From that point forward — in class after class — I had a simple choice: be silent or face the strong probability of insults, shout-downs, cat-calls, and other lame efforts at intimidation. In extreme instances, conservative students had their faces pasted on gay porn and posted in the halls. Other students endured activists calling future employers and demanding their termination. While I didn’t face the full wrath of campus activists, I endured more than my share of intensely personal backlash. The shout-downs were routine, so were the insults.
And the entire experience made me a better, wiser person.
I felt at the time that I’d faced and passed a test — that I’d proven to myself that my convictions were worth more to me than social acceptance. Looking back, I realize now how minor and trifling that test was. Shouts and insults are nothing compared with the trials of real life after law school, but at the time it mattered, a lot. In a strange way, I was ultimately happy for the scorn. After the initial shock, it was oddly affirming, confirming that I was pressing the other side exactly where it didn’t want to be pressed.
Political correctness demystified the Left.
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