Public Universities and the Public Good: The Case for State Oversight

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Introduction: Public universities occupy a unique place in American life. They were founded to serve societal needs, funded by taxpayers, and entrusted with educating future citizens and workers. Yet in recent decades, many public institutions of higher education appear to have drifted from their core civic mission. From the sprawling bureaucracy of “Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion” (DEI) offices to campus controversies over boycotts of allied nations, public universities often behave more like ideologically independent fiefdoms than accountable arms of the public. This reality has prompted a growing movement—rooted in traditionalist and paleoconservative thought—calling for significantly more government oversight of public higher education to ensure alignment with civic priorities, workforce preparation, and public values. The argument is straightforward: if a university is funded by the public, it owes the public stewardship in its programs and policies. As one commentator bluntly noted, “the public pays for much of this and expects accountability”. This essay contends that public institutions of higher learning, such as the University of Texas at Austin, ought to be reoriented through state direction to better serve the common good. In making this case, we will examine the ethical and logical basis for state regulation of public universities, explore the tension between academic freedom and public accountability (including First Amendment considerations), and delve into contemporary controversies like DEI and the BDS movement as illustrative of institutional drift. We will also consider the autonomy of private universities vis-à-vis public funding, defend the importance of liberal arts education for civic virtue, and propose concrete policy measures—technocratic in design yet paleoconservative in spirit—to restore public control over public universities.

The Public University as a Civic Institution

Public universities were never meant to be sovereign realms unto themselves; they were established as civic institutions to serve public ends. The very creation of America’s public higher education system was predicated on aligning academia with the needs of society and the state. A landmark example is the Morrill Land-Grant Act of 1862, which donated federal land to states to endow colleges “for the benefit of agriculture and the mechanic arts”. These new land-grant universities explicitly emphasized practical fields and opened higher learning to the sons and daughters of farmers and laborers, classes previously excluded from elite private colleges. The Morrill Act’s intent was, in its own words, to provide “a broad segment of the population with a practical education that had direct relevance to their daily lives”. By design, public colleges were instruments for workforce preparation (teaching useful skills in agriculture, engineering, military tactics, etc.) and for civic uplift (educating informed citizens). The Northwest Ordinance of 1787 had earlier enshrined the principle that “religion, morality, and knowledge, being necessary to good government and the happiness of mankind, schools and the means of education shall forever be encouraged”. From the founding era onward, American legislatures understood education as a pillar of republican government—a public trust aimed at the common good.

If public universities exist to benefit society, it follows logically and ethically that the public (acting through its elected representatives) has not only a right but a duty to guide those institutions. State universities are creatures of state law: their charters, funding, and governing boards are all established by government. The people of a state, who pay taxes to support the state university system, are the ultimate stakeholders in how those institutions are run. Edmund Burke’s view of society as a partnership between the generations can be applied here: the current generation of citizens has a stewardship obligation to ensure universities transmit sound learning and values to the next generation, rather than becoming wayward. Burke taught that we must balance continuity and change, reforming institutions prudently when they stray from their purposes. As trustees of the public interest, state lawmakers are entitled to ask whether a given academic program or administrative bureaucracy truly serves public needs or merely the preferences of a cloistered academic subculture. When misalignment is found, intervention is justified.

Critics will argue that universities require freedom from political meddling to fulfill their knowledge-seeking mission. There is truth in that, and academic freedom is a vital principle (which we shall address in the next section). But one must not confuse the freedom of individual scholars to pursue truth with an institutional claim to be wholly unaccountable to the society that sustains it. A state university is not a private monastery; it is a public enterprise, funded often by billions in taxpayer dollars. As such, it owes a form of fiduciary duty to the public. Just as government agencies or public schools are subject to oversight, public colleges should be responsive to democratic direction in broad matters of curriculum and policy, while still protecting scholarly inquiry. The balance can be delicate, but the status quo tilts far in the opposite direction—toward independence verging on irresponsibility. University administrations have become adept at evading outside scrutiny, even as they readily accept public money and then pursue agendas that many taxpayers find alien or even hostile to their own values.

A telling example can be seen in basic curriculum requirements. Most public universities today do not require students to study American history or government—unless compelled by state law. In fact, only a minority of states mandate a college-level course in American civics or history, and Texas stands out for requiring undergraduates to complete two courses in American history and two in government (including study of the Texas and U.S. Constitutions). This Texas model reflects a legislative judgment that graduates should understand the nation’s heritage and civic institutions. Such requirements were imposed because, left to their own devices, many universities had dropped or watered down core civic education. (California’s public universities, for instance, have infamously allowed identity studies courses to substitute for the state-mandated American institutions requirement.) It took an act of the legislature to ensure that all students, not just history majors, gain a basic civic education. Far from being anachronistic, these laws are a reminder that public universities are meant to cultivate informed citizens, not just grant career credentials. As the Texas “American History Act” model legislation declares, “a legislature cannot provide an entire curriculum, but it can provide enough details to suggest legislative intent”. In other words, the people (through their representatives) can set broad curricular priorities—such as devotion to American ideals and an understanding of Western civilization—while leaving the fine-grained academic content to educators. This is a reasonable calibration of public oversight and academic expertise.

Underlying the case for oversight is a principle of reciprocity. A public university enjoys taxpayer funding, taxpayer-subsidized student loans, often exemption from taxes, and other public benefits. In return, the public can expect that university to advance public purposes: educating young people for constructive roles in the economy and republic, furthering research and innovation that benefit the state, and upholding the societal values that legitimize public support. When a publicly funded university instead uses its resources to promote narrow ideological programs, or neglects areas of study vital to the state’s workforce needs, it violates this social compact. As one observer put it, “genuine academic freedom requires financial independence, not billions in taxpayer dollars without accountability.” If an institution wants complete autonomy to pursue its own agenda, it can forego public money and operate as a private college. But so long as it feeds at the public trough, accountability is not an infringement – it is common sense.

Academic Freedom vs. Public Accountability

Any call for increased oversight of public universities must grapple with the concept of academic freedom. The ideal of academic freedom holds that scholars and students should be free to pursue truth and express ideas without fear of retribution or censorship, especially from political authorities. This principle is deeply woven into the American academic ethos and has some grounding in constitutional law. The First Amendment’s free speech clause, as interpreted by courts, offers strong protection for individual speech at public universities, and the Supreme Court has noted that academic freedom is “a special concern of the First Amendment” (Justice William Brennan in Keyishian v. Board of Regents, 1967). Yet, crucially, the Constitution does not grant universities carte blanche to defy all public oversight. Government officials cannot directly dictate or ban particular viewpoints in the classroom—“the First Amendment will not permit” overt viewpoint-based curriculum control. Public university professors retain rights as citizens and may not be targeted by the state for their personal political beliefs. In short, academic freedom sets important limits on how far oversight can go, particularly regarding individual expression. But it is not an absolute bar to governance or to the setting of standards in public education.

To clarify the tension, consider two dimensions of “academic freedom”: individual academic freedom (the freedom of a professor or student to teach, research, or argue without fear of punishment for their views) and institutional autonomy (the freedom of a university as an institution to manage its own affairs, including curricula and policies). The former is strongly protected by the First Amendment at state universities; the latter is a more qualified concept. Universities often claim an institutional academic freedom right to self-governance. Some court dicta support this in a limited way (for example, Justice Frankfurter’s concurring opinion in Sweezy v. New Hampshire (1957) spoke of the university’s freedom to decide “who may teach, what may be taught, how it shall be taught, and who may be admitted”). However, this notion has never overruled the basic principle that legislatures create and define public universities. Indeed, when such claims clash with compelling public interests, the courts have upheld the primacy of public policy. A striking illustration is Rumsfeld v. FAIR (2006), where a unanimous Supreme Court upheld the Solomon Amendment, a federal law requiring universities (including private ones) to grant military recruiters equal access or else lose federal funding. Law schools had argued that this mandate violated their First Amendment associative freedom and academic autonomy (some faculty objected to the military’s then “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy). The Supreme Court rejected that argument decisively: Congress may condition funding on universities taking actions in line with public policy, and if a school dislikes it, “they may decline to associate with the federal funding”. In other words, academic institutions are free to go their own way only if they forego public support; once public money is in play, some accountability is constitutionally permissible.

What does this mean for state oversight? It means states have leeway to shape public university programs and policies so long as they do not infringe on the individual speech rights of faculty and students. A state legislature can, for instance, ban the use of ideological litmus tests in hiring or admissions (preventing universities from asking prospective professors to pledge allegiance to certain political ideas). North Dakota did exactly that in 2023, enacting a law that prohibits public universities from asking job applicants or students about their commitment to DEI ideology. This does not tell any professor what to think or say in class; it simply ensures the institution can’t require agreement with a particular ideology as a condition of employment or enrollment. Likewise, a state can mandate that certain fundamentals be taught (e.g. U.S. history) or that public universities remain institutionally neutral on hot-button political issues. Requiring a course in American Government, or prohibiting the university as an institution from endorsing partisan activism, does not violate any individual’s free speech—it merely directs the curriculum and official stance of a public entity.

To be sure, the line can blur. Recent events in Florida provide a cautionary tale. In 2022, Florida passed the “Stop WOKE Act,” which, among other things, sought to bar professors from teaching certain “divisive concepts” in college classrooms (largely related to critical race theory). A federal court blocked that portion of the law as an unconstitutional intrusion on faculty speech, deeming it a form of viewpoint discrimination in violation of the First Amendment. Florida’s legislature regrouped with a different approach in 2023: rather than dictate classroom speech, they banned spending on DEI bureaucracies and mandated that general education courses not “distort significant historical events” or push identity politics. Governor Ron DeSantis argued that DEI had effectively become an official creed of “discrimination, exclusion and indoctrination” that has “no place in our public institutions”. The new law (SB 266) aims at institutional practices, not at micromanaging a professor’s lecture. It withstood initial legal scrutiny and went into effect, underscoring that state officials do have tools to influence universities within constitutional bounds.

In navigating academic freedom, it is useful to recall the example set by the University of Chicago’s famous Kalven Report of 1967. That faculty report confronted the question of what stance a university should take on social and political controversies. The Kalven Committee’s answer was that the university as an institution should remain strictly neutral on such issues, precisely in order to safeguard the “full freedom of dissent” of scholars and students. “There is no mechanism by which [the university] can reach a collective position without inhibiting that full freedom of dissent on which it thrives,” the report observed. The role of the university is to be “the home and sponsor of critics,” not itself a partisan actor. Neutrality, in this view, isn’t cowardice; it is a principled recognition that once a university officially aligns with one side of a debate, it inevitably chills open inquiry and marginalizes those who disagree. The Kalven Report’s wisdom is highly relevant today. Ironically, many modern universities have abandoned that institutional neutrality, eagerly taking positions on political matters (climate change, diversity agendas, foreign conflicts, etc.) and implementing ideologically charged programs. By doing so, they undermine their own academic freedom ethos. A public university that officially commits to an ideological program effectively pressures its employees to conform. Thus, one could argue that legislative intervention to enforce institutional neutrality—to prevent the university from lobbying for one side of contentious social issues—actually protects the academic freedom of minority viewpoints on campus. This conservative argument flips the script: rather than viewing oversight as the enemy of academic freedom, wise oversight (like enforcing neutrality or pluralism) may be necessary to save academic freedom from internal orthodoxy. When University of Chicago-style norms fail to take root voluntarily, the state might nudge them along.

In sum, academic freedom is a bedrock principle we must uphold, but it does not foreclose robust public accountability. The First Amendment rightly bars state authorities from punishing a professor for his personal beliefs or forbidding a student from peaceably advocating a cause. It does not, however, entitle public university administrators to impose their ideology on an institution against the will of the public. Nor does it prevent the public from setting baseline educational standards or withdrawing funding from programs that are inimical to the public interest. The challenge is to calibrate oversight carefully—targeting administrative bloat and official policies rather than intruding on genuine scholarly debate. The policy proposals we consider later will attempt to strike this balance, drawing on the principle that “government officials cannot reach into the college classroom to require or ban any viewpoint”, but they can and should shape the structures around that classroom to ensure the university remains aligned with the society that sustains it.

Ideological Drift: DEI and BDS as Case Studies

Nothing has galvanized the oversight debate more in recent years than the rapid expansion of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion bureaucracies on campus and the related spread of activist ideologies under the banner of DEI. “Diversity” and “inclusion” sound unassailable in principle—who is against welcoming people of all backgrounds?—but in practice, DEI offices have often become vectors for a specific political ideology grounded in identity-group consciousness, critical race theory, and an “equity” agenda that prioritizes equality of outcomes over merit. What began as modest affirmative action or anti-discrimination efforts decades ago has metastasized into a pervasive administrative apparatus that touches hiring, curriculum, student life, and more. Universities large and small now boast vice presidents or deans of DEI, legions of staff, mandatory trainings, and a policy framework that can resemble a secular orthodoxy. The ideological character of many DEI programs is evident in their terminology and practices: concepts like “white privilege,” “systemic oppression,” implicit bias training sessions, diversity statements required for job applicants (essentially political loyalty oaths), and affinity groups or centers that divide students by race or other identity categories. Whether one views these as enlightened progress or divisive overreach, they unquestionably represent a normative agenda being implemented within publicly funded institutions. And that raises the question: who authorized it?

The truth is that much of the DEI expansion occurred via internal administrative decision, with little input from legislatures or the public. University leaders often claimed these initiatives were necessary to create a welcoming environment and to redress historic inequities. But to substantial portions of the taxpaying public—especially in more conservative states—the DEI project has looked like a politicization of the university in left-liberal directions. Critics note that DEI offices frequently act as thought police, enforcing a narrow viewpoint on issues of race, gender, and sexuality. For example, job candidates for faculty positions at many universities have been required to submit statements detailing how their work will advance DEI goals; those who express different philosophies risk being screened out. Such practices effectively impose an ideological test, rewarding adherence to progressive social doctrines. This is the very antithesis of viewpoint diversity and free inquiry. Moreover, there is scant evidence that bloated DEI bureaucracies succeed in their stated goals (e.g. closing achievement gaps or reducing bias). Instead, they consume resources and spur constant bureaucratic activity—new trainings, reports, oversight committees—justified by ever-expanding notions of “inclusion.” As one Utah legislator diplomatically put it, the intent of recent reforms is to “shift higher education away from a focus on identity” and toward a broader concept of equal opportunity, including intellectual diversity. People are tired of being defined and divided primarily by demographic traits; they want universities to treat everyone fairly as individuals and foster viewpoint diversity as much as demographic diversity.

State leaders have begun to respond. In 2023, Texas and Florida—two of the nation’s largest public university systems—enacted sweeping legislation to rein in DEI in higher education. Texas’s Senate Bill 17, for instance, bans public universities from establishing DEI offices or mandatory diversity training programs. This law took effect in 2024 and forced universities, including the University of Texas at Austin, to dismantle entire divisions devoted to DEI, resulting in dozens of administrative positions being eliminated or reassigned. UT-Austin announced it was closing its Division of Campus and Community Engagement, laying off around 60 staffers who had been working on DEI-related programs to comply with the new law. The law’s author, State Senator Brandon Creighton, underscored that rebranding a DEI unit under another name would not be tolerated, warning that institutions could lose millions in state funding for non-compliance. Governor Greg Abbott echoed the rationale, stating that taxpayer dollars were funding “political activism and political agendas” in the guise of DEI, which needed to end. The legislative intent was not to abolish diversity in its benign sense, but to remove a highly partisan overlay that, in their view, had strayed from the color-blind principles of law and public policy.

Florida’s approach, led by Governor DeSantis, was similar in spirit. The Florida legislature prohibited public colleges from expending funds on DEI programs, with DeSantis declaring “the whole experiment with DEI is coming to an end in the state of Florida. We are eliminating the DEI programs”. In signing the bill, he argued that DEI had become a vehicle for “discrimination, exclusion and indoctrination” and thus has “no place in our public institutions”. The Florida law also went further to mandate that general education courses not teach “identity politics” or distorted history, essentially instructing universities to keep the core curriculum free of radical ideological content. While controversial, these moves were celebrated by traditionalists who see them as restoring ideological balance and academic focus. And Florida and Texas are not alone. As of mid-2024, at least 22 states have taken steps to scale back or ban university DEI programs or staff. North Dakota, as mentioned, banned mandatory diversity statements. Alabama passed a law barring any public college from forcing employees to subscribe to “divisive concepts” such as inherent racial guilt. The University of North Carolina’s Board of Governors voted to abolish all DEI policies system-wide, redirecting funds to other priorities. These examples demonstrate a broader trend: democratically accountable bodies (legislatures, boards of trustees/regents) are reasserting control over public universities to correct what they perceive as a drift into ideological advocacy.

Another flashpoint illustrating university overreach is the involvement of campus groups and even some faculty in the BDS movement – the campaign to Boycott, Divest from, and Sanction Israel. The Israeli-Palestinian issue is one of the most polarizing geopolitical debates, and opinions on it among Americans vary widely. Historically, universities might host debates or student clubs on such issues, but the institutions themselves remained neutral. In recent years, however, we have seen instances of student governments, academic departments, or faculty bodies at public universities formally endorsing BDS or taking steps toward divestment from Israel. To many lawmakers and citizens, an academic institution engaging in an economic boycott of a U.S. ally is beyond the pale. It smacks of academia usurping foreign policy and doing so in a way that often targets Israel uniquely (raising concerns of antisemitism). For example, pro-Palestinian student activists at Ohio State University in 2023 demanded the school cut ties with Israel as part of BDS; in response, state leaders pointed out that Ohio law explicitly forbids any public university from boycotting Israel or adopting a policy of divestment. In fact, Ohio had amended its laws in 2022 to include public universities in an earlier anti-BDS statute, making it unequivocally illegal for a state college to boycott Israel. The speaker of the Ohio House noted that students and universities “have to do that within the rules,” referring to the Ohio Revised Code’s prohibition on such boycotts. In this instance, state law served as a bulwark against a political crusade on campus that contravened state policy and arguably the public interest (as defined by elected representatives).

Similar legislative or executive actions have occurred elsewhere. Dozens of states—from New York to Texas—have enacted anti-BDS laws, often barring state agencies (including universities) from contracting with or investing in entities that boycott Israel. At the federal level, a noteworthy development was a recent policy change by the National Institutes of Health: NIH announced in 2025 that it will deny research grants to any college or university that engages in boycotting Israeli businesses, and also to any that operate DEI programs. This came on the heels of a presidential executive order declaring DEI programs “illegal” and ramping up scrutiny of campus antisemitism. The policy makes clear that if a school “engage[s] in a prohibited boycott” of Israel, it risks termination of federal funds and might even be asked to pay back grants. In one dramatic case, the president of California State University was placed on leave after she announced an academic boycott of Israel – a move that clearly crossed the line and was swiftly rebuked by higher authorities. These measures signal that the broader polity will not subsidize institutions that take it upon themselves to make foreign policy (especially when that policy is viewed as discriminatory).

The DEI and BDS controversies illuminate the core issue: public universities had started acting as if they were sovereign ideological actors, rather than neutral educational institutions serving all citizens. Whether it’s imposing progressive social orthodoxies via DEI programs or plunging into international politics by embracing BDS, universities have wandered far afield from their mandate of teaching and research for the common good. In doing so, they have triggered a perfectly predictable reaction. As Tocqueville observed in Democracy in America, in a democracy the majority has a way of eventually asserting its will if an institution defies public sentiment too brazenly. Here, state legislatures and governors—reflecting voter concerns—are pulling universities back from the brink of partisan or sectarian capture. One need not agree with every tactic employed; reasonable people can debate the best way to depoliticize academia. But the principle that public universities should not be running their own ideological campaigns is hard to refute. The Kalven Report’s admonition resonates: a university that takes collective political action “does so at the price of censuring any minority who do not agree”. DEI regimes have often censured dissent (try being openly skeptical of DEI as a faculty member—your career could suffer), and BDS endorsements certainly alienate and silence pro-Israel voices on campus. By banning official participation in these agendas, the state is actually ensuring that all students and faculty—whatever their individual views—can learn and speak in a depoliticized academic environment. The goal is a university that is once again the forum for open debate, not a one-sided advocate. This restores the trust of the taxpayers who rightly ask: why should we fund an institution to promote values or policies we ourselves reject?

Private Universities, Public Funds, and Autonomy

While public universities have been the primary focus, the question of oversight extends in a qualified way to private universities as well—at least insofar as they receive government funds. Private colleges and universities cherish their independence. Institutions like Harvard, Stanford, or Notre Dame are not owned by any government; they are governed by private boards and have historically set their own curricula and policies. The First Amendment’s protection of free association gives private educational institutions considerable leeway to define their missions and campus policies, even including religious or ideological orientations (as long as they abide by general laws). However, no man is an island, and likewise no university is truly an island if it benefits from public largesse. Most private colleges today are deeply intertwined with government support: federal student loans and grants, federal research funding, state-funded scholarships, tax-exempt status, and other subsidies. With public funding comes a public interest.

The clearest principle is this: private universities should have autonomy only to the extent they are not dependent on public funding. If they choose to partake in taxpayer-funded programs, it is legitimate to attach conditions to ensure those funds advance public purposes. The U.S. Supreme Court affirmed this idea in the aforementioned Rumsfeld v. FAIR case. The Court held that the government could condition federal funds on private universities granting access to military recruiters, noting that if a university finds the condition odious, “it may decline the funding”. There is no entitlement to public money without strings; conditions that advance important public policies (and do not force the institution to violate a constitutional right) are generally upheld. We see this principle in many areas: under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, any school (public or private) that takes federal funds must not discriminate by race, or it could lose funding. Under Title IX, sex discrimination is prohibited for funded schools. In the 1980s, the federal government revoked the tax-exempt status of Bob Jones University, a private religious college, because its ban on interracial dating was deemed contrary to established public policy against racial discrimination. The Supreme Court upheld that action, declaring that no “racist” institution can expect the public to grant it tax benefits. The broader lesson is that the state need not subsidize (or give indirect aid via tax breaks) to private institutions that undermine fundamental public values or goals.

How might this apply to the issues at hand? Consider an elite private university that rigorously enforces an ideological campus orthodoxy—perhaps it mandates DEI-style political litmus tests for faculty, or it tolerates the shouted-down suppression of speakers with unpopular views. If this university is wholly privately funded, one might say: that’s their prerogative; donors and students can take their money elsewhere if they dislike it. But if that same university takes in millions in federal research grants and student loan dollars, can it reasonably claim exemption from any accountability? Arguably not. At a minimum, the government is justified in ensuring that public funds do not facilitate unlawful or egregiously illiberal practices. For instance, if a private college accepted federal money while engaging in an academic boycott of Israel (a situation which implicates national trade and foreign policy interests), federal or state authorities could choose to withdraw funding. This is precisely what the NIH policy aims to do: no grants for schools that boycott Israel. It draws a line by saying: you may have your private stance, but not on the taxpayer’s dime. Likewise, Congress or state legislatures could condition aid on upholding campus free speech. A model was the 2019 executive order requiring universities receiving federal research funds to affirm free inquiry on campus. It applied to private universities by requiring them to adhere to their own published free-speech policies (many private schools promise academic freedom in theory, even as some falter in practice). Another area for conditionality is transparency and curriculum. Lawmakers could require any institution receiving federal student loans to provide public information about its curriculum and encourage a baseline of civic education. If a private college wants to remain a closed intellectual boutique pursuing esoteric or radical ends, perhaps it should opt out of federal funding programs and rely on willing donors and full-tuition payers (as Hillsdale College famously does to avoid certain federal rules). Otherwise, some oversight is warranted to protect students’ rights and the public interest.

The point is not to micromanage private colleges or to quash genuine educational diversity. A pluralistic system allows for religious colleges, arts colleges, tech institutes, and yes, some experimental progressive schools. But when private campuses depend on public subsidies, the public can insist that certain baseline norms be respected—norms like non-discrimination, commitment to free expression, and absence of officially mandated ideological conformity. If a wealthy private university, say, adopts a policy that every faculty member must swear fealty to a partisan cause, should taxpayers still underwrite its research labs or student tuitions? Paleoconservatives and traditionalists would likely say no: such a university is no longer operating as a free scholarly institution but as an activist organ. The social contract between government and higher ed would be broken, justifying a pullback of support.

In framing oversight of private universities, one can invoke the idea of the “pubic good” requirement that justifies tax-exempt status. Nonprofit universities are exempt from taxation on the premise that they serve the public good through education. If they cease serving that public good in any meaningful sense, policymakers could question why they enjoy special tax and funding privileges. This is a delicate area, since academic freedom suggests we tolerate some eccentricity and dissent in academia. But we must also be wary of subsidizing the subversion of the very civic order that makes such subsidies possible.

Liberal Arts and Civic Virtue: A Conservative Defense

A persistent misunderstanding in debates over higher education reform is the notion that conservative or workforce-oriented oversight is somehow hostile to the liberal arts or to intellectual pursuits writ large. Critics fear that calls for “relevance” and “accountability” translate into a vulgar utilitarianism—gutting humanities departments, churning out narrow technical workers, and silencing creative thought. That is not the vision we advocate. On the contrary, a traditionalist conservative approach to universities seeks to revitalize the liberal arts in their highest sense, integrating them into a civic republican framework. We believe that history, philosophy, literature, and the study of the Western canon are not luxuries or irrelevant indulgences; they are essential to cultivating virtuous, informed citizens capable of self-government. Far from scrapping the liberal arts, we want to rescue them from politicization and restore their pride of place in the curriculum.

Consider the original rationale of liberal education. The term “liberal” comes from the Latin liber, meaning free—liberal arts are the studies befitting a free person and necessary for maintaining a free society. In the classical and American founding tradition, the purpose of education was not merely to teach job skills (though skills are important), but to form good character and sound judgment. The American founders read Locke, Montesquieu, Cicero, and Plutarch; they knew that sustaining a republic required citizens with knowledge of history and an understanding of ethical principles. Thomas Jefferson, in founding the University of Virginia, insisted on a curriculum rich in modern and ancient history, political theory, and moral philosophy, precisely to equip future leaders of the state. As John Adams famously wrote: “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious People. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.” In other words, free institutions demand a certain level of virtue and knowledge among the populace. Where is that inculcated? Partly in families and churches, yes, but also in schools and colleges. Indeed, the Northwest Ordinance line we cited earlier explicitly linked education with religion and morality as foundations of good government.

A civic republican view of education sees the liberal arts as training for citizenship. History teaches examples and instills collective memory; political philosophy teaches the ideas underpinning our Constitution; literature and ethics shape the character and empathy of students. Far from being useless, these studies help produce rounded human beings and responsible citizens. But today’s universities, under the sway of relativism and identity politics, often neglect or distort the liberal arts. Many students can graduate without ever taking a survey of Western Civilization or American history (unless mandated by state law). The content of courses may skew toward hyper-specialized or politicized niches, while the great works of Plato, Shakespeare, or Tocqueville gather dust. Allan Bloom’s 1987 critique The Closing of the American Mind lamented exactly this: that higher education had “failed democracy and impoverished the souls” of students by abandoning the classical quest for truth. Bloom observed that an unprincipled openness and value relativism had become the norm, leaving students adrift with neither passion for truth nor appreciation for their cultural heritage. His warning resonates decades later. Students fed a steady diet of grievance studies or superficial “how-to” professional courses are not being truly educated in the higher sense. They may acquire technical competencies or ideological slogans, but not wisdom.

Paleoconservatives and traditionalists seek to correct this by re-centering the curriculum on what Matthew Arnold called “the best that has been thought and said.” This does not mean a rigid indoctrination in old books; it means engaging the great ideas critically and allowing students to inherit the full riches of our civilization. Leo Strauss, one of the intellectual forefathers of traditionalist thought, described liberal education as an antidote to the narrowness of our time. “Liberal education is liberation from vulgarity,” Strauss wrote — the Greeks defined vulgarity as apeirokalia, or the lack of experience in things beautiful. A proper liberal education gives young minds that experience in beauty, in excellence, in the profound questions that transcend the moment. Strauss even said, provocatively, “Liberal education is the necessary endeavor to found an aristocracy within democratic mass society”—by which he meant an aristocracy of the mind and spirit, not of blood. It cultivates the taste and judgment of those who will guide the republic, keeping democracy from decaying into demagoguery or mediocrity. In a similar vein, Strauss called liberal education “the ladder by which we try to ascend from mass democracy to democracy as originally meant.” He understood that true democracy (in the spirit of the founding) relies on an educated citizenry capable of rational thought, not a populace guided purely by base appetites or ideological fervor.

Oversight can reinforce this ideal by ensuring that public universities do not jettison the liberal arts in favor of either a purely vocational model or a politicized curriculum. A well-rounded core curriculum, including requirements in history, literature, philosophy, and civics, should be a condition of state funding. This is not to impose a single viewpoint, but to guarantee exposure to the nation’s heritage and the West’s intellectual legacy. Students headed into engineering or business should still get a dose of Plato and Madison; conversely, humanities majors should learn some economics and science to understand the modern world. An education for citizenship marries liberal arts with practical knowledge. States might look to models like the new civic literacy requirements some have adopted, which require undergraduates to pass a basic civics test or take a course on the Constitution. Likewise, supporting the creation of Classical Studies or Western Civilization programs (or requiring universities to allow transfer credit from outside “Great Books” courses) could help counteract the monoculture of theory-laden humanities.

It is worth highlighting that not all critiques of higher ed aim to produce utilitarian worker bees. Some of the strongest voices for reform are themselves scholars who cherish liberal learning. They simply refuse to accept the debased version of “liberal arts” on offer, where genuine inquiry is replaced by ideological indoctrination. A civic republican approach values debate—reading The Federalist Papers alongside anti-Federalist writings, or Marx alongside Adam Smith—to train the muscles of critical thinking and discernment. In that sense, reclaiming the liberal arts is not a partisan project but a recovery of a patrimony that belongs to all Americans. A populace conversant with its history and traditions, yet able to think critically and speak freely, is a public good of the highest order.

Where the university fails to deliver this—either by eliminating core humanities or by subjugating them to dogma—public authorities are justified in stepping in. We must remember that the taxpayer is not hostile to higher ideals; on the contrary, polls consistently show Americans (across political lines) lament the loss of historical knowledge and civic education in our schools. They want colleges to produce not only skilled workers but responsible, enlightened citizens. Even in an age of high-tech industry, the timeless skills of writing, reasoning, and ethical thinking are highly valued by employers (who often complain that graduates lack these “soft” skills). So when legislators demand more focus on workforce preparation, they need not, and generally do not, mean “ditch the history department and just teach coding.” Rather, they mean eliminating programs of dubious academic merit and employment prospects (e.g. niche activist majors) in favor of substantive disciplines, and connecting academic programs to state economic needs. It is entirely possible to champion STEM growth and restore the humanities—indeed a healthy university should do both, not one or the other. A medical or engineering school benefits from students who had a robust undergraduate liberal education that taught them ethics and communication. A history or philosophy major benefits from some understanding of science and economics. The conservative vision of the university is holistic in this way, harking back to the ideal of the medieval university where theology, law, medicine, and the arts coexisted in pursuit of truth.

In summary, reasserting public oversight is not about defunding the liberal arts, but about defending and renewing them. It is about ensuring that the education offered in public institutions truly contributes to the formation of competent, public-spirited adults. We aim for universities that again produce citizen-leaders—people able to vote wisely, serve on juries, innovate in business, appreciate our cultural inheritance, and maybe even govern. Such outcomes align perfectly with civic republican philosophy and classical Western thought, which always tied education to the character of the regime and the virtue of the citizenry. As Burke might remind us, the education of youth is a sacred duty of society: it is how we pass on the “eternal contract” between the dead, the living, and the yet unborn. It ought not be left to insular cliques with transient agendas, but guided by the enduring values and needs of the civilization it serves.

Restoring Public Control: Policy Proposals

How, then, can we restore appropriate public control over public universities in practice? We have diagnosed the problems—ideological drift, lack of accountability, erosion of core curricula—and affirmed the legitimacy of oversight, within constitutional bounds. Now it falls to propose concrete solutions. Here we outline several policy measures, informed by recent legislative models and paleoconservative principles, that state governments (and to some extent the federal government) can implement to realign higher education with civic priorities and public values. These proposals are technocratic in that they focus on structural and legal levers, but they are grounded in a traditionalist vision of the common good:

  • Legislate Institutional Neutrality and Ban Ideological Litmus Tests: States should enact laws or board policies affirming that public universities must remain institutionally neutral on partisan or social controversies. This could be a state-level equivalent of the Kalven Report principles, barring universities from issuing official statements on non-university matters (e.g. foreign policy, partisan elections) and from funding or formally participating in political activism. At the same time, statutes should prohibit the use of political or ideological criteria in hiring, promotion, and admissions. Several states have led the way: North Dakota’s 2023 law banning required diversity statements in hiring is one example. Such provisions ensure that campuses welcome faculty with diverse viewpoints (not just those aligned with the dominant ideology) and that students or faculty are not compelled to voice agreement with institutional positions. Enforcing neutrality protects individual academic freedom while keeping the university focused on education, not lobbying.
  • Sunset DEI Bureaucracies and Enforce Anti-Propaganda Rules: Building on the momentum in Texas, Florida, and other states, legislatures should eliminate or sharply curtail DEI offices and staffing in public higher ed. A reasonable approach is to dissolve any administrative unit whose primary purpose is ideological advocacy or identity-based programming that falls outside core educational services. Texas SB 17 provides a model, having abolished campus DEI offices and reassigned or laid off scores of DEI staffers, with an explicit ban on rebranding such offices under another name. Future laws can also forbid mandatory faculty or student trainings that inculcate politicized concepts. States like Alabama have banned compelling public employees (including at colleges) to endorse ideas such as collective racial guilt. Such measures prevent official indoctrination. Additionally, states can direct savings from DEI cuts into merit-based programs or actual student support (unbiased tutoring, financial aid, etc.), thus refocusing resources on genuine educational purposes rather than administrative bloat.
  • Curriculum Review and Core Requirements: Legislatures and boards should exercise their authority to set broad curricular requirements that align with civic priorities. This means mandating a core curriculum for undergraduates that covers American history, government, economics, literature, and scientific literacy. The Civics Alliance model “American History Act,” for instance, recommends requiring at least one course in American history/government (some states like Texas require four). States should ensure these courses are rigorous surveys, not diluted “studies” electives that fulfill requirements in name only. To implement this, a curriculum review committee at the state level (composed of respected scholars, perhaps including outside academics from multiple viewpoints) could periodically review whether public universities’ general education classes meet the legislative intent. The legislature can provide guidelines (e.g. courses should include the Founding documents, Tocqueville’s Democracy in America, the civil rights movement, etc.) without micromanaging individual syllabi. Think of it as an accreditation-style review but conducted by public-appointed members to ensure taxpayers’ goals are met. If universities resist, appropriations can be made contingent on compliance with core curriculum statutes.
  • Funding Incentives and Conditions: State funding formulas for universities should be revised to incentivize alignment with workforce needs and civic outcomes. For example, outcomes-based funding could reward institutions for graduating students in high-need fields (like engineering, nursing, teaching) and for achieving high marks on civic literacy assessments. Conversely, funding can be reduced for programs with high dropout rates or graduates with poor employment outcomes, nudging schools to reconsider low-value majors. Importantly, funding conditions can also be negative: for instance, as Texas legislators threatened, universities that flout bans on DEI or other state laws can have their funds withheld. This enforcement mechanism ensures that oversight has teeth. Another innovative idea is mission-specific appropriations: allocate funds for specific purposes like establishing a new School of Civic and Constitutional Studies, or expanding technical training programs, rather than giving lump sums that feed bloated bureaucracy. By earmarking money for priorities the public values, the legislature regains control of the agenda.
  • Governance Reform: States should review the appointment process and powers of boards of trustees/regents. Often, boards have been passive or aligned with the very campus administrations they are supposed to oversee. Governors and legislators should appoint board members who are committed to reform and represent a cross-section of public perspectives (not just alumni donors). Board members must be willing to ask tough questions about campus policy and if necessary, replace university presidents who resist needed changes. Florida’s aggressive shake-up of New College of Florida’s board in 2023, installing reform-minded trustees who then hired new leadership, is a dramatic example. While that level of intervention may be rare, boards across states can take a more active role in ensuring universities adhere to laws and serve the state’s interests. Additionally, states might consider giving boards more authority over faculty tenure approvals or department reviews in extreme cases of ideological capture, though this must be balanced with maintaining academic quality.
  • Federal Level Reforms: At the federal level, Congress and executive agencies can reinforce these efforts. Expanding on the NIH policy, all federal research funding bodies could adopt rules denying funds to institutions that engage in discriminatory boycotts (like BDS) or that fail to comply with federal non-discrimination laws in letter and spirit. Congress could also revisit the criteria for tax-exempt status of universities: for instance, clarifying that educational institutions that persistently violate principles of free expression and open inquiry are not providing the public benefit that justifies 501(c)(3) status. This would echo the Bob Jones logic by applying a public policy test in the realm of intellectual freedom. Furthermore, federal student aid (including loans) could be conditioned on baseline protections for students’ rights. One proposal floated in conservative circles is requiring that universities receiving aid must certify compliance with the First Amendment (for publics) or with their stated free speech policies (for privates), and that they do not compel or forbid any student or staff speech as a condition of status. Institutions that enact speech codes or “safe spaces” infringing on expression would risk eligibility. While enforcement could be tricky, the mere presence of such a rule would exert pressure on college administrations to prioritize free speech over “cancel culture.” Finally, Congress might institute transparency requirements: colleges receiving federal funds must publish data on things like the number of administrators vs. faculty, the cost of DEI programs, course descriptions for gen ed classes, etc. Sunlight can empower consumers (students and parents) and policymakers to demand change.
  • Encourage Alternatives and Innovation: In parallel with reforming existing institutions, public policy can foster alternatives that embody the desired principles. States could support the creation of new programs within universities—honors colleges focused on great books, for example, or dedicated civic leadership institutes—that operate with a different philosophy (often these can be shielded from the main campus bureaucracy). Public support for online course offerings or competency-based credits can also provide competition to bloated university courses, potentially compelling improvement. Another idea is providing state matching grants or challenges for private philanthropy to fund chairs in constitutional studies or Western civilization at public universities, to ensure those perspectives are represented. All these strategies inject intellectual diversity and keep the ideal of liberal education alive, even as we reform from the top down.

In implementing these proposals, policymakers should take care to respect the legitimate zone of academic decision-making. The goal is not to turn universities into mere vocational schools or propaganda arms of the government—that would betray the very Western intellectual tradition we seek to uphold. Rather, the goal is to correct course where the academy has overstepped or lost focus, and to anchor it firmly to its public mission.

Conclusion: American public universities, from the flagships like the University of Texas to the community colleges in every county, were established in the spirit of public trust. They were and are instruments through which a free people invests in its own future—educating young citizens, advancing knowledge, and preserving cultural inheritance. In recent times, that trust has frayed: universities too often have pursued agendas disconnected from, or even at odds with, the public’s interests and values. A traditionalist, paleoconservative perspective reminds us that no institution in a republic is above accountability, especially not those sustained by public funds. At the same time, this perspective values the permanent things: truth, virtue, liberty of thought. By reasserting public oversight, we are not suppressing higher education but saving it—steering it back toward producing the kind of citizens and knowledge a healthy republic requires. As Burke might counsel, we seek reform that “leads to conservation” of the good, not destruction. We draw inspiration from Tocqueville’s insights into democracy’s need for enlightened citizens, from Straussian calls for liberal education rightly understood, and from the wisdom of the Founders who saw education as essential to liberty.

It is time to recall that a public university belongs to the public. Through prudent legislation, active trusteeship, and principled leadership, we can ensure these institutions once again align with civic priorities, prepare students for productive work and citizenship, and uphold the values of the American people. The stakes are high: if we get this right, we will graduate not just technocrats or ideologues, but well-rounded patriots capable of sustaining our free institutions. If we fail, we risk subsidizing our own cultural and civic disintegration. The path of oversight is the path of responsibility. In reclaiming the ivory tower in the name of the public, we affirm that government by, for, and of the people extends to all public endeavors—including the cultivation of minds that will inherit the destiny of this nation.

Sources:

  1. Morrill Act (1862), National Archives
  2. Northwest Ordinance (1787), U.S. Congress
  3. NPR report on Florida’s 2023 higher-ed law (DeSantis on DEI), NPR
  4. Texas Tribune on Texas SB17 (2023) banning DEI in universities, Texas Tribune
  5. Ohio law prohibiting public university BDS, Ohio Capital Journal
  6. Forward report on NIH funding ban for DEI and Israel boycotts, The Forward
  7. Heritage Foundation on First Amendment limits and privatization, Heritage
  8. FIRE analysis of University of Chicago Kalven Report, FIRE
  9. Stateline report on state DEI rollback efforts, Stateline/Pew
  10. KUT News on UT-Austin DEI layoffs after SB17, KUT/NPR
  11. Civics Alliance model American History Act, Civics Alliance
  12. Leo Strauss quotes on liberal education, Wikiquote
  13. Rumsfeld v. FAIR, 547 U.S. 47 (2006), U.S. Supreme Court
  14. Bob Jones University v. U.S., 461 U.S. 574 (1983), U.S. Supreme Court