The $221 million settlement between Columbia University and the US government is a watershed moment — less for what it says about one Ivy League institution, and more for what it reveals about the deeper structural and cultural crisis gripping American higher education.

Columbia didn’t merely face a funding dispute. It failed in its duty to protect Jewish students from targeted bias and harassment. And so the Federal government had to do what the university would not: uphold civil rights law and enforce basic standards of safety and inclusion.

At issue is more than just a financial agreement. Columbia agreed to sweeping Federal oversight in order to regain access to over $1 billion in research grants. Under the terms of the agreement, the university must allow an independent monitor to oversee reforms to its protest policies, DEI infrastructure, disciplinary procedures, and protections for both Jewish and Middle Eastern students. It is among the most extensive Federal interventions into a private university in recent memory — and it now stands as a model and a clear statement of Federal expectations: colleges and universities may not discriminate, and they will be held accountable when they allow protected groups to be targeted.

To be clear, most universities in the US have not faced such intervention. The Federal government has, for the most part, left higher education alone — even amid significant controversy around protests, speech, and rising reports of antisemitism across the nation.

But Columbia, along with a few other institutions, was warned. Students raised concerns. Faculty voiced alarm. Alumni and donors spoke out. And it was no secret — thanks to social media and various groups ranging from FIRE to the American Jewish Committee — that Columbia was out of control, and that members of its Jewish community were under real and direct corporal threat.

Despite all of these warnings, the university’s leaders did not act. Academic freedom was invoked — selectively — when it shielded ideologically convenient forms of protest and expression. But the equal protection of students was not enforced with the same energy.

According to the Brandeis Center, 73 percent of Jewish students reported feeling less safe on campus after the October 7 Hamas attacks.

A winter 2025 ADL/Hillel survey found that 83 percent of Jewish students had experienced or witnessed antisemitism at their schools, and most respondents said their administrations failed to respond meaningfully. Columbia was among the institutions most frequently cited, and was also the site of far too much violence. 

I’ve spent years studying campus culture, trust, and administrative behavior. In that time, I’ve found that only a small minority of student-facing administrators identify as conservative — and even fewer report regularly engaging with views different from their own.

This ideological homogeneity within the leadership class deeply shapes which concerns are recognized and which groups receive institutional support. When antisemitism is cloaked in activist rhetoric or aligned with political causes that administrators sympathize with, it is too often minimized — or even excused.

Columbia’s failure fits this pattern. Jewish students were shouted down, doxxed, excluded from student groups, and harassed for expressing support for Israel. Campus DEI offices — designed to foster inclusion — remained largely silent. Faculty contributed to the problem by justifying violence, dismissing student fears, or openly supporting ideologically motivated harassment. The university’s senior leadership responded with ambiguity, delay, and bureaucratic hedging.

Some scholars quoted in Inside Higher Ed have dismissed the settlement as a “political stunt.” That’s nonsense and reveals their biases and inability to showcase the import of viewpoint diversity.

This is not about ideology — it’s about law. Title VI of the Civil Rights Act bars discrimination on the basis of race, color, or national origin in Federally funded programs, including antisemitic harassment. Columbia’s agreement is a reminder that universities are not above these standards. Nor should they be.

I am a firm believer in the importance of the ivory tower. Higher education at its best is a cornerstone of American life — an engine of opportunity, a protector of inquiry, and a space where difficult conversations take place. But when the ivory tower loses its moral compass, ignores its foundational beliefs about inclusion and diversity, and breaks the law — when it embraces selective inclusion, suppresses dissent, and allows entire communities to be marginalized — it must be confronted. Columbia’s failures harmed not only its Jewish students, but the civic credibility of the institution itself.

The Columbia settlement is so painful to those in higher education because it confirms that internal accountability mechanisms are broken; those working in higher education have failed to confront and accept the fact that they have not lived up to their values of inclusion and admit that they unsuccessfully carried out their jobs to lift all students up.

This is a tough moment for many in higher education, but is a good day for America. It reminds the nation that our public values — equality, dignity, and opportunity for all — still matter. When elite institutions forget those values, it is the responsibility of a democratic society to remind them.

Samuel J. Abrams is a professor of politics at Sarah Lawrence College and a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.

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