You recruited me as a lead candidate, a Professor of Anthropology, only to bury me under 150 students with absolutely zero assistance. Even as a teaching assistant at William & Mary, we had three more TAs for a fraction of that load. You didn’t want a scholar; you wanted a mule to carry your departmental weight for free.
Despite your attempts to drain me, I delivered. In a single year, I met and exceeded publication requirements, placing work in top-tier anthropology journals and securing a contract with Harvard University Press. My tenure-track contract was for three years with a guaranteed three-year renewal, yet you terminated it in May 2026—a blatant violation of our legal agreement and a direct assault on my academic merit.
You sent me into the field and abandoned me. You canceled my hotel and my return flights while I was in Lagos, forcing my wife and I to bleed tens of thousands of our personal savings just to finish the research you claimed to sponsor. When I returned, you had the audacity to call my receipts “suspicious” to avoid paying me back. You didn’t just deny me a reimbursement; you effectively stole my family’s survival.
The most egregious betrayal was the weaponization of my livelihood. I was last paid my salary in January 2026. For four months, you withheld the earnings I worked for, creating a financial vacuum that systematically destroyed my life. Because of your refusal to pay me, my family was evicted from Martell drive apartment while I was on fieldwork. We lost our out of state home. We lost our cars. My family, including my two boys are now scattered and scouting for a place to sleep while you sit in your ivory tower tormenting an emerging young scholar.
Under the “leadership” of Scott McGraw, you played games with my laboratory space for months, forcing me to keep $100,000,000 worth of archaeological discoveries in my car. Then, when that car was stolen under your watch while I was on your so-called sponsored fieldwork, you offered nothing but silence. You didn’t just fail me; you systematically dismantled my existence and then tried to distort my academic integrity to cover your tracks.
When the trauma you manufactured landed me in a psych ward, you tried to pathologize my reality as “psychosis” and “schizophrenia” just to justify your maltreatment. You actually tried to frame me—a tenure-track professor—as a “case study for a homeless alien” without my consent. That isn’t academia; it’s a human rights violation.
And then the cowardice: hacking my computer, blocking my login, and whispering to my doctoral student, Mary Otu—who came to work with me specifically on archaeoastronomy—that I was “unavailable” without ever speaking to me. You threw her future into unbalance and tried to sever my legacy because you couldn’t handle my brilliance.
This is not a university that advances; it is one that threatens, steals from, and consumes its own. You are a “poor school” in every sense of the word—bankrupt in ethics, bankrupt in spirit, and bankrupt in dignity.
GOOD RIDDANCE TO BAD RUBBISH.
**OLADELE**
Ola Lasisi 