Once, in college, we were discussing the Victorian Age. This was one of those liberal, multicultural, “diversity”-oriented classes. I was two semesters away from graduation and already had a job lined up, so I didn’t really care about getting a good grade. So I was free to express my true opinion. This after three-and-a-half years of biting my tongue and telling the professors what they wanted to hear: that all of the problems in the world are because of white men like myself.
I wrote my final paper in praise of the British Empire, for “bringing the light of culture and modernism to the dark corners of the world”. I fully expected to get a bad grade, since that was the opposite of what I was supposed to get in the class. But in fact, the professor gave me a perfect score. He even called me into his office and thanked me for being honest. He said he agreed with me, but he gets paid to “teach the garbage that I heard all year”. And since he has bills to pay too, he just follows the curriculum they force on him.
He told me that, secretly, the other professors felt the same way he did. They hated the liberal BS they were forced to teach.