PART ONE: The Underbelly of Progressive Education
I can still feel the butterflies fluttering in my stomach from the moment I first stepped foot on the college campus of my dreams, the prestigious neo-school Bill Nye Multiversity of Liberal Sciences. The excitement of receiving my acceptance letter to their all-inclusive Ethics of STEM degree program, nationally heralded for its perfect student diversity ratio had not yet worn off that first day. The campus felt small and comfortable, a safe space in the truest sense. I immediately felt at home among my fellow members of the proletariat.
My transgender, 1/4 African-American, 1/32 Native American roommate, Erica, and I became fast friends. We bonded over our mutual love of Starbucks lattes and our shared hatred of capitalism. Though I was aware of the patriarchal, white males said to rule over our country from their high castles of hate, Trump was on the other side of the country. Out of sight, out of mind. I was naive and foolish back then, sheltered from the harshness of the cold, cruel reality we live in and must fight against.
Then, it happened. A rude awakening that triggered years of therapy to come.
Imagine my shock when I heard news that the British xenophobe Roger Scruton was scheduled to give a speech only 5 miles away from our campus.
I didn’t understand it. How could the administrators who were supposed to watch over us like the loving, protective mothers we trusted them to be allow a thoroughbred racist, Islamophobic conspiracy theorist to basically enter the nest where their own younglings sat - pure, vulnerable, and now afraid?
It had to be just a rumor? Right?
Wrong. Local news outlets announced it everywhere. I couldn’t comprehend why they were giving this dishonored would-be tyrant publicity, but the worst was yet to come.
What really sent my head spinning and my heart sinking was that nearly half of the college’s white male population went together to watch the speech. I would have remained in the sweet bliss of ignorance if Erica and I hadn’t overheard them talking about attending the speech on “architecture,” which just had to be a code name for “white supremacy,” as they marched off together just like the Klu Klux Klan had done before them. I had never imagined in a million years that my fellow siblings of the liberal sciences could be Nazi enablers themselves.
It was that moment that made me go searching, at the expense my own mental health, for the truth. When I started looking, the actuality of the matter was everywhere, hiding in plain sight. Whether it be a male student reading The 12 Rules of Life by Jordan Peterson in the school library or one of the Intersectionality of Engineering students that I thought was supposed to be my friend sharing a “Pepe the Frog” meme on Twitter, to me, the Matrix was broken.
Most triggering of all was a small flyer advertising a “Conservative Voices & Free-Thinkers Unite” club on a billboard in our student union. I suppressed the urge to tear it down when I saw it. I knew in my heart that such action would only give fuel to the fire. Instead, I thought to strategize my takedown of the racists, sexists, and bigots present on campus. Then, an idea occurred to me.
I took a deep breath before signing my name and phone number on that sheet of paper, sealing my decision to infiltrate the underground group with the purpose of uncovering their secrets.
This series is a true account of what I found out during my time as an undercover feminist, but be warned, the expose is not for the faint of heart.