Bill Ayers was a leader of the Weather Underground, a radical group responsible for bombings, riots, and acts of domestic terrorism during the 1960s and 1970s. Ayers is unapologetic about his past. In a 2001 New York Times interview, published ironically on Sept. 11, Ayers famously declared, “I don’t regret setting bombs. I feel we didn’t do enough.” Yet, Ayers was permitted to reinvent himself as a distinguished professor of education at the University of Illinois Chicago. He authored books, gave lectures, trained teachers, and became a respected figure in progressive education circles.

Ayers is far from an isolated case. Bryan Burrough’s masterful chronicle of ’60s and ’70s radicalism, Days of Rage, ends with a chilling reminder: Many of the same radicals who evaded prosecution “re-entered conventional society, embarking on careers as doctors, lawyers, and especially educators.”

It seems that some pasts are more easily forgiven, or overlooked, than others. Take Ronald Fliegelman, for example. According to Burrough, Fliegelman built most of the bombs used by the Weather Underground. After his time as a terrorist ended, he spent the rest of his career as a special education teacher in New York City Public Schools before retiring in 2007.

Then there’s Cathy Wilkerson. After emerging from life on the run as a fugitive and spending a year in prison for her role in a massive 1970 explosion that destroyed her parents’ Greenwich Village townhouse, killing three “Weathermen” — the nail-studded bomb was intended to kill and maim military officers and their dates at a dance at Fort Dix, New Jersey — Wilkerson spent 20 years teaching math and training teachers in New York City schools. Another founding member of the Weathermen, Howard Machtinger, became a high school teacher and directed the Carolina Teaching Fellows, a student-teacher scholarship program at the University of North Carolina.

None of these educators have repudiated their radical actions, nor were they guilty of merely building and setting exploding press releases to draw attention to their radical agenda. Machtinger openly admitted their intent to kill police and American military personnel. “If your definition of terrorism is you don’t care who gets hurt, we agreed we wouldn’t do that,” Machtinger told Burrough. “But as to causing damage, or literally killing people, we were prepared to do that.”

Perhaps the most infamous figure welcomed warmly in education is Angela Davis, a former Black Panther and member of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list, who purchased weapons used in the 1970 takeover of a California courtroom — a judge was killed. Though acquitted of her role in the murder, Davis has never disavowed her radical activities or expressed remorse. Today, she is a highly sought-after speaker on the college lecture circuit, expounding on topics ranging from racial justice to abolitionist politics. Her past, far from disqualifying her, has only enhanced her appeal in academia, where her radical credentials are regarded as a badge of honor rather than a mark of infamy.

Neither is this pattern limited to the remnants of radical groups from the ’60s — it persists to this day. Brian Lozenski, an associate professor of urban and multicultural education at Macalester College, exemplifies how openly hostile views toward America are not merely tolerated but celebrated in certain academic circles. National Review last week revealed that Lozenski, who was appointed by Gov. Tim Walz (D-MN), the 2024 Democratic vice presidential nominee, to help write Minnesota’s ethnic studies standards, has been vocally supportive of the idea that the United States needs to be overthrown. Lozenski holds a comfortable perch in academia, shaping the minds of future educators and, by extension, generations of students.

Campus protests reveal just how deep the rot runs. Professors and students alike have poured onto the streets and social media in open support of terrorist organizations Hamas and Hezbollah and to condemn Israel. Many of these academics have tenure, publicly funded paychecks, and the freedom to espouse ideologies that directly contradict not only American values but the basic principles of democracy and human rights. For these educators, expressing sympathy for terrorism isn’t career-ending — it’s career-affirming.

Contrast these extraordinary examples with Corey DeAngelis, a school choice advocate who has been a loud and effective voice for educational freedom. DeAngelis made his name as a brash, bare-knuckled fighter and a high-profile scourge on teachers unions, anti-choice lawmakers, and the educational establishment at large. Last month, he was unmasked for having appeared in a handful of gay pornography videos during his college years. His career as a self-described “school choice evangelist” is presumed, at least by the Left, to be over. Unlike Ayers, Davis, Lozenski, and the others, DeAngelis has no deep reservoir of goodwill in progressive circles to cushion his fall. His mere rhetorical bomb-throwing in defense of school choice earned him more enemies than friends, and those enemies are now sharpening their knives and taking their revenge.

How is it that Ayers can build bombs and still become a celebrated professor, but DeAngelis, a man whose “crime” was of a very different, completely personal nature, finds himself canceled so quickly? The answer seems to lie in the particular ideological cocktail that governs much of the education establishment. It’s not just about what you’ve done, but whether your beliefs align with those in power.

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The issue here is not merely hypocrisy, though there’s plenty of that to go around. It’s about the signal that gets sent to young educators and aspiring academics. If your radicalism challenges the very foundations of the country, you’ll find a home in academia and in the classroom, no matter your past. But if you challenge the sacred cows of the education establishment — teachers unions, the public-school monopoly, and the rigid ideological conformity of progressive orthodoxy — there will be no redemption for you.

The lesson is clear: In education, it’s not your sins or even your crimes that get you canceled, it’s your politics.

Robert Pondiscio is a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute and an affiliate of AEI’s James Q. Wilson Program in K–12 Education Studies.