long-time member of Political Pulse, traces that decline in tone to changes in moderation and membership. She recalls that when she first joined, moderators were more proactive in discouraging name-calling, off-topic posting, and what members call “rage-baiting,” or posts designed to provoke outrage rather than foster argument. 

Over time, she said, the chat loosened: deliberate provocation and spam became more common, and an election intended to strengthen moderation produced leaders with a more laissez-faire approach. 

“Since then, the moderation has not changed much… pretty much anything goes, including spamming, off-topic discussions, and rage-baiting, with a few extreme exceptions,” she said, noting that blatant threats or hate speech are still policed.

Despite the downsides, Burmeister emphasized that the chat has still yielded meaningful exchanges. “I love when I agree with individuals I typically disagree with and come together to support a common cause,” she said, and added that thoughtful, calm conversations with people who are willing to admit mistakes are the most rewarding moments she’s had in the group. Even so, she warned that frequent hostility can wear on members’ mental health and that stricter moderation could preserve the benefits while reducing the harm.

A second dispute, this time about preferred pronouns, tested that same line. Former member Adrian Costello (‘27) described an argument between two students that began as a grammatical debate and ended in open antagonism. One student, he said, insisted on using “she/her” pronouns for a classmate who identified as nonbinary, citing “biology.” The other retaliated by deliberately misgendering the student in return. 

The exchange, Costello said, spiraled into “an insult war” as previously uninvolved students took sides. “You have something that starts as a political issue on gender non-conformity,” he said. “Then it invites retaliation, which spreads to the entire chat.” 

Cardosi said moderators now evaluate such incidents by asking whether participants are acting out of belief or provocation. “We try to figure out if someone is genuinely expressing a view or just trying to aggravate others,” he said. “Those are two very different things.” 

For Childers, the answer is not to bar sensitive topics altogether. “It’s a hard line to draw with gender identity debates,” she said. “If we say you’re not allowed to talk about transgender issues at all, that would be quite harmful. I think OHSers are mature enough and smart enough to handle them without being hurtful on purpose.” 

She argues that silencing controversial views can backfire, noting that everyone has a different definition of what constitutes hate speech. She additionally stressed the danger in silencing people simply because we might disagree with them.

Childers points to far-right commentator Nick Fuentes.” He’s a horrible person, but when he’s kicked off platforms, it doesn’t change his opinion. It just gives him more power.”

She holds that the freedom to confront bad ideas head-on is what Political Pulse was meant to preserve. “The only alternative to never offending someone is never talking about these issues at all,” she said. 

But Costello, who left the chat midway through spring, said that openness had started to corrode the club’s purpose. “When I left, it was turning into very consistent personal attacks only tangentially related to politics.” 

He sees the problem as unavoidable for the society. “If Political Pulse is open to everyone, it will inevitably devolve into that,” Costello said. “You’re going to end up with people who enjoy antagonizing others or saying outrageous things, whether or not they believe them.”

Cardosi sees the same risk but insists the space remains worthwhile. “There are some very active members who have very strong takes,” he said. “And I love having debates with them. It’s nice to see, after one or two years, the thing that you wished to create become a reality.” 

Costello, even after leaving the society, said the experience was still valuable. “I don’t regret joining, but I don’t regret leaving, either,” he said. “It taught me what healthy political discourse looks like—and what it doesn’t.”