Then & Now dismantles the monolithic narrative of "cancel culture" by revealing a startling truth: the most cited cases of "woke" censorship often crumble under scrutiny, hiding misconduct, harassment, or genuinely harmful speech behind a convenient political label. This piece matters now because it challenges the prevailing anxiety that free speech is under existential threat, suggesting instead that we are conflating legitimate accountability with a manufactured moral panic.
The Scale of the Panic
The commentary begins by acknowledging the sheer volume of rhetoric surrounding "wokeism," noting how the term has become a catch-all for everything from critical race theory to online outrage. Then & Now writes, "Woke storytelling. Woke woke word salad, woke activism, super woke ad. Everything is woke." The author argues that while some form of censorship is a societal norm—like moderating social media or setting classroom rules—the current moment is framed by critics as uniquely repressive. This framing relies heavily on the work of Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt (referenced via their book The Cancelling of the American Mind), who claim that the scale of modern cancellations rivals or exceeds the McCarthy era.
Then & Now highlights the alarming statistics presented by these critics: "more professors have been terminated during the era of cancel culture than in the era of McCarthyism." The argument suggests that 91% of professors now self-censor, a figure that dwarfs the 9% during the Red Scare. This data point is powerful because it quantifies fear, creating a sense of urgency. However, the commentary immediately pivots to question the validity of these comparisons. The author notes that while the feeling of repression is real, the evidence often doesn't support the narrative of a "woke mind virus" targeting innocuous speech.
"The truth is a little bit different. If this is the case he's talking about, then the school board didn't do away with books. Didn't rip them up. It didn't destroy them. It didn't burn them. It changed the curriculum so that to kill a mocking word was no longer required reading."
The Data Doesn't Add Up
The most distinctive contribution of this piece is its forensic examination of the data itself. Then & Now takes the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE) database—the primary source for claims of mass firings—and subjects it to a deeper audit. By filtering for actual terminations, the author finds that many cases cited as "woke" cancellations were actually responses to severe professional misconduct. Then & Now observes, "Many of the terminations are because of what seemed to me like pretty controversial conduct," citing examples of professors fired for links to the Ku Klux Klan, viewing pornography, or creating hostile learning environments.
The commentary scrutinizes specific high-profile cases to show how context is often stripped away to fit the narrative. In the case of a professor fired for using a phallic prop, the author reveals that university officials confirmed the dismissal was actually due to sexual harassment accusations, unrelated to the prop itself. Similarly, the dismissal of a professor for confusing students' names is revealed to be the culmination of a nine-page email rant, not a simple mistake. Then & Now writes, "But the point is he was dismissed not for the confusing of the names like it says in the data set but for those emails." This distinction is crucial; it suggests that the "cancel culture" label is often applied to legitimate disciplinary actions to generate outrage.
Critics might note that even if some cases involve misconduct, the process of public shaming and mob pressure remains a threat to due process. However, Then & Now argues that the narrative of a unified "woke mob" ignores the complexity of individual cases where the punishment was arguably warranted by the behavior, not just the speech.
The Selective Storytelling
The piece also exposes how authors like Andrew Doyle and Lukianoff engage in selective storytelling, omitting details that undermine their thesis. The commentary dissects the case of Reverend Dr. Bernard Randall, who is often cited as a victim of anti-woke censorship. Then & Now reveals that Doyle omitted the fact that Randall's sermon included the Leviticus quote: "If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall be put to death." By leaving out the call for death and the condemnation of LGBTQ+ identities, the narrative shifts from a man punished for religious extremism to a man punished for challenging "heteronormativity."
Similarly, the case of Richard Taylor, fired for asking if the positives of slavery justified the negatives, is re-examined. Then & Now points out that Taylor had a history of complaints and had told black students they "wouldn't be here without slavery." The author argues that Lukianoff and Schlott present Taylor's question as a "well-meaning lesson," ignoring the hostile context and prior grievances. Then & Now writes, "Luciano and Schlot don't mention, and I have to assume purposefully admit... that there were multiple reports about Taylor from before the incident." This suggests that the "cancel culture" narrative often relies on cherry-picking the most sympathetic details while ignoring the full record of the accused.
"Being gays an abomination shall be put to death. Blood is upon them. A woman should stay at home. Marriage is only between a man and a woman and altering your body. I presume this is a reference to being trans is sinful. This was Randall's message to school kids."
Bottom Line
Then & Now delivers a necessary corrective to the hysteria surrounding free speech, demonstrating that many "cancellations" are actually accountability for genuine misconduct or extreme rhetoric. The strongest part of this argument is the forensic data analysis that separates the signal of actual censorship from the noise of public relations spin. Its biggest vulnerability is the risk of dismissing legitimate concerns about the chilling effect of social media outrage, even when the specific cases cited are flawed. Readers should watch for how this nuanced view of accountability evolves as the debate shifts from "who was fired" to "how we judge speech in a polarized world."