The decision of the University of Wyoming to destroy a work
of art after receiving complaints from influential contributors and politicians
was far from the first time it exhibited a penchant for censorship. Don’t blame
President Buchanan. Unlike most institutions calling themselves a university,
censorship is deep in U-dubb’s DNA.
Historian Phil Roberts chronicled the time our university
sought to censor textbooks. It was 1947. After being told economics professors
used books espousing a “clearly Communists doctrine” that budget deficits were
not evil, the board of trustees appointed a committee to “read and examine”
textbooks to determine if they were “subversive or un-American.” The law school
dean was appointed chair of the witch-hunt.
When faculty members cried that academic freedom was at
stake, one member of the board responded that “academic
freedom” was being used as an excuse for “practicing subversion.”
Criticism
came raining down. Arthur Schlesinger called it a “crude” investigation by “ill-informed
trustees.” The St. Louis Post Dispatch
called it “an insult to the good sense and patriotism of the faculty” and “an
affront to the intelligence” of the students. Newspapers in 20 communities
followed suit, heavily criticizing the trustees. But the book-burners would not
be moved. Eventually a compromise was struck. A committee of 15 was appointed.
They read 65 books and assured the trustees they found nothing subversive.
During
this time it was alleged some of the trustees actually hired students to take
notes during the lectures of a popular history professor, hoping to uncover
“anti-American statements” that could lead to his dismissal. That professor was
Gale W. McGee, who was later elected to the U. S. Senate, serving from 1958
until 1977.
The
University’s next infatuation with censorship and the denial of civil rights
was the Black 14 incident. It was 1969 and most of the nation was slowly moving
forward on civil rights. Not so fast in Laramie. African American players at
Wyoming had tired of the treatment they received when playing ball at Provo,
Utah. BYU fans allegedly taunted them with racial slurs. It was claimed they
turned on sprinklers after one game to “wash away the demons.” Black players
said they weren’t permitted to stay in some Provo motels.
Rather
than protect their players from that kind of treatment, UW sided with BYU when
14 members of the Cowboy football team said they planned to wear black arm
bands during the 1969 home game with BYU. It was a soft, subtle protest, but
far too much for a school with Wyoming’s legacy of censorship. The coach dismissed
the players from the team. Everyone from the board of trustees to the governor
sided with the coach and against the players. The incident destroyed the image
of Cowboy football for a generation.
Next
stop was a late Viet Nam war protest. When four students were killed at Kent State
in 1970, a small group of Wyoming students wanted to protest. UW asked the
governor to send in National Guard and state patrol to protect the university
from these opinionated students. Some alleged UW even hired ag students to
infiltrate the protesters.
More
recently the school was “academic-freedom-challenged” when Bill Ayers was
invited to speak on the campus. The GOP establishment had already cast him as
evil in the 2008 campaign. Large
contributors demanded the university cancel Ayers’ speech. They did as they
were told. A student filed a 1st Amendment suit. Instead of
examining the law, the university trashed the student. UW lost the suit just as
any first-year law student could have predicted. But they had taken their stand
for big contributors and influential alum and against civil rights.
And now
the school has once again sold itself out to the highest bidders. By destroying
a work of art to which mining corporations and the legislators who serve their
interests objected, the University of Wyoming has carried on a tradition as
important to them as “Ragtime Cowboy Joe.”