For four decades, James Hankins walked the hallowed halls of Harvard University as a history professor. But a quiet disillusionment grew within him, culminating in a decisive departure and a searing indictment of the institution he once called home.
The breaking point wasn’t a single event, but a confluence of factors. Strict COVID-19 restrictions, mirroring what Hankins describes as an “uncritical acceptance of The Science,” felt like an infringement on academic freedom. Lectures delivered through masks and seminars confined to Zoom screens fundamentally altered the educational experience he valued.
Then came the summer of 2020, and the aftermath of George Floyd’s death. Hankins anticipated the usual “empty virtue-signaling” from the university. Instead, he witnessed a shift in admissions policies, a subtle but unmistakable bias against qualified white male applicants.
He recalls one exceptional candidate, a perfect fit for the program, effectively blocked from consideration. “That was not happening this year,” an admissions committee member reportedly stated, referring to admitting a white male. Another, a “certifiably brilliant” student with a flawless academic record, faced rejection across all Harvard graduate programs.
The pattern wasn’t isolated to Harvard. Conversations with colleagues revealed a similar, unspoken protocol taking hold at universities nationwide. A curious exception emerged – a candidate who began their life as female. This unsettling trend, Hankins argues, signaled a dangerous compromise of meritocratic principles.
Beyond admissions, Hankins observed a gradual erosion of academic standards within the history department. Activist pressure led to the abandonment of the “two-book standard” – the expectation of substantial published work before tenure – in favor of prioritizing diversity quotas.
The justification, he explains, was a demand for equal representation, despite the limited number of women pursuing doctoral degrees in history at the time. Lowering standards, they claimed, wasn’t happening; the problem lay in the inability of men to properly value female scholarship. Those who disagreed were swiftly labeled “sexists.”
The curriculum itself underwent a transformation. Western civilization, once the cornerstone of historical study, was increasingly marginalized, replaced by a focus on “global civilizations” and “transnational history.” A program Hankins championed – teaching Western civilization as a foundation before integrating non-Western perspectives – was short-lived.
A disturbing double standard emerged. While courses on non-Western history freely explored national pride and historical struggles, Western history was presented through a relentlessly critical lens, emphasizing inherent illiberalism and contrasting it unfavorably with a utopian progressive future.
Hankins now finds himself at the University of Florida, a new chapter unfolding after four decades at Harvard. He harbors little hope for reform within the “Ivy-Plus” institutions, believing a more promising path lies in building new academic environments, free from the “corruption and self-hatred” he witnessed firsthand.
His departure isn’t simply a career move; it’s a powerful statement. A historian’s lament for a lost tradition, and a call for a renewed commitment to intellectual rigor and genuine academic freedom.
