SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 13 , 2022. THE WASHINGTON POST EZ RE A27
A
sludge of ignorance and coward-
ice oozes so constantly through
today’s campuses that institu-
tions acquire immunity through
recidivism: Progressivism’s totalitarian
temptation is too commonplace to be
newsworthy. Academia’s vindictive intol-
erance has become humdrum.
The University of Illinois at Chicago,
however, is so repulsive that attention
must be paid to Jason Kilborn’s ordeal. He
is enduring, as the price of continuing as a
tenured law professor, progressivism’s
version of an ancient torment: the pillory.
He h as been sentenced to multiple debase-
ments devised by UIC, which is wielding
progressivism’s array of tools for mind-
scrubbing and conformity-enforcing.
Kilborn’s troubles began in December
2020, when he used, in an exam concern-
ing civil procedure, a hypothetical case
about a Black female manager suing a
former employer, charging that she had
been fired because of her race and gender.
She alleged that other managers had
called her — this is how the slurs appeared
in Kilborn’s hypothetical — a “n”
and a “b.”
In his lawsuit seeking damages for
violations of his constitutional rights, Kil-
born says he had used this identical
hypothetical for 10 years without occa-
sioning comment, let alone campus con-
vulsions. But it takes just a few pebbles to
start an avalanche, and just a few flamboy-
antly brittle students to start an infection
of indignation. So, Kilborn was sum-
moned to an electronic meeting with the
law school’s dean, who had been told he
had “used a racial slur” on the exam. He
sent a note to his class expressing regret if
his hypothetical had distressed anyone.
Nevertheless, three weeks later Kilborn
was summarily placed on “indefinite ad-
ministrative leave,” his classes were can-
celed for the entire semester, and he was
banned from campus. All this, because the
head of UIC’s Office for Access and Equity
had a conversation with a student, accord-
ing to the lawsuit.
On Jan. 6, the Black Law Students
Association invited people to report if they
had ever been “affected by” Kilborn. The
next day, about an hour into a four-hour
remote electronic conversation with a
member of the association, Kilborn was
asked why the law dean had not shown
him a student petition complaining about
the expurgated racial and gendered slurs
in the exam question. Kilborn said per-
haps the dean thought the abusive things
said about Kilborn in the petition might
make him “become homicidal.” Within
four days, the student was reporting that
Kilborn had exclaimed that he “was feel-
ing homicidal.”
So, the dean triggered UIC’s Violence
Prevention Plan, which triggered a Behav-
ioral Threat Assessment Te am that, with-
out communicating with Kilborn, author-
ized the dean — who teaches law, m ind you
— to impose severe punishments without
a shred of due process. Soon the Office for
Access and Equity notified Kilborn that it
was investigating allegations that he had
“created a racially hostile environment,”
particularly in his civil procedure course.
To the surprise of no one conversant
with the operations of academia’s “equity”
bureaucracies, the Office for Access and
Equity notified Kilborn that he was guilty
of “harassing conduct” because his exam
question, and his response to criticisms of
it, “interfered” with Black students’ “par-
ticipation” in UIC. This was just another
example of kangaroo court proceedings
not uncommon at institutions of higher
education that are administered by pro-
gressive apparatchiks too uneducated to
understand the adjective “Kafkaesque.”
What makes UIC worth noticing, how-
ever, are the punishments it imposed. At
first, it said that Kilborn’s s ensitivity train-
ing would be mandated only if four semes-
ters of his recorded classes indicated a
harassing classroom environment. De-
spite exemplary performance reviews, he
was declared “ineligible” for an an-
nounced, across-the-board 2 percent pay
raise. Then UIC said he would have to
undergo sensitivity training after all. An
eight-week diversity instruction regimen
would involve 20 hours of course work,
five “self-reflection” papers, weekly 90-
minute sessions with a diversity “trainer”
and supplemental molding by the trainer.
Could those who concocted this sen-
tence ever recognize their kinship with the
moral purifiers of Cambodia’s Khmer
Rouge? Or of Mao’s Cultural Revolution?
Or the Stalinist interrogator Gletkin in
Arthur Koestler’s 1940 novel “Darkness at
Noon”? If so, would UIC’s unconscious
emulators be discomfited by the resem-
blance? Unlikely.
To day, bureaucrats parasitic off aca-
demia’s scholarly mission outnumber ac-
tual scholars. These threat-discerners, di-
versity-planners, bias-detectors, sensitivi-
ty-promoters, sustainability-guarantors
and o ther beneficiaries of today’s multibil-
lion-dollar social justice industry are do-
ing well during the nation’s supposed
apocalypse.
So meticulous is UIC about Kilborn’s
reeducation, it assigned him “supplemen-
tal” readings that explain the problems
White people might face when they realize
that White racism is everywhere. One
assigned reading included this: “White
people who support their colleagues of
color may be called ‘n__ lover.’ ” U IC’s
prissy bullies, like fanatics generally, have
no sense of irony.
GEORGE F. WILL
A repulsive
example
of campus
cowardice
Not so long ago, professors of
literature were known to won-
der what would happen when
the steep decline in church at-
tendance produced a generation of stu-
dents unfamiliar with the Bible. How
would those readers make sense of the
Western world’s books and poetry?
The Bible was the lumberyard from
which Western writers drew their ma-
terial. They could discuss Solomonic
wisdom or Job-like suffering, write
phrases such as “turn the other cheek”
or “prodigal son,” or give their books
titles such as “Pale Horse, Pale Rider” or
“East of Eden” with confidence that
these two-by-fours — these lengths of
rebar — would bear weight in a reader’s
mind.
As it turns out, that rather large
question was actually much too small.
Yes, the shared biblical framework
crumbled, but as part of a broader
collapse of all common cultural struc-
ture. History will likely conclude that
the 20th century was the high-water
mark of mass communication.
It made sense to speak of “the audi-
ence” for television, for movies, for
music. It made sense to measure “audi-
ence share.” The television set pulled in
maybe half a dozen channels. Everyone
watched whatever was showing at w hat-
ever time of day the programmers chose
to show it. The radio dial was the same
in every automobile dashboard.
On Feb. 28, 1983, more than 60
percent of all households with a TV in
the United States watched the final
episode of the sitcom “M*A*S*H” — all
on the same platform, the Columbia
Broadcasting System (CBS), and all in
the same evening. It was a fair bet that
everyone you met, young and old, knew
what “the Swamp” looked like and what
drink was served there. They knew that
Capt. B.J. Hunnicutt of Mill Valley,
Calif., was named for his parents, Bea
and Jay, and that Max Klinger was a fan
of the To ledo Mud Hens baseball team.
To day, little remains of that common
culture. Only the Super Bowl, played
this Sunday in Los Angeles, attracts an
audience of comparable proportions.
Even the Olympic Games, unfolding on
the fake snow of Beijing, cannot compel
the American people to sit down and
share an experience together.
The splintering of culture is not en-
tirely a bad thing. There has never been
more shows to watch, more music to
hear, more essays to read. When friends
or family gather, a standard feature of
conversation is the sharing of recent
favorites. One person has been watching
“1883.” Another recommends “Will
Smith’s B ucket L ist.” A side conversation
crops up between two “Ozark” fans,
while across the room someone ex-
claims, “What do you mean you’ve never
seen ‘The Wire’?!”
The proliferation of culture means
more variety for consumers and more
paths for artists. YouTube and Spotify
are the new star-making machinery
behind the popular song.
Or, conversely, more culture can
mean less variety, as entertainment
platforms frantically seek out each indi-
vidual’s particular tastes and offer more
of the same. Did you find that World War
II documentary interesting? How about
eight straight hours of them? So you like
To m Petty? Here’s an entire satellite
radio station devoted to him. Maybe
you’d like a month of Christmas movies.
Or a channel exclusively about golf.
When narrowcasting meets an espe-
cially desirable demographic slice, huge
sums of money and creative talent are
pressed into the service of monotonous
sameness. Do you like blockbuster films
about superheroes? You had better if
you’re going to the cineplex.
Of course, these same forces are at
work in the cultural space commonly
called “news.” At the zenith of mass
communication, the three major televi-
sion networks produced nearly identi-
cal evening news programs. These, in
turn, served as a mutual basis for politi-
cal argument and competition. To day,
while the network offerings remain
largely unchanged, “news” is available
on cable and the Internet tailored to
individual tastes. There is progressive
news, nationalist news, conservative
news and so on. Once a person finds a
congenial source, it is possible to snug-
gle under that blanket and shut out
alternatives. The argument becomes the
starting point; there is no mutual foun-
dation.
There are signs that the splintering of
culture might have limits, and that
those limits might be approaching. As
Paul Farhi recently observed in The
Post, though audiences are scattered,
there remains a hunger for common
experiences. Fewer people consume the
Olympics in long, narrated blocks of
time on network television. But millions
curate their own Olympics from selec-
tions posted to YouTube or TikTok. The
fact that viewership was low for, say, the
men’s figure skating competition
doesn’t m ean that the nation is unaware
of Nathan Chen and his extraordinary
athleticism.
Perhaps Americans will learn, in a
similar way, to curate a new set of
starting points for our political debates.
In the meantime, we have a Super Bowl
to watch together.DAVID VON DREHLEThe collapseof ourcommoncultureBurned out? Pandemic-weary?
SAD-afflicted (or just sad)?
Then do I have a treat for you!
It’s 2022, and your candy
wants you to “CRUSH IT.”
Sweethearts Candies — you know,
those ubiquitous Valentine’s Day con-
versation hearts — have updated their
messages. And this year, the theme is
“words of encouragement.”
You may still get a classic “XOXO”
or “BE MINE” in your box of pastel
treats. But now there are 16 new
messages — including such endear-
ments as “DON’T QUIT,” “GO TIME”
and “PUSH THRU.” According to
Spangler C andy, maker of these chalky
delights, the new hearts aim “to show
recipients just how special they are,”
to allow givers to “say a special thank
you to anyone who helped them do
and become their best.”
“GOOD JOB!” says the dusty little
sweet. I’d replace it with “EYE-ROLL.”
The change may be a well-meaning
gesture from the candy-maker. But
with a pandemic in its third year that
has tested our sanity and exposed our
society’s shredded safety net, these
quasi-careerist affirmations feel par-
ticularly tone-deaf. At this moment,
the last thing I need is for my candy to
tell me to buck up and lean in.
Alas, these go-getter candies are not
an isolated trend.
Last month, Mars’s M&M’s under-
went a similar revamp, their multicol-
ored mascots redesigned for a “more
dynamic, progressive world.” The
green M&M traded in her iconic go-go
boots for s neakers, the better to repre-
sent “empowerment as a strong fe-
male” (according to Mars’s vision, atleast), while the brown M&M’s high
heels were lowered to a “professional”
height. (What were they before, one
wonders?)
Don’t get me wrong: I’m no Tucker
Carlson, enraged by the fact that my
candy is no longer “sexy” e nough to hit
on at a bar. I never expected my treats
to have a personality in the first place.
But if they must, do they really need to
be #GirlBosses planning their next
TED Ta lk? Why is my snack telling me
to work harder, b e peppier o r level up?
Should I be expecting a performance
review from my edible Valentine?
I’ve been thinking a lot about the
economization of daily life. My forth-
coming book, “Rethinking Sex: A
Provocation,” describes how we’re in-
creasingly pushed to maximize our
achievements and optimize ourselves
for best performance in various mar-
ketplaces, including the sexual and
relational. (Be a “SUPER STAR,” this
year’s t reats remind us.) In o ur capital-
ist society, we’re told that growth is a
must and that our success depends on
us alone. Positive thinking will see us
through.
Of course, that idea is a fantasy. And
at this point in our pandemic experi-
ence, Americans seem to be realizing
that the #hustleharder agenda isn’t
serving us nearly as well as advertised.
Sure, many of us felt t he urge to have a
“productive” lockdown early on (“GO
4 IT”!), but these days, taking part in
the “Great Resignation” has more ap-
peal.
Te lling the burned-out teacher to
“FEAR LESS” doesn’t m ake her h ybrid
Zoom/masked classroom less chaotic.
It’s n ot helpful to say “CHIN UP” as therising tide lifts the 417-foot yacht and
drowns the poor. In the end, individu-
al exhortations won’t fix what are
really societal problems. “U GOT
THIS” is not a scalable solution.
Sassy Sweethearts and empowered
M&M’s are not the cause of our exis-
tential distress, only a symptom o f our
misguided ideas of how it might end.
That wintergreen-flavored “WAY TO
GO” is a distasteful manifestation of
toxic positivity — emblematic of the
misguided idea that we can and
should solve major problems through
the sheer force of individual will.
Our unforgiving form of capitalism
is seeing pushback, whether it’s p oliti-
cians such as Alexandria Ocasio-Cor-
tez describing it as “not a redeemable
system” or Twitter users suggesting
that Mars worry about its use of child
labor on cocoa plants rather than the
height of its M&M’s heels. But in the
absence of major social change, corpo-
rate “words of encouragement” are
more irritating and depressing than
anything else.
It’s a sad time. We have the right to
not feel upbeat. If you’re repulsed by
these empty corporate gestures
toward “inclusion,” that’s exactly the
right response. Emotional honesty is
healthier than papering things over
with false cheer.
So while I appreciate the impulse, I
don’t need Sweethearts and M&M’s to
tell me to cheer up, perk up, b oss up or
double down. I’d prefer they remain
the high-fructose corn syrup comfort
food I pour down my gullet when I
need a break.
That said, if someone wants to
“HUG ME”? I’ll take it.CHRISTINE EMBADear Sweethearts:Don’t tell me I ‘GOT THIS’DANIELLE KUNITZ/THE WASHINGTON POSTIt’s harder to be a libel victim if you’re a
public figure, you see.
The woman who wowed the 2008
Republican National Convention by
comparing herself to a pit bull with
lipstick surely can’t expect to be forgot-
ten so soon.
Improbably, Palin claimed that she
was “powerless” when the Times pub-
lished an editorial after a 20 17 shooting
at a Congressional Baseball Game prac-
tice. The editorial referenced the Ari-
zona shooting six years earlier that
killed six and wounded 13, including
Rep. Gabrielle Giffords (D-Ariz.), and it
inaccurately connected Palin’s rhetoric
to that shooting. This same erroneous
connection was made by other critics at
the time of the shootings because of a
campaign map created by Palin’s politi-
cal action committee that had targeted
Giffords’s district with symbols resem-
bling gun sights.
The map was a terrible but not
uncommon tactic in our politics. One
targets opponents without intending
that anyone actually shoot them, for
heaven’s sake. The fact that Palin is a
gun-totin,’ moose-huntin’ maverick is
not some dog whistle to fans to take
violent action. That’s why the Times
issued an immediate correction.
One can understand why Palin was
“mortified” by the Times editorial, and
she filed suit two weeks after the piece
appeared. But people have said and
written much worse about public fig-
ures. A factual error must be corrected,
and this one was. Even opinions, though
afforded greater latitude under the law,
need to be based on truth. We may not
like another’s p oint o f view, b ut criticism
is the small price we pay for freedom.
Palin’s case swivels on two questions
crucial to such claims of libel: WasSarah Palin is the 21st century’s
Monica Lewinsky.
Catchy lead, KP, but people
don’t understand analogies or
metaphors anymore. They’ll think you
mean that Palin was once a presidential
intern who had an affair with a presi-
dent.
That’s not what I mean, but one can’t
be too careful these days when so-called
free speech has become increasingly
more constricted. “Hate” speech is a
crime; satire is nearly dead; and the
room to express an opinion may be
narrower if Palin prevails in her libel
suit against the New York Times and its
former editorial page editor.
But first, a proper reintroduction:
Palin, of course, is the once very-fa-
mous former superstar Republican gov-
ernor of Alaska who became the vice-
presidential running mate of John Mc-
Cain in 2008. In the years since, Palin
has receded somewhat from public view,
but she’s still a media magnet. Whether
contemplating another run for office,
mediating brawlers (her own family) or
rapping on “The Masked Singer”
dressed as a bear, she’s catnip to report-
ers and photographers.
Thus, the past few weeks, Palin has
been everywhere in the news, not least
because her trial date had to be post-
poned when she tested positive for the
coronavirus. U.S. District Court Judge
Jed S. Rakoff told the courtroom, “She is,
of course, unvaccinated.” Later, Palin
was captured on camera eating inside a
restaurant among other diners despite
her diagnosis. During her two-week
“quarantine,” she and her “buddy,” for-
mer New York Rangers star Ron Duguay,
continued to be spotted around town.
Palin is still famous, in other words,
which is a crucial factor in libel cases.Times editor James Bennet operating
out of malice; and did Palin suffer as a
result? Both questions are tied to wheth-
er Palin’s public profile means she’s fair
game for an editorialist (or columnist),
or whether she’s a maliciously maligned
private citizen.
To establish herself as a victim, Palin
tried to suggest she was a has-been by
2017, going “up against those who buy
ink by the barrel and I had my No. 2
pencil on my kitchen table.” This is
laughable, given her well-publicized his-
tory of multimillion-dollar TV and book
contracts, speaking gigs a nd red c arpets.
Yes, her star has faded a little, but you
wouldn’t guess it from recent coverage.
That B ennet w as writing out of malice
seems a stretch. There’s no evidence to
support s uch a claim. As f or t ribulations,
look to Bennet not Palin, who wasn’t
able to demonstrate much suffering as a
result of the Times’ error in her testimo-
ny, reputational or otherwise.
Jurors, nevertheless, might relate
more to Palin than the powerful Times,
depending on their attitudes toward the
media generally and their misunder-
standing of the dire consequences
should Palin succeed in her mission of
weakening a free press. Let’s hope
they’re not fooled by the bright smile
and cute deflections.
Like Lewinsky, w ho still fascinates the
media, Palin has never been just a mom
in Wasilla wielding a No. 2 pencil. She
might not be able to recite Supreme
Court rulings, but she can size up a foe
with the skill of a hunter who field
dresses her own moose.
If only she understood that her victo-
ry would mean handing a shield to the
powerful against scrutiny by and for the
people, the very ones she once hoped to
represent.KATHLEEN PARKERSarah Palin and the price of fame