By the end of my sophomore year at University of Michigan, I had become a dyed-in-the-wool left-wing liberal politically-correct Ann Arborite. I lived in a student co-op and that summer a young man moved in who had a buzz cut, got up at 5:00 a.m. to run five to ten miles in army boots and who held extremely right-wing views. One day during a conversation with him, he told me and another young woman in the co-op, a lesbian feminist, that in the physical world women were not men’s equal. He calmly stated that men were stronger and smarter and had the obligation to protect and provide for their women and that women should hush up, go home, and have babies because they’d be happier that way anyway.
We had the typical liberal response of becoming slightly emotionally unhinged in the face of his calm non-PC opinions. He never yelled or called us names, but we didn’t return that same courtesy to him. We railed against him to no avail – he refused to change his opinion and it flipped us out – and I later complained to another young man named Jared, a pony-tailed guitar-playing bisexual with strongly libertarian beliefs, who rocked my world by saying, “Well, he has a right to that opinion and to say it. If you don’t like it, debate him or remove yourself from his presence.”
“B-but he shouldn’t be allowed to say those things!” I protested. I expected Jared to back me up, since I knew we held similar liberal political beliefs.
“You think he should be censored? That’s messed up,” he declared. Continue reading