Operation Cancel Culture: Chronicles from an Academic War Zone

 

Welcome to the age of Cancel Culture — not just a fleeting trend but a full-blown social rite of erasure. We have upgraded our pitchforks; we no longer burn books; we simply unfollow authors. We don’t debate ideas; we screenshot them, strip them of context, and put them on trial in the digital coliseum. The courtroom is now a comment thread; justice arrives in the form of outrage and retweets.

In this strange new world, one wrong word, one unpopular opinion, even a silence in the 'wrong' place, can cost you your career, your reputation, your place in the room. Accountability and annihilation now live side by side. And in academic spaces—where free thought ought to breathe easy—this culture wears an even more chilling mask.

Let me take you into that world. 

Disclaimer: This blog is a work of imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, institutions, or individuals—living or dead—is purely coincidental. The characters, scenarios, and metaphors used are fictional and intended to provoke thought and conversation around the culture of academic intolerance. This narrative does not refer to or implicate any real person or organization.

It was her first day in college. Sharp at 10:00 AM, she walked in, her heart pounding with excitement. She was not there merely for a job; she was there to serve an idea, to live her father’s dream of her becoming the next Romila Thapar (according to him 😀). She imagined chalkboards, library stacks, intellectually charged corridors, and students who would challenge her to think afresh every day. She believed teaching was a sacred act, research a form of worship.

She was not naive. She was only being idealistic.

What she didn't expect was that within a few days, the temple of knowledge would morph into a silent battlefield. She was now the threat—because she showed up, because she dared to shine, because she brought energy and ideas and a little too much visibility.

She came to teach literature; instead, she was being studied like a foreign object under a microscope. Her intentions, her syllabus, your students’ admiration—all now suspect. She was not in an academic space. She was in a landmine zone.

Every smile hid a devious conspiracy. Every staff meeting was a potential ambush. While she prepared lesson plans and peer-reviewed articles, others stayed up plotting how to mute her presence. There were whispered campaigns, strange silences, sudden exclusions, paper trails that vanished. She wondered: “Did I walk into an educational institution or into a war front?”

She was told, with chilling calmness, that their hostility was a preventive strategy. She might become powerful one day, they argued. Better to clip her wings now. It's the same logic that justified drone strikes on dreams. She became silent—not out of fear, but as a tactical maneuver.

And then one day there was a drone attack from a rogue nation. It was an open call to war. She decided to retaliate with a surgical strike. Her strength was the high-tech ammunition perfected over years of meticulous research. 

She executed a precision attack, unleashing her long-range hypersonic arsenal in calculated succession. Each deployment hit with devastating accuracy, overwhelming the enemies before the final salvo could even be launched. By the time the last warhead was primed, the enemies’ base was already trembling—munitions depleted, morale shattered.

There was no victory parade. No media coverage. But it sharpened her like a blade in the dark—she savored the silence, but stayed combat-ready. Finger on the trigger, she waited for the first shot to fire.  

It was a long and gruelling journey—emotionally and intellectually. Over time, she forged herself into her own armour, battle-tested and bulletproof. She had learned the hard way never to leave a flank exposed. Every scar became a tactical blueprint; every silence, a covert operation in endurance. She stopped seeking reinforcements—her resilience had become her war cry, echoing louder than any medal or salute.

To the readers:  This blog targets the hard truths of academic intolerance. It is also a war song for others fighting quiet battles in brightly lit corridors.