Upcoming Events: April 8th, Kill the Cuts (Nationwide), Protest at ASU+GSV (San Diego). April 17th Fight for Higher Education (Nationwide). Send tips to Glen McGhee at gmcghee@aya.yale.edu.
Columbia University’s interim president, Dr. Katrina A. Armstrong, resigned on Friday, just days after the university made significant concessions to the Trump administration in exchange for the restoration of $400 million in federal research funding. Armstrong's resignation follows a tumultuous period for the institution, already reeling from the departure of her predecessor, Minouche Shafik, in August 2024.
Armstrong, who had stepped into the role of interim president during a time of political and social unrest, faced mounting pressure over the university’s handling of pro-Palestinian student activism, which sparked national controversy and calls for accountability from political leaders, including former President Donald Trump and his administration. Armstrong’s resignation marks the latest chapter in a series of leadership shifts at Columbia as it navigates the increasingly polarized political environment surrounding campus protests.
Effective immediately, Claire Shipman, co-chair of Columbia’s Board of Trustees, has been appointed acting president. David J. Greenwald, chair of the Board of Trustees, praised Armstrong for her dedication to the university, acknowledging her hard work during a time of “great uncertainty.” Greenwald’s statement highlighted Armstrong’s contributions to the university, saying, “Katrina has always given her heart and soul to Columbia. We appreciate her service and look forward to her continued contributions to the University.” Armstrong, who will return to lead the Irving Medical Center, had taken on the interim presidency in a period marked by increasing tensions on campus over political activism and its fallout.
Political Pressure and Concessions to the Trump Administration
The resignation comes amid significant political pressure, as the Trump administration imposed a set of demands on Columbia in exchange for the release of crucial federal funding. Earlier this month, the administration presented the university with nine conditions to restore the $400 million in research grants that had been frozen over accusations of antisemitism linked to campus protests.
In an effort to regain the funding, Columbia conceded to these demands, which included a ban on students wearing masks to conceal their identities during protests, except for religious or health reasons. Additionally, Columbia agreed to hire 36 new campus security officers with the authority to arrest students involved in protests. The university also committed to increasing institutional oversight by appointing a new senior vice provost to monitor the university's Department of Middle East, South Asian, and African Studies.
Perhaps most notably, Columbia pledged to adopt a stance of “greater institutional neutrality,” a policy that the university said would be implemented after working with a faculty committee. The decision was seen as an attempt to quell political tensions while navigating the contentious issues surrounding student activism.
A Leadership Crisis at Columbia University
Armstrong’s resignation follows the departure of Minouche Shafik, who faced widespread criticism for her handling of campus protests against the war in Gaza. Under Shafik’s leadership, Columbia became a focal point of national debates about free speech, activism, and the role of universities in responding to global conflicts. Shafik ultimately resigned after facing intense scrutiny for her handling of the protests and the occupation of an academic building by students, an incident that ended with NYPD officers forcibly removing the students.
In Armstrong’s case, her tenure was similarly marred by controversies surrounding the university’s response to the growing political activism on campus. The university's handling of pro-Palestinian protests, particularly those related to the ongoing Israel-Palestine conflict, led to calls for stronger action from political figures, especially within the Republican Party. Armstrong’s decision to oversee negotiations with the Trump administration over the university’s federal funding placed her at the center of a storm of political and social unrest, further intensifying the pressure on her leadership.
Columbia's Future Amidst Political Turmoil
The resignation of Armstrong is a significant moment for Columbia, as the institution grapples with the broader implications of political activism within academia and the increasing role of government in shaping university policies. As the university enters another phase of leadership instability, the question remains: how will the next president balance the competing demands of activism, free speech, and political pressures from outside forces?
Columbia’s decision to adopt a policy of institutional neutrality and increase security measures reflects the complex and polarized environment that universities are navigating in today’s political climate. The growing influence of political figures like Trump and the scrutiny placed on universities over their responses to student protests signal a new era for higher education, one where the lines between campus activism and political power are increasingly blurred.
As the search for a permanent president continues, Columbia University will need to chart a course that both addresses the concerns of its diverse student body and faculty while navigating the external pressures that have shaped the university’s recent trajectory. The role of universities in fostering open dialogue, supporting activism, and protecting the rights of students will likely continue to be a central issue in higher education for years to come.
Conclusion
The resignation of Katrina Armstrong adds to a growing list of university presidents who have faced intense political pressure and scrutiny over campus activism, particularly surrounding Middle Eastern and global conflicts. Columbia’s next steps will be crucial not only for the future of the institution but also as a bellwether for how universities across the country navigate the increasingly complex landscape of political activism, academic freedom, and government intervention. The institution’s response to these challenges will undoubtedly have long-term implications for the role of higher education in a polarized society.
In a controversial move, U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio announced on Thursday that the State Department had revoked the visas of more than 300 students, a number that is expected to rise. This action is part of the White House’s growing crackdown on foreign-born students, many of whom have been involved in political activism, particularly related to pro-Palestinian protests that have been sweeping college campuses.
Rubio made it clear that the government’s focus is on what he referred to as “these lunatics” – individuals who, according to him, are using their student visas not for education but for activism. His statements, made during a visit to Guyana, came amid reports of increasing detentions and deportations of students from countries like Iran, Turkey, and Palestine.
"It might be more than 300 at this point. We do it every day. Every time I find one of these lunatics, I take away their visas," Rubio said, underscoring the administration’s intent to target those engaging in political activism. Some of these arrests have taken place in dramatic fashion, with students detained by masked immigration agents and sent to detention centers, often far from their homes, with limited explanation.
Among the high-profile cases is that of Rumeysa Ozturk, a Turkish national studying in the U.S. on a student visa. Ozturk was arrested earlier this week in Somerville, Massachusetts, and is currently being held in a Louisiana detention facility. Her arrest follows her involvement in a Tufts University student newspaper article that called on the institution to divest from companies with ties to Israel and to acknowledge what she referred to as the Palestinian genocide. Importantly, Ozturk’s essay did not mention Hamas, yet her arrest has raised concerns over the broader political targeting of students engaged in activism.
Many of the students caught up in this crackdown are believed to have been involved in the pro-Palestinian protests that gained momentum on campuses last year. While the administration has not provided specific reasons for targeting these students, far-right pro-Israel groups have compiled lists of individuals they accuse of promoting anti-U.S. or anti-Israel sentiments. These lists have reportedly been shared with U.S. immigration authorities, further intensifying the political climate surrounding these detentions.
The move is part of a larger agenda by the Trump administration to clamp down on the activities of legal permanent residents and student visa holders. Immigration experts warn that such actions undermine the fundamental American right to free speech and assembly, particularly in academic settings.
Ben Wizner, director of the ACLU's Speech, Privacy, and Technology Project, described the current situation as "uniquely disturbing," stating that it sends a message to the brightest minds around the world who traditionally chose to study in the U.S. for its openness and intellectual freedom. The message, he argues, is now one of rejection.
The administration's actions are said to be guided by an immigration provision dating back to the Cold War, which allows the revocation of visas if a student's activities are seen as posing "potentially serious adverse foreign policy consequences." Some of the students targeted, including Ozturk, have had their visas revoked under this justification, despite no clear evidence of criminal activity.
Other notable individuals caught in the crosshairs include Alireza Doroudi, a doctoral student from Iran at the University of Alabama, and Badar Khan Suri, an Indian graduate student at Georgetown University. Both have been detained without clear charges, sparking concerns over whether their arrests are retaliatory measures for their political views. Suri, for instance, was allegedly detained for spreading Hamas propaganda, although he has denied such claims.
This wave of detentions and visa revocations also extends to other students like Yunseo Chung, a 21-year-old Columbia University student who participated in protests. Despite being a legal permanent resident, Chung now faces deportation. Similarly, Leqaa Kordia, a Palestinian student at Columbia, was detained by ICE after allegedly overstaying her student visa.
The increasing number of student arrests and deportations is drawing the attention of human rights advocates, who argue that these actions are a direct attack on free speech. Samah Sisay, one of the attorneys representing detained students, expressed concern that the government's actions are not only targeting specific political views but are also intended to intimidate future student activists.
This crackdown is also raising questions about the role of U.S. universities in protecting their students. In one high-profile case, Columbia University agreed to implement significant changes after President Trump threatened to withdraw $400 million in federal research funding over accusations that the university was not doing enough to address harassment of Jewish students.
As these events unfold, the future of student activism in the U.S. appears increasingly uncertain. If these trends continue, more students may face the loss of their visas, deportation, or even criminal charges related to their political beliefs and actions on campus. The implications for free speech, academic freedom, and international student exchange are profound, and advocates are calling for a reassessment of policies that allow such widespread and seemingly arbitrary actions against students.
In the face of this growing repression, one thing is clear: the United States is now sending a strong message to the world about what it will and will not tolerate in its universities. Whether that message will stifle the tradition of academic activism remains to be seen.
In recent weeks, a growing number of international students and green card holders at prestigious universities, including Cornell, Columbia, Georgetown, and Tufts, have been arrested and detained by federal immigration authorities. These actions appear to be part of a broader crackdown on pro-Palestinian activism within U.S. academic institutions and against dissent in general.
Tufts University
On March 26, 2025, Rumeysa Ozturk, a Turkish doctoral student at Tufts University, was detained by federal agents who revoked her student visa. Ozturk had co-authored an op-ed in the Tufts student newspaper condemning investments in companies linked to Israel and referring to the "Palestinian genocide" in Gaza. Her detention occurred as she was heading to an iftar dinner during Ramadan.
Earlier this month, Mahmoud Khalil, a lawful permanent resident and recent graduate of Columbia University, was arrested in his university housing. Khalil's participation in pro-Palestinian protests led to allegations of supporting Hamas, resulting in the revocation of his green card. He is currently detained while challenging the deportation order.
Subsequently, Yunseo Chung, a 21-year-old Columbia junior from South Korea holding a green card, was targeted for deportation due to her involvement in similar protests. A federal judge issued a temporary restraining order preventing her detention while she contests the deportation order.
Badar Khan Suri, a Georgetown University postdoctoral fellow on a student visa, was detained on March 17, 2025, under accusations of spreading Hamas propaganda and promoting antisemitism. His attorney disputes these claims, suggesting that Suri is being targeted because of his Palestinian wife's heritage and their perceived opposition to U.S. foreign policy.
Momodou Taal, a Cornell graduate student with dual British and Gambian citizenship, was instructed to surrender to ICE authorities on March 22, 2025. Taal's legal team preemptively filed a lawsuit challenging the deportation order, citing concerns over potential surveillance and targeting due to his activism.
These incidents have raised significant concerns among civil rights organizations, university officials, and international communities. Critics argue that the Trump administration's actions infringe upon First Amendment rights and target individuals based on their political views. In response, legal challenges are underway, with courts issuing orders to halt certain deportations and detentions.
As this situation develops, universities and advocacy groups continue to monitor and respond to the evolving landscape of immigration enforcement affecting international students and green card holders across the nation.
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.
ABC News’ Linsey Davis speaks with Baher Azmy, the lawyer for Columbia University student Mahmoud Khalil, who was arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) despite having a green card. Khalil is currently detained in a Department of Homeland Security (DHS) facility in Jena, Louisiana. A judge has temporarily blocked Khalil's deportation. President Trump says that this action is just the beginning of such actions by the government.
A petition to release Mahmoud Khalil from DHS detention is here.
If a student were to walk through campus in late April of last year,
they would have been met with a group of masked students with anti-war
signs in an encampment near McKee Hall. The scene seems to be straight
out of the '60s or '70s, mirroring the Vietnam War campus protests
almost exactly. The only difference is that it is no longer for Vietnam,
but rather for the Palestinian genocide.
“Greeley Students for Palestine work to raise awareness for the genocide
occuring against Palestinians,” the group said in an official
statement. “We aim to do this through educating ourselves and the
community on colonialism/imperialism and its effects, as well as
fundraising and mutual aid.”
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.
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.
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.]
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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.”
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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