US Higher Education and the Intellectualization of White Supremacy

US higher education has reflected and reinforced white supremacy, a particular form of racism, for hundreds of years.  Elite US universities were built and maintained through generations of land theft and killing of native peoples, the enslavement of Africans and their descendants, and the use of intellectualized propaganda to maintain the social order.  

Aspects of this ideology continue today and are visible to the well trained mind but invisible to the equally trained white supremacist mind, enough so that allegedly well educated people have the ability to deny or minimize its presence despite overwhelming evidence.  

White supremacy did not end when enslaved people were not held captive at universities.  It did not end with the creation of Historically Black Colleges and Universities.  It did not end when overt racial discrimination was challenged in the 1960s and 1970s or when affirmative action was instituted. It did not end with various types of ethnic studies.  It did not end with the oversampling of groups in health studies. It did not end in the 21^st century when students protested racist speakers or when the names of some rich and famous white supremacists were removed from buildings or endowments.  It did not end with anti-racist studies or when some schools hired people of color for powerful positions.  White supremacy is embedded today not just in history, literature, or criminal justice courses or in the science labs.  

How much white supremacy do you see embedded at your local college or university?  How is this ideology carefully taught?  Are matters of race and ethnicity ignored (color blind racism)?  How can you observe it systematically in the classroom and in the textbooks?  Do you see it in the racial and economic class makeup of the professors and the students?  In funding? In the recruiting of "legacies"? How do schools pit people against each other and invite animosity in the name of freedom of speech?  How much critical thinking is taught?  How much effort have these institutions really made to the correct the effects of hundreds of years of oppression not only at the school, but in the local community? What numbers can you share that expose the presence of white supremacy at your cherished school? 

A People's History of Higher Education in the US

[Editor's Note: What we saw today at the US Supreme Court--with the end of affirmative action in college enrollment--is horrible but not shocking.  The History of Higher Education in the US over the last four centuries is worse than horrible--from a People's perspective. In many cases it has been horrifying. Some of it has been documented.  Much of it has not. No one has documented the full-length of the terrain, the voyage that got us here, or to what may lie ahead. Looking in the mirror, and at the injustice, what do you see?]  

A People's History of US Higher Education is sorely needed, not as a purely academic work to gather dust on shelves, or as internet click bait, but as a way to assess how our nation moves forward as a democracy--or as something less. To make history, it's helpful to know (real) history: the history of working-class (and middle-class) struggles. 

The college and university industry faces enormous challenges in the coming years, and an elitist perspective that is taught in higher education perpetuates this societal mess: one of monumental (and widely acceptable) selfishness and greed, increasing inequality (see graph below) and reduced social mobility, decreasing life expectancy, lack of transparency and accountability followed by trillions in government bailouts to the rich, and profound environmental destruction. 

A Sketch of the Current Terrain

At the front end of the higher ed pipeline, the US is not producing enough domestic students with the resources or skills to succeed in college and beyond. Much of this is related to "savage inequalities" in the K-12 system (and throughout society) that have never been remedied. And in 2026 we expect an enrollment cliff to occur, a ripple effect of the 2008 Great Recession.

Community colleges and second-tier state universities--once considered the backbone of increasing democracy and social mobility, have faced declining revenues, lower enrollment, and public defunding for more than a decade.   

Adjuncts have become the "new faculty majority"--a trend moving that way for several decades--with little resistance.  Labor has had a few recent victories at elite schools, but it remains to be seen how strong this movement will become and whether it will spread to lower rung institutions.

Drug and alcohol abuse, sexual coercion and assault, bullying, and other forms of violence and brutality are long-standing parts of the US higher ed landscape that have not been fully dealt with.

Millions of folks are learning exclusively online. Subprime robocolleges (like the University of Phoenix, Purdue University Global, and University of Arizona Global Campus) and Online Program Managers (OPMs) have replaced traditional universities with little information about their value or effectiveness.  Those schools flood the internet with targeted ads.  

White supremacy and anti-intellectualism have regained popularity, with the higher education policies of Ron DeSantis in Florida, Greg Abbott in Texas, and Sarah Huckabee-Sanders in Arkansas. The Supreme Court has also spoken recently--ending affirmative action for people of color. Legacies and other meritless preferences for the more rich and powerful remain.   

Mergers, acquisitions, and campus closings are commonplace as schools compete for a smaller number of students and an even smaller number that can pay the full amount for tuition, room and board, fees, and living expenses. 

Elite universities are financial and industrial centers, scooping up (and stealing) land, investing billions overseas and paying few taxes, and hiring foreign workers instead of Americans.  

At the end of the pipeline, US higher education may be educating the world's elites, but higher ed and the larger society are not producing enough skilled workers/good jobs for Americans. There is a growing educated underclass, people who are working but are not working in areas that they had hoped for. There are many bullsh*t jobs out there. And many gig jobs with no benefits. And there are jobs that require long hours and difficult conditions, forcing people to choose between the personal and professional. Some folks are doubling down for career advancement, borrowing (sometimes unwisely) for graduate school. 

Student loan debt makes college graduates captive to the corporations who are willing to hire them--and subject to dismissal whenever they are no longer helping them make a profit. Even at non-profits this is the case. Crushing debt results in people who decide (logically) not to marry, not to have children--at the expense of being labeled as criminals and deviants. The Republican Supreme Court will soon weigh in on the subject and likely determine that debt relief would not be fair to others--presumably the wealthy and powerful that the Justices represent.  

Let's be clear.  Higher education in the United States has always reflected and reinforced a larger (sick) society and its ills. Its beginnings and much of its history are deeply rooted in white supremacy, patriarchy, and classism-- through land theft, genocide, worker oppression, and exclusion. 

There have been many excellent critical accounts of higher education over the last century, from Upton Sinclair's The Goosestep (1923) to Craig Steven Wilder's Ebony and Ivy (2013) to Gary Roth's The Educated Underclass (2019).  Recent books have also examined elite universities, state universities, and for-profit colleges and their predatory practices. But few if any assess the dark landscape from start to finish. 

A Sketch of Where the US Has Been

In the 1600s and 1700s, elite eastern schools like Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Brown, and Georgetown were constructed on stolen land. The leaders of the exclusive white male schools held people captive in order to keep the schools running. All the students were white men or people who had to assimilate into the world of white supremacy. The schools also taught religious ideologies to rationalize their crimes against humanity.  What was it like for an indigenous person, an enslaved person, or a servant at one of these schools? How brutal was college life in those times?  

Government intervention was essential to increasing opportunity. After the Civil War, Historically Black Colleges and Universities enabled some African Americans to get a higher education. State universities and teacher's colleges also emerged with the promise of educating and empowering more citizens. And even then, land for state universities came from land theft of indigenous nations. Financial and industrial robber barons (men who stole wholesale from workers and their families), subsidized and controlled elite higher private higher education. These men included Leland Stanford, John D. Rockefeller, and Andrew Carnegie.  

Government funding through the post-World War II GI Bill increased enrollment (but disproportionate opportunity for white men) during the late 1940s and 1950s. The 1960s reflected a time of rebellion, greater access, and a movement toward equality. The Black Panthers, for example, challenged white supremacy at Merritt College and San Francisco State. But those days seem to be from a bygone era--a moment of opportunity lost. We do have some accounts of students and teachers, but is there one place we can find what life was like in junior colleges and lesser known state universities? 

Were the 1960s an anomaly? In 2023, it certainly appears so. For those activists who remember those times well enough, and remember the progress, it may be disheartening. Many citizens today are too young or not as well informed. Over the decades, even more have been disinformed--lied to--by elitist revisions of history.  

Battling the Business of Higher Education

Since the 1980s, US higher education has increasingly reflected and reinforced a nation of privatization, government austerity and lack of oversight, and social class exclusion. Elite credentials are used to discriminate in career fields (like law) where there is an oversupply; other careers (like nursing) are also hamstrung by hyper-credentialism--creating artificial shortages. 

Progressive organizations have been largely ineffective in battling strengthening corporate forces on campus.  The Fed and other organizations continue to sell the idea of more higher education for all, as millions face a lifetime of debt peonage.  There have been some heroes on the People's side, but they have been largely ignored by the mainstream media--which largely writes from an elitist perspective. 

We are now more than four decades into this neoliberal era. Higher education has changed, yet it still reflects much of what is wrong with America. Working class folks, and even many middle-class consumers are increasingly wary of higher education--whether it's worth buying into.  In some cases, edtech has reduced our Quality of Life. Is there anyone with enough energy, resources, and courage to document it all?  And can it be done from the perspective of the People--for the good of the People?  

Related links: 

HEI Resources

US Higher Education and the Intellectualization of White Supremacy

One Fascism or Two?: The Reemergence of "Fascism(s)" in US Higher Education

"Let's all pretend we couldn't see it coming" (The US Working-Class Depression)

The Tragedy of Human Capital Theory in Higher Education (Glen McGhee)

The College Dream is Over (Gary Roth) 

Erica Gallagher Speaks Out About 2U's Shady Practices at Department of Education Virtual Listening Meeting 

I Went on Strike to Cancel My Student Debt and Won. Every Debtor Deserves the Same. (Ann Bowers)

 

 

“Wypipo” and Higher Education: Unpacking Race, Privilege, and Power in U.S. Colleges

What Does “Wypipo” Mean?

“Wypipo” mimics the pronunciation of “white people” but carries critical connotations. It is often used to call out behaviors associated with whiteness, including racial entitlement, cultural tone-deafness, and systemic blindness to inequities. The term serves as both a cultural critique and an assertion of resistance against normalized white dominance.

Higher Education and “Wypipo”: The Landscape

U.S. colleges and universities remain sites where whiteness shapes admissions, curriculum, governance, and culture. Predominantly white institutions (PWIs) continue to reinforce racial disparities despite diversity initiatives (Espenshade & Radford, 2009; Alon, 2015). Curricula center Eurocentric perspectives, while faculty and administrative leadership remain disproportionately white (Turner, González, & Wong, 2011).

Charlie Kirk, Turning Point USA, and Liberty University: Conservative “Wypipo” Powerhouses

Among the most prominent embodiments of “Wypipo” influence in higher education are conservative activist Charlie Kirk and his organization, Turning Point USA (TPUSA). Founded in 2012, TPUSA has become a major force in conservative campus organizing, advancing a right-wing political agenda centered on opposition to what it terms “woke” ideology and critical race theory.

Charlie Kirk’s activism includes extensive social media campaigns, campus chapters, and large-scale conferences that mobilize predominantly white student bases. His rhetoric often frames racial justice efforts as threats to free speech and traditional values, casting “wokeness” as a form of indoctrination (Cowan, 2020). Kirk’s influence extends into shaping public policy and funding flows, leveraging connections with major donors and political figures.

Liberty University, founded by evangelical leader Jerry Falwell Sr., is a key institutional partner in this conservative higher education ecosystem. Liberty positions itself as an alternative to mainstream universities, promoting Christian conservative values with significant political and financial resources. Its student body and leadership largely reflect a white evangelical demographic that aligns with Kirk’s messaging. Together, TPUSA and Liberty University represent a coordinated cultural and political push that sustains whiteness as a dominant force in higher education debates (Harriot, 2021).

Michael Harriot’s Insights on “Wypipo” and Power

Journalist and cultural critic Michael Harriot has explored how whiteness functions not only as racial identity but as a system of social control. In his work, Harriot emphasizes the performative and often self-interested nature of white activism and the ways white power adapts to preserve itself, including in educational settings (Harriot, 2017).

Harriot’s analyses illuminate how figures like Kirk and institutions like Liberty University deploy cultural narratives that obscure systemic racism while mobilizing racial resentment. This dynamic reinforces “Wypipo” dominance under the guise of protecting free expression or traditional values, often at the expense of marginalized students and faculty.

How “Wypipo” Reveals Structural Inequities

The use of “Wypipo” challenges higher education stakeholders to recognize whiteness as an active, often unmarked, structure of privilege. Critical race theory frames whiteness as a form of property and power that shapes institutional policies, resource distribution, and cultural norms (Harris, 1993; Lipsitz, 1998).

This perspective calls on predominantly white faculty, administrators, and students to examine their roles in perpetuating inequities, even unconsciously (DiAngelo, 2018). It also critiques diversity efforts that focus on surface inclusion without addressing deeper power imbalances (Ahmed, 2012).

Controversy and Necessity of the Term

While “Wypipo” can be provocative and controversial, it forces a confrontation with realities often softened or ignored in polite discourse. Scholars argue that such language is essential for disrupting entrenched whiteness and fostering honest conversations about race and power (Delgado & Stefancic, 2017).

Toward Equity Beyond “Wypipo”

True progress requires dismantling systemic racism in admissions, curriculum, governance, and campus climate. This means elevating marginalized voices, redistributing power, and holding institutions accountable (Gasman, Kim, & Nguyen, 2011; Harper, 2012). Programs rooted in critical race pedagogy and institutional change show promise for fostering inclusive educational spaces (Ladson-Billings, 1995; Solórzano & Yosso, 2002).

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References

• Ahmed, S. (2012). On Being Included: Racism and Diversity in Institutional Life. Duke University Press.

• Alon, S. (2015). Race, gender, and the stratification of college science majors. Sociology of Education, 88(3), 259–280.

• Bowen, W. G., & Bok, D. (1998). The Shape of the River: Long-Term Consequences of Considering Race in College and University Admissions. Princeton University Press.

• Cowan, T. (2020). The culture war on campus: Turning Point USA and conservative student activism. Journal of Higher Education Politics and Policy, 22(1), 45–62.

• Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (2017). Critical Race Theory: An Introduction (3rd ed.). NYU Press.

• DiAngelo, R. (2018). White Fragility: Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism. Beacon Press.

• Espenshade, T. J., & Radford, A. W. (2009). No Longer Separate, Not Yet Equal: Race and Class in Elite College Admission and Campus Life. Princeton University Press.

• Gasman, M., Kim, J., & Nguyen, T.-H. (2011). Engaging faculty of color in the academy: Lessons from multiple perspectives. The Journal of Higher Education, 82(2), 152–182.

• Harper, S. R. (2012). Race without racism: How higher education researchers minimize racist institutional norms. The Review of Higher Education, 36(1), 9–29.

• Harriot, M. (2017). The Case for Reparations—and Why White America’s Resistance Is About Power. The Root.

• Harris, C. I. (1993). Whiteness as property. Harvard Law Review, 106(8), 1707–1791.

• hooks, b. (1994). Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom. Routledge.

• Ladson-Billings, G. (1995). Toward a theory of culturally relevant pedagogy. American Educational Research Journal, 32(3), 465–491.

• Leonardo, Z. (2004). The Color of Supremacy: Beyond the Discourse of 'White Privilege'. Educational Philosophy and Theory, 36(2), 137–152.

• Lipsitz, G. (1998). The Possessive Investment in Whiteness: How White People Profit from Identity Politics. Temple University Press.

• Sander, R. (2012). Mismatch: How Affirmative Action Hurts Students It’s Intended to Help, and Why Universities Won’t Admit It. Basic Books.

• Smith, W. A., Allen, W. R., & Danley, L. L. (2007). “Assume the position…you fit the description”: Psychosocial experiences and racial battle fatigue among African American male college students. American Behavioral Scientist, 51(4), 551–578.

• Solórzano, D. G., & Yosso, T. J. (2002). Critical race methodology: Counter-storytelling as an analytical framework for education research. Qualitative Inquiry, 8(1), 23–44.

• Sue, D. W., Capodilupo, C. M., Torino, G. C., Bucceri, J. M., Holder, A. M. B., Nadal, K. L., & Esquilin, M. (2007). Racial microaggressions in everyday life: Implications for clinical practice. American Psychologist, 62(4), 271–286.

• Turner, C. S. V., González, J. C., & Wong, K. (2011). Faculty women of color: The critical nexus of race and gender. Journal of Diversity in Higher Education, 4(4), 199–211.

Chris Rufo and Right Wing "Civil Rights"

Chris Rufo’s recent article in City Journal, titled "New Right-Wing Civil-Rights Regime", is a prime example of ideological revisionism that fails to engage with history in any meaningful way. At its core, Rufo presents an interpretation of the civil rights movement and its aftermath that is both profoundly ahistorical and dangerously reductionist. While attempting to frame his argument as a critique of the modern Left’s grip on civil rights law, Rufo distorts the legacy of the 1960s civil rights movement and misrepresents the real challenges of racial justice in America today.

Chris Rufo, a senior fellow at the conservative Manhattan Institute and a prominent figure in the battle against Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) policies, has gained significant influence in recent years for his aggressive campaigns to shift the national discourse on race and education. Rufo's rise to prominence coincided with his efforts to expose and denounce critical race theory (CRT) in public education, a tactic that has been instrumental in shaping conservative rhetoric around race. His latest article continues this trend, proposing that the Trump administration's attack on DEI programs in higher education represents a necessary correction to what he perceives as a Left-wing racialist agenda.

However, Rufo’s understanding of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and its legacy is highly problematic. The article begins by referencing Christopher Caldwell’s The Age of Entitlement, a book that has been influential in certain conservative circles. Caldwell’s thesis, which Rufo echoes, argues that the Civil Rights Act marked a "fundamental departure" from America’s constitutional tradition. According to Caldwell (and by extension, Rufo), the Act, initially a noble effort to combat racial discrimination, eventually "consumed core American freedoms" and has been weaponized to entrench "left-wing racialist ideology" in American institutions. This narrative, however, overlooks the essential purpose of the Civil Rights Act—to eliminate legally sanctioned racial discrimination and provide equal protection to marginalized groups.

Rufo’s invocation of Caldwell’s book is troubling because it oversimplifies the historical context of civil rights legislation. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 was not the beginning of a long, slow descent into tyranny, as Rufo suggests, but rather the long-overdue correction of centuries of systemic racism. The idea that it was somehow a “departure” from constitutional principles is a misguided reading of both the Act’s intent and the broader history of American law. To frame the Act’s enforcement mechanisms and subsequent civil rights policies as a threat to "core American freedoms" is a distortion that erases the basic reality of racial oppression in the U.S. before and after its passage.

The Legacy of White Supremacy and Structural Racism

What Rufo and those who echo his arguments fail to acknowledge is the enduring legacy of white supremacy and structural racism that has pervaded American society for centuries. The very system of racial discrimination that the Civil Rights Act sought to dismantle is far from a relic of the past; it is woven into the fabric of American institutions, policies, and practices in ways that continue to disadvantage Black people and other people of color.

One glaring example is the practice of redlining, where federal policies explicitly denied mortgage loans and insurance to Black families and other communities of color in favor of white neighborhoods. The result was the creation of segregated, impoverished urban spaces that continue to suffer from disinvestment and lack of opportunity to this day. In many cities, predominantly Black neighborhoods were intentionally situated near polluting industries, highways, and other environmentally harmful sites—leading to environmental racism. For example, toxic waste was often dumped in or near Black communities, subjecting these populations to higher rates of asthma, cancer, and other health problems. These practices are a direct manifestation of a racist infrastructure that systematically devalued the lives and health of Black and Brown Americans.

Similarly, housing policies throughout the 20th century—especially during the post-WWII era—were designed to exclude Black families from the expanding suburban dream. The GI Bill, which offered housing subsidies to veterans returning from World War II, was administered in ways that largely excluded Black servicemen from accessing these benefits. As a result, millions of white families were able to buy homes and build wealth, while Black families were largely left out, forcing many into substandard housing or limited to racially segregated neighborhoods with fewer opportunities for economic mobility.

The effects of segregation are not limited to housing, however. In education, the legacy of white supremacy has created an unequal system that continues to affect Black and Latinx students today. While Brown v. Board of Education (1954) officially declared school segregation unconstitutional, de facto segregation still exists in many schools due to housing patterns, local funding disparities, and state and federal neglect. Predominantly Black schools often face chronic underfunding, inadequate facilities, and higher teacher turnover rates, all of which contribute to a less equitable education for students of color. The persistent racial achievement gap in standardized testing, college admissions, and career prospects is not an accident, but the direct result of this long-standing inequality in education.

In the workplace, systemic discrimination continues to be a major problem. Job discrimination against Black and Brown workers has been documented for decades, whether in hiring practices, wage disparities, or promotions. Studies show that applicants with “ethnic-sounding” names are less likely to be called back for job interviews, even when their resumes are identical to those of their white counterparts. Even in fields like law, medicine, and finance—where education and credentials are paramount—racial minorities face significant barriers to advancement.

The criminal justice system is perhaps the most visible example of how structural racism is still a significant issue in the United States. The over-policing of Black neighborhoods, mass incarceration, and the disproportionate sentencing of Black Americans for similar offenses compared to their white counterparts are stark reminders of how racial inequality remains embedded in American institutions. Rufo’s argument that we have moved past the systemic racism embedded in our society ignores this reality, while conveniently minimizing or disregarding the lived experiences of Black and Brown communities.

"Colorblindness" as a Historical Evasion

Rufo goes on to argue that the Right, for years ambivalent about civil rights law, has now discovered its “winning argument”—one grounded in “colorblind equality.” This is where the article takes a dangerous turn, suggesting that policies such as affirmative action and Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives are the result of a Left-wing plot to institutionalize racial discrimination. The article not only misrepresents the goals of such programs but also fundamentally misunderstands the role they play in a society that has never fully reckoned with its history of racial inequities.

The notion of “colorblindness” as the ideal model of equality, promoted by Rufo and others, is deeply problematic. While it may sound appealing in theory, in practice, colorblindness ignores the structural realities of race in America. It’s an abstraction that overlooks the lived experiences of racial minorities and fails to address the historical and ongoing disadvantages they face. In higher education, for example, DEI policies are designed not to perpetuate discrimination but to provide opportunities for those who have been historically excluded from academic spaces. Rufo’s argument that these policies are a form of “racialist discrimination” is not only misleading but actively harmful, suggesting that efforts to correct inequality are themselves a form of bigotry.

Chris Rufo’s Avoidance of Class in His Analysis

One of the most glaring omissions in Rufo’s analysis is his near-total avoidance of class as a factor in understanding systemic inequality. Rufo's focus is almost exclusively on race, specifically on how he perceives racial policies to be privileging one group over another, but he does not consider the ways in which class and economic status intersect with race to perpetuate inequality. This avoidance of class, particularly in the context of economic mobility and working-class struggles, weakens his entire argument and distorts the reality of how racism operates in modern American society.

Rufo’s critique of the modern civil rights regime seems to entirely ignore the vast disparities in wealth, income, and opportunity that are not simply a product of racial identity but of class-based systems of power. For example, his focus on “colorblind” equality in education does not account for the fact that the richest Americans, regardless of their racial background, have access to a far superior education and resources than the poor, who are disproportionately Black, Latinx, or Indigenous. The education gap that Rufo claims is a result of racial policies is also a direct consequence of economic inequality, where low-income communities—largely communities of color—are unable to access the same quality of education as wealthier, predominantly white communities. Acknowledging this would complicate Rufo’s narrative, as it would challenge the simplistic framing of a racial conflict between different ethnic groups, rather than a structural critique of the class divide in America.

Moreover, Rufo’s call for a “colorblind” society effectively erases the fact that poverty and economic disempowerment are racialized in ways that cannot be understood without examining the intersection of race and class. By focusing solely on racial hierarchy without addressing the role that economic disparity plays in sustaining social divisions, Rufo contributes to a larger ideological erasure of class struggle from the national conversation. His avoidance of class is a deliberate one, as it allows him to cast the issue of racial justice solely in terms of “identity politics” and to dismiss efforts aimed at addressing material inequality as divisive or unnecessary.

Who Will Be Receptive to This Propaganda?

While Rufo's article represents a highly selective interpretation of civil rights history, it will likely resonate with certain groups whose political and cultural leanings align with his critique of left-wing ideologies. These are individuals who believe that the modern civil rights agenda, particularly in the form of DEI and affirmative action programs, has gone too far and is now harmful to the interests of "oppressor" groups like white people, men, and even some Asian Americans. This demographic includes:

1. Conservative and Libertarian Thinkers: Many who align with conservative or libertarian ideologies are drawn to the narrative that civil rights policies have become a tool of social engineering, seeking to dismantle traditional values in the name of racial and gender equality. Rufo’s emphasis on "colorblind" policies will appeal to those who see government intervention as an overreach and prefer individual merit over group-based policies.

2. Populist Right-Wing Activists: The article will likely resonate with populist voters who view institutions like the Ivy League universities as bastions of elitism and left-wing ideologies. These individuals are often distrustful of academic institutions, the media, and governmental institutions, and Rufo’s framing of DEI as racialist discrimination plays into their fears of being "marginalized" in favor of minority groups.

3. Cultural War Foot Soldiers: Many of Rufo’s ideas are packaged as part of the broader culture wars. His framing of CRT, DEI, and "wokeness" as threats to American values is designed to rally those who feel alienated by changes in cultural norms, especially regarding race, gender, and identity. This group tends to be more reactive to what they perceive as a breakdown in social order, and Rufo provides a coherent narrative that positions them as defenders of a traditional, meritocratic society.

4. Right-Wing Media Consumers: The article is likely to appeal to consumers of right-wing media who are already attuned to the language of cultural decline and political correctness. These readers will be receptive to Rufo’s framing because it aligns with familiar themes promoted by conservative pundits.

In the end, Rufo’s narrative is one that is carefully designed for a particular audience—a segment of the American populace that feels threatened by the cultural shifts around race, identity, and equality. By presenting a revisionist history of civil rights and ignoring the deeply embedded structural inequalities of class, race, and economics, Rufo continues to peddle an ideological framework that is more about cultural warfare than actual justice.

Language in the Age of Fascist Politics (Henry Giroux)

In the age of expanding fascism, the power of language is not only fragile but increasingly threatened. As Toni Morrison has noted, “language is not only an instrument through which power is exercised,” it also shapes agency and functions as an act with consequences. These consequences ripple through the very fabric of our existence. For in the words we speak, meaning, truth, and our collective future are at risk. Each syllable, phrase, and sentence becomes a battleground where truth and power collide, where silence breeds complicity, and where justice hangs in the balance.

In response, we find ourselves in desperate need of a new vocabulary, one capable of naming the fascist tide and militarized language now engulfing the United States. This is not a matter of style or rhetorical flourish; it is a matter of survival. The language required to confront and resist this unfolding catastrophe will not come from the legacy press, which remains tethered to the very institutions it ought to expose. Nor can we turn to the right-wing media machines, led by Fox News, where fascist ideals are not just defended but paraded as patriotism. 

In the face of this crisis, Toni Morrison’s insight drawn from her Nobel Lecture becomes all the more urgent and makes clear that the language of tyrants, embodied in the rhetoric, images, and modes of communication characteristic of the Trump regime, is a dead language. For her “a dead language is not simply one that is no longer spoken or written,” it is unyielding language “content to admire its own paralysis.” It is repressive language infused with power, censored and censoring. Ruthless in its policing duties and dehumanizing language, it has no desire or purpose other than maintaining the free range of its own narcotic narcissism, its own exclusivity and dominance. “Though moribund, it is not without effect” for it actively thwarts the intellect, stalls conscience, and “suppresses human potential.” Unreceptive to interrogation, it cannot form or tolerate new ideas, shape other thoughts, tell another story, or fill baffling silences. This is the language of official power whose purpose is to sanction ignorance and preserve. 

Beneath its glittering spectacle and vulgar performance, lies a language that is "dumb, predatory, sentimental." It offers mass spectacles, a moral sleepwalking state of mind, and a psychotic infatuation for those who seek refuge in unchecked power. It forges a community built on greed, corruption, and hate, steeped in a scandal of hollow fulfillment. It is a language unadorned in its cruelty and addiction to creating an architecture of violence. It is evident in Trump’s discourse of occupation, his militarizing of American politics, and in his use of an army of trolls to turn hatred into a social media spectacle of swagger and cruelty.



Despite differing tones and political effects, the discourses of the far right and the liberal mainstream converge in their complicity: both traffic in mindless spectacle, absorb lies as currency, and elevate illusion over insight. The liberal mainstream drapes the machinery of cruelty in the language of civility, masking the brutality of the Trump regime and the predatory logic of gangster capitalism, while the far right revels in it, parading its violence as virtue and its hatred as patriotism. Language, once a powerful instrument against enforced silence and institutional cruelty, now too often serves power, undermining reason, normalizing violence, and replacing justice with vengeance. 

In Trump’s oligarchic culture of authoritarianism, language becomes a spectacle of power, a theater of fear crafted, televised, and performed as a civic lesson in mass indoctrination. If language is the vessel of consciousness, then we must forge a new one--fierce, unflinching, and unafraid to rupture the fabric of falsehood that sustains domination, disposability, and terror. The late famed novelist, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, was right in stating that “language was a site of colonial control,” inducting people into what he called “colonies of the mind.”

The utopian visions that support the promise of a radical democracy and prevent the dystopian nightmare of a fascist politics are under siege in the United States. Increasingly produced, amplified and legitimated in a toxic language of hate, exclusion, and punishment, all aspects of the social and the democratic values central to a politics of solidarity are being targeted by right-wing extremists. In addition, the institutions that produce the formative cultures that nourishes the social imagination and democracy itself are now under attack. The signposts are on full display in a politics of racial and social cleansing that is being fed by a white nationalist and white supremacist ideology that is at the centre of power in the US—marked by fantasies of exclusion accompanied by a full-scale attack on morality, reason, and collective resistance rooted in democratic struggle. 

As more people revolt against this dystopian project, neoliberal ideology and elements of a fascist politics merge to contain, distract and misdirect the anger that has materialised out of legitimate grievances against the government, controlling privileged elites and the hardships caused by neoliberal capitalism. The current crisis of agency, representation, values and language demands a discursive shift that can call into question and defeat the formative culture and ideological scaffolding through which a savage neoliberal capitalism reproduces itself. This warped use of language directly feeds into the policies of disposability that define Trump's regime.

State Terror and Trump’s Politics of Disposability

As Trump’s regime concentrates power, he invokes a chilling convergence of law, order, and violence, a cornerstone of his politics of disposability. His acts of cruelty and lawlessness, abducting and deporting innocent people, branding immigrants as “vermin,” claiming they are “poisoning the blood” of Americans, and even proposing the legalization of murder for twelve hours, make clear that his violent metaphors are not just rhetorical flourishes. They are policy blueprints. In Trump’s hands, rhetoric becomes a weaponized prelude to atrocity, a tool of statecraft. Threats, hatred, and cruelty are transformed into instruments of governance.

This is not careless talk, it is a brutal and calculated expression of power. Trump’s threats to arrest and deport critics such as Zohran Mamdani reveal his willingness to use the machinery of the state for political extermination. His targets are predictable: immigrants, Black people, educators, journalists, LGBTQ+ individuals, and anyone who dares to challenge his white Christian nationalist, neoliberal, and white supremacist vision. His language does not merely offend, it incites harm, enacts repression, and opens the gates to state-sanctioned violence. It extends the reign of terror across the United States by labeling protesters as terrorists and deploying the military to American cities, treating them as if they were “occupied territories.” 

Trump is not alone. Many of his MAGA follower use these same hateful discourse. For instance, conservative pundit Ann Coulter wrote “in response to a speech by Melanie Yazzie, a Native artist and professor, about decolonization, “We didn’t Kill enough Indians.” This is not simply harsh rhetoric; nor is it a performative display of emboldened hatred and historical forgetting, it sets the stage for state-sanctioned repression and mass violence. What is at stake is more than civic respect. It is democracy itself. When language loses meaning and truth is blurred, tyranny thrives. Trump’s and too much of MAGA discourse is not about persuasion; it is about dehumanization and domination. It functions as statecraft, laying the groundwork for a society where suffering becomes spectacle and repression masquerades as law and order. Language is the canary in the coal mine, warning us that democracy dies without an informed citizenry.

As Eddie Glaude Jr. has powerfully argued, Americans must confront a brutal truth: the creation and expansion of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), now the largest federal law enforcement agency, is not merely a matter of policy, it is a cornerstone of white supremacy. It is a racist institution, entrenched in an immigration policy designed to uphold the values of white nationalism. In the face of shifting demographics, ICE is tasked with an urgent mission—to make America white again, a calculated attempt to turn back the clock on progress, to preserve an imagined past at the cost of justice and humanity.

We now live in a country where class and racial warfare both at home and abroad is on steroids, exposing the killing machine of gangster capitalism in its rawest, most punitive form. Trump supports the genocidal war waged by a state led by a war criminal. Children are being slaughtered in Gaza. Millions of Americans, including poor children, teeter on the edge of losing their healthcare. Funds for feeding hungry children are being slashed, sacrificed to feed the pockets of the ultra-rich. Thousands will die, not by accident, but by design. Terror, fear, and punishment have replaced the ideals of equality, freedom, and justice. Childcide is now normalized as the law of the land. The lights are dimming in America, and all that remains are the smug, ignorant smirks of fascist incompetence and bodies drained of empathy and solidarity.

Gangster Capitalism and the Death of Empathy

Gangster capitalism lays the foundation for Trump’s racist and fascist politics. As I have noted elsewhere, the United States has descended into a state of political, economic, cultural, and social psychosis, where cruel, neoliberal, democracy-hating policies have prevailed since the 1970s. At the core of this authoritarian shift lies a systemic war on workers, youth, Blacks, and immigrants, increasingly marked by mass violence and a punishing state both domestically and internationally. The U.S. has transformed into an empire dominated by a callous, greedy billionaire class that has dismantled any remnants of democracy, while embracing the fascistic ideology of white Christian nationalism and white supremacy. Fascism now parades not only beneath the flag but also under the Christian cross. 

America has shifted from celebrating unchecked individualism, as depicted in Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, to the glorification of greed championed by Gordon Gekko in Wall Street, and the psychotic avarice of Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. This descent into barbarity and psychotic infatuation with violence is further demonstrated by Justin Zhong, a right-wing preacher at Sure Foundation Baptist Church in Indianapolis, who called for the deaths of LGBTQ+ individuals during a sermon. Zhong defended his comments by citing biblical justifications and labeling LGBTQ+ people as "domestic terrorists." 

It gets worse. During a Men’s Preaching Night at Sure Foundation Baptist Church, Zhong's associate, Stephen Falco, suggested that LGBTQ+ people should "blow yourself in the back of the head," and that Christians should "pray for their deaths." Another member, Wade Rawley, advocated for violence, stating LGBTQ+ individuals should be "beaten and stomped in the mud" before being shot in the head. Fascism in America, nourished by the toxic roots of homophobia, now cloaks itself not just in the poisonous banner of the Confederate flag, but also in the sacred guise of the Christian cross.

Welcome to Trump’s America, where empathy is now viewed as a weakness and the cold rule of the market is the template for judging all social relations. One noted example can be found in the words of Trump’s on-and-off billionaire ally, Elon Musk, who dismisses empathy as a naive and detrimental force that undermines the competitive, individualistic ethos he champions. Speaking to Joe Rogan on his podcast, Musk specifically stated that “The fundamental weakness of western civilization is empathy.” As Julia Carrie Wong observes in The Guardian, the stakes extend far beyond casting empathy as a "parasitic plague." Empathy's true danger lies in its role as an enabler—granting permission to dehumanize others and constricting the very “definition of who should be included in a democratic state.” This is a recipe for barbarism, one that allows both states and individuals to turn a blind eye to the genocidal violence unfolding in Gaza and beyond.

Naming the Deep Roots of the Police State

Ruth Ben-Ghiat has warned that “America has been set on a trajectory to become a police state,” pointing to the passage of the Brutal and Bellicose Bill (BBB), which handed ICE a budget larger than the militaries of Brazil, Israel, and Italy combined. But the roots of this state violence go deeper. The foundation was laid under Bush and Cheney, whose war on terror birthed Guantanamo, Abu Ghraib, mass surveillance, and extraordinary rendition. What Trump has done is strip these earlier authoritarian practices of all pretenses, elevating them to the status of governing principles.

The police state did not begin with Trump; it evolved through him. Now, we see its terrifying maturity: racial cleansing disguised as immigration policy, hatred normalized as political speech, dissent criminalized, birthright citizenship threatened, and everyday life militarized. This is not politics as usual, it is fascism in real time.

Trump’s fascist politics grows even more dangerous when we recognize that his language of colonization and domination has helped transform American society into what Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o chillingly describes as a “war zone.” This war zone now spans the digital terrain—through the internet, podcasts, social media, and educational platforms—becoming a fertile breeding ground for fascist symbols, reactionary values, manufactured identities, and the toxic resurrection of colonial logics. In this battleground of meaning, the language of colonization does more than obscure the truth—it erodes critical thinking, silences historical memory, and disarms the very possibility of empowered agency. What remains in its wake is a nation scarred by suffering, haunted by loneliness, bound by shared fears, and anesthetized by the numbing rituals of a punishing state.

The transformation of America into a war zone finds its most visible expression in the rise of Trump’s omnipresent police state. This authoritarian machinery reveals itself through the mechanisms of state-sponsored terror, a heavily militarized ICE force operating like masked enforcers, and the rapid expansion of detention centers that will increasingly resemble a network of potential forced labor camps. As Fintan O’Toole warns, Trump’s deployment of troops onto the streets of Los Angeles is not merely symbolic—it is “a training exercise for the army, a form of reorientation.” In this reorientation, soldiers are no longer defenders of the Constitution but are being retrained as instruments of authoritarian power, bound not by democratic ideals but by obedience to a singular will.

Nevertheless, we resist or refuse to name the fascist threat and the ideological and economic architecture of its politics. Still, we recoil from calling the Trump regime what it is: a fascist state engaged in domestic terrorism. Still, we remain blind to the fact that economic inequality, global militarism, and the genocidal logics of empire are not peripheral issues, they are the center. Why is it so difficult to admit that we are living in an age of American fascism? Why do the crimes of the powerful, at home and abroad, so often pass without scrutiny, while the victims are blamed or erased?

The Collapse of Moral Imagination

What we face is not only a political crisis, partly in the collapse of conscience and civic courage-- a profound moral collapse. The war being waged at home by the Trump regime is not just against immigrants or the poor, it is a war on critical thought, on historical memory, on the courage to dissent. It is a war on every institution that upholds critical thinking, informed knowledge, and civic literacy. This is a genocidal war against the very possibility of a just future—a war not merely against, but for stupidity, for the death of morality, and for the annihilation of any robust notion of democracy. Viktor Klemperer, in his seminal work The Language of the Third Reich, offers a crucial lesson from history: "With great insistence and a high degree of precision right down to the last detail, Hitler’s Mein Kampf teaches not only that the masses are stupid, but that they need to be kept that way, intimidated into not thinking." Klemperer’s analysis reveals that Nazi politics did not arise in a vacuum; it was cultivated in a culture where language itself was the breeding ground of cruelty and control.

Trump’s rhetoric of fear, racial hatred does not emerge in a vacuum. It resonates because it taps into a long and violent history, a history soaked in blood, built on genocide, slavery, colonialism, and exclusion. His language recalls the genocidal campaigns against Indigenous peoples, Black Americans, Jews, and others deemed disposable by authoritarian regimes. It is a necrotic lexicon, resurrected in service of tyranny. It gives birth to politicians with blood in their mouths, who weaponize nostalgia and bigotry, cloaking brutality in the false promises of patriotism and “law and order.”

Language as War and the Return of Americanized Fascism

This is not merely a rhetoric of cruelty, it is a call to arms. Trump’s words do not simply shelter fascists; they summon them. They silence dissent, normalize torture, and echo the logic of death camps, internment camps, and mass incarceration. His discourse, laden with hatred and lies, is designed to turn neighbors into enemies, civic life into war, and politics into a death cult and zone of terminal exclusion. Undocumented immigrants, or those seeking to register for green cards or citizenship, are torn from their families and children, cast into prisons such as Alligator Alcatraz, a grotesque manifestation of the punishing state. As Melissa Gira Grant writes in The New Republic, it is "an American concentration camp…built to cage thousands of people rounded up by ICE," constructed in a chilling display of colonial disregard, and erected on traditional Miccosukee land without so much as consulting the Tribe.

This is the face of modern cruelty: language wielded as a tool to orchestrate a spectacle of violence, designed to degrade, divide, and erase. Culture is no longer a peripheral force in politics; it has become the central weapon in the rise of state terrorism. The language of war and complicity normalizes America’s transformation into a monstrous carceral state, a symbol of state-sponsored terror where due process is suspended, and suffering is not just an outcome but the point itself. 

A culture of cruelty now merges with state sponsored racial terror, functioning as a badge of honor. One example is noted in Trump advisor Laura Loomer, who ominously remarked that "the wild animals surrounding President Donald Trump’s new immigration detention center… will have 'at least 65 million meals." Change.org, along with others such as Pod Save America co-host Tommy Vietor, noted that her comment “is not only racist, it is a direct emotional attack and veiled threat against Hispanic communities. This kind of speech dehumanizes people of color and normalizes genocidal language.” Her racist remark not only reveals the profound contempt for human life within Trump's inner circle but also highlights how cruelty and violence are strategically used as both a policy tool and a public spectacle. Loomer’s remark is not an aberration, it is a symptom of the fascist logic animating this administration, where death itself becomes a political message. Her blood-soaked discourse if symptomatic of the criminogenic politics fundamental to the working of the Trump regime.

The parallels to history are unmistakable. Loomer’s invocation of death as the outcome of detention recalls the Nazi designation of certain camps as Vernichtungslager, extermination camps, where as Holocaust survivor Primo Levi noted, imprisonment and execution were inseparable. Likewise, the U.S. internment of Japanese Americans during World War II, though often sanitized in public memory, operated under a similar logic of racial suspicion and collective punishment. The message in each case is clear, as Judith Butler has noted in her writing: some lives are rendered invisible, deemed unworthy of legal protection, of family, of dignity, of life itself. In fascist regimes, such spaces function not only as instruments of punishment but as symbolic theaters of power, meant to instill terror, enforce obedience, and declare which bodies the state has marked for erasure.

For Trump, J.D. Vance, and their ilk, fascism is not a specter to be feared but a banner to be waved. The spirit of the Confederacy and the corpse-like doctrines of white supremacy, militarism, and neoliberal authoritarianism have returned, this time supercharged by surveillance technologies, financial capital, and social media echo chambers. In the spirit of the Trump regime, the symbols of the Confederacy are normalized. Confederate flags are now waved by neo-Nazis in public squares and parades, while Trump renames US warships and 7 military bases after Confederate officers, reinforcing a dangerous nostalgia for a past rooted in racism and rebellion against the very ideals of unity and equality that this nation claims to uphold.

Higher Education and the Fight Against Authoritarianism
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It should not surprise us that the American public has grown numb with the constant echo chamber of state terrorism playing out in multiple sites of attack. Powerful disimagination machines, mainstream media, right-wing propaganda platforms, tech billionaires, have flooded public consciousness with conspiracy theories, historical amnesia, and spectacularized images of immigrants and others being deported to prisons, foreign Gulags, and modern day black holes. These are not simply entertainment outlets; they are pedagogical weapons of mass distraction, breeding civic illiteracy and moral paralysis. Under their influence, the American people have been placed in a moral and political coma.

White Nationalism and Reproductive Control

Nowhere is this more evident than in the mainstream media’s failure to address the racial and ideological foundations of Trump’s agenda. His attacks on Haitian immigrants, the travel ban on seven African countries, the shutting down of refugee programs, and his open-door policy for white Afrikaners from South Africa are not merely racist; they are explicitly white nationalist. The same ideology drives attacks on women’s reproductive rights, revealing the deep racial and gender anxieties of a movement obsessed with white demographic decline. These are not isolated skirmishes, they are interconnected strategies of domination.

These converging assaults, white nationalism, white supremacy, patriarchal control, and militarized life, manifest most vividly in the war on reproductive freedom. White nationalists encourage white women to reproduce, to hold back demographic change, while punishing women of color, LGBTQ+ people, and the poor. It is a violent calculus, animated by fantasies of purity and control.

The Systemic Assault on Democracy

This is a full-spectrum assault on democracy. Every act of cruelty, every racist law, every violent metaphor chips away at the social contract. A culture of authoritarianism is now used to demean those considered other, both citizens and non-citizens, critics and immigrants, naturalized citizens and those seeking such status. They are labeled as unworthy of citizenship now defined by the Trump regime as a privilege rather than a right. Meanwhile, a media ecosystem built on clickbait and erasure renders both such fascists as legitimate while making invisible the roots of suffering mass suffering and fear, all the while, turning oppression into spectacle and silence into complicity.

In this fog, language itself is emptied of meaning. Truth and falsehood blur. As Paulo Freire warned, the tools of the oppressor are often adopted by the oppressed. We now see that the logic of fascism has seeped into the culture, eroding civic sensibility, destroying moral imagination, and rendering resistance almost unspeakable.

The Normalization of Tyranny

Trump’s authoritarian fantasies do not alienate his base, they galvanize it. What was once unthinkable is now policy. What was once fringe has become mainstream. Cruelty is not something to be deplored and avoided at all costs, it is a central feature of power, wielded with theatrical and spectacularized brutality. Under the current acting ICE Director, Todd Lyons, this punitive logic has intensified: Lyons oversees a $4.4 billion Enforcement and Removal Operations apparatus staffed by over 8,600 agents across 200 domestic locations, using militarized tactics, surprise raids, and aggressive targeting of immigrant communities to sustain a regime of fear. ICE’s presence is at the heart of Trump’s hyper-police state, and its funding has been greatly expanded to $170 billion under Trump’s new budget bill, creating what journalist Will Bunch calls Trump’s “own gulag archipelago of detention camps across a United States that’s becoming increasingly hard to recognize.”

Meanwhile, figures like Tom Homan, who led ICE under Trump’s first term, laid the groundwork with Gestapo-style operations, midnight raids, family separations, and public declarations that undocumented immigrants “should be afraid”. As the “border tzar” under Trump, Homan has initiated deportation policies that are even more aggressively violent and cruel that those that took place in Trump’s first term as president. As Bunch notes, take the case of “the 64-year-old New Orleans woman, Donna Kashanian, who fled a tumultuous Iran 47 years ago, volunteered to rebuild her battered Louisiana community after Hurricane Katrina, never missed a check-in with U.S. immigration officials , and was snatched by ICE agents in unmarked vehicles while she was out working in her garden and sent to a notorious detention center.” These horror stories now take place daily in cities extending from Los Angeles to Providence, Rhode Island.

A central player in this current regime of state terrorism, systemic racism, mass abductions, deportations, and the criminalization of dissent is Stephen Miller, Trump’s White House Deputy Chief of Staff. During Trump’s first term, Miller was the driving force behind the Muslim ban, the family separation policy, and assaults on birthright citizenship, all rooted in an unapologetic white supremacist and eugenicist worldview. In Trump’s second term, he has emerged as the architect of even more draconian measures, pushing for mass deportations, the abolition of birthright citizenship, and the revocation of naturalized citizenship for those who fall outside his white Christian vision of who deserves to be called American.

Far-right white nationalist such as Miller, Tom Homan and Todd Lyons, do not treat cruelty as a regrettable side effect. For them, cruelty is the currency of power. Suffering becomes a spectacle, and violence a ritual of statecraft. Tyranny is not inching forward in silence; it is advancing at full speed, cheered on by those who treat fear as a governing principle and pain as public policy. At stake here is what Timothy Snyder calls the practice of fascist dehumanization.

This is not a passing storm. It is the death throes of a system that has long glorified violence, commodified everything, and fed on division. Trump’s language is not a performance, it is preparation. His words are laying the foundation for a society without empathy, without justice, without democracy.

Reclaiming the Language of Resistance, Reclaiming Democracy

In a decent society, language is the lifeblood of democracy, a vessel of solidarity, truth, and hope. But in Trump’s America, language has become a weapon, dehumanizing, excluding, and dominating. His vision is not a warning; it is a blueprint. We must resist, or we risk losing everything. The stakes are nothing less than the survival of democracy, the retrieval of truth and the refusal to live in a world where cruelty is policy and silence is complicity. 

What is needed now is not only a rupture in language but a rupture in consciousness, one that brings together the critical illumination of the present with a premonitory vision of what lies ahead if fascist dynamics remain unchecked. As Walter Benjamin insisted, we must cultivate a form of profane illumination, a language that disrupts the spectacle of lies and names the crisis in all its violent clarity. At the same time, as A.K. Thompson argues, we must grasp the future implicit in the present. His notion of premonitions urges us to read the events unfolding around us as urgent warnings, as signs of the catastrophe that awaits if we do not confront and reverse the political and cultural paths we are on. It demands that we see the connections that bind our suffering, rejecting the fragmented reality that neoliberalism forces upon us. 

The time for complacency is past. The time for a new and more vibrant language, one of critique, resistance, and militant hope, is now. A language capable not only of indicting the present but of envisioning a future rooted in justice, memory, and collective struggle.

As Antonio Gramsci remarked in his Prison Notebooks, "The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear." What is clear is that these morbid symptoms have arrived. Yet, alongside the despair they breed, they also present new challenges and opportunities for revitalized struggles. This is where the power of language comes into play—this is the challenge and opportunity for those who believe in the transformative power of culture, language, and education to address not just the nature of the crisis but its deeper roots in politics, memory, agency, values, power, and democracy itself.

[This article first appeared in the LA Progressive.]


By 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 latest book is The Burden of Conscience: Educating Beyond the Veil of Silence (Bloomsbury in 2025). He is LA Progressive's Associate Editor. His website is www.henryagiroux.com

Juneteenth in New Jersey: The Complicity of Higher Education in Slavery

New Jersey’s legacy as a “slave state of the North” is often overlooked, especially in the sanitized histories of its most prestigious universities. Yet a closer examination reveals that the state’s institutions of higher education—particularly Princeton University and Rutgers University—were not only complicit in slavery, but were active beneficiaries of racial exploitation. Their histories are deeply intertwined with a system that built wealth and social power through the bondage of Black people.

This article is based on the findings of For Such a Time as This: The Nowness of Reparations for Black People in New Jersey, a landmark report from the New Jersey Reparations Council. The report is an urgent call for transformative change through reparative justice. It draws a direct throughline from New Jersey’s foundational embrace of slavery, through its Jim Crow era and more recent forms of structural racism, to today’s reality of “Two New Jerseys”—one Black, one white, separated by a staggering $643,000 racial wealth gap between median Black and white family wealth.

Princeton University: Built by the Enslaved, for the Elite

Founded in 1746 as the College of New Jersey, Princeton University’s early leadership reads like a roll call of slaveholders. Nine of its first presidents enslaved Black people. At least five brought enslaved individuals to live and labor on campus—including Aaron Burr Sr., who in 1756 purchased a man named Caesar to work in the newly built President’s House. Another, John Witherspoon, signer of the Declaration of Independence and president from 1768 to 1794, kept two people in bondage and spoke out against emancipation, claiming that freeing enslaved people would bring “ruin.”

Financially and culturally, Princeton thrived on slavery. Many of its trustees, donors, and faculty enriched themselves through plantation economies and the transatlantic slave trade. Historian Craig Steven Wilder has shown that the university’s enrollment strategy was deliberately skewed toward elite southern families who owned enslaved people. From 1768 to 1794, the proportion of southern students doubled, while the number of students from New Jersey declined. Princeton became a finishing school for the sons of America’s racial aristocracy.

Slavery was not just in the background—it was present in the daily life of the institution. Enslaved Black people worked in kitchens, cleaned dormitories, and served food at official university events. Human beings were bought and sold in full view of Nassau Hall. These men and women, their names often lost to history, were the invisible labor force that built the foundation for one of the wealthiest universities in the world.

The results of this complicity are measurable. Princeton graduates shaped the American Republic—including President James Madison, three U.S. Supreme Court justices, 13 governors, 20 senators, and 23 congressmen. Many of them carried forward the ideologies of white supremacy and anti-Black violence they absorbed in their youth.

Rutgers University: Queen’s College and the Profits of Enslavement

Rutgers University, originally established as Queen’s College in 1766, shares a similarly grim legacy. The college’s early survival depended on donations and labor directly tied to slavery. Prominent among its early trustees was Philip Livingston, a signer of the Declaration of Independence who made his fortune by trading enslaved people and operating Caribbean plantations.

Enslaved labor helped build Rutgers, too. A man named Will, enslaved by the family of a college trustee, is among the few individuals whose name has survived. His work helped construct the early physical campus, though his story, like so many others, is only briefly mentioned in account books and correspondence.

The intellectual environment of Queen’s College mirrored the dominant racial attitudes of the time. While some students and faculty opposed slavery, their voices were overwhelmed by an institution that upheld the social, political, and economic status quo. Rutgers, like Princeton, prepared white elites to rule a society built on racial exclusion.

Toward Reparative Justice

The For Such a Time as This report from the New Jersey Reparations Council underscores that the legacy of slavery is not a relic of the past—it is embedded in the material realities of today. New Jersey’s racial wealth gap—$643,000 between Black and white families—is not accidental. It is the result of centuries of dispossession, disinvestment, and discrimination.

The state’s leading universities played a formative role in that history. Acknowledgment of this fact is only a first step. True reckoning means meaningful reparative action. It means directing resources and power toward the communities that have been systematically denied them. It means funding education, housing, healthcare, and business development in Black communities, and making structural changes to how wealth and opportunity are distributed.

Princeton and Rutgers are not just relics of the past; they are major economic and political actors in the present. As institutions with billion-dollar endowments and vast influence, they have both the means and the moral obligation to contribute to a just future.

The question now is whether they will answer the call. 

Methods of Student Nonviolent Resistance

Resistance has been an essential part of democracy. And the Higher Education Inquirer has reported on a number of nonviolent actions taken by college students and workers across the US. We have also recognized the brutal physical and economic violence that has been a part of US history and social structure and a major contributor to the ineffective counter-violence that has sometimes resulted. 

According to the Albert Einstein Institution, "far too often people struggling for democratic rights and justice are not aware of the full range of methods of nonviolent action. Wise strategy, attention to the dynamics of nonviolent struggle, and careful selection of methods can increase a group’s chances of success." 

Nonviolent strategies include three broad categories: (1) nonviolent protest and persuasion, (2) noncooperation (social, economic, and political), and (3) nonviolent intervention. 

A list of 198 Methods of Nonviolent Action is posted on the Brandeis University website. The list is based on Gene Sharp's Methods of Nonviolent Action (1973), but this document is not exhaustive.  Strategies and tactics may need to change with what works in these times: with new technology and greater understanding about how humans think and behave.

 

Historical Examples

Nonviolent protests for justice and democracy and against white supremacy occurred at Shaw University (1919), Fisk (1924-25), Howard (1925), and Hampton Institute (1925-27).  

In the early 1940s, James Farmer, a Howard Divinity School graduate, with students from the University of Chicago established the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), an interracial group focused on nonviolent direct action for civil rights. 

The 1960s were recognized for student activism, including the formation of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), at Shaw University. This organization, and people like Ella Baker, were an essential part of the civil rights movement. 

In the 1970s and 1980s, divestment campaigns were an important part of the campaign against South African apartheid. Protesting for divestment against private prisons has also occurred on US campuses.  

Most recently, there were a number of campus occupations to protest the destruction of Gaza and the mass killing of civilians. And protests about climate change have been visible on a number of campuses for years. In these cases, we can expect more serious conflict to occur if these issues are not sufficiently addressed. 

As always, we appreciate your comments and constructive criticism.  

Related links: 

Black Study, Black Struggle (Robin D.G. Kelley, Boston Review)

A People's History of Higher Education in the US? 

Student Activism 

Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee

Modeling civil unrest in the United States: some historical cases (Bryan Alexander)

One Fascism or Two?: The Reemergence of "Fascism(s)" in US Higher Education

US Higher Education and the Intellectualization of White Supremacy

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

HurricaneTWOU.com: Digital Protest Exposes Syracuse, USC, Pepperdine, and University of North Carolina in 2U edX Edugrift

Wikipedia Community Documents Pro-Palestinian Protests on University and College Campuses

Rutgers University Workers Waging Historic Strike For Economic Justice (Hank Kalet)

University of California Academic Workers Strike For Economic Justice (November 14 to December 23, 2022)

Terri Givens and “Radical Empathy: Finding a Path to Bridge Racial Divides”

I Went on Strike to Cancel My Student Debt and Won. Every Debtor Deserves the Same. (Ann Bowers)

DEBT STRIKE! (Debt Collective)