Donald Trump's 9-Year War Against US Education

Since his emergence on the national political stage, Donald Trump has been a polarizing figure, bringing his brand of combative rhetoric and controversial policies to every corner of American society. One of the key arenas where his influence has been felt the most is in the realm of education. From 2016 to 2025, Trump’s war on education has manifested through a series of legislative actions, executive orders, and cultural provocations that aimed to reshape the American education system. These efforts have targeted everything from public schools to higher education institutions, and even the very curriculum taught to students.

The Deconstruction of Public Education

At the heart of Trump’s vision for education was the dismantling of traditional public schooling. During his first term as president, Trump and his allies sought to undermine the very foundation of public education by promoting privatization and school choice initiatives. His administration pushed for expanded funding for charter schools and private school vouchers, which would allow families to use public funds to pay for private education.

This movement gained momentum in 2017 when Betsy DeVos, a staunch advocate for school privatization, was appointed as Secretary of Education. Under her leadership, the Department of Education rolled back Obama-era regulations designed to protect students and promote equitable access to education. Critics argued that DeVos’s policies favored wealthy families and private institutions while leaving public schools underfunded and underserved, particularly in marginalized communities.

The Attack on College Campuses

Trump’s war on education wasn’t confined to K-12 schooling. Higher education was also a major battleground during his presidency and beyond. In his first few years in office, Trump took aim at what he saw as the liberal indoctrination of students on college campuses. His rhetoric about “political correctness” and “safe spaces” served as a rallying cry for conservative students and faculty, but also sparked fierce resistance from progressives and academics who felt that free speech and intellectual diversity were under threat.

Trump’s administration took several steps to curb what he described as “left-wing bias” in higher education. In 2019, he signed an executive order that threatened to withhold federal funding from universities that did not protect free speech, a move that critics viewed as a political stunt to rally his base. The Trump administration also rolled back protections for marginalized groups, including Title IX protections for transgender students, and shifted the Department of Education’s focus away from investigating discrimination and harassment cases in favor of addressing “free speech” concerns.

Curricular Controversies and Cultural Wars

The Trump era also saw an escalation of the culture wars, particularly with regard to the curriculum being taught in schools. Trump and his allies began to target lessons related to race, gender, and American history, framing them as divisive or unpatriotic. In 2020, following the Black Lives Matter protests, Trump launched the 1776 Commission, a response to what he viewed as a growing movement to “rewrite” American history. The commission’s purpose was to promote a more “patriotic” curriculum that would emphasize the positive aspects of American history, while downplaying the country’s legacy of slavery and racial inequality.

In the following years, many states, particularly those led by Republican governors, passed laws banning the teaching of critical race theory (CRT) in public schools. These laws prohibited the teaching of concepts that might make students “uncomfortable” about America’s history of racism, and further entrenched the ideological divide over how history and social issues should be taught in the classroom. Trump’s rhetoric and policies had a direct impact on how schools and teachers navigated the increasingly charged political atmosphere.

The COVID-19 Pandemic and Its Impact on Education

Perhaps the most dramatic intersection of Trump’s policies and education came during the COVID-19 pandemic. Trump consistently downplayed the severity of the virus and pushed for schools to reopen quickly, even as the pandemic raged across the nation. His administration provided little federal guidance or support for school districts struggling with the challenges of online learning and public health concerns. Trump’s insistence that schools should be open for in-person instruction became a point of contention, with many educators and parents concerned about the safety of students and staff.

While some states followed Trump’s call to reopen schools, others, especially in blue states, opted to remain virtual or implement hybrid models. This divide further exacerbated the political polarization over education, with Trump framing the debate as a fight between “freedom” and “control,” while critics argued that his policies endangered public health and undermined the long-term well-being of students.

Legacy of Division and Reshaping Education

As Trump’s presidency drew to a close, it became clear that his approach to education had left a lasting impact on the country. His administration’s policies had deepened the divisions between public and private schooling, amplified cultural and political debates about what students should learn, and exacerbated existing inequalities in the education system.

In 2024, as Trump continued to remain a significant force in American politics, the ideological battle over education remained unresolved. His push for school choice and privatization, along with his ongoing influence on local education policy, suggested that the “war on education” was far from over. States across the country continued to grapple with issues such as curriculum control, free speech on college campuses, and the role of government in funding education.

Dismantling the U.S. Department of Education

As Trump’s influence stretched into the second half of the decade, the war on education reached a dramatic new phase. In 2025, following his return to office, Trump signed an executive order that effectively began the process of dismantling the U.S. Department of Education. This move came as part of a larger effort to reduce the role of the federal government in everyday life, echoing Trump’s long-standing rhetoric of decentralization and states’ rights.

The department’s responsibilities were reassigned to various state agencies, with a strong emphasis on allowing individual states to shape their own educational policies without federal interference. This was seen by Trump as a victory for conservatives who had long criticized federal education policies for being too one-size-fits-all. Critics, however, argued that this dismantling of the department could lead to a patchwork of educational standards across the country, further entrenching inequalities in access to quality education.

Furthermore, the reduction in federal oversight had significant implications for funding, student protections, and the enforcement of civil rights in education. Many feared that without the Department of Education’s regulatory power, vulnerable students, including those from low-income backgrounds and marginalized communities, would suffer from a lack of protections and resources.

Cuts to Science and Research Funding

Trump’s policies also have had a significant impact on scientific research at major universities, with institutions like Johns Hopkins University and the University of Pennsylvania (Penn) facing severe cuts to critical research funding. Johns Hopkins University, one of the largest recipients of National Institutes of Health (NIH) grants, announced plans to eliminate over 2,000 positions in response to federal cuts, potentially losing over $100 million in research funding. This reduction in federal support, especially for scientific research, had major consequences for ongoing studies, from medical advancements to climate change research, affecting the broader academic community.

Meanwhile, the University of Pennsylvania also experienced significant financial strain due to cuts in federal contracts, which impacted their research funding and innovation. The Trump administration's cuts to science funding across the board resulted in a stifling of some of the nation’s top research institutions, creating ripple effects throughout the entire academic and scientific community. The loss of funding for groundbreaking research projects at these prestigious institutions further strained the ability of scientists to pursue critical work in fields such as public health, climate change, and cancer research.

Victory Against Columbia University

One of the most high-profile actions taken in the final phase of Trump’s war on education was his administration's attack on elite institutions, particularly Columbia University. As one of the most prestigious Ivy League schools in the U.S., Columbia had become a target for Trump’s criticisms of what he perceived as liberal bias on college campuses.

In 2025, Trump and his allies escalated their campaign against universities, particularly those with strong liberal reputations. Columbia was singled out due to its left-leaning faculty and student body, as well as its vocal support for progressive policies related to climate change, racial justice, and gender equality. The Trump administration levied significant threats of withdrawing federal funding from the university unless it adhered to a more conservative curriculum. Additionally, Trump’s education policy advisers launched investigations into the institution’s handling of free speech issues, particularly in relation to controversial speakers and protests on campus.

By March 2025, Columbia faced a stark financial crisis after losing $400 million in federal funding for its failure to address antisemitism on campus. The administration warned 60 other institutions about similar consequences unless they ensured the safety of Jewish students. In its eventual capitulation to the Trump Administration, Columbia allowed student activist Mahmoud Khalil to be arrested and sent to a detention facility in Louisiana. The decision further fueled national debates about the balance between free speech and university autonomy.

Education as the Frontline in America’s Cultural Battle

Looking back at Trump’s influence on education between 2016 and 2025, it’s clear that the battle over how America educates its children and young adults became a focal point for larger cultural, political, and ideological conflicts. Trump’s legacy in education is defined by attempts to reshape the system in his image—whether through pushing for privatization, engaging in culture wars over curriculum, or sowing division over the future of public education. The ultimate impact of his policies will continue to reverberate for years to come, shaping not just the educational landscape, but the future of American society itself.

The Dark Legacy of Elite University Medical Centers

 

(Image: Mass General is Harvard University Medical School's teaching hospital.)  

 

For decades, America’s elite university medical centers have been the epitome of healthcare research and innovation, providing world-class treatment, education, and cutting-edge medical advancements. Yet, beneath this polished surface lies a troubling legacy of medical exploitation, systemic inequality, and profound injustice—one that disproportionately impacts marginalized communities. While the focus has often been on racial disparities, this issue is not solely about race; it is also deeply entangled with class. In recent years, books like Medical Apartheid by Harriet Washington have illuminated the history of medical abuse, but they also serve as a reminder that inequality in healthcare goes far beyond race and touches upon the economic and social circumstances of individuals.

The term Medical Apartheid, as coined by Harriet Washington, refers to the systemic and institutionalized exploitation of Black Americans in medical research and healthcare. Washington’s work examines the history of Black Americans as both victims of medical experimentation and subjects of discriminatory practices that have left deep scars within the healthcare system. Yet, the complex interplay between race and class means that many poor or economically disadvantaged individuals, regardless of race, have also faced neglect and exploitation within these prestigious medical institutions. The legacy of inequality within elite university medical centers, therefore, is not limited to race but is also an issue of class disparity, where wealthier individuals are more likely to receive proper care and access to cutting-edge treatments while the poor are relegated to substandard care.

Historical examples of exploitation and abuse in medical centers are well-documented in Washington's work, and contemporary lawsuits and investigations reveal that these systemic problems still persist. Poor patients, especially those from marginalized racial backgrounds, are often viewed as expendable research subjects. The lawsuit underscores the intersectionality of race and class, arguing that these patients’ socio-economic status exacerbates their vulnerability to medical exploitation, making it easier for institutions to treat them as less than human, especially when they lack the resources or power to contest medical practices.

One of the most critical components of this issue is the stark contrast in healthcare access between the wealthy and the poor. While elite university medical centers boast state-of-the-art facilities, cutting-edge treatments, and renowned researchers, these resources are often not equally accessible to all. Wealthier patients are more likely to have the financial means to receive the best care, not just because of their ability to pay but because they are more likely to be referred to these prestigious centers. Conversely, low-income patients, especially those without insurance or with inadequate insurance, are often forced into overcrowded public hospitals or community clinics that are underfunded, understaffed, and unable to provide the level of care available at elite institutions.

The issue of class inequality within medical care is evident in several key areas. For instance, studies have shown that low-income patients, regardless of race, are less likely to receive timely and appropriate medical care. A 2019 report from the National Academy of Medicine found that low-income patients are often dismissed by healthcare professionals who underestimate the severity of their symptoms or assume they are less knowledgeable about their own health. In addition, patients from lower socio-economic backgrounds are more likely to experience medical debt, which can lead to long-term financial struggles and prevent them from seeking care in the future.

Moreover, class plays a significant role in the underrepresentation of poor individuals in medical research, which is often conducted at elite university medical centers. Historically, clinical trials have excluded low-income participants, leaving them without access to potentially life-saving treatments or advancements. Wealthier individuals, on the other hand, are more likely to be invited to participate in research studies, ensuring they benefit from the very innovations and breakthroughs that these institutions claim to provide.

Class-based disparities are also reflected in the inequities in medical professions. The road to becoming a physician or researcher in these elite institutions is often paved with significant economic barriers. Medical students from low-income backgrounds face steep financial challenges, which can hinder their ability to gain acceptance into prestigious medical schools or pursue advanced research opportunities. Even when low-income students do manage to enter these programs, they often face biases and discrimination in clinical settings, where their abilities are unfairly questioned, and their economic status may prevent them from fully participating in research or other educational opportunities.

Yet, the inequities within these institutions don’t stop at the patients. Behind the scenes, workers at elite university medical centers, particularly those from working-class and marginalized backgrounds, face their own form of exploitation. These medical centers are not only spaces of high medical achievement but also sites of labor stratification, where workers in lower-paying roles are largely people of color and often immigrants. Support staff—such as janitors, food service workers, custodians, and administrative assistants—are often invisible but essential to the functioning of these hospitals and research institutions. These workers face long hours, poor working conditions, and low wages, all while contributing to the daily operations of elite medical centers. Many of these workers, employed through third-party contractors, lack benefits, job security, or protections, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation.

Custodial workers, who are often exposed to hazardous chemicals and physically demanding work, may struggle to make ends meet, despite playing a crucial role in maintaining the hospital environment. Similarly, food service workers—many of whom are Black, Latinx, or immigrant—also work in demanding conditions for low wages. These workers frequently face job insecurity and are not given the same recognition or compensation as the high-ranking physicians, researchers, or administrators in these centers.

At the same time, the stratification in these institutions extends beyond support staff. Medical researchers, residents, and postdoctoral fellows—often young, early-career individuals, many from working-class backgrounds or communities of color—are similarly subjected to precarious working conditions. These individuals perform much of the vital research that drives innovation at these centers, yet they often face exploitative working hours, low pay, and job insecurity. They are the backbone of the institution’s research output but frequently face barriers to advancement and recognition.

The higher ranks of these institutions—senior doctors, professors, and researchers—enjoy financial rewards, job security, and prestige, while those at the lower rungs continue to experience instability and exploitation. This division, which mirrors the economic and racial hierarchies of broader society, reinforces the very class-based inequalities these medical centers are meant to address.

In recent years, some progress has been made in addressing these inequalities. Many elite universities have implemented diversity and inclusion programs aimed at increasing access for underrepresented minority and low-income students in medical schools. Some institutions have also begun to emphasize the importance of cultural competence in training medical professionals, acknowledging the need to recognize and understand both racial and economic disparities in healthcare.

However, critics argue that these efforts, while important, are often superficial and fail to address the root causes of inequality. The institutional focus on "diversity" and "inclusion" often overlooks the more significant structural issues, such as the affordability of education, the class-based access to healthcare, and the economic barriers that continue to undermine the ability of disadvantaged individuals to receive quality care.

In addition to acknowledging racial inequality, it is crucial to tackle the broader issue of class within the healthcare system. The disproportionate number of Black and low-income individuals suffering from poor healthcare outcomes is a direct result of a system that privileges wealth and status over human dignity. To begin addressing these issues, we need to move beyond token diversity initiatives and work toward policy reforms that focus on economic access, insurance coverage, and the equitable distribution of medical resources.

Scholars like Harriet Washington, whose work documents the intersection of race, class, and healthcare inequality, continue to play a pivotal role in bringing attention to these systemic injustices. Washington’s book Medical Apartheid serves as a historical record but also as a call to action for creating a healthcare system that genuinely serves all people, regardless of race or socio-economic status. The fight for healthcare equity must, therefore, be a dual one—against both racial and class-based disparities that have long plagued our medical institutions.

The story of Henrietta Lacks, as told in The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot, exemplifies the longstanding exploitation of marginalized individuals in elite university medical centers. The case of Lacks, whose cells were taken without consent by researchers at Johns Hopkins University, brings to light both the historical abuse of Black bodies and the profit-driven nature of academic medical research. Johns Hopkins, one of the most prestigious medical centers in the world, has been complicit in the kind of exploitation and neglect that these institutions are often criticized for—issues that disproportionately affect not only Black Americans but also economically disadvantaged individuals.

The Black Panther Party’s healthcare activism, as chronicled by Alondra Nelson in Body and Soul, also directly challenges elite medical institutions’ failure to provide adequate care for Black and low-income communities. Nelson’s work reflects how, even today, these institutions are often slow to address the systemic issues of health disparities that activists like the Panthers fought against.

Recent lawsuits against elite medical centers further underscore the importance of holding these institutions accountable for their role in perpetuating medical exploitation and inequality. In An American Sickness by Elisabeth Rosenthal, the commercialization of healthcare is explored, highlighting how university hospitals and medical centers often prioritize profits over patient care, leaving low-income and marginalized groups with limited access to treatment. Rosenthal’s work highlights the role these institutions play in a larger system that disproportionately benefits wealthier patients while neglecting the most vulnerable.

A Global Comparison: Countries with Better Health Outcomes

While the United States struggles with systemic healthcare disparities, other nations have shown that equitable healthcare outcomes are possible when class and race are not barriers to care. Nations with universal healthcare systems, such as those in Canada, the United Kingdom, and many Scandinavian countries, consistently rank higher in overall health outcomes compared to the U.S.

For instance, Canada’s single-payer system ensures that all citizens have access to healthcare, regardless of their income. This system reduces the financial burdens that often lead to delays in care or avoidance of treatment due to costs. According to the World Health Organization, Canada has better health outcomes on a variety of metrics, including life expectancy and infant mortality, compared to the U.S., where medical costs often lead to unequal access to care.

Similarly, the United Kingdom’s National Health Service (NHS) provides healthcare free at the point of use for all citizens. Despite challenges such as funding constraints and wait times, the NHS has been successful in ensuring that healthcare is a right, not a privilege. The U.K. consistently ranks higher than the U.S. in terms of access to care, health outcomes, and overall public health.

Nordic countries, such as Norway and Sweden, also exemplify how universal healthcare can lead to better outcomes. These countries invest heavily in public health and preventative care, ensuring that even their most marginalized citizens receive the necessary medical services. The result is a population with some of the highest life expectancies and lowest rates of chronic diseases in the world.

These nations show that, while access to healthcare is a critical issue in the U.S., the challenge is not a lack of innovation or capability. Instead, it is the systemic barriers—both racial and economic—that persist in elite medical centers, undermining the potential for universal health equity. The U.S. could learn from these nations by adopting policies that reduce economic inequality in healthcare access and focusing on preventative care and public health strategies that serve all people equally.

Ultimately, the dark legacy of elite university medical centers is not something that can be erased, but it is something that must be acknowledged. Only by confronting this painful history, alongside addressing class-based disparities, can we begin to build a more just and equitable healthcare system—one that serves everyone, regardless of race, background, or socio-economic status. Until this happens, the distrust and skepticism that many marginalized communities feel toward these institutions will continue to shape the landscape of American healthcare. The path forward requires a concerted effort to address both racial and class-based inequities that have defined these institutions for far too long. The U.S. can, and must, strive for healthcare outcomes akin to those seen in nations that have built systems prioritizing equity and fairness—systems that put human dignity over profit.

US Department of Education accuses 60 universities of antisemitism. Here's the list of those publicly threatened.

U.S. Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights Sends Letters to 60 Universities Under Investigation for Antisemitic Discrimination and Harassment

Letters warn of potential enforcement actions if institutions do not fulfill their obligations under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act to protect Jewish students on campus.

March 10, 2025 

WASHINGTON – Today, the U.S. Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights (OCR) sent letters to 60 institutions of higher education warning them of potential enforcement actions if they do not fulfill their obligations under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act to protect Jewish students on campus, including uninterrupted access to campus facilities and educational opportunities. The letters are addressed to all U.S. universities that are presently under investigation for Title VI violations relating to antisemitic harassment and discrimination. 

“The Department is deeply disappointed that Jewish students studying on elite U.S. campuses continue to fear for their safety amid the relentless antisemitic eruptions that have severely disrupted campus life for more than a year. University leaders must do better,” said Secretary of Education Linda McMahon. “U.S. colleges and universities benefit from enormous public investments funded by U.S. taxpayers. That support is a privilege and it is contingent on scrupulous adherence to federal antidiscrimination laws.”  

The schools that received letters from the Office for Civil Rights include:  

1. American University 
2. Arizona State University 
3. Boston University 
4. Brown University 
5. California State University, Sacramento 
6. Chapman University 
7. Columbia University 
8. Cornell University 
9. Drexel University 
10. Eastern Washington University 
11. Emerson College 
12. George Mason University 
13. Harvard University 
14. Illinois Wesleyan University 
15. Indiana University, Bloomington 
16. Johns Hopkins University 
17. Lafayette College 
18. Lehigh University 
19. Middlebury College 
20. Muhlenberg College 
21. Northwestern University 
22. Ohio State University 
23. Pacific Lutheran University     
24. Pomona College 
25. Portland State University 
26. Princeton University 
27. Rutgers University 
28. Rutgers University-Newark
29. Santa Monica College 
30. Sarah Lawrence College 
31. Stanford University 
32. State University of New York Binghamton 
33. State University of New York Rockland 
34. State University of New York, Purchase 
35. Swarthmore College 
36. Temple University 
37. The New School 
38. Tufts University 
39. Tulane University 
40. Union College 
41. University of California Davis 
42. University of California San Diego 
43. University of California Santa Barbara 
44. University of California, Berkeley
45. University of Cincinnati 
46. University of Hawaii at Manoa 
47. University of Massachusetts Amherst 
48. University of Michigan 
49. University of Minnesota, Twin Cities 
50. University of North Carolina 
51. University of South Florida 
52. University of Southern California 
53. University of Tampa 
54. University of Tennessee 
55. University of Virginia 
56. University of Washington-Seattle 
57. University of Wisconsin, Madison 
58. Wellesley College 
59. Whitman College 
60. Yale University 

Background: 

The Department’s OCR sent these letters under its authority to enforce Title VI of the Civil Rights Act (1964), which prohibits any institution that receives federal funds from discriminating on the basis of race, color, and national origin. National origin includes shared (Jewish) ancestry. 

Pursuant to Title VI and in furtherance of President Trump’s Executive Order “Additional Measures to Combat Antisemitism,” the Department launched directed investigations into five universities where widespread antisemitic harassment has been reported. The 55 additional universities are under investigation or monitoring in response to complaints filed with OCR. Last week, the Department, alongside fellow members of the Joint Task Force to Combat Antisemitism including the Department of Justice, the Department of Health and Human Services, and the U.S. General Services Administration, announced the immediate cancelation of $400 million in federal grants and contracts to Columbia University due to the school’s continued inaction to protect Jewish students from discrimination. Last Friday, OCR directed its enforcement staff to make resolving the backlog of complaints alleging antisemitic violence and harassment, many which were allowed to languish unresolved under the previous administration, an immediate priority.

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HEI Continuing Investigations Include SEC FOIA Requests

The Higher Education Inquirer has recently sent Freedom of Information (FOIA) requests to the US Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) regarding two edtech companies, 2U and Ambow Education.  In both cases, we have requested the number of SEC complaints lodged against these corporations.  

2U has dealt with a number of shareholder lawsuits, starting in 2019. In 2024, the online program manager for elite universities went through Chapter 11 bankruptcy and was delisted by the NASDAQ.  The FOIA is 25-01645. We are requesting a count of the number of complaints made against 2U since 2016.

Ambow Education has also had financial problems over the years and we have documented some of these problems since 2022.  One of its two US schools, Bay State College, was closed in 2023.  The FOIA is 25-01633. We are requesting a count of the number of complaints made against Ambow since 2010.

Elite University Presidents: Most Hated Men (and Women) on Campus

In prestigious universities across the country, the figurehead of the institution—the president—has become a symbol of frustration and resentment among students, faculty, and staff. These figures, often once revered as academic leaders, are increasingly viewed as little more than corporate CEOs, prioritizing the interests of wealthy trustees and donors over the very people who make the university what it is: the students and the dedicated faculty and staff who carry out its mission.

At the heart of the growing discontent is the trend of university presidents restricting freedom of speech and assembly, stifling student activism, and limiting open debate in the name of "campus safety" or "institutional stability." Instead of acting as advocates for open discourse, many university presidents have aligned themselves with powerful corporate interests, turning their backs on the very values that once defined higher education. The administration's agenda is often dictated by the whims of major donors, whose influence can shape everything from university policy to the hiring and firing of professors.

The University of Chicago, long a beacon of academic freedom, has seen its leadership take a hard turn in recent years, placing increasing restrictions on student demonstrations and dissent. Under the guise of maintaining "campus order," the administration has been known to deploy private security to break up protests and limit public forums for free speech.

Harvard University, with its enormous endowment and prestigious reputation, has become another example of an institution where the president seems more concerned with appeasing donors than listening to the students and faculty. The administration has been criticized for prioritizing relationships with donors over addressing the deepening student debt crisis and growing concerns about inequality in higher education. The university has faced a wave of student-led protests demanding action on climate change, affordable tuition, and the rights of adjunct faculty, all of which were largely ignored or dismissed by the top administration.

Harvard’s massive endowment—reportedly the largest of any university in the world—has been a focal point of controversy. While it continues to grow, many argue that the university could be doing far more to address the financial burdens of its students, particularly the mounting debt facing undergraduates. Instead, the administration has focused on expanding its brand and maintaining its status as an elite institution, often prioritizing donor preferences and legacy admissions over efforts to make education more accessible. Legacy admissions, in which children of alumni are given preferential treatment, have been a point of contention, with critics arguing that this practice entrenches privilege and reduces opportunities for marginalized students.

Even at places like Princeton University, long considered a champion of academic freedom, President Christopher Eisgruber has come under fire for clamping down on student speech and assembly. While Princeton’s administration claims to support free expression, it has quietly enacted policies to restrict protestors’ access to the administration building, citing concerns about “disruption” and “disorder.” Eisgruber, who has connections to powerful alumni, has been accused of using his position to protect the interests of wealthy donors while ignoring the voices of those who are most directly affected by the university's policies.

The University of Southern California (USC) is another prime example of a university where the president’s priorities have come under increasing scrutiny from students, faculty, and staff. Under President Carol Folt, USC has become emblematic of a trend where the administration appears more aligned with wealthy donors and corporate interests than with the needs of its campus community.

Folt, who took over as USC's president in 2019, was thrust into the spotlight during a period of significant unrest. The university had already been embroiled in scandals—including the high-profile college admissions bribery scandal—and was facing criticism for its handling of sexual assault allegations within its medical school. Rather than addressing these issues head-on, many argue that Folt’s administration focused instead on securing funding from high-profile donors and expanding the university’s brand, while sidelining the concerns of students and faculty.

This prioritization of external donors is evident in USC’s massive fundraising campaigns, which often overshadow initiatives aimed at addressing student debt, affordability, or academic freedom. USC's endowment has grown exponentially under Folt’s leadership, but student loan debt continues to be a crippling issue for many Trojans, and the concerns of adjunct faculty members remain largely ignored.

Furthermore, Folt’s administration has faced criticism for its efforts to suppress dissent on campus. For instance, student protests related to labor rights, housing issues, and calls for greater diversity on campus have been met with limited response or, at times, outright hostility. In 2022, when USC students protested the administration's handling of campus housing shortages, they were met with heightened security measures and a lack of genuine engagement from university leadership. These actions—along with Folt’s ties to the private sector, particularly her background in environmental policy and corporate leadership—have fueled perceptions that USC’s administration is more interested in protecting its brand than in creating an inclusive, participatory academic environment.

USC also exemplifies the growing disconnect between students, faculty, and administration when it comes to issues of free speech and assembly. Protests have become less frequent, as many students feel their voices will not be heard, and faculty members, particularly those in non-tenure track positions, are often too fearful of retribution to publicly criticize the administration.

The discontent with university leadership is not confined to the campus. In recent years, presidents from some of the nation's most elite institutions, including Harvard, the University of Pennsylvania, and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, have faced intense scrutiny and backlash during hearings in the U.S. House of Representatives. These public hearings, aimed at addressing the growing issues of student debt, university funding, and the influence of wealthy donors on campus, have highlighted the widening disconnect between top university administrations and the communities they are supposed to serve.

During a House hearing in 2022, Lawrence Bacow of Harvard, along with MIT's President L. Rafael Reif and Penn's President Amy Gutmann, faced tough questioning from lawmakers who were deeply critical of how these institutions have handled student debt, tuition costs, and their ties to corporate interests. Bacow, in particular, faced pointed questions about Harvard's massive endowment and the university's refusal to use its resources to address skyrocketing tuition and student loan debt. Both Reif and Gutmann were grilled on how their institutions have prioritized securing donations from wealthy alumni and corporate entities over the well-being of students and faculty. The hearing exposed a troubling pattern where the presidents of these prestigious institutions seemed more concerned with maintaining their institutions' financial health than with addressing the needs of their campus communities.

Legacy admissions, a practice entrenched at many of these elite schools, also came under fire during the hearings. Critics argued that such policies perpetuate inequality, giving children of alumni—many of whom come from wealthy backgrounds—unfair advantages in the admissions process. This has contributed to the growing perception that these universities, while claiming to offer merit-based opportunities, are fundamentally shaped by privilege and corporate interests.

These public confrontations highlighted the growing frustration with university presidents who are seen as out of touch with the everyday realities facing students and faculty, as well as the increasing influence of money and corporate interests in higher education. The presidents of these universities, once seen as respected leaders, have become targets of anger and resentment, with many on Capitol Hill and on campus calling for a shift in how these institutions are governed.

These are just a few examples of elite universities where the power structure has shifted toward those who have the financial means to dictate the terms of the campus experience. As tuition costs rise and student loan debt becomes a crushing burden for many, university presidents seem more determined than ever to serve the interests of trustees and donors, rather than advocating for the people who should be their true constituents: the students, faculty, and staff who make up the heart of the academic community.

The impact of this shift has been profound. On campuses across the country, students are increasingly feeling that their voices don’t matter. Faculty members, once seen as the intellectual core of the institution, are being sidelined in favor of administrators who prioritize financial concerns over academic integrity. And staff members—many of whom are underpaid and overworked—are being pushed to the margins as well.

But it’s not just students who are feeling the heat. Faculty and staff have found their own platforms for protest increasingly under attack. At places like Yale University, where former President Peter Salovey faced criticism for neglecting the needs of faculty and for his lukewarm responses to issues like labor rights and the treatment of graduate workers, professors staged walkouts and organized petitions to voice their discontent with the administration's disregard for their well-being.

In this new era, university presidents are no longer the beloved leaders of intellectual discourse—they are the gatekeepers of corporate power, more concerned with securing funding from wealthy donors than with fostering an inclusive, open, and critical academic environment. The fallout from this shift is only growing, as campuses become hotbeds of dissent, with students, faculty, and staff increasingly questioning the direction of higher education and the people at the helm.

As the divide between administration and the campus community continues to widen, one thing is clear: the once-admired university president is now among the most hated figures on campus, seen not as a champion of academic values, but as an enforcer of an increasingly political and profit-driven agenda.

U.S. Law Schools: Perpetuating Inequality and Injustice, Serving the Billionaire Class

As the nation grapples with profound social and economic inequities, U.S. law schools have become a critical yet overlooked institution in perpetuating these disparities. From shaping the legal minds that go on to influence policy to training future attorneys who occupy the nation's corridors of power, law schools are playing an outsized role in entrenching systems of privilege, rather than dismantling them.

One of the most glaring manifestations of this failure is the Trump-era Supreme Court, whose composition has shifted dramatically due to the influence of elite law schools. Justices such as Brett Kavanaugh (Yale Law), Neil Gorsuch (Harvard Law), and Amy Coney Barrett (Notre Dame Law) have reshaped the Court in the image of conservative ideologies. These justices, primarily from elite institutions, have consistently sided with corporate interests over public welfare. Their rulings on critical issues like voting rights (Shelby County v. Holder, 2013), abortion access (Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization, 2022), and corporate regulation (South Dakota v. Wayfair, Inc., 2018) have had profound consequences, amplifying inequalities and reducing access to justice for marginalized communities. The legal minds trained in these prestigious law schools have moved away from serving the public, instead reinforcing the status quo and further consolidating power in the hands of the wealthy elite.

This trend is compounded by the overwhelming concentration of law school graduates in a handful of sectors, particularly Washington, D.C., and on Wall Street. A report from the National Association for Law Placement (NALP) reveals that nearly 70% of graduates from top law schools—such as Harvard, Yale, and Columbia—secure positions in large corporate law firms or government roles. Meanwhile, those who enter public service or work in underfunded legal fields such as public defense face a starkly different reality. According to the American Bar Association (ABA), the average starting salary for a public defender in 2020 was around $50,000, compared to $190,000 in major corporate law firms. This disparity highlights the economic realities facing graduates who pursue careers in public interest law.

Law schools exacerbate these inequities through their admissions processes, which heavily favor students from affluent backgrounds. A 2019 study by the Equality of Opportunity Project found that 70% of students attending Harvard Law, Yale Law, and other Ivy League law schools come from families in the top 20% income bracket, while less than 5% come from the bottom 20%. This financial divide is perpetuated by high tuition costs—Harvard Law's tuition and fees for the 2024 academic year exceed $70,000 annually—making it inaccessible to many who might otherwise have the talent and potential to succeed in law.

Furthermore, law schools’ connections with corporate sponsors and wealthy alumni networks often shape the curriculum and career pathways offered to students. As a result, legal education has become increasingly oriented toward corporate law, perpetuating a system that values prestige and financial gain over social justice. A 2021 report from the American Bar Foundation indicated that nearly half of law school graduates work in the private sector within the first ten years of their careers, most of them in high-paying corporate firms or lobbying groups, which further concentrates legal power in the hands of the elite.

The oversupply of lawyers entering corporate sectors—many of whom attend the nation’s top law schools—has created a system where elite law firms and government agencies, such as the U.S. Department of Justice and major regulatory bodies, dominate legal decision-making. This trend is also visible in the disproportionate representation of law school graduates in Washington, D.C., where they shape policy in ways that benefit large corporations and financial institutions, while leaving the needs of the general public unmet.

A central aspect of the legal system that perpetuates inequality is the way the billionaire class profits from the injustice system itself. Wealthy individuals and corporate entities have found ways to exploit the legal system to their advantage, contributing to the concentration of wealth and power. Many billionaires and large corporations fund legal battles designed to weaken regulations, block labor rights, and influence policy decisions that benefit their financial interests.

For example, major private prison companies like CoreCivic and GEO Group, both of which have ties to influential law firms, profit from the mass incarceration of predominantly Black and Latino individuals. These private companies lobby for harsher sentencing laws and immigration policies that fill their prisons, creating a cycle of profit that thrives on systemic inequality. Legal professionals trained in elite law schools frequently represent these corporations, further entrenching the power dynamics that keep vulnerable populations incarcerated.

The billionaire class also reaps the benefits of legal loopholes and tax avoidance schemes facilitated by top-tier law firms. Lawyers trained in Ivy League schools often advise wealthy clients on ways to hide their assets, evade taxes, and exploit the legal system for personal gain, which further exacerbates income inequality. Law firms and the lawyers who work in them profit immensely by providing these services, while the broader public bears the burden of underfunded social programs and public services.

The impact of law schools’ role in the legal system is not a new development, but has historical roots. For much of U.S. history, the courts and legal institutions have played a pivotal role in limiting democracy and reinforcing inequalities. However, there have been pivotal moments when the courts, often driven by lawyers trained in the nation's top schools, expanded democracy and fought for justice.

A key moment in the history of expanding democracy was the work of Thurgood Marshall and Charles Hamilton Houston, both of whom were products of Howard University School of Law—a historically Black institution that stood in stark contrast to the elite, mostly white law schools of their time. Marshall, who went on to become the first African American Supreme Court Justice, and Houston, his mentor, fought tirelessly against segregation and racial discrimination. Houston's strategy, dubbed "the 'liberal' approach to civil rights," involved challenging discriminatory laws through the courts, using legal arguments rooted in equal protection and the promise of the 14th Amendment.

Houston's legal battles laid the groundwork for the landmark Brown v. Board of Education (1954) case, where the Supreme Court, under the influence of Marshall's legal strategies, overturned the doctrine of “separate but equal” and declared racial segregation in public schools unconstitutional. This ruling, perhaps one of the most profound examples of the courts expanding democracy, was achieved through the work of legal professionals committed to social justice, many of whom came from institutions outside the mainstream elite law schools.

Unfortunately, the trend of the courts advancing civil rights was not consistent. The Dred Scott v. Sandford (1857) decision, where the Supreme Court ruled that African Americans could not be citizens, and Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), which upheld racial segregation, serve as stark reminders of how the legal system can be wielded to entrench inequality and limit democracy. The very law schools that trained many of the justices responsible for these rulings were also responsible for shaping the legal education that upheld the racist and exclusionary structures of the time.

Today, the cycle of legal education serving the interests of the wealthy and powerful continues. While the courts have sometimes played a role in broadening civil rights and democracy, too often they have sided with corporate interests, limiting progress. Lawyers trained in elite law schools continue to occupy spaces where the rules of the game are rigged in favor of those with wealth and influence.

To reverse this trend, law schools must take deliberate action. They must shift their focus from training lawyers for the highest-paying and most prestigious jobs to producing attorneys who are dedicated to the public good. This includes increasing financial accessibility, offering more scholarships for low-income students, and reevaluating the curriculum to emphasize social justice, public interest law, and equitable legal reforms. Moreover, legal education should challenge the structures of wealth and power, ensuring that future lawyers are equipped to dismantle the systems that benefit billionaires and corporations at the expense of justice.

The influence of law schools in perpetuating inequality cannot be overstated. The future of the legal profession—and, by extension, the justice system—depends on whether these institutions can embrace a new mission: one that fosters true equality under the law and dismantles the structures of privilege that continue to shape our society.

Our Journalism

Our journalism is different than most others who cover higher education.  Like those other outlets, we report the news, but that is not our focus. And like a few outlets, we also do time-consuming investigative work.  We recognize the outstanding contributions of dedicated journalists, but these times, the 2020s, call good people to do more--much more. 

The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) follows the legacy of the muckrakers from the early 20th century. HEI delves into in-depth investigative reporting, uncovering scandals, institutional failures, and systemic inequalities in colleges, universities, and their related businesses. Journalists like Upton Sinclair (who exposed the meatpacking industry) and Ida Tarbell (who revealed monopolistic practices in oil) used their platforms to spotlight hidden problems. In a similar vein, HEI carries this tradition forward by focusing on the higher education industry and connects it with the world outside the ivory tower.

Muckraking journalists of the past often focused on giving a voice to the voiceless, and in today's context, HEI highlights issues such as racial, class, and gender disparities in education and the work that should follow. These topics have become more prominent in the 2020s as society grapples with the effects of systemic inequalities and how marginalized communities are underserved and underrepresented in elite institutions.

Just as muckrakers' stories led to reforms (e.g., child labor laws, anti-trust regulations), HEI aims to create change in higher education by influencing public opinion and policy. Change that can take decades to create and months to lose. By exposing unethical practices and systemic problems, such as the growing burden of student loans, the corporatization of universities, and complicity in climate change and authoritarianism, we hope to prompt action from lawmakers and educators to implement more equitable solutions.

Importance of This Type of Journalism in the 2020s:

In the 2020s, higher education is undergoing significant challenges, to include skyrocketing tuition, an increasing reliance on adjunct faculty, and concerns over the value of a college degree. Investigative journalism like ours holds universities accountable for the way they handle these issues. It serves as a check on the growing power and wealth of educational institutions, particularly in light of their increasing commercialization and influence over public policy.

The 2020s have brought heightened awareness of issues like racial inequality, mental health concerns, and the widening gap between wealthy and poor students. Investigative journalism continues to expose these problems, helping to drive conversations about fairness and equity in education. In an era when many people feel disconnected from powerful institutions, journalism that uncovers uncomfortable truths is essential for mobilizing change.

Higher education has been seen by many as a beacon of knowledge, innovation, and fairness, yet there are growing concerns about its accessibility and integrity. Investigative journalism done well helps maintain public trust in higher education by ensuring that universities live up to their purported values. HEI helps the public see when universities exploit students, misuse funds, or engage in unethical practices.

In the 2020s, many key policy issues—such as student debt, the cost of education, and educational access—are hot topics. Journalism that scrutinizes higher education can influence policy reform, potentially leading to legislative action aimed at reducing student debt, increasing transparency in university finances, and addressing fair hiring practices.

War and Peace:

War is often driven by political, economic, and technological forces, and universities are deeply intertwined with these drivers. Many top universities have longstanding partnerships with military contractors, defense organizations, and intelligence agencies. Research funded by these institutions may directly contribute to the development of weapons or military technologies, some of which are used in conflicts around the world. 

The Higher Education Inquirer investigates how these partnerships influence the direction of research, as well as the ethical implications of universities prioritizing military contracts over other forms of academic inquiry. Similarly, university programs train future leaders who will shape foreign policy or lead military operations, and HEI will hold them accountable for the potential consequences of those actions. 

On the other hand, universities can be spaces where peace studies, conflict resolution programs, and global diplomacy are taught—an important counterbalance that HEI highlights, showing how academia can be a force for peace amidst the militarization of knowledge.

Genocide:

Genocides are often preceded by a climate of division and dehumanization, and universities are often the breeding grounds for ideologies that either challenge or perpetuate these dynamics. Throughout history, some academic institutions have provided intellectual support to regimes that perpetrate genocide, whether through the training of military officers or the dissemination of harmful nationalist ideologies. 

Conversely, universities can also serve as platforms for the resistance against genocide, with professors and students leading efforts to expose atrocities, advocate for human rights, and prevent violence.  

The Higher Education Inquirer investigates how universities have both been complicit in, and resisted, the ideologies that fuel genocide. HEI explores the ways in which certain university-funded research or prominent academic figures have either contributed to genocidal narratives or become strong advocates for justice and reconciliation in the aftermath of such horrors.

Global Climate Change:

Climate change represents a massive, existential crisis that touches every part of society, and universities are both contributors to and leaders in tackling this challenge. 

HEI investigates how universities have been complicit in exacerbating the climate crisis—whether through fossil fuel investments, ties to unsustainable industries, or research that furthers environmentally harmful practices. At the same time, universities are also at the cutting edge of climate science, sustainable technologies, and environmental activism.  

The Higher Education Inquirer investigates whether universities are doing enough to address their own carbon footprints, promote sustainable practices on campus, and foster a generation of leaders who are committed to climate justice. In a world where universities are increasingly seen as both perpetrators of environmental degradation and potential agents of change, HEI’s investigative reporting is crucial in holding these institutions accountable.

Mass Incarceration:

The United States has one of the highest incarceration rates in the world, and universities are deeply involved in the systems that perpetuate this crisis. Many universities participate in research that supports law enforcement, surveillance technologies, or criminal justice policies, which can fuel the growth of the prison-industrial complex.  

The Higher Education Inquirer examines how higher education sustains and challenges mass incarceration. For instance, some universities benefit from partnerships with prisons, offering education programs to incarcerated individuals, but also facing criticism for their indirect role in perpetuating a system that disproportionately targets people of color.  

HEI investigates whether universities are actively working to dismantle mass incarceration through programs that promote restorative justice, education in prisons, or advocacy for systemic reform, or whether they are complicit in perpetuating the status quo through research and policy influence that supports harsh criminal justice policies.

Uniting These Issues:

The Higher Education Inquirer brings these issues together by demonstrating how universities are not isolated entities but integral parts of a global system that influences war, human rights, the environment, and justice. 

For example, universities that are heavily funded by military contracts should be implicated in fueling global conflict and war, while also contributing to climate change through the development of harmful technologies. At the same time, these same universities often fail to adequately address the ways in which their research, policies, and curricula shape or reinforce systemic racism and mass incarceration.

By following the muckraker tradition of exposing corruption and exploitation, HEI investigates how the pursuit of profit, power, and prestige within academia intersects with larger global crises. 

Investigative journalism that connects the dots between higher education, war, genocide, climate change, and mass incarceration is crucial to fully understanding these issues and holding institutions accountable for their roles in perpetuating or mitigating them. 

In the 2020s, when universities hold immense cultural, political, and economic power, the Higher Education Inquirer continues the legacy of the muckrakers by pushing for a more ethical, transparent, and socially responsible approach to higher education—one that reveals the problems of the world and to its solutions.

HEI Supports Upcoming Boycotts and Strikes

The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) is in solidarity with nonviolent protests against the Trump administration.  Two upcoming events include a 24-hour boycott of Amazon, Walmart, and Best Buy (February 28th) and a 10-day General Strike. We hope enough people join these and other nonviolent protests to make our messages heard loudly enough. To our readers, if you know of any public protests and other nonviolent acts of civil disobedience that we can highlight, please contact us.  

Related links:

Protests Under Trump 2017-2021 (Pressman, et al, 2022)

Timeline of protests against Donald Trump (Wikipedia)

List of incidents of civil unrest in the United States (Wikipedia)

Methods of Student Nonviolent Resistance (2024) 

Democratic Protests on Campus: Modeling the Better World We Seek (Annelise Orleck)

Elite Universities on Lockdown. Protestors Regroup. (2024)

University Presidents Called to Action

Elite universities, long considered the pinnacle of higher education, have become increasingly entwined in a broader conversation about privilege, access, and power. From their controversial legacy admissions practices to their outsized political influence, these institutions are not merely places of learning—they are gatekeepers of social and economic power, shaping the future through both exclusion and influence. Beyond their academic roles, these universities have extended their reach into local communities, using their enormous wealth and influence to take control of land, shape urban landscapes, and solidify their power within regional politics.

The legacy admissions system, which provides preferential treatment to the children and grandchildren of alumni, is a glaring example of how these universities perpetuate privilege. Institutions such as Harvard, Yale, Princeton, and Stanford—universities that consistently rank among the top in the nation—have long utilized this practice to ensure that the doors to elite education remain open to those already within the circles of power. By admitting students with lesser academic qualifications solely because of their family connections, these schools continue a long tradition of insularity, effectively reserving spaces for the wealthy and well-connected. Despite growing opposition, including recent moves by California’s private colleges to ban legacy admissions, the practice remains a powerful force, locking out more qualified, diverse applicants and ensuring that the privileged maintain access to elite institutions.

In addition to these admissions practices, elite universities exert considerable influence on the political landscape. The recent revelations about their political spending—millions funneled into federal campaigns, overwhelmingly favoring Democratic candidates—highlight a disturbing trend. Universities like Harvard, Stanford, and Johns Hopkins are not neutral players in the policy arena; they are active participants in shaping the very policies that benefit their interests. Whether it’s lobbying for federal funding, securing advantageous tax policies, or influencing regulations related to higher education, these universities use their wealth to protect and expand their power. These schools are not just centers of academic pursuit—they are political players in their own right, using their financial clout to shape the policies that govern education, tax law, and more.

Beyond their influence in academia and politics, elite universities increasingly exert power over the very land on which they sit. In many cities, top-tier universities like Harvard, Stanford, Columbia, and the University of Chicago are not just educational institutions—they are economic and political powerhouses. With multi-billion-dollar endowments, these institutions often wield more financial clout than entire cities. They routinely expand their campuses, purchasing properties, and in some cases, entire neighborhoods, often displacing long-standing communities in the process. This process, commonly known as "university-led gentrification," transforms urban spaces, driving up property values and rents while pushing out lower-income residents.

Universities often justify their land acquisitions as part of their mission to expand their campuses, build new research centers, and offer more housing for students and faculty. However, the impact on local communities can be severe. In many cases, universities use their tax-exempt status to avoid paying property taxes on the land they acquire, depriving local governments of revenue while also claiming a disproportionate share of urban space. This allows them to grow their influence without contributing fully to the neighborhoods in which they are embedded.

This land-grabbing behavior has sparked resistance in cities across the country. In Boston, for example, Harvard and MIT have been critiqued for taking over large swaths of land in the Allston and Kendall Square neighborhoods, displacing low-income residents and local businesses. In New York, Columbia’s expansion into Harlem sparked protests from community members who felt their homes and livelihoods were being sacrificed to the university’s growth. In many cases, these universities lobby local governments to secure favorable zoning laws, tax breaks, and exemptions that allow them to build at will and maintain their growing empire.

Both legacy admissions and political donations underscore a fundamental truth: elite universities are not just educational institutions—they are institutions of power. They maintain an oligarchic structure that privileges those already in positions of wealth and influence, while shaping local economies and political systems to ensure their continued dominance. By hoarding access to elite education, they perpetuate a system in which the children of the wealthy have a head start in both education and society, while simultaneously lobbying for policies that further cement their own influence. Through their land acquisitions, gentrification, political donations, and admissions practices, these universities continue to consolidate their power, reinforcing an elitist status quo that leaves many outside looking in.

In all of this, university presidents have increasingly positioned themselves as moral arbiters, asserting their institutions’ commitment to social justice, inclusion, and equality. Yet this moral high ground becomes precarious when their administrations take extreme measures to suppress resistance. Protests against their policies—whether regarding gentrification, climate change, or labor rights—are often met with heavy-handed tactics. University leaders, eager to preserve their public image, have been known to deploy security forces, call in the police, or even collaborate with local governments to disband protests. In some cases, these universities have resorted to legal action against student and faculty activists, silencing dissent through threats of discipline, expulsion, or other punitive measures.

This duplicity becomes even more apparent when considering the moral stands many university leaders take in public, promoting inclusivity, diversity, and progressive values, while simultaneously suppressing those who challenge their institution’s power dynamics. In the face of mounting resistance from marginalized communities or student groups, these leaders prefer to maintain control over their campuses and public narratives, often using administrative power to quash any movements that may disrupt the status quo.

Yet, history has shown that even the most entrenched systems can change, and university presidents are not beyond the possibility of transformation. Just as some figures in the Bible experienced profound revelations that led them to change course and right their wrongs, university leaders, too, can have moments of reckoning. Consider the example of King David, whose heart was changed after his confrontation with the prophet Nathan over his sin (2 Samuel 12). David, once blinded by his own power, repented and chose a path of humility and righteousness. In the same way, university presidents, confronted by the voices of resistance, public outcry, or moral awakening, could choose to lead their institutions toward a more just and equitable future. In the New Testament, Saul’s conversion on the road to Damascus (Acts 9) serves as another powerful reminder that no one is beyond redemption. Saul, who once persecuted early Christians, was transformed into Paul, one of the most influential apostles in Christian history. Similarly, a university president could choose to recognize the harm their institution has caused and decide to enact transformative policies that benefit marginalized communities and dismantle the systems of privilege they have helped sustain.

Moses is another figure whose story exemplifies the power of divine revelation to shift course. As a prince of Egypt, Moses had everything at his disposal, yet he chose to stand up to Pharaoh when he recognized the injustice of the Hebrew people’s oppression. His moment of conviction led him to free his people from slavery, even though it required courage to defy a powerful ruler (Exodus 3-4). In the same way, a university president must stand up to the powerful trustees and donors who expect to maintain the status quo. To act in the face of such resistance requires profound moral courage—a willingness to lead against entrenched interests that protect wealth and privilege.

Another key figure in the Old Testament is Esther, who displayed extraordinary courage in a moment of great moral clarity. She risked her life by standing up to King Xerxes to save the Jewish people from annihilation (Esther 4). As the queen, she was in a powerful position, but it was only when she realized the enormity of the injustice at hand that she chose to act. Similarly, university presidents with the power to challenge the status quo can, like Esther, use their positions to advocate for justice and equality, even if it means confronting powerful forces that wish to preserve an unjust order.

As university presidents come face to face with the overwhelming issues of racism, injustice, and climate chaos, there exists the possibility of moral revelation—a turning point where they confront the gravity of their actions and their institutions’ role in perpetuating harm. The growing calls for racial justice, fueled by movements like Black Lives Matter, demand an acknowledgment of the systemic racism embedded in these universities. Whether through the disproportionate representation of wealthy white students or the stark inequities in faculty and leadership diversity, these institutions must reckon with their participation in racial oppression. Similarly, as the climate crisis deepens, universities’ investments in fossil fuels and their ongoing complicity in the destruction of the environment have become focal points for student activists and global environmental movements. Universities, often perceived as beacons of progress, have a responsibility to divest from industries contributing to ecological collapse and instead use their vast resources for environmental justice.

And yet, one of the greatest challenges these university leaders will face lies not only in the resistance of external forces like protestors, activists, and the general public, but also in the powerful trustees and donors who hold significant sway over the institutions’ direction. Many universities are closely tied to wealthy benefactors and influential trustees whose interests often align with maintaining the status quo—whether through preserving investment strategies, political stances, or traditional admissions processes. These figures are not simply investors in the university's future; they are powerful stakeholders with the resources to shape institutional policies and procedures, often with little regard for social justice or environmental responsibility.

For a university president to truly lead with courage and integrity, they must be willing to go against these powerful forces. This would require challenging the entrenched interests of those who have long benefited from an elite, exclusionary system and are reluctant to embrace the radical changes needed to address systemic injustice. It takes immense fortitude to stand up to trustees and donors who view universities as tools for preserving their wealth and influence, rather than forces for good in the world.

But university presidents who choose to go against these forces can become true moral leaders. They can take inspiration from figures like Moses, who boldly defied Pharaoh’s power to liberate the oppressed, or Esther, whose bravery in standing up to the king saved her people (Esther 4). In doing so, they would not only transform their institutions but also serve as examples of ethical leadership in a time when such leadership is sorely needed.

The courage to defy powerful donors and trustees would mark a dramatic shift in how elite universities operate. Presidents could, if they choose, champion a new vision—one where social justice, racial equality, and environmental sustainability are at the forefront of institutional priorities. Just as Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt toward a promised land of freedom, so too could university presidents lead their institutions out of the grip of elitism and corporate influence, steering them toward a more equitable and just future.

Both legacy admissions, political donations, land control, and the suppression of protest point to a deeper issue: elite universities have built themselves into institutions of unparalleled power. These universities operate not only as educational establishments but also as political and economic entities, constantly reinforcing a structure of privilege, wealth, and exclusion. The dissonance between their public declarations of moral authority and their actions to protect entrenched power reveals the true nature of these institutions. They are not the bastions of free inquiry and social good they often claim to be—they are powerful, self-interested players in a system that serves to preserve the very inequalities they profess to challenge.

However, the possibility remains that these institutions—guided by transformative leadership—could embrace a new path. University presidents could heed the call for justice, as many leaders in history have, and change the trajectory of their institutions, opting to lead in ways that promote true equity, racial justice, and environmental stewardship. These universities—once seen as places of learning and opportunity—could become what they claim to be: inclusive, just, and truly committed to the betterment of society. They are the architects of the future they seek to create: one where the privileged no longer remain firmly entrenched at the top, and where political, economic, and educational structures are reshaped for the common good. Whether through legacy admissions, political spending, land control, or suppressing protest, these institutions continue to consolidate their power, but with the right leadership, they can still pivot toward a more just future—one that embodies the values they espouse.

[Editor's note: This essay, written for elite university presidents, is intended as a rhetorical device rather than a statement of facts. We find that everyone has their own "mythology" or set of mythologies they follow. As with all our work, we value your feedback.]

Erasing History, Erasing Democracy: Trump’s Authoritarian Assault on Education (Henry Giroux, Truthout)

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Trump appears bent on ridding schools of dangerous practices like critical thinking and an unsanitized study of history.

In the initial days of his second term, President Donald Trump issued several executive orders “seeking to control how schools teach about race and gender, direct more tax dollars to private schools, and deport pro-Palestinian protesters.” On January 29, 2025, he signed the “Ending Radical Indoctrination in K-12 Schooling” executive order, which mandates the elimination of curricula that the administration deems as promoting “radical, anti-American ideologies.” This executive order is not just an attack on critical race theory or teachings about systemic racism — it is a cornerstone of an authoritarian ideology designed to eliminate critical thought, suppress historical truth and strip educators of their autonomy. Under the guise of combating “divisiveness,” it advances a broader war on education as a democratizing force, turning schools into dead zones of the imagination. By threatening to strip federal funding from institutions that refuse to conform, this policy functions as an instrument of ideological indoctrination, enforcing a sanitized, nationalistic narrative that erases histories of oppression and resistance while deepening a culture of ignorance and compliance.

Concurrently, President Trump issued the “Expanding Educational Freedom and Opportunity for Families” executive order, aiming to enhance school choice by redirecting federal funds to support charter schools and voucher programs. This policy enables parents to use public funds for private and religious school tuition. While proponents claim that this legislation empowers parents and fosters competition, in reality, it is a calculated effort to defund and privatize public education, undermining it as a democratizing public good. As part of a broader far right assault on education, this policy redirects essential resources away from public schools, deepening educational inequality and advancing an agenda that seeks to erode public investment in a just and equitable society.

In the name of eliminating radical indoctrination in schools, a third executive order, which purportedly aims at ending antisemitism, threatens to deport pro-Palestinian student protesters by revoking their visas, warning that even those legally in the country could be targeted for their political views. In a stark display of authoritarianism, Trump’s executive order unapologetically stated that free speech would not be tolerated. Reuters made this clear in reporting that one fact sheet ominously declared: “I will … quickly cancel the student visas of all Hamas sympathizers on college campuses, which have been infested with radicalism like never before. To all the resident aliens who joined in the pro-jihadist protests, we put you on notice: come 2025, we will find you, and we will deport you.”

Trump’s longstanding war on education has taken a more dangerous turn with his incoming order to eliminate the Department of Education through executive fiat. This is not just an attack on bureaucracy; it is a calculated and boldfaced assault on public education itself — an effort to dismantle one of the last remaining institutions or public goods capable of fostering critical thought, historical memory and civic responsibility.

By gutting federal oversight, he is handing the fate of education to reactionary state legislatures and corporate interests, ensuring that knowledge is shaped by a state held captive by billionaires and far right extremists. This is the logic of authoritarianism: to hollow out democratic institutions and replace education with white Christian propaganda and a pedagogy of repression. At issue here is an attempt to render an entire generation defenseless against the very forces seeking to dominate them.

What we are witnessing is not just an educational crisis but a full-scale war on institutions that not only defend democracy but enable it. What is under siege in this attack is not only the critical function of education but the very notion that it should be defined through its vision of creating a central feature of democracy, educating informed and critically engaged citizens.

These executive actions represent an upgraded and broader version of McCarthyite and apartheid-era education that seeks to dictate how schools teach about race and gender, funnel more taxpayer dollars into private institutions, and deport Palestinian protesters. The irony is striking: The White House defends these regressive measures of sanitizing history, stripping away the rights of transgender students and erasing critical race theory as efforts to “end indoctrination in American education.” In truth, this is not about the pursuit of freedom or open inquiry, nor is it about fostering an education that cultivates informed, critically engaged citizens. At its core, this agenda is a deliberate attack on education as a public good — one that threatens to dismantle not only public institutions, but the very essence of public and higher education and its culture of criticism and democracy. The urgency of this moment cannot be overstated: The future of education itself is at stake.

In the raging currents of contemporary political and cultural life, where fascist ideologies are rising, one of the most insidious and all-encompassing forces at play is the violence of forgetting — a plague of historical amnesia. This phenomenon, which I have referred to as “organized forgetting,” describes the systemic erasure of history and its violent consequences, particularly in the public sphere. This is especially evident in the current historical moment, when books are banned in libraries, public schools and higher education across countries, such as the United States, Hungary, India, China and Russia. Ignoring past atrocities, historical injustices and uncomfortable truths about a society’s foundation is not merely an oversight — it constitutes an active form of violence that shapes both our collective consciousness and political realities. What we are witnessing here is an assault by the far right on memory that is inseparable from what Maximillian Alvarez describes as a battle over power — over who is remembered, who is erased, who is cast aside and who is forcibly reduced to something less than human. This struggle is not just about history; it is about whose stories are allowed to shape the present and the future. Alvarez captures this reality with striking clarity and is worth quoting at length:

Among the prizes at stake in the endless war of politics is history itself. The battle for power is always a battle to determine who gets remembered, how they will be recalled, where and in what forms their memories will be preserved. In this battle, there is no room for neutral parties: every history and counter-history must fight and scrap and claw and spread and lodge itself in the world, lest it be forgotten or forcibly erased. All history, in this sense, is the history of empire — a bid for control of that greatest expanse of territory, the past.

Organized forgetting also helped fuel the resurgence of Donald Trump, as truth and reason are being systematically replaced by lies, corruption, denial and the weaponization of memory itself. A culture of questioning, critique and vision is not simply disappearing in the United States — it is actively maligned, disparaged and replaced by a darkness that, as Ezra Klein observes, is “stupefyingly vast, stretching from self-destructive incompetence to muddling incoherence to authoritarian consolidation.”

This erosion affects institutions of law, civil society and education — pillars that rely on memory, informed judgment and evidence to foster historical understanding and civic responsibility. The attack on the common good goes beyond the distractions of an “attention economy” designed to distort reality; it reflects a deliberate effort to sever the ties between history and meaning. Time is reduced to fragmented episodes, stripped of the shared narratives that connect the past, present and future.

This crisis embodies a profound collapse of memory, history, education and democracy itself. A culture of manufactured ignorance — rooted in the rejection of history, facts and critical thought — erases accountability for electing a leader who incited insurrection and branded his opponents as “enemies from within.” Such authoritarian politics thrive on historical amnesia, lulling society into passivity, eroding collective memory and subverting civic agency. This is epitomized by Trump’s declaration on “Fox & Friends” that he would punish schools that teach students accurate U.S. history, including about slavery and racism in the country. The call to silence dangerous memories is inseparable from the violence of state terrorism — a force that censors and dehumanizes dissent, escalating to the punishment, torture and imprisonment of truth-tellers and critics who dare to hold oppressive power accountable.

At its core, the violence of forgetting operates through the denial and distortion of historical events, particularly those that challenge the dominant narratives of power. From the colonial atrocities and the struggles for civil rights to the history of Palestine-Israel relations, many of the most significant chapters of history are either glossed over or erased altogether. This strategic omission serves the interests of those in power, enabling them to maintain control by silencing inconvenient truths. As the historian Timothy Snyder reminds us, by refusing to acknowledge the violence of the past, society makes it far easier to perpetuate injustices in the present. The politics of organized forgetting, the censoring of history and the attack on historical consciousness are fundamental to the rise of far right voices in the U.S. and across the world.

With the rise of regressive memory laws, designed to repress what authoritarian governments consider dangerous and radical interpretations of a country’s past, historical consciousness is transformed into a form of historical amnesia. One vivid example of a regressive memory law was enacted by Trump during his first term. The 1776 Report, which right-wingers defended as a “restoration of American education,” was in fact an attempt to eliminate from the teaching of history any reference to a legacy of colonialism, slavery and movements which highlighted elements of American history that were unconscionable, anti-democratic and morally repugnant. Snyder highlights the emergence of memory laws in a number of states. He writes in a 2021 New York Times article:

As of this writing, five states (Idaho, Iowa, Tennessee, Texas and Oklahoma) have passed laws that direct and restrict discussions of history in classrooms. The Department of Education of a sixth (Florida) has passed guidelines with the same effect. Another 12 state legislatures are still considering memory laws. The particulars of these laws vary. The Idaho law is the most Kafkaesque in its censorship: It affirms freedom of speech and then bans divisive speech. The Iowa law executes the same totalitarian pirouette. The Tennessee and Texas laws go furthest in specifying what teachers may and may not say. In Tennessee teachers must not teach that the rule of law is “a series of power relationships and struggles among racial or other groups.”… The Idaho law mentions Critical Race Theory; the directive from the Florida school board bans it in classrooms. The Texas law forbids teachers from requiring students to understand the 1619 Project. It is a perverse goal: Teachers succeed if students do not understand something.

A major aspect of this forgetting and erasure of historical memory is the role of ignorance, which has become not just widespread but weaponized in modern times. Ignorance, particularly in U.S. society, has shifted from being a passive lack of knowledge to an active refusal to engage with critical issues. This is amplified by the spectacle-driven nature of contemporary media and the increasing normalization of a culture of lies and the embrace of a language of violence, which not only thrives on distraction rather than reflection, but has become a powerful force for spreading bigotry, racial hatred and right-wing lies. In addition, the mainstream media’s obsession with spectacle — be it political drama, celebrity culture or sensationalist stories — often overshadows the more important, yet less glamorous, discussions about historical violence and systemic injustice.

This intellectual neglect allows for a dangerous cycle to persist, where the erasure of history enables the continuation of violence and oppression. Systems of power benefit from this amnesia, as it allows them to maintain the status quo without having to answer for past wrongs. When society refuses to remember or address past injustices — whether it’s slavery, imperialism or economic exploitation — those in power can continue to exploit the present without fear of historical accountability.

To strip education of its critical power is to rob democracy of its transformative potential.

The cultural impact of this organized forgetting is profound. Not only does it create a void in public memory, but it also stunts collective growth. Without the lessons of the past, it becomes nearly impossible to learn from mistakes and address the root causes of social inequalities. The failure to remember makes it harder to demand meaningful change, while reproducing and legitimating ongoing far right assaults on democracy.

The violence of organized forgetting is not a mere act of neglect; it is a deliberate cultural and intellectual assault that undercuts the foundations of any meaningful democracy. By erasing the past, society implicitly condones the ongoing oppression of marginalized groups and perpetuates harmful ideologies that thrive in ignorance. This erasure silences the voices of those who have suffered — denying them the space to speak their truth and demand justice. It is not limited to historical injustices alone; it extends to the present, silencing those who courageously criticize contemporary violence, such as Israel’s U.S.-backed genocidal war on Gaza, and those brave enough to hold power accountable.

The act of forgetting is not passive; it actively supports systems of oppression and censorship, muffling dissent and debate, both of which are essential for a healthy democracy.

Equally dangerous is the form of historical amnesia that has come to dominate our contemporary political and cultural landscape. This organized forgetting feeds into a pedagogy of manufactured ignorance that prioritizes emotion over reason and spectacle over truth. In this process, history is fragmented and distorted, making it nearly impossible to construct a coherent understanding of the past. As a result, public institutions — particularly education — are undermined, as critical thinking and social responsibility give way to shallow, sensationalized narratives. Higher education, once a bastion for the development of civic literacy and the moral imperative of understanding our role as both individuals and social agents, is now attacked by forces seeking to cleanse public memory of past social and political progress. Figures like Trump embody this threat, working to erase the memory of strides made in the name of equality, justice and human decency. This organized assault on historical memory and intellectual rigor strikes at the heart of democracy itself. When we allow the erasure of history and the undermining of critical thought, we risk suffocating the ideals that democracy promises: justice, equality and accountability.

A democracy cannot thrive in the absence of informed and engaged agents that are capable of questioning, challenging and reimagining a future different from the present. Without such citizens, the very notion of democracy becomes a hollow, disembodied ideal — an illusion of freedom without the substance of truth or responsibility. Education, in this context, is not merely a tool for transmitting knowledge; it is the foundation and bedrock of political consciousness. To be educated, to be a citizen, is not a neutral or passive state — it is a vital, active political and moral engagement with the world, grounded in critical thinking and democratic possibility. It is a recognition that the act of learning and the act of being a citizen are inextricable from each other. To strip education of its critical power is to rob democracy of its transformative potential.

Confronting the violence of forgetting requires a shift in how we engage with history. Intellectuals, educators and activists must take up the responsibility of reintroducing the painful truths of the past into public discourse. This is not about dwelling in the past for its own sake, but about understanding its relevance to the present and future. To break the cycles of violence, society must commit to remembering, not just for the sake of memory, but as a critical tool for progress.

Moreover, engaging with history honestly requires recognizing that the violence of forgetting is not a one-time event but a continual process. Systems of power don’t simply forget; they actively work to erase, rewrite and sanitize historical narratives. This means that the fight to remember is ongoing and requires constant vigilance. It’s not enough to simply uncover historical truths; society must work to ensure that these truths are not forgotten again, buried under the weight of media spectacles, ideological repression and political theater.

Ultimately, the violence of forgetting is an obstacle to genuine social change. Without confronting the past — acknowledging the violence and injustices that have shaped our world — we cannot hope to build a more just and informed future. To move forward, any viable democratic social order must reckon with its past, break free from the bonds of ignorance, and commit to creating a future based on knowledge, justice and accountability.

The task of confronting and dismantling the violent structures shaped by the power of forgetting is immense, yet the urgency has never been more pronounced. In an era where the scope and power of new pedagogical apparatuses such as social media and AI dominate our cultural and intellectual landscapes, the challenge becomes even more complex. While they hold potential for education and connection, these technologies are controlled by a reactionary ruling class of financial elite and billionaires, and they are increasingly wielded to perpetuate disinformation, fragment history and manipulate public discourse. The authoritarian algorithms that drive these platforms increasingly prioritize sensationalism over substance, lies over truth, the appropriation of power over social responsibility, and in doing so, reinforce modes of civic illiteracy, while attacking those fundamental institutions which enable critical perspectives and a culture of questioning.

The vital need for collective action and intellectual engagement to reclaim and restore historical truth, critical thinking and social responsibility is urgent. The present historical moment, both unprecedented and alarming, resonates with Antonio Gramsci’s reflection on an earlier era marked by the rise of fascism: “The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born; now is the time of monsters.”

In the face of a deepening crisis of history, memory and agency, any meaningful resistance must be collective, disruptive and unapologetically unsettling — challenging entrenched orthodoxies and dismantling the forces that perpetuate ignorance and injustice. This struggle needs to be both radical in its essence and uncompromising in its demands for social change, recognizing education as inseparable from politics and the tangible challenges people face in their everyday lives. In this collective effort lies the power to dismantle the barriers to truth, rebuild the foundations of critical thought, and shape a future rooted in knowledge, justice and a profound commitment to make power accountable. Central to this vision is the capacity to learn from history, to nurture a historical consciousness that informs our present and to reimagine agency as an essential force in the enduring struggle for democracy. This call for a radical imagination cannot be confined to classrooms but must emerge as a transformative force embedded in a united, multiracial, working-class movement. Only then can we confront the urgent crises of our time.

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Henry A. Giroux

Henry A. Giroux currently holds the McMaster University Chair for Scholarship in the Public Interest in the English and Cultural Studies Department and is the Paulo Freire Distinguished Scholar in Critical Pedagogy. His most recent books include: The Terror of the Unforeseen (Los Angeles Review of books, 2019), On Critical Pedagogy, 2nd edition (Bloomsbury, 2020); Race, Politics, and Pandemic Pedagogy: Education in a Time of Crisis (Bloomsbury 2021); Pedagogy of Resistance: Against Manufactured Ignorance (Bloomsbury 2022) and Insurrections: Education in the Age of Counter-Revolutionary Politics (Bloomsbury, 2023), and coauthored with Anthony DiMaggio, Fascism on Trial: Education and the Possibility of Democracy (Bloomsbury, 2025). Giroux is also a member of Truthout’s board of directors.