I just realized something that’s been sitting with me for years—quietly ironic and maybe a little tragic. Back in school, I had a literacy teacher devoted to political correctness long before it became the norm. She rarely pushed it openly; instead, she used favored students as vessels to voice the “right” ideas, supporting them quietly. If someone said something unapproved, they were corrected. But if a favored student made sweeping, moralizing statements, she nodded, smiled, and gave them the floor. As Milton wrote in Paradise Lost , “The mind is its own place, and in itself / Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.” In her classroom, the mind was shaped to favor one place—her ideology. She knew her English literature well. We read the canon—Chaucer, Milton, Spenser, Shakespeare—and she treated it like sacred ground. Yet she refused to let us wrestle with those texts honestly, preferring group discussions that rewarded moral performances, not genuine learning. It reminded me...