Cut The Beaver

Cut The Beaver: Dispatches from the Frontlines of Higher Education

By

Secret Agent Q, Guild Operative

The Beaver

The fluorescent lights flickered, casting shadows over the empty hallways of Beaver State University. It was 3:00 a.m., the witching hour for bureaucrats and administrators who had long since abandoned the campus for their cushy beds. But not me. No, I was deep in the bowels of the university, where the rot festers, where the gears of the grand machine of higher education grind down the souls of the young and eager.

I’m Agent Q, and I’ve been embedded here at BSU for two long, grueling years, pretending to be a mild-mannered academic, playing the role of the dedicated professor. But my true mission? To dismantle this behemoth from the inside. To upend the unsustainable pyramid of power that has turned this institution into a factory of broken dreams and meaningless degrees. I’m here to liberate the minds of these students, to give them the education they deserve-not the one they’ve been sold.

The Ivory Tower is Crumbling

The first thing you need to understand is that Beaver State University, like so many other institutions of so-called “higher learning,” is a house of cards. The façade of academic rigor is just that-a façade. Behind the scenes, it’s all about money, power, and the perpetuation of a system that benefits the few at the expense of the many.

They tell you that education is the great equalizer, the key to the American Dream. But what they don’t tell you is that the key is made of cheap tin, and the lock it’s supposed to open is rusted shut. The students here at BSU are drowning in debt, taking on loans they’ll never be able to pay back, all for the promise of a better future that will never materialize.

The administrators, meanwhile, are raking in six-figure salaries, expanding their empires, and padding their resumes for the next big promotion. They’re the real winners in this game, not the students. Not the faculty. Not the community. Just them, the elite few who have learned how to play the system to their advantage.

I’ve seen the memos. I’ve infiltrated the servers. I’ve listened in on the secret meetings where the real decisions are made. They talk about “budget cuts” and “restructuring” like they’re performing some noble act of public service, but it’s all a sham. They’re gutting the university from the inside out, sacrificing academic programs, slashing faculty positions, and increasing class sizes-all in the name of “efficiency.”

Efficiency. What a joke. As if education could be reduced to a set of metrics and financial statements. As if the worth of a degree could be calculated in dollars and cents. But that’s exactly what they’re doing. They’re turning education into a commodity, and the students are the consumers, nothing more.

The Human Toll of Malfeasance

But let’s not forget the real victims in this twisted game. I’m talking about the faculty and staff-those who have dedicated their lives to the education of others, who have poured their blood, sweat, and tears into this institution, only to be tossed aside like yesterday’s trash.

When the axe falls, it doesn’t discriminate. It cuts deep, severing the ties between people and their livelihoods, their sense of purpose, their very survival. I’ve sat across from colleagues-good people, honest people, friends and neighbors -who were given pink slips with no warning, no explanation, just a cold, clinical statement about “budgetary constraints.”

These are people with families, with mortgages, with medical bills. People who have spent decades honing their craft, teaching the next generation, contributing to the intellectual life of this university. And now they’re being thrown out into the cold, with no safety net, no severance, no health insurance.

Imagine that for a moment. Imagine waking up one day to find out that your job-the job you’ve held for years, the job you’ve given your heart and soul to-is gone. No more paycheck. No more benefits. No more security. Just a gaping void where your career used to be, and a stack of bills that isn’t going to pay itself.

And what does the administration say? They mumble something about “difficult decisions” and “unforeseen challenges,” as if that makes it all okay. As if the pain and suffering they’ve inflicted can be brushed aside with a few corporate buzzwords.

But it’s not okay. It’s never okay. These are human beings we’re talking about-human beings whose lives have been upended by the financial malfeasance of those in power. And make no mistake, it is malfeasance. They knew this was coming. They knew the consequences of their actions. But they did it anyway, because they knew they could get away with it.

And the fallout? It’s not just financial. It’s emotional. It’s psychological. When you take away someone’s job, you’re not just taking away their income. You’re taking away their identity, their sense of self-worth, their place in the world. You’re leaving them adrift in a sea of uncertainty, with no land in sight.

Some of these people will never recover. They’ll spiral into depression, into despair, into hopelessness. They’ll lose their homes, their families, their health. They’ll become statistics-just another number in a report, another casualty of the system.

And for what? To save a few bucks? To balance a spreadsheet? To ensure that the administrators can keep their cushy jobs and their bloated salaries? It’s obscene. It’s criminal. And it’s happening right now, right under our noses.

The Guild Strikes Back

But I’m not here just to rant about the state of higher education. No, I’m here to do something about it. The Guild sent me with a mission, and that mission is clear: dismantle the pyramid of power, expose the corruption, and bring this administration to its knees.

It hasn’t been easy. They’ve got their hooks deep into this place. The alumni network, the local politicians, the corporate donors-they’re all in on it. They’ve all got a vested interest in keeping the system going, in maintaining the status quo. But they didn’t count on me.

I’ve spent years building my cover, ingratiating myself with the faculty, gaining their trust, learning the ins and outs of the university. I’ve been biding my time, waiting for the right moment to strike. And that moment is now.

The first step was to gather evidence. I’ve got files-reams of documents that show the extent of the corruption, the backroom deals, the shady contracts. I’ve got recordings of conversations that would make your hair stand on end, where administrators openly discuss how to squeeze every last penny out of the students while giving them as little as possible in return.

The next step was to recruit allies. There are others like me, disillusioned faculty members who see the writing on the wall, who know that the system is broken but feel powerless to change it. I’ve brought them into the fold, given them a purpose, a cause to fight for. We call ourselves the Resistance, and we’re ready to take the fight to the administration.

We’ve started small, planting the seeds of dissent among the student body, organizing protests, writing op-eds, and exposing the lies that have been fed to them for so long. We’ve disrupted board meetings, hacked into the administration’s email servers, and leaked confidential documents to the press. We’re making noise, and people are starting to listen.

But it’s not enough. Not yet. The pyramid is still standing, and if we’re going to bring it down, we need to go bigger. We need to hit them where it hurts-in their wallets, in their reputations, in their precious rankings.

The Final Push

This is where it gets dangerous. The administration knows something is up. They’re tightening security, cracking down on dissent, and launching internal investigations. They’re scared, and they should be. We’re coming for them.

Our plan is simple but audacious. We’re going to expose the entire system for what it is-a scam, a racket, a machine designed to churn out diplomas and dollars without a thought for the actual education of the students. We’re going to make it impossible for them to continue operating as usual.

It starts with a massive data dump. We’ve got terabytes of information-emails, financial records, meeting transcripts-all ready to be released to the public. We’re going to flood the internet with the truth, make it impossible for them to hide.

Next, we’re going to stage a series of coordinated actions-protests, sit-ins, and strikes-that will bring the university to a standstill. The students are ready. They’re angry, they’re frustrated, and they’re fed up with being treated like cash cows. We’re going to channel that anger into something productive, something revolutionary.

And then, when the administration is reeling, when they’re on the ropes, we’re going to hit them with the coup de grâce. We’re going to launch a legal assault that will tie them up in courts for years, expose their corruption, and force them to answer for their crimes.

It’s going to be messy. It’s going to be chaotic. But it’s the only way. The system is too far gone to be reformed. It needs to be torn down, brick by brick, and rebuilt from the ground up.

The Aftermath

I don’t know what will happen when the dust settles. I don’t know if BSU will survive this, or if it will be the first domino to fall in a chain reaction that will topple the entire edifice of higher education in this country. But I do know one thing: this is the fight of our lives, and we can’t afford to lose.

I’ve sacrificed everything for this mission. My career, my reputation, my safety. But it’s worth it. Because this isn’t just about Beaver State University. This is about the future of education, the future of this country, and the future of our children.

They say knowledge is power, but they’ve been hoarding that power for too long, using it to keep us in line, to keep us docile, to keep us complacent. No more. It’s time to take that power back, to put it in the hands of the people, where it belongs.

So here I am, in the heart of the beast, surrounded by enemies, but more determined than ever to see this through. I’m Agent Q, and I’m here to burn this motherfucker to the ground.

For the Guild. For the students. For the future.

The battle has just begun.

[End Transmission.]

Originally published at http://www.gonzotheater.com on August 22, 2024.