Three distinguished Yale University professors—historians Timothy Snyder and Marci Shore, along with philosopher Jason Stanley—have announced that they will begin teaching at the University of Toronto in autumn 2025. The news, reported by Yale Daily News on 27 March 2025, marks more than just a change of workplace.
They are leaving not just one of America’s most prestigious academic institutions, but a country growing ever more consumed by political unrest. According to the scholars, their decision is driven by escalating threats to academic freedom and political pressure under Donald Trump’s administration.
For Stanley, a pivotal moment came when Columbia University responded to government threats of deportations, funding cuts, and direct political demands. Under pressure, the university agreed to external oversight and revised its protest policies. For Stanley, and for his colleagues, this was a clear sign that universities were no longer willing to openly defend their autonomy, opting instead for “quiet loyalty” as a way of self-preservation. Moreover, this story goes beyond a career move or personal circumstances. It speaks to a deeper crisis—the growing erosion of trust in institutions as places of moral responsibility. A university is not just a degree factory or research hub.
University is more than an educational service or a hub of scientific inquiry; it is where a society learns to reflect on itself, affirm its values, and shape its public conscience. When those who embody that conscience feel compelled to leave their country to preserve their integrity, it is no longer just a personal choice—it is a cultural loss.
These names are well known in Ukraine. Timothy Snyder was one of the first Western intellectuals to give the world the language to understand both the tragedy and dignity of Ukrainian history. His books Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin (2010) and The Road to Unfreedom: Russia, Europe, America (2018), along with his public lectures, interviews, and video essays, became a moral anchor for many at a time when Europe had yet to take a firm stand. He did not just write about Ukraine—he listened to Ukrainians and helped others hear them too.
Marci Shore, a historian of Eastern Europe and professor of intellectual history, brings a keen awareness of the existential weight of events. In The Ukrainian Night: An Intimate History of Revolution (2018), she portrayed the Maidan not as a crisis but as a moment of awakening—a turning point for human freedom and truth. Her writing carries pain, but even more so, a deep respect for the profound transformation of a society that chose to live without lies. Alongside Snyder, she helped carve out a space where Ukrainian history became part of a global conversation on freedom, memory, and responsibility.
Jason Stanley, author of the sharp and unsettling How Fascism Works (2018), doesn’t just analyse authoritarianism—he shows how philosophy can be a weapon in the fight for democracy. In 2024, he taught in Kyiv, standing with Ukrainians on the intellectual front. While in Ukraine, he spoke to Ukraïner about his research into the links between colonialism and fascism, as well as his forthcoming book, Erasing History, in which Ukraine and Russia take centre stage. He stressed that his time teaching in Ukraine and engaging with Ukrainian scholars had profoundly shaped his ideas for the book.
Beyond academia, Stanley put his solidarity into action. During Russia’s war, he donated $20,000 to the Come Back Alive foundation, standing with Ukrainians in their fight for freedom and independence.
The trio of intellectuals at Yale were not just knowledge bearers, but a moral force of resistance. Their departure serves as a damning indictment of a system that can no longer guarantee the protection of free thought. Even more troubling is the silence from other universities, their readiness to “stay out of trouble” by compromising with those in power. As Stanley pointed out, this is a strategy of surrender. He criticised Columbia University’s response to political pressure, arguing that its capitulation and efforts to “work behind the scenes” to avoid becoming a target were misguided. He emphasised that universities must stand united, for “an attack on one university is an attack on all universities.”
For Ukrainians, their departure from Yale—one of the Ivy League’s most prestigious institutions—is a significant loss of vital allies in the American intellectual sphere. And allies they truly were. In the United States, knowledge of Ukraine remains fragmented, superficial, or often reduced to broad categories like the “post-Soviet space” or “Russia’s sphere of influence.” Ukrainian studies rarely exist as a distinct academic field; Ukraine itself is often relegated to a secondary subject within Russian or Eastern European studies.
This is exactly why the contributions of Snyder, Shore, and Stanley were so exceptional. They didn’t just include Ukraine in their work—they approached it with real depth, ethical sensitivity, and without the usual geopolitical bias. Their efforts brought Ukraine into the spotlight, making it visible to students, scholars, and the wider public.
But this story isn’t just about American universities or intellectuals moving to a new country. It raises bigger questions about the state of democracy itself. It’s not just about a few acts of censorship or political pressure—it’s about the growing space where free thought is being pushed out, with fear starting to shape what’s considered acceptable in academic life.
For us Ukrainians, this is all too familiar. We know how quickly things that once felt untouchable—freedom, dignity, the right to speak your truth—can be threatened. That’s why we can’t just brush this off as an American problem. It’s a wake-up call for anyone who still believes education should be about more than just passing on knowledge—it should also be about building moral courage and solidarity.
Comparisons with 1930s Germany are always unsettling and should be approached with care. But they’re hard to avoid when watching universities—the very institutions meant to nurture critical thinking and moral resistance—begin to retreat under pressure, turning to self-censorship and uneasy compromises. In the Third Reich, most academic institutions chose silence. And that silence was far from neutral—it effectively legitimised the regime. History doesn’t repeat itself exactly, but its rhythms are unmistakable.
We must remember this history—not just because scholars like Snyder and Shore have explored it in depth, but because today, on both sides of the Atlantic, it is becoming alarmingly relevant once again.
