For the first time in its history, the University of Massachusetts-Amherst has rescinded an honorary degree, the one awarded in 1986 to Robert Mugabe, the President of Zimbabwe. According to The Boston Globe, the chairman of the Massachusetts house’s Joint Committee on Higher Education, Kevin J. Murphy, had urged UMass “to take the step in light of escalating state-sponsored violence.” He went on to say that “he did not blame the university for the initial decision to honor Mugabe,” saying at the same time he “appeared to represent the hope of a self-determined Africa.” Times change, people change — in this case, not for the better.

In 1959 I traveled to Cuba representing Columbia University, as part of a student delegation invited to attend the official ceremonies commemorating the reopening of the University of Havana. The United States government paid my way, indirectly, by surreptitiously funneling money to the National Student Association, the direct sponsor of my trip. At the time neither I, nor my “fellow travelers,” had knowledge of the CIA’s involvement with the group (Ramparts broke the story in 1967).

One evening during our Cuban adventure a few of us had a midnight supper in the Hotel Nacional with Fidel Castro and Che Guevara. It was heady stuff for a small group of twenty year olds. We were student leaders of our respective colleges and we were there to “witness” the “liberation” of Cuba’s flagship university, which had been closed several years earlier by the dictator Fulgencio Batista. Looking back on it, I confess to strong memories, rich in a sense of history and personal excitement, but the Cuban revolutionary the U.S. once embraced is no longer a favorite son, having fallen from favor 40 years ago.

During my tenure, GW once awarded a head of state with the university medal, only to watch years later as Roh Tae-Woo was arrested in his home country and sent to prison for corruption. He was an honorable man one day and dishonored the next. Since the early days of President Syngman Rhee, who earned his GW degree, hundreds of Korean countrymen have attended GW; the alums were ebullient when their president wore his regalia and shamed when the handcuffs were put on his wrists.

During the recent Democratic primary campaign, Northwestern University withdrew its offer to Reverend Wright to come to campus and be celebrated at commencement. Some students were pleased at the decision, while others were less so. Implied racism on Wright’s part got the invitation rescinded, and implied racism on the part of the university is what troubled some students.

Honors cut two ways: The university’s prestige puts a halo on an individual; and the individual brings distinction and attention to the university. In the case of UMass-Amherst, the 1986 honorary degree was awarded in part because Mugabe had “laid the foundation for racial harmony between blacks and whites.” Initially, he represented virtue, but soon after began to rule his country with ruthless brutality. The symbolism of rescinding a degree will undoubtedly gain more attention on campus than in Zimbabwe. Nevertheless, symbolism is important. After all, the awarding of the initial degree was itself a symbolic act.

So what should an institution do in a case like this? Let’s give all the players the benefit of the doubt and say that 20-plus years ago UMass wanted to demonstrate the turning of the political tide in Africa by awarding a rising leader with a bit of prestige. And let’s say that in the 1980s actually Mugabe wanted to do some good for his country. At that time, the two parties were in sync. But now, things have dramatically changed and UMass no longer wishes to be associated with someone as disreputable as Mugabe. The university is casting a vote of no confidence.

Perhaps we should restrain ourselves from giving honorary degrees to the quick. If we limit awards to the dead we might mitigate the chance of selecting mischief-makers. And we have available an almost limitless universe of candidates. Let’s begin with Abraham.