Once, in a galaxy far, far away…

…in a time long, long ago, we did a lot of stuff, including the supreme commander’s job, at the SUNY New Paltz student newspaper, The Oracle.

In one of the more gleeful moments, we put out a special paper greeting new students that just trashed the place up and down and culminated with a “Withdrawal from College” form (yes, the official form itself) printed full-page on the back page.

It upset some people (but not as much as some of the other things we did with the dear old Oracle).

Looking back, the printing of that withdrawal form now looks prescient, even if we printed it for all the wrong reasons.

We think that university education in the United States and the practice of that art at the local SUNY discount outlet, is a ticket to moral confusion, intellectual incoherency, and existential idiocy.

Writing at City Journal, Heather Mac Donald contributes another chapter on how the American campus, as a leasehold of the deranged Left, promotes a mythology of victimization. Here’s the opener from Mac Donald’s “The Campus Rape Myth”:

It’s a lonely job, working the phones at a college rape crisis center. Day after day, you wait for the casualties to show up from the alleged campus rape epidemic—but no one calls. Could this mean that the crisis is overblown? No: it means, according to the campus sexual-assault industry, that the abuse of coeds is worse than anyone had ever imagined. It means that consultants and counselors need more funding to persuade student rape victims to break the silence of their suffering.

One of the ironies of the American campus, we’ve found, is that it is so isolated as to be nearly impenetrable from the outside world. More than once we’ve noted that stepping onto the local SUNY campus is what we imagine a trip through The Wall into East Berlin might have been like. The place seems charged with suspicion and aggressively empty purpose under a Stasi-like eye. That the “diverse” choices offered to students seem to number about two: be politically correct or be silent. Swallow it all and spit it back out on cue, or keep your mouth shut.

Since we have no idea who is keeping his mouth shut up there, we don’t know if there’s anyone there at all who even blinks at the stuff Mac Donald describes. We suspect there are a few, but there’s no way to know. The transvaluative totalism of the place seems, to us, airtight.

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