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Monday, July 28, 2025

The Council for National Policy and the Quiet War on Higher Education

The Council for National Policy (CNP), a secretive coalition of right-wing activists, donors, and religious leaders, has long operated behind closed doors to reshape American politics. Less visible—but no less consequential—is the CNP’s influence on U.S. higher education. Rather than building a parallel university system, the Council and its affiliates have sought to infiltrate, defund, and redirect existing institutions—while funding their own ideological outposts to train future political operatives and culture warriors.

From its founding in 1981, the CNP has cultivated a network of allies committed to a vision of America rooted in Christian nationalism, economic libertarianism, and anti-communism. Higher education, particularly public and research universities, has been a frequent target of its disdain. These institutions are framed as dens of secularism, moral relativism, and Marxist indoctrination. The strategy has been clear: weaken the credibility and funding of traditional universities while supporting alternative pipelines that reinforce conservative ideology.

Organizations like Turning Point USA, Young America’s Foundation, and the Intercollegiate Studies Institute have received support from CNP-connected donors and board members. These groups are active on campuses across the country, often attacking faculty and student activists who advocate for racial justice, labor rights, climate action, or LGBTQ+ inclusion. Turning Point’s “Professor Watchlist” is emblematic of this effort, identifying and shaming educators deemed “radical” or “anti-American.” Behind the student-centered branding are well-financed political interests looking to re-engineer campus discourse and manufacture consent for a reactionary worldview.

While public institutions struggle with budget cuts and political interference, private colleges like Hillsdale College and Liberty University flourish with donor support from CNP-affiliated foundations. These schools market themselves as bastions of classical learning and Christian values, but they also function as training grounds for conservative media, law, and politics. Hillsdale in particular, with its rejection of federal funding and its alignment with Trump-era governance, has produced graduates who have moved seamlessly into roles in think tanks, policy shops, and Republican administrations.

The CNP’s influence extends beyond campuses into legislative agendas. Through connected organizations such as the Heritage Foundation and the American Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC), the network has promoted laws that aim to ban the teaching of critical race theory, eliminate diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) offices, and impose state-mandated curriculum standards favoring patriotism over critical inquiry. Many of these efforts are packaged as promoting intellectual diversity, but in practice they represent a concerted attack on academic freedom.

Higher education is not simply collateral damage in the culture war. It is a primary battlefield. The push to defund public universities, restrict tenure, and surveil classroom speech is not accidental—it is part of a long-term project to discredit institutions that might challenge the political status quo. The goal is not just to influence what is taught, but to control who gets to teach and who gets to learn.

In the CNP’s vision, universities are not places for open debate or exploration, but potential threats to moral order and market orthodoxy. Knowledge becomes dangerous when it questions power. And so the Council works quietly, diligently, to ensure that the next generation of Americans is shaped not by democratic ideals but by theological certainty, corporate loyalty, and partisan allegiance.

While the names and tactics may evolve, the endgame remains the same: a higher education landscape where critical thinking is subordinated to dogma, and where the pursuit of truth yields to the demands of political conformity. Whether the broader public recognizes this campaign in time remains to be seen.


Sources
Anne Nelson, Shadow Network: Media, Money, and the Secret Hub of the Radical Right
Southern Poverty Law Center: “Council for National Policy” profile
Excerpts from leaked CNP membership directories and agendas (SourceWatch, The Guardian, Washington Post)
Isaac Arnsdorf, “Inside the CNP’s Shadowy Strategy Meetings” (Politico)
Hillsdale College Curriculum and Federal Funding Statements
Turning Point USA Professor Watchlist and donor records
Public records from ALEC, Heritage Foundation, and affiliated legislation

Empire in Decline: What the Fall of Rome Tells Us About the American Oligarchy

There are tax farmers squeezing a province dry. There are soldiers fighting for the emperor's baton. And then there are a few who dread the empire's fall and dream of the old republic.

This is not just the story of ancient Rome. It's also an apt metaphor for the state of contemporary America—a late-stage empire defined by extreme inequality, militarization, and a governing class that clings to power while the social fabric unravels.

In Rome, the Senate once stood as the heart of the Republic, composed of elite Patrician families who wielded enormous religious, political, and economic influence. But as historian and economist Michael Hudson writes in The Collapse of Antiquity, these elites became entrenched creditors and landlords, a rentier class unwilling to compromise or adapt. They refused debt cancellation, land redistribution, or any reforms that might curb their power—transforming what was once a dynamic, if imperfect, republic into a brittle and parasitic empire.

This refusal to evolve created an unsustainable system. Wealth concentrated in fewer hands. Small farmers and urban workers were crushed under debts. The rural economy collapsed as latifundia (large estates) displaced independent farmers. Military commanders, frustrated with elite gridlock, seized power for themselves. And the Senate, once a genuine force of governance, became a ceremonial shell. What followed was a long descent: civil wars, authoritarianism, economic stagnation, and eventually the re-feudalization of the West.

Hudson’s view is clear: the Roman Senate and elite, by prioritizing their creditor rights over the common good, destroyed the economic base that sustained the Empire. In their greed and rigidity, they ensured the fall they feared.

Now consider the United States. Like Rome, America has become dominated by a professional ruling class: oligarchs, financiers, tenured politicians, credentialed technocrats, and think-tank warriors. Institutions of higher education, once engines of democratic possibility, have increasingly become training grounds for this elite. And like the Roman Senate, they are largely unaccountable—privatizing gains, socializing losses, and suppressing reform.

Just as Roman tax farmers drained the provinces, today’s student loan servicers, for-profit colleges, and hedge fund–backed housing firms squeeze the public to fund private empires. Just as Roman generals became emperors, today’s billionaires and media moguls wield near-sovereign power over public discourse, elections, and foreign policy. And just as the Roman elite clung to legal fictions while society crumbled, our ruling class insists the republic is healthy—even as inequality soars, infrastructure decays, and democratic norms erode.

There are still those who long for a return to the "old republic"—to a time when education was a public good, when civic virtue mattered, and when government sought the common welfare. But those voices are increasingly drowned out in a landscape of imperial spectacle, culture wars, and managed decline.

Hudson reminds us that ancient societies that survived economic collapse—like those in Mesopotamia—did so by recognizing the need for periodic resets. They canceled debts. They redistributed land. They prioritized stability over elite entrenchment. Rome—and perhaps America—refused to learn those lessons.

In this moment of crisis, the choice is stark: will we continue down the path of empire, ruled by debt and extraction? Or will we recover some measure of republic, with institutions that serve people, not just capital?

One thing is certain: empires fall. But their people don’t have to fall with them—if they choose to resist.

Sources:

  • Michael Hudson, The Collapse of Antiquity: Greece and Rome as Civilization's Oligarchic Turning Point, 2023

  • Mary Beard, SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome, 2015

  • Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 1776–1789

  • Kyle Harper, The Fate of Rome: Climate, Disease, and the End of an Empire, 2017

  • Higher Education Inquirer, ongoing coverage on student debt and elite university structures

  • U.S. Department of Education, data on student debt and institutional concentration of resources

Wednesday, July 23, 2025

Fox News Taps Charlie Kirk Amid Epstein Fallout and Murdoch Tensions

Fox News has selected Charlie Kirk, founder of Turning Point USA (TPUSA), to guest host Fox & Friends Weekend for the first time. A Fox spokesperson confirmed the decision, originally reported by Axios, noting that Kirk will appear alongside co-hosts Rachel Campos-Duffy and Charlie Hurt on July 27–28, 2025.

The move comes as the network faces growing pressure from Trump-aligned media personalities over its coverage of the Jeffrey Epstein files and its relationship with the Wall Street Journal, another Rupert Murdoch-owned outlet. Kirk, who has hosted The Charlie Kirk Show, a podcast and syndicated radio program, is also a close ally of former President Donald Trump and a vocal critic of legacy media organizations, including the Journal.

A Decade of Coverage: TPUSA’s Rise

Kirk founded Turning Point USA in 2012 at age 18 with financial backing from donors such as the late Foster Friess and Home Depot co-founder Bernie Marcus. The group is registered as a 501(c)(3) nonprofit and reported over $55 million in revenue in 2022, according to public IRS filings.

TPUSA’s stated mission is to "identify, educate, train, and organize students to promote freedom." However, its campus organizing efforts have drawn criticism from academics and student groups for compiling watchlists of left-leaning faculty and amplifying misinformation. The Higher Education Inquirer has documented TPUSA’s partnerships with conservative student chapters, appearances by controversial figures, and consistent alignment with Trump administration policies.

In recent years, TPUSA has expanded its media and political operations through spinoffs like TPUSA Faith, TPUSA Live, and the AmericaFest conference series. These initiatives have featured speakers including Donald Trump Jr., Candace Owens, Tucker Carlson, and Marjorie Taylor Greene.

Epstein Files and the Trump Lawsuit

In early July 2025, The Wall Street Journal published an investigative piece detailing Donald Trump’s past relationship with Jeffrey Epstein. The story cited sources claiming Trump once sent Epstein a birthday card with a hand-drawn image of a naked woman. Trump denied the report and sued the Journal and Rupert Murdoch for $10 billion, calling the article defamatory.

The report was based on internal communications, FBI notes, and interviews with individuals familiar with Epstein’s social network. While the Journal stands by its reporting, coverage of the lawsuit has been limited on Fox News, which has mentioned it only a few times on air, according to media monitoring data from Media Matters.

Kirk responded aggressively to the story, calling it “fake” and “a hit job” on his podcast and social media. He praised Trump’s lawsuit and claimed the article was an attempt to connect the Epstein investigation to the former president without evidence. “Now I quickly, and we quickly, came to the president’s defense,” he said on The Charlie Kirk Show.

Strategic Silence and MAGA Realignment

Fox News, typically quick to echo Trump’s media attacks, has not publicly defended the Journal. The network also reduced its coverage of the Epstein documents released this summer, in contrast to CNN, MSNBC, and other right-leaning outlets like Newsmax and Real America’s Voice, which have continued to highlight the Epstein files.

Trump has reportedly instructed close allies and supporters to downplay the Epstein revelations. According to Rolling Stone and Puck News, Trump personally called Kirk and other surrogates, asking them to redirect attention away from Attorney General Pam Bondi, who had faced MAGA criticism for a DOJ memo stating there was no actionable Epstein “client list.”

Kirk initially supported criticism of Bondi but later reversed course, stating on his podcast that he would “trust [his] friends in the government.” After announcing he would stop discussing Epstein, he backtracked the following day, claiming his comments were taken out of context.

TPUSA's Institutional Influence

Turning Point USA has expanded into high schools (via Turning Point Academy), churches (TPUSA Faith), and electoral politics (Turning Point Action). According to the group's 2023 annual report, it has reached over 2,500 schools and trained more than 12,000 student activists. TPUSA Action spent at least $7 million on political activities in the 2022 midterms, per FEC data.

Kirk’s access to Fox News’s audience, especially during a prime weekend slot, signals further normalization of TPUSA within conservative media infrastructure. It also reflects the ongoing merger between youth-oriented political branding and legacy cable television, especially at a time when Fox News is balancing its MAGA base against legal and reputational risks tied to its parent company.

Sources

  • Axios (July 2025): "Charlie Kirk to co-host Fox & Friends Weekend"

  • Wall Street Journal (July 2025): “Trump’s Epstein Birthday Card”

  • IRS Form 990 filings (TPUSA 2021–2023)

  • Media Matters: “Fox News Epstein Coverage Analysis”

  • FEC.gov: Turning Point Action Political Expenditures

  • Rolling Stone, Puck News (July 2025): Trump’s calls to allies over Epstein story

  • TPUSA 2023 Annual Report

  • Higher Education Inquirer Archive (2016–2025): Reports on TPUSA campus activity


This article is part of the Higher Education Inquirer's long-term investigation into political influence in the credential economy, campus organizing, and the intersection of media, youth movements, and power.

Monday, July 21, 2025

The Disillusioned Young Man and Higher Ed in the US

Across the United States, growing numbers of young men are dropping out—of college, of the labor market, and of public life. They are disillusioned, disappointed, and increasingly detached from the institutions that once promised stability and purpose. Higher education is at the center of this unraveling. For many young men, it has become a symbol of a broken social contract—offering neither clear direction nor tangible reward.

Enrollment numbers reflect this retreat. Women now account for nearly 60 percent of U.S. college students. Men, particularly working-class men, have been withdrawing steadily for years. They are not disappearing from education simply out of disinterest—they are being priced out, pushed out, and in some cases replaced.

College has become a high-risk gamble for those without economic security. Some students take out tens of thousands of dollars in loans and find themselves dropping out or graduating into dead-end jobs. Others gamble in a more literal sense. The explosion of online sports betting and gambling apps has created a public health crisis that is largely invisible. Research shows that college students, particularly men, are significantly more likely to develop gambling problems than the general population. Some have even used federal student aid to fund their gambling. The financial and psychological toll is severe.

Alcohol remains another outlet for despair. While binge drinking has long been part of campus life, it is now more frequently a form of self-medication than social bonding. The stresses of debt, job insecurity, isolation, and untreated mental illness have led many young men to drink excessively. The consequences—academic failure, expulsion, addiction, violence—are often invisible until they are catastrophic.

The education system offers few lifelines. Counseling services are understaffed. Mentorship is scarce. For-profit colleges and nonselective public institutions offer quick credentials but little career mobility. Internships are often unpaid. Adjunct professors, who now make up the majority of the college teaching workforce, are overworked and underpaid, with little time for student engagement. The result is an environment where young men are left to fend for themselves, often without guidance, community, or hope.

Into this vacuum step political influencers who promise meaning and belonging—but offer grievance and distraction instead. Charlie Kirk, founder of Turning Point USA, has become one of the most recognizable figures appealing to disaffected young men. His message is simple: college is a scam, the system is rigged against you, and the left is to blame. But Kirk’s rhetoric does little to address real economic suffering. Instead of empowering young men with tools for analysis, organizing, or resilience, he offers them a worldview of resentment and victimhood. It's ideology without substance—an escape route that leads nowhere.

Compounding the crisis is the transformation of the U.S. labor market. Union jobs that once offered working-class men decent wages and stability have been gutted by automation, offshoring, deregulation, and union-busting campaigns. The pathways that allowed previous generations to thrive without a college degree have largely disappeared. Retail and service jobs dominate the landscape, with low pay, high turnover, and little dignity.

Meanwhile, higher education institutions have increasingly turned to international students to fill seats and boost tuition revenue. Many universities, especially at the graduate level, rely on international students—who often pay full price—to subsidize their operations. These students frequently gain access to internships, research positions, and jobs in STEM fields, sometimes edging out U.S. students with less financial or academic capital. While international students contribute intellectually and economically to American higher ed, their presence also reflects a system more concerned with revenue than with serving local and regional populations.

This mix of economic decline, addiction, alienation, and displacement has left many young men feeling irrelevant. Some turn to substances. Some drop out entirely. Others embrace simplistic ideologies that frame their loss as cultural rather than structural. But the deeper truth is this: they are caught between institutions that extract from them and influencers who exploit them.

The American higher education system has failed to adapt to the reality of millions of young men who no longer see it as a path forward. Until colleges address the psychological, social, and economic pain these men are facing—until they offer real support, purpose, and value—the disillusionment will deepen. Until labor policy creates viable alternatives through union jobs, apprenticeships, and living wages, higher education will continue to function not as a ladder of mobility but as a mirage.

Sources:
National Student Clearinghouse Research Center, Current Term Enrollment Estimates
University at Buffalo, Clinical and Research Institute on Addictions
International Center for Responsible Gaming
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Youth Risk Behavior Surveillance
Turning Point USA public statements and financial filings
U.S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics: Union Membership Data
Institute of International Education, Open Doors Report on International Educational Exchange
The Higher Education Inquirer archives on student debt, labor displacement, and campus disinformation campaigns

Sunday, July 20, 2025

Right-Wing Hillsdale College Targeting MSN Readers for Donations

Hillsdale College—a small, private Christian liberal arts institution in Michigan—has increasingly turned to digital advertising, including Microsoft’s MSN platform, to extend its reach and solicit donations. Known for its conservative ideology and its refusal to accept any federal or state funding, Hillsdale is relying more than ever on mass digital engagement to sustain its growing national influence.

Hillsdale sponsors content across digital news aggregators like MSN using native advertising platforms such as Taboola. These sponsored links promote Hillsdale’s free online courses in subjects like the U.S. Constitution and Western political philosophy. Readers who click are typically prompted to provide an email address, after which they are placed into a recurring stream of newsletters and donation appeals. Hillsdale’s marketing strategy combines educational branding with ideological and political themes designed to deepen audience loyalty and increase donor conversion.

The school’s strategy is informed by its unique financial model. Unlike most colleges, Hillsdale accepts no Title IV federal funds and avoids other forms of government support. While this independence allows Hillsdale to circumvent Department of Education oversight, it also necessitates a highly developed fundraising operation. Hillsdale reportedly raises between $100 million and $200 million annually through private donations, which support its growing campus, online educational infrastructure, Imprimis publication, and a national network of affiliated classical charter schools.

Hillsdale’s digital fundraising and brand-building efforts align closely with its broader ideological mission. On February 19, 2025, Turning Point USA founder Charlie Kirk delivered a keynote lecture at Hillsdale’s National Leadership Seminar in Phoenix. Titled “Hitting the Ground Running: The Trump Transition and Early Priorities,” the event illustrated how Hillsdale fuses academic outreach with conservative political messaging. The speech was promoted on Hillsdale’s social media platforms and streamed via its Freedom Library website.

[Charlie Kirk speaks at Hillsdale College in February 2025.] 

Hillsdale’s collaboration with platforms like MSN reflects a wider shift in how politically-aligned institutions use digital media ecosystems to bypass traditional gatekeepers. Because MSN blends sponsored content into its main news feed using algorithmic curation, promotional material from ideological institutions can appear alongside conventional journalism—without the benefit of editorial transparency or disclaimers. For Hillsdale, this means access to millions of readers, many of whom may not realize they’re engaging with sponsored political content masked as civic education.

This convergence of ideology, education, and marketing raises critical questions about the future of higher education outreach and the role of big tech platforms in shaping political narratives. Hillsdale’s success in these spaces underscores how easily lines between education, influence, and revenue can blur in the digital age.

Sources
https://online.hillsdale.edu/courses/promo/constitution-101
https://freedomlibrary.hillsdale.edu/programs/national-leadership-seminar-phoenix-arizona/hitting-the-ground-running-the-trump-transition-and-early-priorities
https://about.ads.microsoft.com/en/solutions/ad-products-formats/display
https://www.hillsdale.edu/about/frequently-asked-questions/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hillsdale_College
https://imprimis.hillsdale.edu
https://www.facebook.com/hillsdalecollegemichigan/posts/livestream-today-1000-pm-et-watch-charlie-kirks-speech-hitting-the-ground-runnin/905074171834140


Saturday, July 19, 2025

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

Tuesday, July 15, 2025

Who Rules Higher Education in Florida?

Florida has emerged as a bold experiment in the transformation of American education, a place where the traditional lines between public and private, church and state, learning and indoctrination have become increasingly blurred. The state’s sprawling educational apparatus—from taxpayer-funded religious K–12 schools to politically captured public universities and a booming for-profit college industry—has been reshaped by a tightly knit network of ideological, financial, and political interests. The central question now is no longer just what Florida’s students are learning, but who is deciding what gets taught, who profits, and who is left behind.

This transformation did not begin overnight. It accelerated sharply under the administration of Governor Ron DeSantis, who has leveraged Florida’s educational system as a tool of ideological warfare. But the system’s current shape reflects a deeper pattern of coordinated influence, in which political appointees, religious institutions, for-profit executives, and powerful donors have each claimed a stake in the state’s educational future.

At the K–12 level, Florida now operates the nation’s largest private school voucher program. House Bill 1, passed in 2023, dramatically expanded eligibility, allowing nearly every student in the state to access public funds to attend private schools. The vast majority of these schools are religious in nature, with many promoting evangelical or fundamentalist Christian ideologies. The curricula often reject mainstream science, promote historical revisionism, and enforce gender and sexual conformity. These schools are not subject to the same accreditation or teacher certification standards as public institutions. They are legally permitted to discriminate in admissions, reject LGBTQ+ students, and bypass standardized academic expectations, all while receiving millions in taxpayer subsidies.

The expansion of vouchers has created a shadow education system—one that is state-funded but privately controlled. Some schools operate out of church basements or repurposed office buildings, others are part of large religious networks tied to national political movements. While the promise of "school choice" is used to market these reforms, in practice the policy has enabled a rapid exodus of students from public schools and directed public funds into ideologically driven and poorly regulated institutions. Investigations have revealed schools with histories of fraud, abusive discipline, and woeful academic performance continuing to receive state dollars with little to no oversight.

As students age into adulthood, the ideological structure built in the K–12 years feeds directly into Florida’s remade higher education system. The state’s public universities, long regarded as rising stars in research and student access, have become targets of political intervention. The takeover of New College of Florida in 2023 marked a turning point. Once a small, progressive liberal arts college, New College was transformed into a conservative experiment through political appointments and ideological purges. Faculty were pushed out. Curriculum was rewritten. Leadership was handed to figures with close ties to right-wing think tanks.

This playbook has since been replicated across the State University System. Boards of trustees are now stacked with DeSantis allies. Presidents are chosen not for academic leadership, but for political loyalty. Diversity, equity, and inclusion programs have been banned. Faculty are monitored. Student protests are suppressed. The message is clear: Florida’s public colleges are no longer institutions for the free exchange of ideas—they are instruments of ideological alignment.

Private colleges, meanwhile, have flourished in this environment—especially those aligned with conservative religious values. The University of Miami, while officially nonsectarian, operates in close partnership with powerful biomedical and corporate interests. Rollins College, one of the most prestigious liberal arts schools in the state, remains publicly apolitical but thrives by catering to the children of Florida’s wealthy elite. Religious institutions like Ave Maria University and Palm Beach Atlantic University are more explicit in their missions. Founded with deep connections to conservative Catholic and evangelical movements, these schools are more than just educational spaces—they are ideological outposts for a political and religious project that seeks to reshape American life.

Ave Maria, established by Domino’s Pizza billionaire Tom Monaghan, operates under strict Catholic dogma and enforces a rigid moral code for students. Palm Beach Atlantic champions evangelical Christian values and produces graduates steeped in conservative social teachings. These colleges, along with others in their orbit, often serve as landing pads for students educated in the voucher-funded religious K–12 system. The ideological pipeline is seamless, and its impact is lasting.

Beneath the surface, Florida’s for-profit colleges and credential mills continue to expand, often flying under the radar. Keiser University, once for-profit and now nominally nonprofit, functions much like a for-profit entity, aggressively recruiting students and maximizing revenue through online expansion and federal aid capture. Everglades University, Full Sail University, and dozens of cosmetology, theology, and career schools target working-class Floridians, military veterans, and immigrants with promises of upward mobility. In reality, many of these institutions saddle students with unmanageable debt and provide degrees of questionable value. Oversight is weak. Accreditation standards are often minimal. The end result is a parallel higher education market that profits off desperation and systemic inequality.

Connecting these layers of Florida’s educational system is a network of donors, foundations, and political groups. Organizations like the Council for National Policy, the Heritage Foundation, and the Claremont Institute exert disproportionate influence. Billionaires like Rebekah Mercer, Ken Griffin, and the Uihlein family fund candidates, schools, and think tanks that support the dismantling of public education and the promotion of conservative Christian alternatives. Hillsdale College, though based in Michigan, has launched affiliated charter-style “classical academies” in Florida and supplies training and curriculum to school boards eager to erase what they call “woke indoctrination.”

These efforts are coordinated, strategic, and well-funded. They are not random or reactionary. They represent the construction of a new education regime—one rooted in privatization, obedience, religious orthodoxy, and political control. Academic freedom, democratic engagement, and equitable access are treated not as ideals to strive for, but as threats to be neutralized.

The result is a cradle-to-career system in which education serves power rather than challenging it. From kindergarten classrooms preaching Christian nationalism to public universities led by political appointees to debt traps disguised as colleges, Florida’s students are moving through a system designed not to liberate but to conform. The public is funding it. The powerful are steering it. And for millions of students and families, the promise of education as a ladder to opportunity is becoming another broken dream.

The question of who rules education in Florida has a chillingly clear answer. Those who profit from ignorance. Those who fear critical inquiry. Those who believe education should serve the powerful, not the people. Florida may be the future—but not one built on truth, justice, or enlightenment. It is a future built on control.


Sources

Florida House Bill 1 (2023), Florida Legislature
Orlando Sentinel, “Florida Private Voucher Schools Often Fail Students. The State Still Pays.”
U.S. Department of Education, College Scorecard and IPEDS Data
Florida Department of Education, Private School Directory
Inside Higher Ed, “DEI Ban Signed in Florida”
Chronicle of Higher Education, “The New College Coup”
New York Times, “Florida’s Education Overhaul Has National Implications”
Council for National Policy, internal documents and reporting via The Intercept
IRS Form 990 filings for Keiser University, Ave Maria University, University of Miami
National Student Legal Defense Network, Complaints and Lawsuits Involving Florida Institutions
ProPublica, “The Billionaire Behind Ave Maria’s Catholic Utopia”
Hillsdale College, Barney Charter School Initiative: Partner School Directory and Curriculum

Sunday, July 13, 2025

Faith vs. Geology: Pangaea and the Great Deluge Theory at Liberty University

In the early 20th century, German scientist Alfred Wegener introduced the idea of continental drift, proposing that Earth's continents were once joined in a massive supercontinent called Pangaea. Though initially dismissed, his theory gained traction in the 1960s with the emergence of plate tectonics—a unifying model that explains how Earth's outer shell is divided into moving plates. This theory, now a cornerstone of modern geology, posits that Pangaea began to break apart roughly 230 million years ago, eventually forming the continents we recognize today. The overwhelming evidence for this process includes matching fossils on different continents, corresponding rock formations, and patterns in ancient species distribution. Radiometric dating techniques support the conclusion that Earth is about 4.54 billion years old, a timescale that allows for the slow, natural processes responsible for shaping the planet.

In stark contrast, Liberty University's Center for Creation Studies offers an alternative interpretation of Earth’s history rooted in a literal reading of the Bible. Situated in the Rawlings School of Divinity’s Freedom Tower—the tallest building in Lynchburg, Virginia—the Center teaches students to understand science through the lens of Genesis. Its Great Deluge Theory, based on the biblical account of Noah's Flood, rejects the mainstream scientific consensus. Instead of accepting that Earth’s continents drifted apart over hundreds of millions of years, the Center asserts that many geological features, including fossil layers and sedimentary rock strata, were formed rapidly during a single global flood event just a few thousand years ago. Young Earth creationism, which underpins the curriculum, maintains that the planet is no older than 10,000 years, and that natural history can be fully explained through divine intervention.

The divergence between these views is more than a matter of interpretation—it reflects fundamentally different epistemologies. Plate tectonics is grounded in empirical research, the scientific method, and peer review. It invites scrutiny, thrives on testable hypotheses, and evolves in response to new evidence. In contrast, Liberty’s model begins with a predetermined conclusion: the Bible is historically and scientifically accurate in every detail. Evidence is selectively interpreted to fit this framework, and contradictory data—no matter how extensive—is either reinterpreted or dismissed. This approach aligns more closely with apologetics than with science.

While Liberty University positions its creationist program as a means to equip students to "contend for their faith," critics argue that it misrepresents scientific knowledge and undermines science education. By framing the Great Deluge as a viable scientific alternative to plate tectonics, the institution promotes a parallel academic universe in which faith-based doctrines masquerade as empirical conclusions. The implications go beyond the classroom. As Liberty-trained educators and policymakers enter the workforce, the divide between evidence-based science and theological worldviews has the potential to further erode public understanding of geology, biology, and climate science.

The tension between these two narratives—one driven by data and theory, the other by scripture and conviction—mirrors broader cultural and political divides in the United States. In this climate, Liberty University’s Great Deluge Theory stands not merely as a fringe belief but as part of an organized ideological project. It seeks to challenge the authority of secular science and replace it with a creationist worldview, reinforced by institutional power, strategic philanthropy, and media amplification through outlets like Fox News and Turning Point USA.

Pangaea remains a foundational concept in understanding Earth's deep past—a testament to scientific inquiry and intellectual perseverance. The Great Deluge Theory, by contrast, functions more as a religious counter-narrative, one that reveals the growing influence of Christian nationalism within certain sectors of U.S. higher education. At Liberty University, students are taught not only to question modern geology but to replace it with a model of the Earth shaped by divine catastrophe. In doing so, the institution asserts a theological vision of reality that stands in direct opposition to the scientific consensus.

This conflict raises urgent questions about the role of ideology in higher education and the future of scientific literacy in a society increasingly divided along epistemological lines.


Sources:

National Center for Science Education. “The Creationist Assault on Geology.” NCSE Reports.
https://ncse.ngo/creationist-assault-geology

U.S. Geological Survey (USGS). “Geologic Time.”
https://www.usgs.gov/programs/earthquake-hazards/geologic-time

Wegener, Alfred. The Origin of Continents and Oceans. Translated edition, Dover Publications, 1966.

Liberty University. “Center for Creation Studies.”
https://www.liberty.edu/academics/creationstudies/

Liberty University Rawlings School of Divinity. “Freedom Tower Overview.”
https://www.liberty.edu/divinity/freedom-tower/

Numbers, Ronald L. The Creationists: From Scientific Creationism to Intelligent Design. Harvard University Press, 2006.

Scott, Eugenie C. Evolution vs. Creationism: An Introduction. University of California Press, 2009.

Radiometric Dating and the Age of the Earth. TalkOrigins Archive.
http://www.talkorigins.org/faqs/dating.html

Lisle, Jason. The Ultimate Proof of Creation. Master Books, 2009. (Representative of Liberty-style apologetics)

The Functional Poverty of US Higher Education

In 1971, sociologist Herbert J. Gans published The Positive Functions of Poverty, a provocative essay that argued poverty persists not due to a lack of solutions, but because it benefits powerful institutions. Over fifty years later, his thesis haunts U.S. higher education, which does not merely reflect inequality but actively relies on it. The system functions less as an engine of mobility and more as a mechanism for managing and monetizing the poor.

Today, poverty is not an accident of the US higher education system—it is a prerequisite for its operation.

Poverty as Institutional Legitimacy

Colleges and universities frequently promote themselves as pathways out of poverty, showcasing stories of Pell Grant recipients and first-generation students to validate their missions. These narratives help secure federal funding, private donations, and political goodwill. Yet the vast majority of poor students never cross the commencement stage. Instead, their presence serves to bolster institutional credibility while masking the reality of systemic failure.

Programs like TRIO, GEAR UP, and Promise scholarships function not to eliminate poverty, but to manage it. They offer modest hope while ensuring the system continues undisturbed.

Poor Students as a Revenue Stream

The financial foundation of higher education rests heavily on low-income students. For-profit colleges, many of them reincarnated under new branding or partnerships, depend almost entirely on federal aid and student loans tied to impoverished enrollees. These institutions aggressively recruit students with big promises and deliver little in return. Graduation rates remain dismal, while student debt mounts.

Private student lenders have filled the remaining gaps left by federal aid caps and rising tuition. Fintech platforms like SoFi, College Ave, and Earnest offer loans with complex terms and minimal consumer protections, particularly to vulnerable students desperate for access. For many borrowers, this creates a lifetime of indebtedness for a credential that may never yield a return.

The Administrative Industry of Poverty

A burgeoning sector of higher education administration is devoted to managing the symptoms of poverty. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) offices—now under political assault—often oversee food banks, mental health outreach, and “resilience” programming for first-gen students. Meanwhile, a growing HR specialty has emerged to “track and support” the poor.

These staffers may act with sincere intention, but their existence also reveals the transactional nature of institutional concern. Without poor students to manage, their roles—and the bureaucracies behind them—would shrink. Food insecurity and academic struggle have become normalized to the point that colleges maintain food pantries as a permanent feature of campus life.

Exploiting the Educated Underclass

As sociologist Gary Roth has observed, higher education produces a surplus of credentialed workers with no corresponding demand. These graduates, often from poor backgrounds, return to campus as adjunct faculty, graduate assistants, or gig workers—essential but expendable.

Their labor sustains the system at low cost. They teach core courses, staff libraries, and support faculty research while earning poverty wages themselves. The promise of education becomes a loop of unfulfilled mobility.

Poor Students as Research Subjects

Low-income students are not only sources of revenue and labor—they are also the subjects of academic research. Entire disciplines, from sociology to education and public health, have been built upon the study of poverty. Yet few researchers challenge the institutional structures that perpetuate the very inequalities they document.

Faculty careers flourish. Tenure is won. Grants are secured. The students themselves often see no tangible benefit from this knowledge production.

Reinforcing the Myth of Meritocracy

Elite universities use a handful of poor students to validate the myth of meritocracy. These “success stories” are amplified through PR campaigns, donor appeals, and glossy admissions brochures. They function as symbolic proof that the system works—even as the vast majority of poor students are shunted into lower-tier institutions with fewer resources and worse outcomes.

The truth is clear: wealth remains the strongest predictor of educational success in the United States.

Stratification by Design

The U.S. higher education system is structured to reproduce class hierarchy. Community colleges and regional public universities disproportionately enroll poor and working-class students. Flagship publics and elite privates cater to the children of the professional and ruling classes.

This credentialing hierarchy maintains social order while offering just enough upward mobility to justify its existence.

Political Utility: Blame the Poor

When institutions face financial shortfalls or declining enrollment, they often scapegoat the poor. Students are labeled unprepared, unmotivated, or emotionally fragile. Rarely are structural causes—such as rising tuition, defunded public services, or predatory loan systems—acknowledged.

Neoliberal reforms and conservative attacks on “woke” education continue to target vulnerable populations, obscuring the institutional failures that drive inequity.

Private Equity and the Monetization of Student Housing

One of the latest frontiers in the commodification of poverty within higher education is campus-adjacent real estate. Private equity (PE) firms are aggressively acquiring student housing near flagship state universities, turning basic shelter into another site of financial extraction.

Evidence of PE Expansion:
Private equity firms such as Investcorp, Rockpoint, and KKR have amassed significant portfolios of student housing near schools like the University of Florida, University of Texas at Austin, and College of Charleston. These acquisitions are not random—they target institutions with large, stable enrollment and limited new housing supply.

Rents on the Rise:
In cities like Tampa, rents increased by 49% from 2019 to 2023—a jump partly attributed to institutional investors, although the exact role of PE firms in driving this increase is contested. Still, anecdotal reports and advocacy groups point to rising rents, increased fees, and aggressive management practices following PE takeovers.

Housing Scarcity as Leverage:
While it's difficult to isolate private equity's influence from broader housing shortages and enrollment growth, it's clear that PE is exploiting structural constraints—just as for-profit colleges exploit financial aid loopholes. Where public universities fail to build sufficient housing, private investors step in, profiting from desperation.

A System That Needs Poverty

Herbert Gans argued that poverty survives because it serves essential functions for society’s powerful institutions. In American higher education, this dynamic is not theoretical—it is lived reality. Colleges and universities don’t just educate the poor; they extract value from them at every level.

From student loans and real estate speculation to adjunct labor and administrative bloat, the system is built around managing—not eradicating—poverty.

Until higher education confronts its own complicity in perpetuating structural inequality, it will remain what it is today: an industry that feeds on hope, and thrives on hardship.

Sources
Gans, Herbert J. “The Positive Functions of Poverty.” American Journal of Sociology, 1971.
Roth, Gary. The Educated Underclass: Students and the Promise of Social Mobility. Pluto Press, 2019.
National Center for Education Statistics (NCES)
U.S. Department of Education, College Scorecard
Private Equity Stakeholder Project
RealPage Analytics
Advocacy reports on student housing and rent inflation
Higher Education Inquirer FOIA research files

Monday, July 7, 2025

“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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