VDH and Jack examine the consequences of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion ideology on American institutions and public life, observing that DEI has replaced meritocracy with exemptions based on identity, undermining accountability and fueling corruption, fraud, and public distrust, while also explaining how DEI incentivizes grievance over excellence and perpetuates failure by lowering standards rather than raising opportunity.
I echo the sentiments from the above comments. May G-d heal professor Hanson. He is a National Treasure. Regards from Texas.
I think a point worth making about DEI is its implicit condescension towards minorities, as though they aren’t capable of attaining the standards of white people. The DEI industrial complex therefore deigns to help these lesser beings who should be outraged at the paternalism of the liberal whites who ever so benevolently salve their own consciences. There is nothing so morally vain as feeling guilty for things you didn’t do, yet you are willing to let others bear the consequences, Universities are the worst examples of this, but the competition was pretty stiff.
What started as official Affirmative Action in the 1960s and ‘ 70s, then morphed into unoffical “PC” madness in the ’80s, ’90s and beyond, was repackaged and repurposed as DEI in the 2010s.
There have been several generations whose knee-jerk default for everything is “Blame whitey…”
Lots of work needs to be done to avert a real crisis when whites are no longer a majority in the 2040s.
May God protect and heal Professor Hanson and his family. He is an American treasure.
I find DEI so disgusting. It really just causes me to marvel that this ideology was allowed to take root throughout our Government. I think DEI was used to enrich various NGOs that ripped off the tax payers. This seems to be something the left does to push policies that most people don’t agree with. An example would be Stacy Abrams. Anyways. I don’t want to get in the weeds. I am not educated enough on the topic to say more.
I do want to say that I credit Victor and Sami and Jack with raising my spirits every time a new episode drops. I am a Disabled Veteran that got cancer from the environment in Iraq and I live alone. I decided to find positive things to do instead of despairing. I take the free Hillsdale courses and read everything Victor writes. And I have my faith in Christ. So I am praying every day for Victor’s speedy recovery. I just want him to know that he has influenced my life in a profound way with the gifts God has given him. Thank you.
Part two of story from the Times Colonist newspaper:
My grandfather said something equally garbled, and the man whipped around with a look of total astonishment, and said something, to which my grandfather responded, and after two or three minutes, he said to the officer, “This gentleman is a sailor from a ship docked in the harbour. He went for a walk and has lost his way.”
“What language is that?” the officer asked.
“Greek,” said Granddad.
“You seemed to have some trouble at first.”
“My Greek is 2,000 years old,” said Granddad. “There have been some changes. It’s about equivalent to someone speaking the English of Chaucer and expecting to be understood.”
There were handshakes all around, and the officer set out to guide the sailor back to his ship.
“He’ll have a story to tell,” said my grandfather as we headed back to Simcoe.
“Me too,” I said.
Ian Cameron
This was in the Times Colonist newspaper, and I hope it is okay to copy and paste it here, but I think VDH will enjoy this story.
Stories that start with “When I was a boy” are the basis for jokes, especially if they include walking (or skiing) to school in three feet of snow. (That’s what metres used to be called.) But when I was a teenager in Victoria in the 1950s we really did have winters, including skating on Goodacre Lake in Beacon Hill Park and hockey on the Dallas Road yacht pond, or Mayor Harrison’s folly as it was commonly called. To get to either place, I skated on the icy roads from my home on Despard Avenue.
On one occasion, I had played hockey and my grandfather had come to watch and invite me back to the House of All Sorts, where he and my grandmother lived in retirement, for hot chocolate.
Game over, we headed back and were on Douglas Street, almost at Simcoe, when we heard voices coming from the park. My grandfather stopped and said, “That’s Greek! Come on.”
I followed him across Douglas and found a man waving his arms as he spoke to a mounted police officer in a totally non-comprehensible language, at least to the officer and me. I did have the advantage of knowing it was Greek, because I had often been entertained by my grandfather, who had been head of the Classics Department of Kilmarnoch Academy in Scotland before becoming the most highly educated farmer in Saskatchewan in 1904, reading from The Odyssey or The Iliad in the original Greek.
My grandfa