Making De Facto into De Jure: It was already all but official anyway (link via the Corner):

Administrators at the nine-campus University of California system are rewriting the institution's 69-year-old academic freedom policy to reflect "the goals of the modern university," which, some officials say, no longer demand dispassionate and disinterested teaching or an arrival at the truth.

There aren't many institutions of higher learning where you'd get much argument on that. (Here's one, by god.)

I studied politics first at a state university, then at a typical liberal (and I mean liberal) arts college. In both the atmosphere was absolutely oppressive, and on occasion I felt that a passing grade relied upon holding a prescribed set of beliefs -- which beliefs would, I inferred, drive one's scholarship in papers. This was most true in classes that featured female professors. Most shameful was that data were virtually ignored (unless, of course, the data supported the correct viewpoint), which created a tyranny of good intentions: I once argued, armed with plenty of statistics, that Johnson's "war on poverty" was an unmitigated failure, created perverse incentives for the poor, and should be scrapped while we figured out what to do. This is not a fringe view, as I'm sure you know -- Pat Moynahan was one of the clearest-eyed critics of this flavor (though I don't think he ever advocated scrapping the programs entirely). I'm about as atheistic and socially liberal as one can get in this country, but the professor still rebuked me as though I was arguing for either some kind of family-values fascism or a starve-the-minorities holocaust ("religious right" and "crypto-racist" were two of the epithets she used). Anyone who ever got the morally self-satisfied shake of the head and sigh from a professor knows what I'm talking about. If you don't agree, you must be evil.

I ended up with a degree in English that, aside from studying Chaucer, was based entirely on making up exaggerated Freudian kaleidoscopic interpretations of various authors' works. The atmosphere was no better, but at least the self-satisfied cretins weren't playing their little parlor games over policies of national importance. In other words, the bullshit was less worth getting upset about. You want 40 pages on on how The Sun Also Rises is Hemingway's unconscious allegory about the impotence of a phallocentric society and the violence implicit in the sex act? No problem.