Noam Chomsky defended the Khmer Rouge while they were killing 25% of Cambodia's population.
He kept his position at MIT. His reputation kept growing. His books kept selling.
Thomas Sowell predicted this would happen. He explained exactly why it always does.🧵
Chomsky's linguistics work was genuinely brilliant.
It made him one of the most cited academics alive and gave him a platform far beyond his field. He decided, so, to use that platform not to side with the oppressed, but to cast doubt on genocide survivors.
When the Khmer Rouge took Cambodia, Chomsky didn't defend the victims. He questioned their testimony.
In 1977, he and Edward Herman published "Distortions at Fourth Hand" in The Nation, arguing that Western media was exaggerating the killings to justify U.S. intervention. He wrote that refugee accounts deserved "great care" because refugees are "subject to pressure."
He even dismissed François Ponchaud, a French priest who documented the massacres in ”Cambodia: Year Zero”, as unreliable. Called his figures inflated.
Paul Johnson tracked what happened next in Intellectuals (2007). Chomsky's position shifted four times as evidence mounted.
— First: no massacres, just propaganda.
— Then: small-scale killings, exploited by cynical humanitarians.
— Then: killings were real, but caused by American war crimes.
— Then: the Khmer Rouge weren't real Marxists anyway.
The evidence kept changing, but America was always the villain
No retraction. No apology. No lost position. No revoked degree. No serious professional consequence of any kind. Chomsky remained an Institute Professor at MIT.
The Cambodia episode became a footnote in his biography, not a mark against his reputation. He kept giving lectures. His books kept getting assigned.
What matters here is who this protection applies to. Chomsky sadly isn’t the anomaly. Leftist intellectuals who get things catastrophically wrong keep their chairs.
Sowell noticed this pattern and named the mechanism behind it.
In Intellectuals and Society, he observed that intellectuals are the only professionals never judged by consequences.
A doctor who kills patients loses their license. An engineer whose bridge collapses faces lawsuits. An intellectual whose ideas contribute to millions of deaths writes another book. Nobody calls him to account. Nobody takes the degree back. The next conference invitation still arrives.
Sowell's point was not that intellectuals are uniquely evil. It was that they operate inside a system with no penalty for being wrong, which means being wrong carries no cost worth avoiding.
Marxist-inspired regimes killed between 60 and 100 million people in the 20th century. The Soviet Union. Maoist China. The Khmer Rouge. North Korea. These were not fringe misreadings of Marx. They were direct political applications, built by people who read him, cited him, and named him as their foundation.
And yet Marxism remains a legitimate intellectual framework in sociology, history, political science, and literature departments across the Western world. Professors who identify as Marxists hold endowed chairs without controversy.
Now consider Ayn Rand. No regime. No atrocity. No gulag. No famine. No political program that killed anyone, anywhere, at any point in history.
Rand is treated as intellectually unserious by many of the same academics who assign Marx with reverence and cite Chomsky as a moral authority. The thinker whose followers killed nobody is a punchline. The thinker whose framework justified more state violence than any other secular ideology in history is a syllabus staple.
The difference is not about rigor. Rand was a rigorous thinker who defended capitalism. Marx was a rigorous thinker who gave cover to people who built gulags. Only one of them remains embarrassing to cite in a faculty meeting.
The people who got it right were punished for it.
– Orwell struggled to publish Animal Farm because it offended Soviet sympathizers in British publishing.
– Camus was shunned by the French left for denouncing labor camps. Sartre mocked him publicly.
– Solzhenitsyn was expelled from his country for documenting what Chomsky was busy doubting.
All of them were vindicated by history. None of them received an apology.
Paul Johnson studied Rousseau, Marx, Tolstoy, Sartre, and Chomsky over decades of research. His conclusion was blunt:
"One of the principal lessons of our tragic century is: beware intellectuals. Not merely should they be kept well away from the levers of power, they should also be objects of particular suspicion when they seek to offer collective advice."
Johnson was not arguing against thinking. He was arguing against the specific habit of rewarding thinkers regardless of what their thinking produced. The 20th century gave us enough evidence to take that argument seriously.
Chomsky denied a genocide and kept his chair. Marx inspired regimes that killed tens of millions and kept his syllabus. Rand's followers never harmed anyone, and she lost her reputation. What does that tell you about how intellectual credibility actually gets assigned?
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Why do so many young people today celebrate killers?
The ideas that justify political violence didn't start on TikTok. They were developed in universities, published by prestigious presses, and taught to millions of students as serious moral philosophy before they became acceptable by so many people. 🧵
Ideas don't stay in books. Every ideology that has produced mass violence was first a theory. The intellectuals came before the violence.
In the last century, three thinkers spent their careers building a moral architecture that makes political violence not just acceptable, but virtuous.
Their ideas have been inside universities for fifty years. They are now inside a whole generation.
Frantz Fanon turned killing into an act of purification.
In The Wretched of the Earth (1961), Fanon made violence the only cure for colonial dehumanization. The colonized person lives inside that structure from birth and killing the oppressor is the only exit.
But he went further: even violence within oppressed groups is the oppressor's fault. Aggression that cannot reach the colonizer turns inward. Colonialism is responsible for all of it.
This framework makes the oppressed immune to moral accountability. Through violent struggle, the colonized sheds his dehumanized self and becomes a new man, "of better quality."
For 69 years, the largest political experiment in human history — spanning 15 countries, 286 million people, and 8 leaders — tried to deny reality.
Here is a step-by-step account of how the Soviet experiment was forced to face it. 🧵
In 1917, the Bolsheviks made the world a promise: equality, abundance, liberation.
The communists were convinced that markets were exploitation and that the state could do better. History was on their side, the revolution of the proletariat was inevitable, their prophet Marx claimed. They had found the solution: central planning would replace the chaos of markets. The state would act where private interests wouldn't. And for a brief moment, much of the world believed them.
It was a grand theory, and the next seven decades would test it against the one force no ideology can permanently suppress: reality.
It began with a revolution: "All power to the Soviets."
Lenin believed centralized power could reorganize society from the top down. The Bolsheviks had seized power, dismantled the old order, and convinced themselves that history had chosen them. The state would replace markets as the engine of economic life, determining what gets produced, at what price, and for whom. There was no doubt or hesitation, nor any room for dissent.
And certainty, in the hands of men with total power, is one of the most dangerous forces in human history.
She escaped the Gestapo in 1933. Then she spent 18 years asking one question:
What actually creates tyranny?
Some would say ideology and propaganda. Others would point to a strongman seizing power.
Her answer was something far more ordinary, and far more dangerous. 🧵
In 1933, Hannah Arendt was detained by the Gestapo for researching Nazi antisemitic propaganda. She escaped Germany and spent the next 18 years stateless: no country, no citizenship, no legal protection.
Stripped of membership in any recognized political community, she experienced what she would later call being "superfluous", the terrifying sensation of belonging nowhere and mattering to no one.
That experience became the foundation of The Origins of Totalitarianism (1951). The theorizing was based on what she had experienced first hand.
When the book came out, everyone expected a conventional answer.
Scholars expected an anatomy of Nazi ideology. Economists expected a class analysis. Psychologists expected a study of mass hysteria.
Arendt gave them something stranger: totalitarianism doesn't grow primarily from ideology. It grows from loneliness: the experience of having no place in a shared world.
Four months after George Orwell published 1984, his former teacher sent him a letter.
Aldous Huxley had one message: you described the wrong dystopia. 🧵
Two of the greatest dystopian minds of the 20th century clashed over how we would ultimately lose our freedom.
In Orwell's vision, the State controls through fear. Surveillance cameras in every room. Thought Police hunting dissent. History rewritten daily to match whoever holds power. A branch of government called the Ministry of Truth exists to manufacture lies.
Its enforcer, O'Brien, describes the endgame plainly: "A boot stamping on a human face. Forever."
In Huxley's Brave New World, there is no boot.
Citizens are genetically conditioned before birth, slotted into castes by design. A drug called soma eliminates discomfort on demand. Entertainment is infinite and shallow. Every desire is immediately satisfied.
No one burns books. No one needs to. The desire to read them has already been engineered away.
Freedom is surrendered voluntarily, cheerfully, in exchange for comfort.
While Western intellectuals were romanticizing the Soviet experiment, one American writer went to see it for herself.
Then she wrote one of the most compelling accounts of why it was always going to fail. 🧵
In the early 1920s, Rose Wilder Lane was already one of the highest-paid female writers in America. She went to Europe to cover relief efforts, kept going east, and arrived in the Soviet Union, where four years earlier the Bolshevik Revolution had promised liberation.
She believed it might be true.
What she found was not liberation.
The state controlled every productive decision: what to grow, what to build, where to live, what to say. The peasants she interviewed were not energized by the new order. They were exhausted, not from overwork, but from working without ownership, without the ability to keep what they had built.
She came home carrying a question the Western press had not yet learned to ask.