The student union cafeteria is too bright for January. Light bounces off the snow outside and ricochets through the plate glass, turning trays into small suns. Dr. Brenner carries his lunch like it might spill into the week–coffee, an apple he won't touch, the sandwich he won't taste. Professor Williams is already seated with her soup, hands wrapped around the bowl as if heat could move up into her shoulders. Professor Kingle appears with a napkin already folded into thirds, a fork held like a fountain pen.
These three have been meeting like this for almost eight years–since Psychology Professor Barbara Williams arrived in the psychology department in 2017, and Law Professor Michael Kingle joined law school faculty in 2018. The ritual began informally: David's suggestion, made half-joking, that they needed a space to think without committees or students or administrators. A place to talk dangerous ideas in measured tones. It stuck because each of them needed it–the historian who'd inherited his grandmother's urgency but not her willingness to name things clearly; the psychologist who spent her days listening to people's fears and needed peers who understood systemic thinking; the constitutional lawyer who lived inside hypotheticals and needed scholars from other disciplines to sanity-check his interpretations.
Every Monday. Same location: the back corner table of the student union cafeteria. Same time: 12:30 PM, after David's morning class, before Barbara's afternoon office hours, after Michael's law seminar. They'd established it as their non-negotiable meeting. Spouses knew about it. Colleagues vaguely knew about it. But the rhythm was sacred–eight years of Mondays, only interrupted by summer break, conference travel, and illness. They'd weathered department politics here, celebrated tenure news, worked through doubts about whether their disciplines still mattered. Barbara once told them it was the only place she could think like a scholar instead of a therapist. Michael said he needed humanities people to remind him law wasn't just doctrine. David had admitted, after his fourth year, that Monday lunch was the only time he felt like he wasn't performing neutrality–he could actually think out loud.
Today was the first Monday of the semester. The first Monday after Inauguration Day. The first time the three of them had sat together since the world reshaped itself in twenty-six executive orders and a cascade of Cabinet appointments.
"We should start with what's knowable," Professor Kingle says, settling. "Then figure out the names for it."
Dr. Brenner sets his tray down and forces himself not to clean his glasses. "Perhaps a tour. The first week was… dense."
"Here's what I mean. In the space of one day–Inauguration Day–the administration signed twenty-six executive orders. Just that one day. They touched immigration, civil service, energy, international relations, environmental rollback. The government moved faster than we usually see, in multiple directions at once. Today, we're trying to understand what happened in the first week."
Professor Williams sets down her spoon. "What do you want us to focus on?"
"The mechanisms," Dr. Brenner says carefully. "Not the policies themselves, but how they work. Who they disable. What they signal. Michael, you'll have the legal question–what actually has constitutional authority here, what are the boundaries. Barbara, you focus on the psychological effects. Not the politics, but: what happens to people's brains when institutions suddenly become unreliable? And I'll try to contextualize it historically–are these patterns we've seen before? If so, where? What came next?"
He leans back. "Individually, each order is debatable policy. But together, in one week, all moving the same direction–that's what I want us to examine. The texture of it. The speed. The consistency of the direction."
"All removing constraints," Professor Kingle says quietly.
"Exactly," Dr. Brenner says. "That's what I want to see clearly. Remove Schedule F in isolation, courts might block it. Remove IGs in isolation, the outcry is about procedure. But remove them together, all at once, while also suspending refugee admissions and freezing foreign aid and declaring immigration an invasion–" He stops himself. "The cumulative effect is different from the component parts."
Professor Williams nods. "Cognitive overload."
"Yes. And then people have to choose what to worry about. Eventually, most choose to stop worrying."
He looks at his cold coffee. "So that's what we're doing today. Looking at the actual moves. Understanding their scope. Then we can talk about what it means."
Dr. Brenner pulls out his notebook, flips to Monday's notes. "Let me walk you through what we're tracking. Within twenty-four hours of taking office–just inauguration day alone–they signed twenty-six executive orders." He looks up. "Twenty-six. In one day. Spanning immigration, civil service, energy, international relations. That pace, that scope, that's the first signal."
He sips his cold coffee, grimaces. "Immigration orders defined the day. The border declared an invasion–their language. Border wall construction restarted immediately. Remain in Mexico brought back. The CBP One app–the mobile application people used to schedule asylum appointments–terminated, which means appointments canceled in hours. I heard people had scheduled slots months in advance and–poof. Gone." He gestures dismissively. "Separate order targeting birthright citizenship for children born to undocumented parents. They're setting an effective date in the future, probably to give it time to get through litigation, but the message is immediate. And refugee admissions paused for ninety days, though I suspect that clock gets extended."
Professor Williams sets down her spoon. "That's three separate immigration mechanisms all at once."
"Exactly. But here's the one that keeps me up at night." Dr. Brenner leans forward. "Schedule F. They reinstated and rebranded something called Schedule F on January 20. It strips civil service protections from career positions if they touch policy. Meaning a career EPA administrator, a scientist at NOAA, a policy analyst anywhere–anyone who advises on decisions–suddenly loses protection from arbitrary dismissal."
He takes another bite of sandwich. "At the same time, they're eliminating all DEI programs across the federal government. And they created this new commission, DOGE–Department of Government Efficiency–staffed with private-sector people to identify what they call wasteful spending. The whole package moves together."
Professor Kingle's fork stops halfway to his mouth. "Schedule F alone is a constitutional question."
"Exactly. Which is why I think that's the point. Do it all at once, all moving the same direction, and courts can't keep up. By the time one injunction is issued, three other policies have landed."
Dr. Brenner turns a page in his notebook. "Internationally, they're moving to withdraw from the WHO, freezing foreign aid pending review. Energy front–they declared a national energy emergency and started rolling back environmental regulations. Opening new resource extraction."
He looks up. "That was inauguration day. Monday, January 20."
Professor Williams leans forward. "What about enforcement?"
"January 21, next day, enforcement expanded." Dr. Brenner taps his notebook. "They broadened expedited removal procedures nationwide. Before, there were constraints–the 100-mile/14-day rule, geographic limitations. Now they're nationwide. And they rescinded the sensitive locations policy."
He pauses, lets that sink in.
"For those who don't follow immigration detail, that's significant. Sensitive locations was a policy choice–don't do ICE enforcement at schools, hospitals, churches, courthouses. It wasn't law; it was executive branch guidance. But it meant something. Parents could send kids to school without that fear. Undocumented people could go to the hospital. Now?" He shakes his head. "That's gone. ICE can arrest anyone anywhere, including those places, for the first time in years."
Professor Williams wraps her hands around her bowl. "When did people know about this?"
"The sensitive locations change? Tuesday or Wednesday of last week. So by now, Friday, it's had four days to land. And I can tell you from the student messages–people are terrified. The undocumented students aren't showing up to office hours. Some didn't come to class on Friday."
"What about the protests?" Professor Kingle asks quietly.
Dr. Brenner nods. "Saturday was significant. Hundreds of marches nationwide, all coordinated under 'We Fight Back 2025.' I saw footage from maybe fifty cities. And it echoed internationally–I saw reports from London, Berlin, Sydney. The scale of it was real."
He closes his notebook. "That's the week. That's the texture I'm trying to understand with you both. Not the politics of each order–debatable, all of it. But the pattern. The direction. The speed. The way they're all connected."
"All removing constraints," Professor Kingle repeats quietly.
"Yes," Dr. Brenner says. "That's what I want to see clearly."
Professor Kingle smooths his napkin flat. A student walks by with a tray, bumps their table, mutters an apology. The cafeteria hum continues around them–ordinary Monday noise.
"Take Schedule F," he says. "Imagine you work at EPA reviewing clean water permits. You've been there fifteen years. Before last week, you had civil service protection–they couldn't fire you without cause and process."
"And now?" Professor Williams asks, though she knows.
"Now, if your job touches policy–and whose job doesn't?–you can be reclassified to 'at-will.' Fired for any reason. Or no reason."
He gestures with his fork. "So the legal question: does the president have that power? Congress passed laws creating those protections. Can the president undo them with an order?"
Professor Williams leans forward. "And here's what happens psychologically. That EPA employee gets reclassified. Maybe nothing happens immediately. But now every decision feels dangerous. Do I approve this permit? Do I write this report honestly?" She taps her temple. "That's not paranoia–that's your amygdala doing its job. Fight, flight, or freeze."
"The chilling effect," Professor Kingle agrees. "Even if courts eventually say 'no, you can't do this,' the fear is immediate."
Dr. Brenner watches a group of students three tables over, laughing at something on a phone. Marcus in class, asking steady questions that don't flinch. He speaks carefully. "Germany in 1933. The Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service, April seventh. Removed 'non-Aryans' and political opponents from government jobs. Different content, similar mechanism–convert the bureaucracy from independent implementers into loyal instruments. Pluralism lived in those buffer zones. Remove the buffers, and you coordinate the machinery."
Professor Williams nods. "And everyone watching—other agencies, Congress, the courts—they're responding emotionally too. Some people are terrified. Some are energized. Some go numb. Those emotional states affect decisions. A judge who's scared might defer more to executive power. A congressperson who's overwhelmed might just follow leadership. A bureaucrat who's paralyzed won't blow the whistle."
Professor Kingle takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows. "The foreign aid freeze–that's different. Congress appropriates money and says 'spend this on X.' An executive memo says 'pause spending for review.' That's an impoundment issue. There's a 1974 law about this, written after Nixon tried to kill programs by not spending their budgets."
"But is it the same?" Professor Williams asks. "Nixon was defunding. This is supposedly just reviewing."
"A pause that lasts long enough becomes a cancellation," Professor Kingle says. He draws a line on his napkin. "Courts will decide if it violates the Impoundment Control Act. But the psychological effect is instant. If you're running a foreign aid program and funding disappears overnight, you have to make choices now. Fire staff? Cancel projects? Those decisions happen regardless of what courts rule later."
His grandmother again. The way she'd pause before answering his childhood questions about the war, like she was translating from a language he shouldn't have to speak.
"Weimar Republic," Dr. Brenner says quietly. "Article 48 of the constitution allowed the president to suspend rights 'temporarily' during emergencies. By 1932, the legislature barely functioned–emergency decrees replaced normal lawmaking. Legal, at first. Then normal. Then democracy was furniture someone moved out while the room was busy."
"The inspectors general firings," Professor Kingle continues. He wipes his mouth with the napkin, folds it precisely. "IGs are watchdogs. Congress created them to investigate waste, fraud, abuse–inside the agencies they monitor. The law requires the president to give Congress thirty days' notice and reasons before removing them."
A chair scrapes behind them. Someone's phone rings, gets silenced.
"Friday night," Professor Kingle says. "Seventeen fired by email. No notice. No reasons. The legal question: is that requirement mandatory or just a suggestion? Courts will decide. But either way, signal sent."
Professor Williams's soup has gone cold. She pushes the bowl aside. "Here's what that does to people. If you're an IG investigator looking at corruption, you just watched your boss get fired without warning. What do you do? Probably not start a new investigation. If you're in Congress, you just lost your early-warning system. Now you find out about problems from the news, not from internal reports."
"It creates learned helplessness," she continues. "That's a psychology term. If you can't predict consequences, if your actions don't seem to matter, you stop trying. People resign themselves. Or they resign, period. Good people leave. The ones who stay are either true believers or too scared to move."
The Night of the Long Knives, June 1934. Hitler purged the SA leadership–his own brownshirts–because they'd become a threat.
Dr. Brenner keeps his voice quiet. "Killed maybe two hundred people in two days. Announced it publicly as necessary for order. The army, the civil service, the courts–they all accepted it. Because by then, the buffers were gone. The law had become what he said it was."
Professor Kingle folds his napkin.
"I'll give you one more. The immigration orders–expedited removal, ending 'sensitive locations' policy. Legally, these are within executive discretion if Congress authorized them. The statute gives broad power to enforce immigration law. The debate is about how that power gets used, what protections apply."
"But sensitive locations," he says carefully, "that was a policy choice–don't do enforcement at schools, hospitals, churches, courthouses. Made people feel safer accessing essential services. The executive can change policy. The question becomes: what happens to due process? To community trust? Courts will look at specific cases, decide if procedures were followed, if rights were violated."
Professor Williams had set her spoon aside minutes ago. "And psychologically, you just told every undocumented parent: your kid's school isn't safe. Every sick person: the hospital might turn into detention. Every witness to a crime: the courthouse could get you deported. So what happens? People don't send kids to school. Don't go to hospitals. Don't report crimes. Society fractures because fear is functional."
"Precisely the point," Dr. Brenner says softly. "Authoritarianism doesn't require camps on day one. It requires isolating vulnerable populations, making them choose between safety and everything else. Making solidarity seem dangerous. By the time you see the camps, the society that would have prevented them is already gone."
The cafeteria noise feels very far away.
Professor Kingle clears his throat. "Courts matter here. Immigration law is heavily litigated. Judges will review detention procedures, asylum processes, constitutional claims. The system is slow, but it's functioning. Injunctions happen. Appeals happen. Boundaries get tested and sometimes hold."
"Sometimes," Professor Williams says. "And sometimes judges are human beings who are also scared. Or overwhelmed. Or convinced this is an emergency that requires deference. Psychological pressure doesn't stop at the courthouse door."
"But that's the difference," Professor Kingle says, leaning forward. "Between authoritarian systems and systems under stress. In Turkey, in Hungary, the courts stopped functioning independently. Here, judges are still issuing injunctions. The appellate process still exists. That matters."
Dr. Brenner looks at his friend. "Does it? If the injunction takes six months and the policy achieves its effect in six days?"
"Yes," Professor Kingle says firmly. "Because the possibility of reversal exists. Because precedent still binds. Because–" He stops, considers. "I'm not saying the system isn't under pressure. I'm saying the difference between pressure and collapse is measurable. And we're not at collapse."
"Yet," Professor Williams says quietly.
Professor Kingle nods. "Yet."
"The protests," Dr. Brenner says quietly. "Saturday, the marches. That's another response. When legal channels feel inadequate, people take to the streets. Weimar had that too–constant street fights, demonstrations, the sense that politics was happening outside the system, not inside it. That's not inherently dangerous, but it can signal that institutional trust is failing."
Professor Williams nods. "And protests are emotional regulation at scale. People feel helpless, they march. They feel seen, heard, part of something. It can be democratic and healthy. It can also escalate. Depends on how power responds."
His phone buzzes against the tray. Dr. Brenner flips it over to stop the sound. On some campus feed, someone has posted a flier for a teach-in. He breathes through his nose, slow.
"Next week," Professor Kingle says, "we'll have more data. Court filings. Implementation details. The vocabulary gets sharper when you see how it lands."
Professor Williams adds, "And everyone still has to go to work." She gives Dr. Brenner a look that is kindness disguised as a joke. "Eat two bites of that sandwich. It's not a rule; it's psychology."
He does as told–two bites, cardboard perfect–and feels the light bouncing off the snow again.
Professor Williams breaks the quiet. "We should talk about pardons," she says. "Students are already fighting online about January 6."
Professor Kingle pulls out a fresh napkin. The light has shifted–afternoon sun coming lower through the windows, making the cafeteria warmer.
"Different tool, different rules." He draws two circles. "The president can pardon federal crimes. Before conviction, after conviction, doesn't matter. It's in the Constitution, Article II. Very broad power, almost no limits."
"Why so broad?" Professor Williams asks.
"Hamilton's reasoning–sometimes mercy serves the public good. After the Civil War, amnesty for Confederate soldiers helped reunite the country. After Watergate, Ford pardoned Nixon to 'move on.' Whether those were wise is debatable, but they were legal."
Dr. Brenner keeps his voice even. "Weimar's pattern again. Amnesties for political violence, repeatedly. After the Beer Hall Putsch in 1923, Hitler served nine months of a five-year sentence. After Nazi street murders in the early '30s, light sentences or pardons. The message: if you're on the right side, the law bends. Violence becomes a tool, not a disqualifier."
Professor Williams wraps her hands around her cold bowl. "Psychologically, pardons do two things. They can show mercy and de-escalate. But they can also signal impunity. If you're part of the in-group and you committed violence for the leader, accountability is optional. Other people watch that and recalibrate."
"Legally," Professor Kingle says, "courts don't second-guess pardon motives. If someone's pardoned, that's final. But there are boundaries. Bribery–taking money for a pardon–that's a separate crime. The pardon still stands for the person who received it, but the president could be charged after leaving office."
"And impeachment," Professor Williams adds. "The Constitution says you can't pardon impeachment. And taking bribes is listed as an impeachable offense. So Congress could remove a president for corrupt pardons, even if the courts can't undo them."
Dr. Brenner thinks of his grandmother, the way certain stories made her hands shake. "History shows us what happens when leaders pardon their own enforcers. Mussolini after the Matteotti murder, 1924. The fascist squads killed a socialist deputy. Evidence pointed to Mussolini's circle. Pardons and promotions followed instead of trials. The opposition learned: they would not be protected. The enforcers learned: violence earns rewards."
"But here's something students miss," Professor Kingle says. He draws two boxes on a new napkin. "A federal pardon only covers federal crimes. Doesn't touch state charges. Federal and state governments are separate systems–separate sovereigns. They can both prosecute the same person for the same conduct."
"Which creates what?" Professor Williams asks, though she's already connecting it.
"Confusion. Uncertainty. People don't know what's protected and what's not. And uncertainty is exhausting." She looks at Dr. Brenner. "Your brain wants clear rules. When the rules keep shifting or contradicting, people either give up trying to understand or they pick a team and stop questioning."
Dr. Brenner leans back. His apple sits untouched, perfectly red under the fluorescent lights. "The mechanism is clarity itself. When law becomes favor–when punishment is for them and mercy is for us–you've moved from rule of law to rule by discretion. That's not a scandal. That's a system change."
Professor Kingle folds the napkin into thirds. Outside, the snow has started falling again, light flakes drifting past the window.
"One more angle: immunity. Students are asking, 'If the president pardons crimes they were part of, can they be charged later?'"
"Can they?" Professor Williams asks.
"It's unsettled. Arguments for immunity: pardoning is a core presidential power. Recent Supreme Court cases have expanded immunity for official acts. Arguments against: if the pardon was a bribe, that's personal corruption, not an official act."
He taps the napkin. "Bottom line: courts would have to balance presidential power against accountability for corruption. It could go either way, and it would take years to resolve."
Professor Williams finishes her soup. "Meanwhile, psychologically, immunity debates send a message. To Congress: you might not be able to hold anyone accountable. To the courts: you're stepping into a political minefield. To the public: maybe nobody's actually in charge of checking this. And when people believe nobody's in charge of checking power, they either tune out or radicalize."
Dr. Brenner looks at his apple, unbitten. He thinks of his grandmother's hands on a tea glass, the way she breathed before hard truths. "Germany didn't become a dictatorship because of one coup," he says quietly. "It was a thousand small decisions by judges, bureaucrats, professors, police. Each one thinking: this isn't my fight. Or: this is technically legal. Or: if I don't do it, someone worse will. History is not a boundary judge. It's a mirror with bad lighting."
The three of them sit in the too-bright cafeteria, surrounded by the ordinary noise of lunch—trays clattering, voices overlapping, chairs scraping. Dr. Brenner can see students at nearby tables, bent over phones, laughing at something, living their Mondays. He wonders how many of them are reading the news. How many have decided not to.
Professor Kingle gathers his napkin diagrams, folds them carefully, tucks them in his jacket pocket. "Same time next week," he says. It's not a question.
Professor Williams stands, touches Dr. Brenner's shoulder briefly. "You did eat," she says. "Two bites counts."
He watches them leave, then looks down at his tray. The sandwich is mostly uneaten. The apple untouched. The coffee cold. Outside, the snow keeps falling, quiet and steady, covering everything equally.
By 6 PM, David arrives home. The house is empty. He makes dinner mechanically—pasta, jarred sauce—and eats standing at the counter, aware of the silence.
His laptop is open to Wednesday's lecture notes. He needs to revise them. Make them safer. Focus on the history, just the history, 1919 to 1945.
But the words won't come.
His email dings. Message from Marcus Washington:
Dr. Brenner,
Attached is my revised Chapter 2 for the thesis. I've expanded the U.S. case study to include this week's developments. I think you'll find the comparative analysis compelling.
I know you have concerns about the political implications. But with respect, I believe this is exactly when historical analysis matters most—when we can still see the patterns and respond to them.
My grandfather worked for the post office for thirty years. Career civil servant. Now they're converting those positions to at-will employment. If history tells us anything, it tells us where this leads.
Thank you for your guidance this year. Whatever happens, I'm grateful you taught me to see clearly.
— Marcus
Dr. Brenner,
Attached is my revised Chapter 2 for the thesis. I've expanded the U.S. case study to include this week's developments. I think you'll find the comparative analysis compelling.
I know you have concerns about the political implications. But with respect, I believe this is exactly when historical analysis matters most—when we can still see the patterns and respond to them.
My grandfather worked for the post office for thirty years. Career civil servant. Now they're converting those positions to at-will employment. If history tells us anything, it tells us where this leads.
Thank you for your guidance this year. Whatever happens, I'm grateful you taught me to see clearly.
— Marcus
David opens the attachment. The chapter is titled "Comparative Mechanisms of Democratic Backsliding: Institutional Capture in Turkey, Hungary, Brazil, and the United States."
He reads:
One consistent pattern across authoritarian transitions is the systematic politicization of the civil service. In Turkey following the 2016 coup attempt, Erdogan purged over 150,000 civil servants, judges, teachers, and military officers, replacing them with loyalists. In Hungary, Orbán's government used "administrative efficiency" as justification for civil service restructuring that eliminated career protections. In Brazil, Bolsonaro repeatedly attempted to remove independent oversight officials who investigated his administration.
The United States displays similar patterns. Following his inauguration on January 20, 2025, President Trump signed Executive Order 14171, reinstating Schedule F classifications that convert career civil servants to at-will employees. On January 24, 2025, seventeen inspectors general were terminated without the legally required 30-day congressional notice—a direct violation of the Inspector General Act of 1978, as strengthened by the Securing Inspector General Independence Act of 2022.
The justification mirrors authoritarian precedents: "coordination," "efficiency," "loyalty to the democratic mandate." But the effect is identical—removing institutional constraints on executive power by eliminating officials whose job is oversight regardless of partisan alignment.
One consistent pattern across authoritarian transitions is the systematic politicization of the civil service. In Turkey following the 2016 coup attempt, Erdogan purged over 150,000 civil servants, judges, teachers, and military officers, replacing them with loyalists. In Hungary, Orbán's government used "administrative efficiency" as justification for civil service restructuring that eliminated career protections. In Brazil, Bolsonaro repeatedly attempted to remove independent oversight officials who investigated his administration.
The United States displays similar patterns. Following his inauguration on January 20, 2025, President Trump signed Executive Order 14171, reinstating Schedule F classifications that convert career civil servants to at-will employees. On January 24, 2025, seventeen inspectors general were terminated without the legally required 30-day congressional notice—a direct violation of the Inspector General Act of 1978, as strengthened by the Securing Inspector General Independence Act of 2022.
The justification mirrors authoritarian precedents: "coordination," "efficiency," "loyalty to the democratic mandate." But the effect is identical—removing institutional constraints on executive power by eliminating officials whose job is oversight regardless of partisan alignment.
David keeps reading. Marcus has documented everything: the timeline, the legal violations, the comparative analysis. It's meticulous, scholarly, devastating.
At the end, a note:
Dr. Brenner - I know this is uncomfortable. I know you'll worry it's too political. But everything I've written is factually accurate and analytically sound. If we can't call authoritarian patterns authoritarian when we see them happening, what's the point of studying history?
Dr. Brenner - I know this is uncomfortable. I know you'll worry it's too political. But everything I've written is factually accurate and analytically sound. If we can't call authoritarian patterns authoritarian when we see them happening, what's the point of studying history?
David closes the laptop.
Outside, the night is dark. Inside, his house is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of settling walls.
His phone shows 127 unread Class Portal messages in the server channel. He opens the app.
nisha_d:
did anyone read the OPM guidance? they're literally creating a loyalty-based civil service
jake_m:
stop being dramatic. its just making government more efficient
marcus_w:
Efficiency through loyalty tests. Where have we seen that before?
amir_h:
literally everywhere authoritarianism happens
sarah_k:
can we PLEASE stop making everything about politics? some of us just want to learn history
nisha_d:
we ARE learning history. we're learning it's not just in textbooks, it's happening right now, and adults who are supposed to know better are pretending everything's fine
jenny_l:
my mother called from Taiwan today. she said "be careful." she said when she was young, people who spoke up in class got reported. she said don't trust that it can't happen there.
marcus_w:
@ProfBrenner - We're scheduled to discuss the Professional Civil Service Law on Wednesday. Given this week's developments, should we expect to contextualize those historical patterns? Or are we keeping the discussion strictly historical?
nisha_d:
did anyone read the OPM guidance? they're literally creating a loyalty-based civil service
did anyone read the OPM guidance? they're literally creating a loyalty-based civil service
jake_m:
stop being dramatic. its just making government more efficient
stop being dramatic. its just making government more efficient
marcus_w:
Efficiency through loyalty tests. Where have we seen that before?
Efficiency through loyalty tests. Where have we seen that before?
amir_h:
literally everywhere authoritarianism happens
literally everywhere authoritarianism happens
sarah_k:
can we PLEASE stop making everything about politics? some of us just want to learn history
can we PLEASE stop making everything about politics? some of us just want to learn history
nisha_d:
we ARE learning history. we're learning it's not just in textbooks, it's happening right now, and adults who are supposed to know better are pretending everything's fine
we ARE learning history. we're learning it's not just in textbooks, it's happening right now, and adults who are supposed to know better are pretending everything's fine
jenny_l:
my mother called from Taiwan today. she said "be careful." she said when she was young, people who spoke up in class got reported. she said don't trust that it can't happen there.
my mother called from Taiwan today. she said "be careful." she said when she was young, people who spoke up in class got reported. she said don't trust that it can't happen there.
marcus_w:
@ProfBrenner - We're scheduled to discuss the Professional Civil Service Law on Wednesday. Given this week's developments, should we expect to contextualize those historical patterns? Or are we keeping the discussion strictly historical?
@ProfBrenner - We're scheduled to discuss the Professional Civil Service Law on Wednesday. Given this week's developments, should we expect to contextualize those historical patterns? Or are we keeping the discussion strictly historical?
David stares at the tag.
He thinks about Patricia's warning. About Elena sleeping at her father's house. About Nisha's accusation that his neutrality is a luxury. About Marcus's thesis, meticulous and brave and potentially career-destroying.
His grandmother, Sarah, who survived Bergen-Belsen and spent the rest of her life telling everyone who would listen: Never again. But you have to mean it.
David knows the dates. Bergen-Belsen in northern Germany. Started as a POW camp, became a death camp in 1943. Starvation, disease, torture. The British liberated it in April 1945 and found thousands dead—skeletal bodies, mass graves. Sarah was one of the survivors. The liberation photographs were everywhere in history textbooks by the time he was in high school—proof that such places existed, that the unthinkable had been thought, had been built, had been staffed and maintained. She'd made him look at those photographs when he was twelve. "This is what you're studying," she said. "Not as history. As warning." She'd decided that silence was complicity, so she became a witness instead. She'd corner anyone at dinner parties and say the same thing: This happened. This can happen. You have to know what it looked like before it looked like this. She understood patterns because she'd lived through the full catastrophe, and she was terrified that the patterns would repeat themselves, and that people would fail to see them until it was too late.
He types:
Wednesday's lecture will cover the Professional Civil Service Law in its historical context: April 1933, the justifications used, the mechanisms of implementation, and the effects on German democracy.
As historians, our job is to recognize patterns across time and space. But we must always ground our analysis in evidence, maintain scholarly rigor, and avoid simplistic equivalencies. See you in class.
Wednesday's lecture will cover the Professional Civil Service Law in its historical context: April 1933, the justifications used, the mechanisms of implementation, and the effects on German democracy.
As historians, our job is to recognize patterns across time and space. But we must always ground our analysis in evidence, maintain scholarly rigor, and avoid simplistic equivalencies. See you in class.
His finger hovers over send.
He presses send.
The responses flood in immediately:
nisha_d:
so we're going to discuss the parallels then?
jake_m:
or we could just stick to 1933 like the class is supposed to
marcus_w:
History doesn't exist in a vacuum. Understanding the past means recognizing it in the present.
nisha_d:
Dr. Brenner are you saying we SHOULD make contemporary connections or we SHOULDN'T? I'm confused
nisha_d:
so we're going to discuss the parallels then?
so we're going to discuss the parallels then?
jake_m:
or we could just stick to 1933 like the class is supposed to
or we could just stick to 1933 like the class is supposed to
marcus_w:
History doesn't exist in a vacuum. Understanding the past means recognizing it in the present.
History doesn't exist in a vacuum. Understanding the past means recognizing it in the present.
nisha_d:
Dr. Brenner are you saying we SHOULD make contemporary connections or we SHOULDN'T? I'm confused
Dr. Brenner are you saying we SHOULD make contemporary connections or we SHOULDN'T? I'm confused
David closes the Class Portal without responding. He opens his lecture notes for Wednesday, stares at the section on Gleichschaltung—the coordination, the bringing into line, the systematic transformation of neutral institutions into instruments of party control. He starts typing a note to himself about how to handle student questions about contemporary parallels, then deletes it. Types another: Truth isn't neutrality. Silence isn't objectivity. But what is my obligation? To the scholarship? To the students? To history? He leaves that one.
Outside, a car pulls into the driveway. His heart leaps—Elena?—but the engine continues past. Just the neighbor coming home.
David sits alone in his empty house, Wednesday's lecture notes open on his screen, his phone showing the Class Portal notifications he won't answer, his wife sleeping somewhere else because he can't—won't—shouldn't. He doesn't know how to finish that sentence.
So he does what historians do: he reads, researches, takes notes. Prepares to teach his students about how democracies die, while carefully not saying whether theirs is dying.
Almost midnight. Wednesday is coming. He's not ready.
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