Applying for university enrolment is obligingly confessional and constitutes a noble act of candour and an absence of stifling ego. It says, in effect, “I recognize that I am ignorant of very much, have a real desire to escape immaturity of thought and to fit my mind as much as I can to expand my sensibility to the appreciation of the works of intellect and imagination. Above all I want to encounter new ideas, escape the sludge of teenage thought, and expand my range of opinion.”
Any application to enter university tacitly states a fine aspiration; to wit: “I wish to escape parochialism of place, ethnicity, and received and unexamined semi-ideas. I also wish that, under the supervision and instruction of wiser and more learned people than I am, to graduate with fuller, clearer ideas of myself, my potential, and an awareness of the finest achievements of my own and other civilizations. Should an undergraduate degree also improve my chances to finding employment, I will regard that as a side-benefit.”
The heart of an application is this: “I am ignorant and immature: please teach me.”
The whippersnappers had the wet-smack temerity to go after the ferocious Camille Paglia, demanding she be fired from her tenured-faculty position at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia and replaced with a LGBTQWERTY Wymryns of Color(s). Hilariously, that didn’t work out too well for them.
The mob had a sliver of rationality. They did halt the railroading long enough to consider that the outright firing of a tenured professor might be illegal. While this caused a brief stumble, they quickly suggested a route past the obstacle: “However, if, due to tenure, it is absolutely illegal to remove her, then the University must at least offer alternate sections of the classes she teaches, instead taught by professors who respect transgender students and survivors of sexual assault.” And, finally, they slobbered a puffball of social-justice meringue on their efforts by also insisting that she be “banned from holding speaking events or selling books on campus. In their telling, her ideas “are not merely ‘controversial,’ they are dangerous.”
Now, the answer to this cloddish, puerile, arrogant, self-righteous, ideological twaddle — the lexicon of social-justice hollow-heads everywhere — is: “Just who do you think you are? Intellectually, you’re still in the cocoon. You are yet birdlings in the nest waiting for momma to bring you a worm. What possible standing do you have to ‘demand’ elders and betters yield to your uninformed, ignorant whinings. Not only will we not ‘yield’ to your jejune demands, we laugh at the very notion that you have some ridiculous right to make them.
“Obviously you are not university material, Depart. There must be some low-end coffee shop in need of sweepers, and even there you should be careful about telling its owner, your boss-to-be, which people and of what colour he must hire, if he foolishly hires any of you.
“Finally, Ms. Paglia is so far your superior, that the idea of you judging her and trying to get her fired, if not some failed piece of wretched performance art, is such a powerful piece of ignorance it may have a clinical or viral basis, and thus, on medical grounds, we repeat our decision that you must leave here before others become contaminated.”
Happily, the UArts prez responded to this arrant shitfling in the only appropriate fashion: “LOL get fucked.” The sniveling brats, of course, will have learned nothing from this important raised-middle-finger chapter in their education. But they got themselves a schooling nonetheless.