I was in my early thirties, in my second year of a master’s program in Morocco, standing in front of a classroom giving a group presentation. I’d done this hundreds of times before. Other professors had praised my communication skills, my presentation abilities, how clearly I explained complex ideas.

But this professor was different.

The impossible assignment

The class was supposed to be social psychology, but it was really just random topics about workplace communication and organizational psychology. Our group got assigned a presentation topic that was absurdly specific: analyze a fictional company and explain how its information systems affect the quality of life of its employees.

The three of us split the work and dove into research. It was 2021, so no AI tools to help. Just us, digging through academic sources, trying to find anything relevant to this impossibly narrow topic. We found very little, but we made it work. We put together what we thought was a decent PowerPoint presentation given the circumstances.

The day came to present. We alternated slides, taking turns explaining our sections.

The moment, with a capital M

I was presenting my part. Speaking normally, no stuttering, no hesitation. Just doing what I’d done countless times before in other classes.

Then he interrupted me, insulted my work, and said:“Regardez-la, elle ne sait même pas parler !”

Translation: “Look at her. She doesn’t even know how to speak!”

He said it out loud. To the entire class. Right in front of me.

I stood there, completely taken aback. My brain just stopped. Like someone hit pause on “brain.exe” and nothing was processing anymore. I wanted to punch him in the face. Not because he’d constructively criticized my work, but because he’d straight-up insulted me. In front of everyone.

He didn’t stop there. He dismissed our entire presentation, told us to sit down, and launched into a pointless lecture about how to make presentations and communicate properly.

The class sat in silence. No one said anything. No one defended us. But that’s because no one could. This professor terrorized everyone.

The context that made it worse

Let me explain something about the Moroccan education system. From primary school through high school, the main language of instruction is Arabic, but we also study French. By the time you reach higher education, the language of instruction switches entirely to French. Every single subject is taught in French.

I’d been comfortable speaking French since middle school. Over the years, through education and natural use, my level kept improving until I reached C2 without even trying. That’s near-native fluency.

I was in my early thirties. Not some inexperienced student fumbling through their first presentation. I’d been doing this for years.

And this was initially supposed to be a class about social psychology and the communication part that comes with it. The irony of a communication professor publicly humiliating a student for “not knowing how to speak” wasn’t lost on me.

But in that moment, I couldn’t say any of that. I couldn’t defend myself. Because defending yourself with this professor meant punishment: a lower grade or being told you weren’t allowed in his class anymore. He had all the power, and we all knew it.

The professor everyone hated

This wasn’t a one-time thing. Previous cohorts hated him too. He was impossible to please. No matter what you did, how hard you worked, how well you prepared, he’d find something to criticize. Not constructive feedback. Just criticism for the sake of tearing you down and making himself look superior.

He was rotten to the core. The kind of person who gets off on having power over students who can’t fight back.

Our group had put tremendous effort into that presentation. We’d worked with an impossible topic and almost no available research. We’d done our best with what we had. And he dismissed all of it in one humiliating moment.

What happened after

I went back to my seat. The presentation was over. Our collective effort, including mine, just went to waste.

But the worst part? The doubt that crept in afterward.

I started second-guessing myself. Was he right? Did I really not know how to speak properly? I even went to some classmates later and asked them if they thought what he said was true.

They all told me he was wrong. That I’d done fine. That he was just being an asshole.

Maybe they were just being nice. But I kept replaying all the times other professors had praised my work, my presentations, my communication skills. I knew, logically, that he was full of shit.

But it still messed with my head. That’s what humiliation does. Even when you know the person is wrong, their words can stick with you for a while before you get over them.

It didn’t end there

Months later, I was preparing for my master’s thesis defense. I had three committee members assigned. He wasn’t one of them.

Then, days before the defense, I got notified: he’d stepped up as a committee member. Last minute. He inserted himself into my thesis defense.

I lost it. I cried. I yelled “why is this happening to me?” at home while I was supposed to be preparing. I genuinely thought I was going to fail my master’s because of him. He’d already made it clear he had it out for me. Now he had the power to tank my entire degree.

The day of the defense came. The other two committee members were professional. They asked rational questions about the content of my thesis, engaged with my research, gave constructive feedback. One of them even told me something I’ll never forget: “I ran your thesis through the anti-plagiarism system and it came back clean. You really put in the hard work.”

That meant everything to me. I’d produced the best academic work of my entire life. I’d always taken academic integrity very seriously.

But that professor? He kept interrupting me. Not about my research. Not about my methodology or findings. He went on and on about how I needed to communicate my insights and pronounce words better.

I had a C2 level in French. I’d passed the TCF (Test de Connaissance du Français) with flying colors, including a perfect score in speaking. And this man was telling me to work on my speaking skills.

Then he criticized me for being “scotchée près de mon PC” – glued to my computer. I was presenting my thesis. I needed to advance the slides. I didn’t have a remote control. What was I supposed to do?

He made it his mission to make my life more difficult than it already was as a mature student. The group presentation wasn’t a one-time thing. It was a pattern.

No redemption arc here

I wish I could say I stood up for myself. That I told him off in some assertive, dignified way that put him in his place. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. The power dynamic made that impossible.

Looking back now, maybe I would have defended myself regardless of the consequences. Spoken up assertively without stooping to his level of disrespect. But in those moments, I was paralyzed. Angry, humiliated, and powerless.

There’s no satisfying ending to this story. No moment where I got revenge or proved him wrong or learned some valuable lesson that made it all worth it.

Some people are just rotten to the core. No matter how hard you work, how respectful you are, how well you actually speak, they’ll find a way to tear you down. And when they have power over you, sometimes all you can do is take it and move on.

That’s what I did. I took it, I moved on, and I never forgot it.

Featured image courtesy of Unsplash.