The Lesson of Dr. Hart
By Jim Reynolds | www.reynolds.com
— A Fable for the Age of Enlightened Ignorance —
Grook
They taught her guilt instead of grace,
and doubt instead of art.
But truth requires no training course—
it knows the human heart.
I. The Interview of Reason
Once upon a recent time, in a University of Great Promise, there lived a scientist named Dr. Evelyn Hart.
Her field was molecular biology — the structure of life itself — and she still believed, somewhat recklessly, that truth was a measurable thing.
When a coveted professorship opened, she was summoned before the Committee of Seven Diversity Apostles: three Black, two Hispanic, one green-haired empath, and one person still in the process of self-discovery.
“Dr. Hart,” began the chairperson, “how does your teaching advance social justice?”
Evelyn smiled. “I teach students to observe and verify. DNA doesn’t discriminate.”
Silence fell. Pens froze.
The green-haired one frowned. “And how do you decenter whiteness in the double helix?”
Evelyn blinked. “Do you mean… chemically?”
They thanked her for coming.
A week later, she received a letter praising her competence but lamenting her “insufficient reflection on systemic bias.”
II. The Bootcamp of Belief
Determined to improve, Dr. Hart enrolled in the Institute for Equity Adjustment, a ten-day retreat designed to help the competent feel contrite.
Each morning began with the Ritual of Apology, where participants confessed to advantages they’d never noticed.
Afternoons featured courses such as Microaggressions in Mitochondria and Deconstructing Dominant Enzymes.
By the fifth day, she had a Bias Accountability Partner.
By the eighth, she dreamed in pronouns.
By the tenth, she no longer sought truth — only forgiveness.
She graduated with honors, clutching a Certificate of Restored Perspective, printed on recycled guilt and stamped with the rainbow seal of redemption.
Her graduation packet also included a signed 8×10 glossy of former community organizer Barack Obama.
To this day, Evelyn still tears up every time she views the holy image.
III. The Triumph of Compliance
When she returned for her second interview, the Seven awaited her like saints before a confession.
“Dr. Hart,” said the chairperson, “are you truly sorry for not being a racial minority?”
“Yes,” Evelyn replied gravely. “Deeply sorry.”
“And do you accept full responsibility for the atrocities committed by people who lived two hundred years ago?”
“I do.”
The green-haired one leaned forward. “During your re-education, did you weep in shame?”
“I did.”
The chair squinted. “But did you cry-cry, or just whimper a bit?”
Evelyn nodded earnestly. “I cried so hard my mascara ran all down my cheeks and stained my new ‘I ❤️ BLM’ sweatshirt.”
A hush fell over the room. One committee member whispered, “She’s ready.”
The chair smiled. “Then tell us, Dr. Hart — what have you learned?”
“I’ve learned that my old reliance on data was a form of dominance,” she said softly.
“The double helix itself is a colonial metaphor — two rigid strands locked in binary oppression.
“My students now learn molecular empathy.”
“Every enzyme deserves to catalyze at its own pace.”
Gasps of wonder. Nods of enlightenment.
“And,” she added, “I’ve come to see that my truth outweighs the so-called truth I once found in research.”
The chair clasped her hands. “You’ve done the work.”
Applause broke out. She was hired before lunch.
IV. The Memo from Washington
Three days later, the provost received a fax bearing the presidential seal and one unmistakable signature written in black Sharpie.
Executive Order 14295 — The Fair Hiring Act
“Any system that ranks virtue over competence is itself discriminatory.
All DEI-based hiring is hereby suspended.”
The Institute for Equity Adjustment closed before noon.
Consultants fled with their stipends. PowerPoint slides died unsaved.
That afternoon, Dr. Hart was called back for one final meeting.
The same Seven sat around the same table — pale, stunned, blinking in ideological daylight.
“Dr. Hart,” said the chair, “we regret to inform you that, due to the new policy, your re-education now renders you unqualified for the position.”
She stared. “You mean because I passed your training?”
“Yes,” said the chair, adjusting their scarf. “We now require candidates who never needed it.”
V. Moral of the Fable
Thus ended the brief reign of Belief over Knowledge.
And as the campus returned to its old gray hum of reality, the molecules in Dr. Hart’s lab — indifferent to politics, gender, and guilt — continued doing what they had always done:
replicating, truthfully.
Grook (Epilogue)
She studied life, not politics,
and found it mostly clear:
Truth does not need a panel vote
to tell it what to fear.
They made her cry, then clap on cue,
for causes well rehearsed—
and told her knowledge came from pain,
as long as she cried first.
Yet through the haze of moral smoke,
one constant still endures:
The facts remain what they have been—
immune to her tears.
😂