Apology Demanded, Apology Denied
A satirical procession through the cowardice, cant, and corruption of Canadian academia — starring the University of Guelph, whose cretins may now learn a new word that defines them: pusillanimity.
They say it’s “just the price of a coffee.” Spare me. You already have too much caffeine in your bloodstream. What you don’t have is enough fearless prose that refuses to grovel before the cult of feelings. For $6 a month, less than USD $4, you can remedy that.
Written February 2024. Revised August 2025, with the benefit of hindsight. But the core remains untouched: I wasn’t willing to say sorry then, and I’m not now.
Preface: On Being Threatened by Mall Cops & Lawyers
I write this, in part, to my accusers — though I doubt they could understand it, and I doubt they’d read it. Their lawyer from Lerners LLP tried to muzzle my Substack, objecting to my use of a quote from Henry IV. She demanded I retract it. I reminded her that Shakespeare had been dead for four centuries and posed no legal threat.
At one point, the head of “Public Safety” at Humber — essentially a glorified mall cop in a polyester blazer — decided it was her mandate not only to ensure that cars park between the lines, but also to regulate the speech of professors—quite the résumé: half parking enforcement, half Ministry of Truth.
Imagine it — a rent-a-cop from a third-rate college wagging her finger at my words as if she were the keeper of academic freedom itself. If they want to threaten me with defamation, then let them. I welcome discovery.
So let us walk, station by station, through this long Via Dolorosa of institutional dishonesty.
Station 1: On Saying What I Said
What did I say? I said that if you stand with Hamas, you are Hamas. And if you are aligned with Nazis, you are a Nazi. You don’t need laminated membership cards. You don’t need to pay dues. If you proclaim your love for those who butcher children and seniors, then you’ve joined their fraternity of blood.
And let’s be clear — I said this not to some trembling undergraduate but to a stranger in Pakistan, a man who had called for the extermination of Israel. My words were a reply to exterminationist bile, not some unprovoked classroom tirade. Yet the university has never produced his original post or my full response. Evidence, it seems, is a nuisance. What survives is a JPEG — a child’s cut-and-paste job, already doctored the moment it landed with one bitter, grade-grubbing student who promptly weaponised it into a witch-hunt. Another entitled darling who, like so many, believes anything below 80% is not pedagogy but persecution, and sobs to mummy when the world fails to bend to her aspirational transcript.
Within hours, my remark — shorn of its context like a carcass stripped for scraps — had been paraded into the empty intellectual spaces of TikTok tirades and faculty backrooms. The self-anointed judges gathered, not on the marble stones of Athens but on the cracked linoleum of the University of Guelph and Humber’s corridors, a modern Areopagus where no Socrates is heard and no argument is weighed.
Instead, it is hashtags, mobs, and grievance studies majors — each one mistaking a tantrum for a verdict.
What once was a council of reason has degenerated into a tribunal of adolescent fury. In Athens, Paul addressed philosophers; here, I was tried by intellectually flaccid students, cowardly deans, and a professor whose sole contribution to human thought is fifteen antisemitic posts a day. That is the Areopagus1 of our time: not men in togas wrestling with metaphysics, but bureaucrats and TikTok-addled activists mistaking their shrieks for justice.
The university, alas, played its part. Instead of asking the obvious — what was said, to whom, and in what context? — They chose to genuflect before this counterfeit Areopagus, preferring cowardice to courage, tantrum to truth. And so they shrieked their phrase of choice: “poisoning the atmosphere.”
Poisoning, indeed — but not by me. The true venom was pusillanimity2 itself: cowardice distilled, bottled, and served as policy. The institution — with complainant and inquisitor swapping masks like actors in a bad masque — never stooped to evidence. Their chambers already stank with the stale fumes of prejudice, Jew-hatred, and intellectual rot.
And again the chant: poisoning. Poisoning what? The atmosphere? The reservoirs? The delicate digestion of managers who gag at the smell of truth? The only toxic plume was their own, belched from the bureaucratic smokestacks where due process is incinerated and cowardice is rebranded as fairness.
And finally, what was their great contaminant? Not evidence, not argument, but a sulking undergraduate in a keffiyeh, nursing her aspirational transcript, and dressing up her B-plus as a pogrom. A single entitled child, puffed up with grievance, was transubstantiated into the great “toxin” of the academy. If there is a poisoning, it is the poisoning of reason itself — a chalice raised and drained, leaving nothing but the taste of bile.
She dragged my remark into the office of Wael Ramadan (@WaelRamadan1948), a man who collects university pay not to educate but to vomit antisemitic bile in industrial quantities. Fifteen posts a day — not analysis, not scholarship, not even wit, but a Pavlovian dribble of loathing so predictable it could be automated.
And so, the star witness, the moral arbiter: a professor with an encyclopedic record of anti-Semitic mutterings in class, public derision of Jews, and a singular obsession — his rancid hatred of Israel, the West, and Jews. He is not a scholar but a stenographer of bile.
This is the same script history has staged a thousand times: begin with words, and blood will follow. The Rhineland pogroms did not spring from a vacuum; sermons prefaced them. Kishinev3 did not materialise ex nihilo; it was coaxed into being by pamphlets. Der Stürmer primed the ovens of Auschwitz. Goebbels tuned the orchestra. Call the Jew vermin, and soon enough, someone will pick up the broom.
And Peel Police — who are not in the habit of having tea with harmless eccentrics — actually went to meet him, to caution him about the criminality of his words. That is how far his rants went: far enough that Canada’s criminal code, usually in its habitual coma, blinked awake.
Yet at the University of Guelph‑Humber, he was not silenced, not disciplined, not even asked to explain himself. No — he was protected, coddled, promoted to inquisitor. Imagine, if you will, Goebbels being appointed head of the “Equity and Inclusion Office”. That is the surreal farce of Canadian academia: the anti‑Semite lionised as the conscience of the institution, while the dissenter—myself—is anathematised as the corrupter of youth.
This pantomime is no less grotesque than the UN’s own symbolism twisting—like appointing Saudi Arabia to chair its flagship Women’s Rights Commission, or seating Iran on prisoner justice bodies. It is moral outrage dressed up as bureaucratic legitimacy.
The once‑inviolable guardrails of decency lie shattered, and what replaces them is a grotesque parody of justice. Yet at the University of Guelph-Humber, he was not silenced, not disciplined, not even asked to explain himself. No — he was protected, coddled, promoted to inquisitor.
He is a modern Fagin, gathering the gullible and corrupting them with TikTok-sized clichés —a corrupter of youth and, sadly, Vice Provosts, not by Socratic provocation but by sheer, joyless repetition.
And his posts? Thousands of them, each one a greasy thumbprint of resentment, smeared across the internet, utterly public. Yet when he raged, when he screamed like a man possessed, the university — with all its deans, vice-provosts, and ethical committees — collapsed into submission. It was the stuff of medieval witch trials: the accusation itself became evidence, hysteria became proof, and demanding reason or rebuttal was itself treated as a form of heresy.
So I ask again: poisoning what? Only the fragile illusion that the university still believes in truth.
Thus began the mob rising. Not based on reason and not based on evidence. Based on TikTok outrage, grievance politics, and the cult of oppressed-oppressor cosplay.
One keffiyeh is worth a thousand Che Guevara T-shirts, apparently.
Station 2: Nazis, Hamas, and the Silence of the Inquisitors
Nobody at the university ever asked me why I used the word “Nazi.” Not once. Not a single inquiry. Only condemnation. Why? Because they knew I had an answer, and they couldn’t bear to hear it.
Nazis were not merely Germans in uniforms. They were men and women consumed by a single idea: that Jews must die simply for being Jews. That is Hamas. That is their charter. That is their practice. Hamas is not a liberation movement; it is a death cult.
And let us remember history. Hassan al-Banna, founder of the Muslim Brotherhood, and the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, Haj Amin al-Husseini, courted Hitler, praised the extermination of Jews, and plotted with Himmler. The lineage is not accidental. It is deliberate.
So when I said “Hamas are Nazis,” I wasn’t being sloppy with language. I was being historically precise.
But my inquisitors — cowardly deans, cowardly lawyers, cowardly investigators — had no appetite for truth. They preferred the easy work of condemnation without evidence, accusation without argument.
They wanted the thrill of judgment without the burden of proof.
Station 3: Corrupting the Youth — or Rescuing Them?
They accused me, implicitly, of “corrupting the youth.” The charge was once levelled against Socrates. But let’s be honest: today’s youth are already corrupted, not by me, but by professors who fill their minds with bitterness, reductionism, and hate.
What do I teach? That history is complex. That Hamas is a death cult. That free speech matters. That the world is not divided into cardboard oppressors and haloed oppressed — that is what it means to look the world in the eye without illusions.
But our universities don’t want Socratic restoration. They want indoctrination. And when you challenge their corrupt priests, you’re branded the heretic.
Station 4: Dachau, Auschwitz, and the Decision Never to Betray
I have stood in the ruins of Dachau. I have walked through Auschwitz. I have wept outside those gates. I remember — 40 years ago — standing by a groove carved into stone. “What is that for?” I asked the tour guide. The answer: that is where the blood of the victims drained.
That memory seared me. It still does. And I made a decision then — a promise to myself — that I would never betray the Jewish people. Never betray Israel, the one necessary refuge for Jews in a world that has always tried, and will try again, to kill them.
So no, I will not apologise for calling Hamas Nazis because I have seen what happens when you appease evil. You get Dachau. You get Auschwitz. You get children’s blood sluicing down carved channels in stone.
Station 5: The Cowardice of Institutions
Here is the most damning and inescapable fact: not one person in 22 months of this tawdry charade ever summoned the courage to sit across from me and defend their position. Not one dean. Not one lawyer. Not one academic. They entombed themselves in billable hours, subcontracted their conscience to Lerners LLP and Sherrard Kuzz — mercenaries for hire — and then had the brass neck to call it “judicial fairness.”
These supposed custodians of reason, these keepers of the ivory tower flame, melted into silence the moment they were called to account. Instead, they clutched their Rolodexes and retained no fewer than five lawyers - as if piling up billable hours might substitute for an argument.
Management, too cowardly to admit error, did what all cowards do in the Canadian academy: they outsourced their cowardice. At a cost, by now, that must be pushing a million dollars4. A million! Not spent on libraries, or scholarships, or the relief of students already drowning in debt — no, spent on legal invoices to prop up a fraud. A million to hide behind letterhead, to churn out procedural gruel, to buy the illusion of authority on credit.
And why? Because they knew — with the icy certainty of the damned — that the instant they were dragged into the light, their words would disintegrate like papier-mâché in a rainstorm. Their “reports,” their “findings,” their smug little memoranda — all of it would collapse at the touch of scrutiny. They preferred the echo-chamber of their offices, where cowardice is mistaken for gravitas, and the act of signing your name on stationery passes for justice.
Fairness? Only in the way North Korea is a “people’s republic.” They trotted out that mindless modern catechism: non-partisan as if incantation could transubstantiate cowardice into justice. Say it often enough and, like a séance of bureaucrats, they half-believed their own lie. But strip away the letterhead, the stamped seals, the hourly rates, and what you had was not fairness at all — merely a cowering bureaucracy hiding behind its lawyers like a drunk behind a lamppost: not for illumination, but for support.
What it really was — and I won’t gild it — was a bureaucracy too frightened of its own hollowness to face a simple demand: sit down, defend your case, show your evidence. They knew they could not, and so they did not.
This is the injustice factory that is a Canadian university: a conveyor belt of rulings stamped out like defective widgets, all greased with taxpayer money. On one side, the proud Jew-bashers of OPSEU 562, a union whose “solidarity” seems to extend only as far as the next BDS rally; on the other, an acquiescent Labour Board whose idea of oversight is to lie down and purr.
Here is the obscenity: even if, by some miracle, a member “wins” a Duty of Fair Representation complaint, the union’s only burden is to “reconsider.” That’s it.
And how do they “reconsider”? With all the gravity of a toddler caught stealing biscuits: We reconsidered, and we’ve decided to carry on doing precisely jack s***, thanks. And the Labour Board, that sycophantic chorus of bureaucratic eunuchs, claps its hands like trained seals: Splendid, brothers, splendid. Carry on. It is not oversight. It is not justice. It is a farce, a protection racket, a temple to cowardice where process replaces principle, and the floor is set so low that vermin could trip over it.
As far as the University, collapse was inevitable because they had no evidence to support their claims. Collapse was inevitable because they lacked both intellectual and moral backbone. Collapse came because stripped of their robes, their PhDs, their grandiloquent letterheads, they were revealed for what they are: ethically bankrupt. The academic equivalent of a counterfeit coin — shiny, stamped, but worthless the moment tested on the tooth.
Their “investigator,” a bitter old shrew from Sherrard Kuzz, proved no better. She spat the word “Jew” at me with visible hatred, ignored the evidence in front of her, and in a grotesque parody of justice demanded I turn over every communication I’d ever had with Jewish organisations. Imagine it. An “investigation” that smelled less like fairness and more like an institutionalised purge.
And hovering over it all was my veterinary inquisitor from the University of Guelph — a man so timid he couldn’t summon the courage to look me in the eye even on Zoom. Forgive me, but the ability to give a golden retriever an enema is not a transferable skill in the fields of ethics, justice, history, or free expression. His cowardice was pristine, almost Platonic in its purity.
Yet, once sheltered behind a keyboard, the lion roared: suddenly, the mute became a prophet of righteousness, banging out incoherent screeds, spewing the intellectual equivalent of vomit dressed up as a verdict. It was all heat, no light — the sort of sermon that would embarrass a student council. He ought to stick to flogging overpriced puppy chow and leave questions of justice and reason to grown-ups.
This is not justice. This is Pharaoh-logic: when words issue from my mouth, they are law. No evidence required. Only decree.
Station 6: October 7 and the Celebration of Murder
On October 7, while teenagers were being raped and murdered, while children were being butchered in kibbutzim, my accuser, Professor Wael Ramadan (@WaelRamadan1948), was celebrating. Celebrating. This was a full week before Israel retaliated. His colleague, Greg Shupak, went on a podcast to say that October 7 was deserved.
They applauded the slaughter of Jews. And these were the men the university protected, coddled, and elevated.
Meanwhile, I was attacked for condemning Hamas and for speaking the truth, because it caused Muslim rage, while those who cheer rape and murder still draw salaries and teach our students.
And you want me to say sorry?
Station 7: The Bibas Boys — Humanity Abandoned
Think of the Bibas family. The little boys, ten months old and four years old, strangled in their coffins. Crowds of Gazans lunging for the coffins, clawing, wanting to rip the bodies apart. Not Hamas soldiers. Ordinary people. Ordinary civilians, lunging like jackals, drool-mouthed, eager to shred a baby to pieces.
That is not humanity. That is not even animalistic. It is satanic.
And to call these jackals Nazis is not an exaggeration. It is taxonomy.
Station 8: The Canadian “Sorry” and the Moral Cowardice of Academia
Now let’s consider the word “sorry.” In Canada, it doesn’t mean contrition. It means escape. It means, “I don’t want confrontation, I don’t want to deal with you, I don’t want to deal with this.” It’s cowardice dressed up as politeness.
The university wanted me to say sorry. Sorry-as-exit. Sorry-as-cowardice. Sorry-as-surrender.
But “sorry” in its true sense implies moral culpability. And I will not pretend that telling the truth about a death cult is a sin. My words did not mention Muslims. My words did not mention religion. They condemned Hamas. My accusers projected the rest.
And if education means anything, it means accuracy in words. But at the University of Guelph, education is a hollow credential—formal degrees without moral fibre. A vet can expel a professor for offending a terrorist sympathiser. Puppies may benefit. Civilisation does not.
Apology as Moral Surrender vs. Apology as Intellectual Defiance
The university wanted an apology as moral surrender: a grovel, a confession, a ritual abasement before their cult of hurt feelings. What they got instead was something closer to the Greek apologia — not an expression of remorse, but a defence. Not “sorry,” but “here is why you are wrong.”
I was not sorry then. I am not sorry now. To say sorry would be to betray history, to spit on the murdered at Dachau and Auschwitz, to shrug at October 7, to declare that words matter more than corpses.
They never asked me why I said what I said, because they knew the answer would undo them. They did not want the truth; they wanted compliance. In Canada, compliance comes at a relatively low cost.
So I refused. Not out of nobility, but out of the simplest logic: you don’t say sorry when you’re not guilty. You don’t surrender reason to appease a fad. You don’t dignify a lie with contrition.
It is tragic that at the University of Guelph and Humber College, those entrusted with wisdom have proved instead to be weak grovellers to the passing whims of the modern Areopagus, trembling before the shrillest mob rather than standing on principle.
And that is why, after all their reports, their lawyers, their rent-a-cops, and their phoney tribunals, they still have nothing. Nothing but their cowardice. Nothing but their silence.
And they will never get my “sorry.”
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The Areopagus — literally “Hill of Ares” in Athens — was once the ancient council that presided over matters of law, philosophy, and homicide. Think Plato, Socrates, Paul preaching in Acts 17 — men in togas weighing truth with gravitas.
But when I use it now, I use it with a curled lip and raised eyebrow: today’s Areopagus is no marble forum of reasoned judgment, but a TikTok tribunal, a faculty lounge kangaroo court, a mob of adolescents and their intellectual enablers playing at philosophy while scrolling on their phones.
The intent of the term, when I spit it out, is to remind us how far we’ve fallen — from an Areopagus where Socrates defended himself with argument, to an Areopagus where professors and students shriek hashtags and call that justice. The annoyance is not accidental: it’s the irritation of seeing sacred vocabulary squandered on play-acting inquisitors who have confused their tantrums with verdicts.
It comes from the Latin pusillus (“very small”) and animus (“spirit” or “soul”). So literally: “smallness of spirit.”
It’s not just cowardice in the physical sense (running away from a fight), but cowardice of the soul — timidity, faint-heartedness, a refusal to stand up for truth, principle, or reason when it matters. Think of it as cowardice with a moral vacancy baked in.
Kishinev was the capital of Bessarabia (today Chișinău, Moldova), and it became infamous for one of the most brutal pogroms in modern Jewish history.
In April 1903, during Easter, a vicious wave of anti-Jewish violence broke out there. Local newspapers, the Russian Orthodox clergy, and officials had been stoking classic blood-libel lies (the old medieval accusation that Jews murdered Christian children for Passover rituals). The mobs — peasants, workers, townsfolk — rioted for three days. They murdered, raped, and mutilated Jews in the streets. Homes and synagogues were ransacked. The official body count was 49 Jews killed, hundreds wounded, and over a thousand homes destroyed, though eyewitnesses said the number was much higher.
What made Kishinev infamous was not just the violence, but its modernity. This was not a medieval superstition flaring up but an orchestrated, press-fueled hate campaign in the Russian Empire, tacitly tolerated by the authorities. The pogrom shocked the world. It inspired waves of Jewish emigration, Zionist determination, and literary outcry — Hayim Nahman Bialik’s poem In the City of Slaughter seared it into Jewish memory.
Do the math: four lawyers, at $600/hour, over 2 years —that’s about four hours per lawyer per week.
Just bought a subscription, I've been thinking about it for some time but being retired means I have to choose carefully.
You really highlight everything that is wrong with our society and those that claim to govern us. Those that claim words are violence are simply covering the fact they no valid argument. It's why there was a huge push to legislate censorship from the experts in the Universities and activists, especially during Trudeau's era.