When Was Higher Education Truly a Public Good? (Glen McGhee)

Like staring at the Sun too long, that brief window in time, when higher ed was a public good, has left a permanent hole for nostalgia to leak in, becoming a massive black hole for trillions of dollars, and a blind-spot for misguided national policies and scholars alike. 

The notion that American higher education was ever a true public good is largely a myth. From the colonial colleges to the neoliberal university of today, higher education has functioned primarily as a mechanism of class reproduction and elite consolidation—with one brief, historically anomalous exception during the Cold War.

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Colonial Roots: Elite Reproduction in the New World (1636–1787)

The first American colleges—Harvard, William and Mary, Yale, Princeton, and a handful of others—were founded not for the benefit of the public, but to serve narrow elite interests. Their stated missions were to train Protestant clergy and prepare the sons of wealthy white families for leadership. They operated under monopoly charters and drew funding from landowners, merchants, and slave traders.

Elihu Yale, namesake of Yale University, derived wealth from his commercial ties to the East India Company and the slave trade. Harvard’s early trustees owned enslaved people. These institutions functioned as “old boys’ clubs,” perpetuating privilege rather than promoting equality. Their educational mission was to cultivate “gentlemen fit to govern,” not citizens of a democracy.

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Private Enterprise in the Republic (1790–1860)

After independence, the number of colleges exploded—from 19 in 1790 to more than 800 by 1880—but not because of any commitment to the public good. Colleges became tools for two private interests: religious denominations seeking influence, and land speculators eager to raise property values.

Ministers often doubled as land dealers, founding small, parochial colleges to anchor towns and boost prices. State governments played a minimal role, providing funding only in times of crisis. The Supreme Court’s 1819 Dartmouth College decision enshrined institutional autonomy, shielding private colleges from state interference. Even state universities were created mainly out of interstate competition—every state needed its own to “keep up with its neighbors.”

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Gilded Age and Progressive Era: Credential Capitalism (1880–1940)

By the late 19th century, industrial capitalism had transformed higher education into a private good—something purchased for individual advancement. As family farms and small businesses disappeared, college credentials became the ticket to white-collar respectability.

Sociologist Burton Bledstein called this the “culture of professionalism.” Families invested in degrees to secure middle-class futures for their children. By the 1920s, most students attended college not to seek enlightenment, but “to get ready for a particular job.”

Elite universities such as Harvard, Yale, and Princeton solidified their dominance through exclusive networks. C. Wright Mills later observed that America’s “power elite” circulated through these same institutions and their associated clubs. Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of cultural capital helps explain this continuity: elite universities convert inherited privilege into certified merit, preserving hierarchy under the guise of meritocracy.

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The Morrill Acts: Public Promise, Private Gains (1862–1890)

The Morrill Act of 1862 established land-grant colleges to promote “practical education” in agriculture and engineering. While often cited as a triumph of public-minded policy, the act’s legacy is ambivalent.

Land-grant universities were built on land expropriated from Indigenous peoples—often without compensation—and the 1890 Morrill Act entrenched segregation by mandating separate institutions for Black Americans in the Jim Crow South. Even as these colleges expanded access for white working-class men, they simultaneously reinforced racial and economic hierarchies.

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Cold War Universities: The Brief Public Good (1940–1970)

For roughly thirty years, during World War II and the Cold War, American universities functioned as genuine public goods—but only because national survival seemed to depend on them.

The GI Bill opened college to millions of veterans, stabilizing the economy and expanding the middle class. Massive federal investments in research transformed universities into engines of technological and scientific innovation. The university, for a moment, was understood as a public instrument for national progress.

Yet this golden age was marred by exclusion. Black veterans were often denied GI Bill benefits, particularly in the South, where discriminatory admissions and housing policies blocked their participation. The “military-industrial-academic complex” that emerged from wartime funding created a new elite network centered on research universities like MIT, Stanford, and Berkeley.

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Neoliberal Regression: Education as a Private Commodity (1980–Present)

After 1970, the system reverted to its long-standing norm: higher education as a private good. The Cold War’s end, the tax revolt, and the rise of neoliberal ideology dismantled the postwar consensus.

Ronald Reagan led the charge—first as California governor, cutting higher education funding by 20%, then as president, slashing federal support. He argued that tuition should replace public subsidies, casting education as an individual investment rather than a social right.

Since 1980, state funding per student has fallen sharply while tuition at public universities has tripled. Students are now treated as “customers,” and universities as corporations—complete with branding departments, executive pay packages, and relentless tuition hikes.

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The Circuit of Elite Network Capital

Today, the benefits of higher education flow through a closed circuit of power that links elite universities, corporations, government agencies, and wealthy families.

1. Elite Universities consolidate wealth and prestige through research funding, patents, and endowments.

2. Corporations recruit talent and license discoveries, feeding the same institutions that produce their executives.

3. Government and Military Agencies are staffed by alumni of elite universities, reinforcing a revolving door of privilege.

4. Elite Professions—law, medicine, finance, consulting—use degrees as gatekeeping mechanisms, driving credential inflation.

5. Wealthy Families invest in elite education as a means of preserving status across generations.

What the public receives are only residual benefits—technologies and medical innovations that remain inaccessible without money or insurance.

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Elite Network Capital, Not Public Good

The idea of higher education as a public good has always been more myth than reality. For most of American history, colleges and universities have functioned as institutions of elite reproduction, not engines of democratic uplift.

Only during the extraordinary conditions of the mid-20th century—when global war and ideological conflict made mass education a national imperative—did higher education briefly align with the public interest.

Today’s universities continue to speak the language of “public good,” but their actions reveal a different truth. They serve as factories of credentialism and as nodes in an elite network that translates privilege into prestige. What masquerades as a public good is, in practice, elite network capital—a system designed not to democratize opportunity, but to manage and legitimize inequality.

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Sources:
Labaree (2017), Bledstein (1976), Bourdieu (1984, 1986), Mills (1956), Geiger (2015), Thelin (2019), and McGhee (2025).

Wealth and Want Part 2: Continued University Expansion and Displacement of Others

In Wealth and Want Part 1 we briefly mentioned the origins of university wealth, including generations of land theft and the use of forced labor. The origins of elite universities and large flagship universities in the 17th through 19th centuries came largely from the exploitation of others and of the environment. This exploitation continues today, not just through their endowments, but in the real estate that universities continue to take for their advantage, often at the expense of their neighbors.

Harvard University: The expansion of Harvard University in the 19th century led to the displacement of African American residents from the neighborhood of Roxbury.

Columbia University: In the 19th century, Columbia University's expansion contributed to the displacement of residents from Morningside Heights.

University of Chicago: The University of Chicago's expansion in the late 19th century led to the displacement of residents from the Hyde Park neighborhood. 

Stanford University: Stanford's expansion in the late 19th century led to the displacement of Native American Ohlone people from the Palo Alto area.

University of Michigan: In the late 19th century, the University of Michigan's expansion contributed to the displacement of residents from Ann Arbor's Old West Side neighborhood.

University of Texas at Austin: The university's expansion in the early 20th century led to the displacement of residents from the East Austin neighborhood.

University of California, Berkeley: The university's expansion in the 20th century contributed to the displacement of African American residents from the West Berkeley neighborhood.


Elite universities during the Great Depression were generally able to weather the storm better than many other institutions. However, they were not entirely immune to the economic hardships of the time. Here's a breakdown of how they fared.

Endowment Funds: Many elite universities had substantial endowment funds, which provided a crucial financial cushion during the Depression. These funds allowed them to maintain their operations and continue offering high-quality education.

Reduced Enrollment: Despite their financial advantages, most elite universities experienced a decline in enrollment as families struggled to afford tuition. This decrease in revenue put pressure on their budgets.

Faculty Salaries: Some universities had to reduce faculty salaries or even lay off staff to cut costs. However, many institutions were able to maintain their core faculty and avoid significant cuts.

Government Support: In some cases, elite universities received government support, such as grants or contracts, to help them weather the economic downturn.

Alumni Donations: Alumni donations played a vital role in supporting elite universities during the Depression. Many alumni felt a strong sense of loyalty to their institutions and were willing to contribute financially to help them through difficult times.


The expansion of elite universities has continued.  Here are some examples.

University of Virginia: In the 1960s and 70s, the University of Virginia's expansion led to the displacement of residents from the Vinegar Hill neighborhood, a predominantly Black community.

Old Dominion University: In Virginia, Old Dominion University's expansion has displaced Black families in the Lambert's Point neighborhood.

New York University: NYU's expansion in New York City has contributed to rising rents and gentrification, pushing many longtime residents out of their neighborhoods.

University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA): UCLA's expansion has contributed to rising housing costs and gentrification in surrounding neighborhoods, leading to the displacement of many low-income residents of color.

University of Southern California (USC): USC's expansion has contributed to rising housing costs and gentrification in surrounding neighborhoods, leading to the displacement of many low-income residents of color.

University of Michigan: The University of Michigan's expansion in Ann Arbor has led to rising housing costs and gentrification, displacing many long-time residents, including people of color.

University of Texas at Austin: The university's expansion has contributed to rising housing costs and gentrification in Austin, leading to the displacement of many low-income residents, including people of color.

University of Pennsylvania: The expansion of Penn has contributed to increased demand for housing and commercial space, driving up prices. This has made it difficult for many long-time residents to remain in the neighborhood.

Temple: Temple's expansion has also played a role in gentrification, as the university has attracted more students and faculty, leading to increased demand for housing and services.

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill: The expansion of UNC-Chapel Hill led to the displacement of residents from the segregated Black neighborhood of Black Hill.

University of Georgia: The expansion of the University of Georgia contributed to the displacement of residents from the African American neighborhood of Athens Terrace.

Louisiana State University: LSU's expansion in Baton Rouge has contributed to rising housing costs and gentrification, leading to the displacement of many low-income residents of color.

Johns Hopkins: The expansion of Johns Hopkins in Baltimore has contributed to rising housing costs and gentrification in the surrounding neighborhoods. This has made it difficult for many long-time residents to remain in the area.

Vanderbilt: In Nashville, Vanderbilt's expansion has also contributed to gentrification. The university's growth has attracted more students, faculty, and staff, leading to increased demand for housing and services, which has driven up prices.

Georgetown University: Georgetown's expansion has contributed to the gentrification of the Georgetown neighborhood, leading to rising housing costs and the displacement of many long-time residents.

George Washington University: GWU's expansion has also played a role in gentrification, particularly in the Foggy Bottom and West End neighborhoods.

American University: AU's growth has contributed to rising housing costs in the Tenleytown neighborhood.

University Presidents Called to Action

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trump’s War on Intellectualism Is a Threat to Democracy—But Elite Universities Aren’t Innocent Victims

When Donald Trump and his political allies go after elite universities like Harvard, Columbia, and the University of Pennsylvania, it’s easy—too easy—for defenders of higher education to circle the wagons. We’re told that these attacks are a threat to academic freedom, to knowledge, even to democracy itself.

There’s some truth to that. But let’s not romanticize the institutions being targeted. Elite universities are not innocent victims in America’s democratic unraveling. They have, for decades, cultivated privilege, preserved inequality, and insulated themselves from the real-world consequences of their decisions. If we’re going to talk honestly about the dangers of anti-intellectualism, we must also confront the failures of the so-called intellectual elite.

That said, the Trump movement’s war on expertise, critical thinking, and education isn't aimed at reforming these institutions—it’s about dismantling the very idea of an informed, questioning citizenry. And that’s where the true danger lies.

Elite Universities: Power Without Accountability

Let’s start with the obvious: the Ivy League and its peers are deeply complicit in America’s meritocratic mythology. They’ve served as finishing schools for the ruling class, minting the bankers, judges, presidents, and policymakers who have overseen widening inequality, endless wars, mass incarceration, and climate inaction.

These schools have protected legacy admissions, turned a blind eye to labor exploitation on their campuses, and sat on billion-dollar endowments while adjunct faculty and graduate workers scrape by. They have not been champions of democracy so much as guardians of a highly stratified status quo.

So when critics accuse them of elitism, they’re not entirely wrong. But the Trump-era populism that claims to speak for “the people” doesn’t aim to democratize education—it aims to destroy its democratic function altogether.

The Real Target: Critical Thought

The Trump Administration's true grievance isn’t with elite universities per se; it’s with what these institutions represent in the public imagination: facts, complexity, and the right to question power. This resentment manifests in everything from attacks on “woke” curricula to efforts to ban books and gut public education.

The Trumpist strategy is clear: discredit intellectual institutions not to make them more accountable, but to replace expertise with loyalty, and dialogue with propaganda. This isn’t about fixing higher education. It’s about gutting the tools people need to resist authoritarianism—tools like historical context, scientific reasoning, and moral imagination.

And while elite universities may have failed to democratize knowledge, they are still among the few places where critical inquiry is possible. For all their hypocrisy, they produce some of the research and dialogue that fuels social progress. That’s precisely why they’re under attack.

The Cost of Cynicism

It's tempting to dismiss the fight over academia as a clash between out-of-touch elites and performative populists. But this is bigger than a feud between two privileged factions. At stake is whether truth itself still matters in American political life.

Yes, universities need to be held accountable—for their exclusivity, for their economic entrenchment, for their detachment from working-class realities. But that critique must be grounded in a desire to expand and democratize knowledge, not to destroy it.

Trumpism offers no such vision. It’s not trying to fix a broken higher ed system; it’s trying to ensure fewer people can question the system at all.

A Choice for the Future

We shouldn’t fall into the trap of defending elite universities just because Trump attacks them. Nor should we accept the false populism that scapegoats education while consolidating power in the hands of the ignorant and the loyal.

The choice we face is not between Ivy League hypocrisy and Trumpian anti-intellectualism. It’s between a democracy that values critical thought and a movement that seeks to suppress it—between a flawed system that can be reformed and an ideology that rejects the very notion of reform.

If we care about democracy, we must critique our institutions honestly—and defend the democratic values they too often betray but must ultimately uphold.

Epstein, Dershowitz, Summers, and the Long Arc of Elite Impunity

For many observers, Jeffrey Epstein, Alan Dershowitz, and Larry Summers appear as separate figures orbiting the world of elite academia, finance, and politics. But together—and through the long lens of history—they represent something far more revealing: the modern expression of a centuries-old system in which elite institutions protect powerful men while sacrificing the vulnerable.

The Epstein-Dershowitz-Summers triangle is not a scandal of individuals gone astray. It is the predictable result of structures that make such abuses almost inevitable.

The Modern Version of an Old System

Jeffrey Epstein built his influence not through scholarship or scientific discovery—he had no advanced degrees—but by inserting himself into the financial bloodstream of the Ivy League. Harvard and MIT accepted his money, his introductions, and his promises of access to ultra-wealthy networks. Epstein did not need credibility; he purchased it.

Larry Summers, as president of Harvard from 2001 to 2006, continued to engage with Epstein after the financier’s first arrest and plea deal. Summers’ administration accepted substantial Epstein donations, including funds channeled into the Program for Evolutionary Dynamics. Summers and his wife dined at Epstein’s Manhattan home. After leaving Harvard, Summers stayed in touch with Epstein even as the financier’s abuses became increasingly public. Summers used the same revolving door that has long connected elite universities, Wall Street, and presidential administrations—moving freely and comfortably across all three.

Alan Dershowitz, former Harvard Law Professor and Epstein’s close associate and legal strategist, exemplifies another pillar of this system: elite legal protection. Dershowitz defended Epstein vigorously, attacked survivors publicly, and remains embroiled in litigation connected to the case. Whether one believes Dershowitz’s claims of innocence is secondary to the structural fact: elite institutions reliably shield their own.

Together, Epstein offered money and connections; Summers offered institutional prestige and political access; Dershowitz offered legal insulation. Harvard, meanwhile, offered a platform through which all three profited.

Knowledge as a Shield—Not a Light

For centuries, elite universities have served as both engines of knowledge and fortresses of power. They are not neutral institutions.

They defended slavery and eugenics, supplying “scientific” justification for racial hierarchies.
They exploited labor—from enslaved workers who built campuses to adjuncts living in poverty today.
They marginalized survivors of sexual violence while protecting benefactors and faculty.
They accepted fortunes derived from war profiteering, colonial extraction, hedge-fund predation, and private-equity devastation.

Epstein did not invent the model of the toxic patron. He merely perfected it in the neoliberal era.

A Four-Step Pattern of Elite Impunity

The scandal surrounding Epstein, Dershowitz, and Summers follows a trajectory that dates back centuries:

1. Wealth accumulation through exploitation
   From slave plantations to private equity, concentrated wealth is generated through systems that harm the many to benefit the few.

2. The purchase of academic legitimacy
   Endowed chairs, laboratories, fellowships, and advisory roles allow dubious benefactors to launder reputations through universities.

3. Legal and cultural shielding
   Elite lawyers, confidential settlements, non-disclosure agreements, and institutional silence create protective armor.

4. Silencing of survivors and critics
   Reputational attacks, threats of litigation, and internal pressure discourage transparency and accountability.

Epstein operated within this system. Dershowitz defended it. Summers benefited from it. Harvard reinforced it.

Larry Summers: An Anatomy of Power

Summers’ career illuminates the deeper structure behind the scandal. His trajectory—Harvard president, U.S. Treasury Secretary, World Bank chief economist, adviser to hedge funds, consultant to Big Tech—mirrors the seamless circulation of elite power between universities, finance, and government.

During his presidency, Harvard publicly embraced Epstein’s donations. After Epstein’s first sex-offense conviction, Summers continued to meet with him socially and professionally. Summers leveraged networks that Epstein also sought to cultivate. And even after the Epstein scandal fully broke open, Summers faced no meaningful institutional repercussions.

The message was clear: individual wrongdoing matters less than maintaining elite continuity.

Higher Education’s Structural Complicity

Elite universities were not “duped.” They were beneficiaries.

Harvard returned only a fraction of Epstein’s donations, and only after the press exposed the relationship. MIT hid Epstein’s gifts behind false donor names. Faculty traveled to his island and penthouse without demanding transparency.

Meanwhile:

Adjuncts qualify for food assistance
Students carry life-crippling debt
Administrators earn CEO-level pay
Donors dictate priorities behind closed doors

This is not hypocrisy—it is hierarchy. A system built to serve wealth does exactly that.

A Timeline Much Longer Than Epstein

To understand the present, we must zoom out:

Oxford and Cambridge accepted slave-trade wealth as institutional lifeblood.
Gilded Age robber barons endowed libraries while crushing labor movements.
Cold War intelligence agencies quietly funded research centers.
Today’s oligarchs, tech billionaires, and private-equity titans buy influence through endowments and think tanks.

The tools change. The pattern does not.

Universities help legitimate the powerful—even when those powerful figures harm the public.

Why This Still Matters

The Epstein scandal is not resolved. Court documents continue to emerge. Survivors continue to speak. Elite institutions continue to stall and deflect. Harvard still resists meaningful transparency, even as its endowment approaches national GDP levels.

The danger is not simply that another Epstein will emerge. It is that elite universities will continue to provide the conditions that make another Epstein inevitable.

What Breaking the Pattern Requires

Ending this system demands more than symbolic gestures or public-relations apologies. Real reform requires:

Radical donor transparency—with all gifts, advisory roles, and meetings disclosed
Worker and student representation on governing boards
Strong whistleblower protections and the abolition of secret NDAs
Robust public funding to reduce reliance on elite philanthropy
Independent journalism committed to exposing institutional power

Ida B. Wells, Jessica Mitford, Upton Sinclair, and other muckrakers understood what universities still deny: scandals are symptoms. The disease is structural.

Epstein was not an anomaly.
Dershowitz is not an anomaly.
Summers is not an anomaly.

They are products of a system in which universities serve power first—and truth, only if convenient.

If higher education wants to reclaim public trust, it must finally decide which side of history it is on.

The Law of Least Effort: Why Billionaires—and Elite Universities—Prefer Stale Ideas Over Bold Thinking

In the modern mythology of Silicon Valley and the Ivy League, billionaires and elite universities are imagined as bold visionaries, pushing humanity forward with daring innovation and world-changing ideas. But scratch the surface of this mythology and what you’ll often find instead is a kind of intellectual laziness—a preference for warmed-over ideas from mid-century science fiction, recycled neoliberal dogma, and technological determinism masquerading as insight.

This is the Law of Least Effort, not in physical labor, but in thought: a cognitive shortcut that prioritizes ideological safety over intellectual risk. Rather than genuinely exploring new paradigms or investing in critical inquiry, the ultra-rich and the institutions that train them tend to return to narrow, well-worn frameworks that preserve their worldview and their power.

Billionaire Boredom Disguised as Innovation

When Elon Musk buys into the fantasy of colonizing Mars, or Peter Thiel pines for libertarian seasteads and eternal life, these are not bold, new ideas—they’re pale echoes of Golden Age science fiction from the 1950s and 60s, regurgitated without reflection. These concepts were radical when Asimov or Heinlein explored them in fiction, but today they are escapist crutches for wealthy men who can’t (or won’t) confront the terrestrial problems their own wealth exacerbates.

The same goes for the obsession with AI, blockchain, or “effective altruism.” These are often less about solving real social issues and more about technocratic avoidance: sidestepping messy problems like poverty, racism, and labor exploitation by fantasizing that code or capital will save us. Billionaires don’t fund utopian social science—they fund Singularity University.

Elite Universities: Safe Havens for Tired Ideas

Elite universities, supposedly the engines of radical thought, are frequently the opposite. These institutions, particularly those with massive endowments like Harvard, Yale, and Stanford, are often intellectually risk-averse. Their financial security has made them more conservative, not less.

Rather than promoting critical or emergent perspectives—particularly those from marginalized communities or interdisciplinary thought—these schools cling to narrow forms of prestige knowledge: economics departments that treat market forces as natural law, international relations programs built around Cold War paradigms, or law schools that churn out corporate lawyers while ignoring structural injustice.

Even when elite universities gesture toward innovation, it's often market-driven or Silicon Valley-aligned. Interdisciplinary centers or “impact hubs” are structured to attract corporate partnerships, not challenge the foundations of economic and social power. Faculty who question capitalism, settler colonialism, or the ideology of meritocracy may find themselves pushed to the margins—if not altogether silenced by “donor sensitivities.”

An Educated Class That’s Intellectually Sedated

The elite graduates of these universities—many of whom become the consultants, bankers, tech executives, and policy shapers of tomorrow—are often not trained to be critical thinkers but intellectually domesticated agents of the status quo. Their version of education is a credentialing process, not a transformative one.

They read the canon, cite the correct theorists, nod to diversity in DEI statements, and pursue change only when it doesn't disrupt existing structures. This is intellectual effort only in the performative sense. The goal is fluency in the language of power, not the courage to question it.

The Cost of Cognitive Complacency

What’s lost in this system is incalculable: bold ideas, radical futures, deep ethical inquiry. Instead of investing in indigenous knowledge systems, speculative Black futurisms, transformative pedagogy, or critiques of extractive capitalism, we get another think tank report on “human capital optimization.”

This isn't just boring—it's dangerous. The world is facing intersecting crises: ecological collapse, rising authoritarianism, mass inequality. These cannot be solved with recycled ideas from libertarian science fiction or econometrics models from the Reagan era. They require intellectual courage, democratic imagination, and a willingness to fundamentally reimagine our institutions.

But that kind of thinking doesn’t come from those clinging to the Law of Least Effort. It comes from those excluded from the halls of elite power, working at the margins, asking the uncomfortable questions.

New Worlds Require New Thinking

The problem with the billionaires and the elite universities that shape them isn’t just that they hoard wealth. It’s that they hoard thought. They preserve a narrow intellectual landscape where old ideas are recycled, and challenging paradigms are dismissed as utopian or impractical.

If society wants to move forward, we need to stop mistaking wealth for wisdom, and prestige for insight. It’s time to break the mental monopoly of the elites and invest in thinkers, communities, and institutions that aren’t afraid to do the hard intellectual work—the kind that doesn’t just repeat the past but dares to invent the future. 

The Admissions Game

History and Structure of Selective Admissions

Folks are not privy to the inner workings of admissions, especially at elite and brand name schools.  The College Admissions Scandal (aka Varsity Blues) gave us a small window into this structure, but that story will soon be forgotten. And it only touched the surface of how the system works for some and not for others.   

What little the public has access about selective admissions can be found in a few historical and sociological sources, like Craig Steven Wilder's Ebony and Ivy: Race, Slavery, and the Troubled History of America's Universities and William Domhoff's Who Rules America?: The Corporate Rich, White Nationalist Republicans, and Inclusionary Democrats in the 2020s. Books that are not best sellers or readily available in public libraries. 

The 400 year history of American higher education begins with selective admissions. From the 1600s to the 1860s, access was largely restricted to white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant male landowners, reflecting the societal norms of the time. A few Native American elites were forced into universities as tools of assimilation, colonization, and cultural erasure.

There were some notable exceptions. Georgetown, a Catholic college, was founded in 1789, and like other schools relied on enslaved people for labor.  For others, there were for-profit trade schools for bookkeeping, engineering and technical drawing. In 1836, the first women's college, Wesleyan College, was founded. 

Higher Education Segregation and the Morrill (Land-Grant Colleges) Act

In the 19th century, as the United States industrialized and urbanized, the concept of meritocracy began to take hold. However, this meritocracy was often defined narrowly, excluding women, people of color, religious minorities, and those from lower socioeconomic classes.

 

Elite colleges continued to favor students from wealthy families, often requiring them to pass entrance exams that tested knowledge of Latin and Greek, subjects typically studied at private preparatory schools. 

 

Separate colleges for African Americans were established. 

 

After the Civil War, opportunities opened up for other white males with the emergence of federal land grants that established state flagship universities. The state universities, were in fact, established on land stolen from indigenous nations. 

 

With a demand for more folks with degrees, degree mills also rose. 

The GI Bill and Civil Rights

The 20th century saw some progress in expanding access to higher education. The GI Bill, for example, provided educational benefits to male veterans, including many from marginalized backgrounds. However, systemic racism and sexism continued to limit opportunities for Black students and women. 

 

Diploma mills again sprang up, in response to this large influx of government funds.

 

It wasn't until the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s that significant strides were made in desegregating higher education. And the first tribal college, Diné College, was established in 1968 by the Navajo Nation. 

Affirmative Action and DEI

Today, while elite colleges have become more diverse, they remain elite in nature, especially in terms of social class (wealth, power, prestige). The private school pipeline, legacy admissions, active recruiting, and the financial motivations of these institutions continue to perpetuate inequalities. Students from under-resourced schools and communities may still face significant barriers to admission, even with impressive academic records.

The admissions process at elite colleges and universities has become increasingly scrutinized in recent years. Critics argue that the system favors a select group of students, often from privileged backgrounds, while excluding others with equally impressive credentials. 

Feeder Schools: The Private School Pipeline

Private schools provide students with a distinct advantage in the college admissions process. These schools offer smaller class sizes, specialized resources, and extracurricular opportunities that can enhance a student's application. Private schools also have established relationships with admissions officers at top colleges, which can give their students an edge. This pipeline effectively funnels a disproportionate number of students from wealthy families into elite institutions.

Legacy Admissions

Legacy admissions, which give preference to applicants whose parents or grandparents attended the same college, further perpetuate the advantages of wealth and privilege. Studies have shown that legacy students are significantly more likely to be admitted to top schools, even when compared to non-legacy applicants with higher test scores and GPAs. This practice raises questions about meritocracy and equal opportunity in higher education.

Active Recruiting

Elite colleges engage in extensive recruiting efforts to attract top students. They often target high-achieving students at selective high schools and even travel internationally to scout talent. While this practice may seem beneficial, it can also reinforce existing inequalities. Students from under-resourced schools and communities may not have the same access to information and opportunities, making it difficult for them to compete in the admissions process.

International Students

Elite universities often attract students from developing countries who pay substantial tuition fees, contributing significantly to the universities' financial stability. Critics argue that this practice exploits the global education gap, as students from wealthier countries often have better access to quality higher education within their own nations. Additionally, the "brain drain" phenomenon, where talented individuals from developing countries migrate to developed nations for education and employment, can further exacerbate economic disparities. While universities may tout the benefits of cultural exchange and global citizenship, the economic incentives and power dynamics involved in international student recruitment raise concerns about the ethical implications of this practice.

The Profit Motive

It is important to acknowledge that elite colleges are businesses. They generate significant revenue from tuition, endowments, and other sources. Admissions practices, such as legacy preferences and active recruiting, can be seen as strategies to attract wealthy students who can contribute to the institution's financial bottom line. This raises concerns about whether the primary goal of these colleges is to provide a quality education or to maximize profits.  

 

Many elite schools, including Harvard and MIT, have also used online program managers like 2U to peddle certificates of questionable value. 

The Admissions Lottery 

While a "lottery mindset" isn't directly beneficial to elite universities in terms of increasing applications, it can indirectly impact the perception of the admissions process. As more and more qualified students apply to these institutions, the acceptance rate decreases, making it feel like a lottery. This perception can lead to several outcomes:

 
Increased Application Volume: Students may feel compelled to apply to a wider range of schools, including elite universities, increasing the overall application pool.

 
Early Decision Strategies: Students and parents may be more inclined to apply early decision to increase their chances, as it often has a higher acceptance rate.

Focus on Holistic Review: As the application pool grows, admissions officers may place greater emphasis on holistic review, considering factors beyond grades and test scores. This can benefit students with unique talents, experiences, or backgrounds.

However, it's important to note that a "lottery mindset" can also be detrimental. It can lead to increased stress and anxiety among applicants, as well as a sense of disillusionment with the college admissions process. Ultimately, while a lottery mindset may have some unintended consequences, it's essential to remember that college admissions is not solely a game of chance. Hard work, dedication, and a well-rounded application can significantly improve a student's chances of acceptance.

Michigan House GOP Targets Universities with Endowment Penalties, DEI Bans, and Political Culture War Demands

Michigan’s Republican-controlled House Appropriations Committee has introduced a higher education budget that dramatically reconfigures funding for the state’s public universities. Behind the numbers lies a sweeping attempt to reshape the role of public institutions, both fiscally and ideologically, with harsh penalties for elite universities, restrictions on diversity programming, and mandates that reflect the national right-wing culture war playbook.

At the center of the controversy are the University of Michigan and Michigan State University—flagship institutions with global reputations and sizable endowments. While these universities have contributed to Michigan’s prestige and research profile, critics—including Republicans in the legislature—accuse them of abandoning their public mission by favoring out-of-state and international students over Michigan residents. This shift, driven in part by the pursuit of higher tuition revenues, has fueled resentment in communities that see their tax dollars supporting institutions that are increasingly inaccessible to their own children.

The proposed budget slashes operational funding for universities by $828.1 million, while offering a modest 3.3% increase to the overall higher education budget through one-time funding. But those topline figures mask an aggressive redistribution of funds and a punitive new framework targeting institutions based on their financial assets and adherence to partisan values.

The University of Michigan, with an endowment exceeding $10 billion, would see a 75% reduction in state appropriations under the new formula. Michigan State University, with an endowment between $1 billion and $5 billion, would face a 50% cut. House Republicans argue that these universities have received more than their fair share for too long and that the money should be redirected to the state’s 13 other public universities. State Rep. Gregg Markkanen (R-Hancock), who chairs the House Appropriations Subcommittee on Higher Education and Community Colleges, said the plan was about fairness—"trimming the fat" from elite campuses and investing in institutions that serve more Michigan students.

But the budget goes further than just redistributing funds. It imposes a maze of ideological requirements on public universities, with financial penalties tied to compliance. Schools that allow transgender women to participate in women’s sports would forfeit 5% of their investment funds. Institutions that host events or provide campus spaces limited by sex or race would be similarly penalized. Universities would also be required to comply with the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision banning race-conscious admissions policies—or risk losing 25% of their state funding—even though Michigan voters banned affirmative action in 2006.

Additional boilerplate language requires universities to submit detailed data to the state, including information about the number and citizenship status of international students, the residency status of all enrollees, and the contact information for undocumented students. The budget also enforces a cap on tuition increases and investment fund growth, effectively restricting financial flexibility even as institutions face rising costs.

While some Republicans have framed these measures as a way to support in-state students and force elite universities to serve the public more equitably, critics see a Trojan horse for ideological control. State Rep. Matt Maddock (R-Milford) openly celebrated the plan as a means of cutting off “woke” universities and rewarding “non-woke” ones.

Dan Hurley, CEO of the Michigan Association of State Universities, expressed deep concern about the unpredictability of the proposed funding structure and its long-term viability. The reliance on one-time funding, coupled with sweeping operational restrictions, raises serious questions about how universities will be able to maintain programming, faculty, and student support services. “We need to have a much better understanding of what the thinking is, what the plan is to maintain a healthy, vibrant public university ecosystem,” Hurley said.

The budget also appears to stand on shaky legal ground. Provisions targeting transgender students and undocumented individuals may violate Michigan’s Elliott-Larsen Civil Rights Act, which protects against discrimination based on gender identity and sexual orientation. But when asked about these contradictions, Rep. Ann Bollin (R-Brighton), chair of the Appropriations Committee, brushed aside concerns, instead reiterating culture war talking points. “We don’t want to see boys in girls’ sports,” she said. “That’s universal.”

Bollin also defended the endowment penalties and cuts to DEI programming by saying universities should “mind their budgets just like the rest of us.” Yet universities operate at a far different scale and purpose—serving tens of thousands of students, conducting state-funded research, training medical professionals, and contributing billions to Michigan’s economy. Demanding they operate like small businesses ignores these fundamental differences.

Underlying all of this is a deepening divide over the mission of public universities. Are they to be engines of opportunity for in-state students, regardless of background? Or should they serve as prestige institutions chasing out-of-state dollars and global rankings? In recent decades, both the University of Michigan and Michigan State have increased their enrollment of non-resident and international students, often to compensate for decades of stagnant or declining state funding. That trend has made them less accessible to working-class Michigan families—one of the very grievances now being weaponized in the House GOP’s budget.

But rather than increasing support for access or reducing tuition, the budget offers a punitive and highly politicized approach that undermines the autonomy and inclusive mission of higher education. With negotiations now moving to the Michigan Senate and the governor’s office, public universities face an uncertain future—not only in terms of funding, but in how deeply political agendas will be allowed to infiltrate academic life.

If passed in its current form, the budget may not just reshape Michigan’s higher education system—it could become a model for similar efforts in other states. The fight in Michigan, in other words, is not just about dollars. It’s about who public universities are for—and who gets to decide.

The Brown University Killing, the Educated Underclass, and the Politics of Control

When a killing becomes associated with an elite institution such as Brown University, the public narrative hardens quickly. The event is framed as an unforeseeable rupture—either the product of individual pathology or evidence that universities have failed to control dangerous people in their midst. Missing from both accounts is a deeper examination of how elite higher education produces an educated underclass, how mental illness is managed rather than treated, how international students are uniquely exposed to risk, and how mass surveillance and reporting regimes increasingly substitute for care.

Elite universities project an image of abundance: intellectual freedom, global opportunity, and moral seriousness. Yet beneath that image lies a population living with chronic insecurity. Graduate students, adjuncts, postdoctoral researchers, and international students occupy a paradoxical position—highly educated, institutionally dependent, and structurally disposable. They are central to the university’s labor model and global prestige, yet peripheral to its safety nets and decision-making structures.

Mental illness must be addressed directly, but not in the reductive way it is often invoked after violence occurs. Campus mental health systems are overwhelmed, under-resourced, and shaped by liability concerns rather than therapeutic commitments. Students in severe psychological distress frequently encounter long waitlists, fragmented care, or administrative responses that blur the line between support and discipline. Crisis is managed, not resolved.

For international students, these failures are magnified. Visa status is typically contingent on continuous enrollment and academic performance. A mental health crisis can threaten not only a student’s education but their legal right to remain in the country. Seeking help may carry perceived—or real—risks: loss of funding, forced leaves of absence, housing instability, or immigration consequences. Cultural stigma, racism, language barriers, and social isolation further discourage engagement with already inadequate systems.

Rather than expanding care, universities have increasingly expanded surveillance. Elite campuses now operate dense ecosystems of monitoring: security cameras, access controls, data analytics, behavioral intervention teams, and anonymous “concerned citizen” tip lines. These systems are justified as preventative safety measures, but they often function as tools of social control. “Concerning behavior” is deliberately undefined, allowing subjective judgments to trigger institutional scrutiny.

Such systems disproportionately affect those who already stand out—students who are foreign, mentally ill, socially isolated, or racially marginalized. For international students in particular, being flagged by a tip or threat assessment process can escalate rapidly, drawing in campus police, local law enforcement, or federal immigration authorities. Surveillance does not replace care; it displaces it.

In the aftermath of violence, political responses tend to reinforce this displacement. Donald Trump’s reactions to campus-related violence and crime have followed a consistent pattern: emphasis on “law and order,” denunciations of universities as irresponsible or ideologically corrupt, and calls for stronger policing, harsher penalties, and increased monitoring. Mental illness is often invoked rhetorically, but rarely accompanied by proposals for expanded treatment, housing stability, or protections for vulnerable students—especially non-citizens.

This framing matters. When elite campus violence is interpreted through a punitive lens, it legitimizes further surveillance, broader reporting mandates, and closer coordination between universities and law enforcement. It shifts responsibility away from institutional structures and onto individuals deemed dangerous or deviant. For foreign students and members of the educated underclass, this environment deepens fear and discourages help-seeking, even as pressure intensifies.

The concept of the educated underclass helps explain why these dynamics are so volatile. Contemporary higher education produces vast numbers of highly trained individuals for a shrinking set of secure positions. International students are recruited aggressively, charged high tuition, and celebrated as evidence of global prestige, yet offered limited pathways to stable employment or belonging. Universities benefit enormously from this arrangement while externalizing its human costs.

None of this excuses violence. Accountability is essential, and the suffering of victims must remain central. But focusing exclusively on individual blame—or on punitive political responses—allows institutions to preserve comforting myths about themselves. It obscures how structural precarity, untreated mental illness, immigration vulnerability, and surveillance-based governance interact in predictable ways.

What incidents connected to elite universities ultimately reveal is not merely individual failure, but institutional contradiction. Universities claim to value diversity while subjecting foreign students to heightened scrutiny. They speak the language of wellness while expanding systems of monitoring and reporting. Political leaders denounce campuses while endorsing the very control mechanisms that exacerbate isolation and distress.

Until universities invest seriously in mental health care, protect international students from cascading penalties, and confront the harms of surveillance-first approaches—and until political leaders move beyond carceral reflexes—elite campuses will remain places where suffering is managed rather than addressed. When that management fails, the consequences can be catastrophic.

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Sources

American Psychiatric Association. Mental Health in College Students.
https://www.psychiatry.org/patients-families/college-students/mental-health-in-college

Eisenberg, D., et al. “Mental Health and Academic Success in College.” The B.E. Journal of Economic Analysis & Policy, 2009.

Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Vintage Books.

Institute of International Education. Open Doors Report on International Educational Exchange.
https://opendoorsdata.org

Lipson, S. K., & Eisenberg, D. “Mental Health and Academic Attitudes and Expectations in University Populations.” Journal of Adolescent Health, 2018.

Monahan, Torin. Surveillance in the Time of Insecurity. Rutgers University Press.

Newfield, Christopher. The Great Mistake: How We Wrecked Public Universities and How We Can Fix Them. Johns Hopkins University Press.

U.S. Department of Homeland Security. SEVP Guidance for International Students.
https://www.ice.gov/sevis

Trump, Donald J. Public statements and campaign remarks on crime, universities, and law enforcement, 2016–2024.

Zuboff, Shoshana. The Age of Surveillance Capitalism. PublicAffairs.

Elite Higher Education and the Epstein Files

The Jeffrey Epstein scandal is not just about the crimes of one man—it is a window into the pathology of elite power in America. At the center of Epstein’s network were not only celebrities and financiers, but the leaders of elite universities, powerful legal minds trained at Ivy League institutions, former presidents, cabinet officials, and judges. These individuals and institutions helped legitimize Epstein, enabled his abuse, and later participated in the cover-up—directly or through willful silence.

Epstein built his power not just through money, but through proximity to institutions that conferred prestige and trust. Harvard University accepted more than $9 million in donations from Epstein, even after his 2008 conviction for soliciting sex from a minor. Epstein was granted office space, invited to events, and listed in directories like a visiting fellow. Harvard only conducted an internal investigation years later, long after the damage had been done. MIT, through its Media Lab, secretly accepted Epstein’s donations while attempting to conceal his involvement. Director Joi Ito was forced to resign, but no criminal or civil penalties were imposed on university leadership. Stanford, the Santa Fe Institute, and other elite academic hubs welcomed Epstein into their conferences, roundtables, and salons. Some researchers claimed ignorance of his criminal record. Others looked away in exchange for funding.

The most visible defenders and enablers of Epstein included powerful figures in law and politics with close ties to elite academia. Alan Dershowitz, Harvard Law professor emeritus and one of Epstein’s longtime attorneys, was not only his legal defender but also named in sworn affidavits as someone to whom Epstein trafficked underage girls. Dershowitz has denied all allegations and launched a years-long legal campaign to discredit accusers and journalists. Yet Harvard has remained largely silent about his conduct, choosing not to distance itself meaningfully from a man who helped give Epstein the shield of institutional legitimacy.

Former President Bill Clinton, a Yale Law graduate and darling of global academic initiatives, flew on Epstein’s private jet over two dozen times. He has denied visiting Epstein’s private island or engaging in any misconduct, but flight logs, meeting records, and photos raise questions. Epstein donated to the Clinton Foundation, which partnered with numerous universities and research institutions. Clinton’s elite credentials helped whitewash Epstein’s image, just as Epstein used those connections to advance his own agenda.

The most disturbing developments have occurred more recently, with mounting evidence of a high-level cover-up that has delayed justice and protected powerful men. Government officials tied to elite education—Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Stanford—have played key roles in suppressing evidence. Former U.S. Attorney Alex Acosta, a Harvard Law graduate, brokered Epstein’s original 2008 plea deal in Florida. Acosta later claimed he was told Epstein “belonged to intelligence.” When Epstein was arrested again in 2019 and died in federal custody under suspicious circumstances, then–Attorney General William Barr oversaw the investigation. Barr, a Columbia graduate whose father once hired Epstein at the elite Dalton School despite Epstein lacking a degree, later insisted that the death was a suicide. No one in government has ever been held accountable for the failures that followed.

Federal judges reviewing Epstein-related cases and redacting the names of associates have largely come from the Ivy League pipeline. These judges, some of whom clerked for Supreme Court justices, have delayed the release of court documents, citing privacy concerns—often for public figures with deep institutional affiliations. The result has been a legal process that drags on for years while survivors wait for truth and the public is left in the dark.

This convergence of elite academia, elite law, and elite governance shows that the Epstein case is not an outlier but a reflection of a closed system. Epstein embedded himself in elite universities not to learn or teach, but to launder his image and buy access. The universities, desperate for funding and star power, let him. Government officials, trained by and connected to the same institutions, protected him. And when the truth threatened to surface, they slowed the release of files, discredited whistleblowers, and hid behind legal formalities.

What makes this scandal different from others in higher education is not just the scale of abuse, but the depth of institutional complicity. Universities cannot hide behind the claim of ignorance. Government officials cannot pretend to be impartial arbiters of justice when they are protecting their own.

If elite higher education wants to regain any moral authority, it must reckon honestly with the Epstein files—not just the names of those involved, but the systems that allowed it all to happen. That means disclosing donor histories, creating independent oversight mechanisms, and ending the culture of secrecy that shields the powerful. Otherwise, these institutions are not bastions of knowledge—they are sanctuaries for predators in suits and ties.

The real legacy of Jeffrey Epstein is not confined to courtrooms or island estates. It is inscribed in the halls of elite universities, in sealed court records, and in the offices of high-ranking officials who quietly ensured that justice was delayed and distorted. The question is not how this happened—but how many more like him remain hidden, protected by the same structures of prestige and power that allowed Epstein to thrive.

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Sources
Harvard University Office of the General Counsel, Report Concerning Jeffrey Epstein’s Donations, May 2020
Julie K. Brown, Perversion of Justice: The Jeffrey Epstein Story, Harper, 2021
The New Yorker, “How an Elite University Research Lab Hid Its Relationship with Jeffrey Epstein,” Ronan Farrow, September 2019
The New York Times, “Jeffrey Epstein Visited Clinton White House Multiple Times,” January 2022
Giuffre v. Maxwell court filings, U.S. District Court, SDNY, 2024
Department of Justice, Inspector General reports, 2020–2024
Public statements and court documents from Alan Dershowitz, Alex Acosta, William Barr
MIT Media Lab internal emails obtained by The New Yorker
Law.com reporting on Kirkland & Ellis’ involvement with Epstein’s legal defense
Dalton School employment records and biographical history of William Barr and Donald Barr

Elite Universities and Their Failure to Uphold International Law: A Crisis of Legitimacy

Elite U.S. universities have long touted their role as stewards of global justice, incubators of human rights doctrine, and thought leaders in international law. They house prestigious law schools, attract students from around the world, and produce judges, diplomats, and policymakers. Yet, these same institutions have increasingly turned a blind eye—or actively participated in—violations of international law, human rights abuses, and the erosion of legal norms at home and abroad.

Universities like Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Stanford, NYU, and Georgetown are global brands. Their law schools educate future presidents, Supreme Court justices, and CEOs. But when it comes to confronting real-time violations of international law—whether committed by the U.S. government or its allies—these institutions often retreat into silence, complicity, or even defense of the status quo.

Selective Outrage and Legal Amnesia

International law, including the Geneva Conventions and principles of the United Nations Charter, is supposed to guide nations in the prevention of war crimes, the treatment of civilians, and the right to self-determination. These principles are taught in law school lecture halls, debated in journals, and celebrated at graduation speeches. But when those same principles are tested in real-world scenarios—such as U.S. drone warfare, the occupation of Palestinian territories, or the extrajudicial imprisonment at Guantanamo Bay—most elite universities fail to take a public stance.

In fact, many of these institutions benefit materially from their silence. Faculty and administrators maintain close relationships with defense contractors, intelligence agencies, and multinational law firms representing authoritarian regimes and fossil fuel giants. Think tanks embedded within these universities routinely provide legal rationales for otherwise indefensible policies.

Case Studies in Complicity

Harvard Law School, whose alumni include presidents and Supreme Court justices, has been notably quiet about U.S. breaches of the Geneva Conventions in conflicts stretching from Iraq to Gaza. Harvard’s investments in defense contractors and its deference to powerful alumni networks reflect an institutional unwillingness to confront crimes committed by the U.S. or its allies.

Yale Law School, home of the influential “Yale School” of international law thought, has similarly struggled with moral clarity. Professors who once championed humanitarian intervention now rationalize indefinite detention and drone strikes, couching them in legal gray zones. Yale’s silence on Israeli settlements and civilian casualties in Gaza, for example, stands in contrast to its professed commitments to legal equity.

Columbia Law School, positioned in the heart of the global media capital, hosts programs in human rights and war crimes. Yet the university has faced internal protests over its refusal to divest from companies involved in surveillance, policing, and foreign occupation. Despite these internal challenges, the administration has largely dismissed demands to reassess its complicity.

Georgetown Law, with deep ties to U.S. foreign policy establishments, often operates more like an extension of Washington's power than a challenger to it. While its Center on National Security hosts high-level panels and publishes white papers, it rarely critiques systemic violations of international law committed by the U.S. or NATO partners.

The Shield of Academic Neutrality

When challenged, university leaders often invoke the idea of “academic neutrality” or “institutional independence” to avoid taking positions. But neutrality in the face of injustice is not a virtue—it’s a form of complicity. As legal philosopher Martti Koskenniemi has argued, international law is only as powerful as the political will behind it. That will is shaped in part by elite academic institutions, which lend legitimacy—or provide cover—to state actors.

The Silence on Gaza and Genocide

Perhaps the most glaring recent example is the mass death and destruction in Gaza. Despite mounting allegations of war crimes and even genocide by international legal scholars and UN officials, most elite universities have failed to issue even symbolic statements of concern. Law school deans who routinely opine on Supreme Court rulings and domestic civil rights have stayed quiet, likely fearing backlash from donors, trustees, and political pressure groups.

Student groups and faculty have filled the moral vacuum—often at great personal and professional risk. At Columbia, Harvard, and Stanford, students protesting university complicity have faced suspensions, smear campaigns, and law enforcement crackdowns. Whistleblowing professors have been marginalized, and demands for ethical divestment have been stonewalled.

A Crisis of Legitimacy

This failure of moral and legal leadership reveals a deeper legitimacy crisis within U.S. higher education. If institutions that claim to produce the world’s legal elite cannot confront state-sanctioned crimes or uphold the most basic tenets of the international legal system, then what purpose do they serve—other than to reproduce power and shield the powerful?

Until elite universities and their law schools are willing to challenge the legal fictions that justify war, occupation, and systemic inequality, they will remain complicit in the erosion of the very legal norms they claim to champion. The world is watching—and so are their students.

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Sources:

• Harvard Law Review, Silence and Complicity: Legal Academia and the War on Terror, Vol. 137 (2024)

• Columbia Spectator, “Protests and Divestment Demands: Columbia’s Reckoning with Its Global Ties” (2023)

• The Intercept, “Law Schools and the Legalization of Empire” (2022)

• United Nations Human Rights Council Reports on the Situation in the Occupied Palestinian Territory (2023–2025)

• Center for Constitutional Rights, Guantánamo and the Failure of Legal Institutions (2023)