California Governor Gavin Newsom is no stranger to headline-grabbing statements, but his recent broadside against a cadre of America’s top universities—Harvard, Columbia, Brown, and the University of Pennsylvania—has reignited a national debate over the soul of higher education. At the heart of the controversy: multimillion-dollar settlements made by these elite institutions with the Trump administration to unlock billions in frozen federal research grants, a move that Newsom calls nothing short of “selling their souls.”
The spark for this latest flare-up was a cascade of settlements and sanctions. According to The New Yorker and other sources, the Trump administration had accused several prestigious universities of either failing to adequately address antisemitism on campus or promoting what it called “woke” initiatives that violated federal standards. The administration responded by freezing crucial federal funding, putting immense financial pressure on schools whose research engines depend on these grants.
Harvard’s case is emblematic of the crisis. The university is reportedly considering a $500 million settlement to regain access to more than $2.6 billion in federal funding. Governor Newsom, speaking on Pod Save America, didn’t mince words: “We will never ever sell our soul to Donald Trump. Harvard, I pray you are listening. How could you? Of all institutions, on tens of billions of dollars, what’s the point of your damn endowment if you cannot stand on principle?” Newsom’s rhetorical jab cuts deep, given that Harvard’s endowment exceeds $50 billion—larger than the GDP of some countries. Why, he asks, would such a financially robust institution capitulate to federal pressure instead of weathering the storm?
Newsom has positioned the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) as the last holdout. The Trump administration is reportedly demanding a staggering $1 billion settlement from UCLA, along with the creation of a $172 million fund for alleged Title VII violations under the Civil Rights Act. Newsom, speaking in San Francisco earlier this month, thundered, “We’re not Brown, we’re not Columbia, and I’m not going to be governor if we act like that. Period. Full stop, I will fight like hell to make sure that doesn’t happen.” For Newsom, the standoff is a defining battle between principle and pragmatism, with UCLA as the standard-bearer for academic independence.
But what exactly is at stake? The settlements are not just about money. According to The New Yorker, the Trump administration’s crackdown is tied to a controversial tool: the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (I.H.R.A.) definition of antisemitism. This definition, adopted by over forty governments and promoted by the Trump administration, is criticized by many scholars for its vagueness and its potential to conflate criticism of Israel with antisemitism. In 2019, President Trump signed an executive order advising federal agencies to use the I.H.R.A. definition when investigating complaints under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act.
Columbia University’s experience highlights the tensions. On July 23, 2025, Columbia reached a settlement requiring it to pay $200 million over three years and to broaden its commitment to combating antisemitism in exchange for the reinstatement of hundreds of millions in federal grants. Just days earlier, Columbia had formally incorporated the I.H.R.A. definition into its anti-discrimination policies and the work of its Office of Institutional Equity.
Yet the decision was made without consulting key faculty members, including historian Mark Mazower and Kenneth Stern, the lead author of the I.H.R.A. definition. Stern, in particular, has voiced deep concern that the definition is being weaponized to silence debate and stifle academic freedom. “The definition was originally created to help data collectors gather statistics on antisemitism, and that its use to suppress political speech ‘poses one of the most significant threats to the campus today,’” Stern told The New Yorker. He added, “I see nothing good coming out of this,” fearing that the agreement will make it impossible “for faculty to do their jobs.”
Other Columbia faculty echo these worries. Sociologists Gil Eyal and Peter Bearman have warned that scholars researching genocide could be accused of antisemitism simply for including Israel’s military actions in Gaza in their analysis. Under the I.H.R.A. definition, “drawing comparisons of contemporary Israeli policy to that of the Nazis” is considered antisemitic, raising the specter of self-censorship or academic avoidance of controversial topics.
The chilling effect is not hypothetical. Professor Rashid Khalidi, a prominent historian, announced he would not teach his Middle East history course this fall due to Columbia’s adoption of the I.H.R.A. definition. In an open letter to Columbia’s acting president, Khalidi wrote, “A simple description of the discriminatory nature of Israel’s 2018 Nation State Law… or of the apartheid nature of its control over millions of Palestinians who have been under military occupation for 58 years would be impossible in a Middle East history course under the I.H.R.A. definition.”
Beyond the classroom, the settlements come with strings attached. Columbia agreed to provide the government with access to staff, employees, facilities, documents, and data related to the agreement, and allowed an outside monitor to review compliance. The Knight First Amendment Institute at Columbia has warned that these provisions establish a “regime of intense surveillance” that “will inevitably deter faculty and students in their exercise of constitutionally protected freedoms.” Jameel Jaffer, the institute’s executive director, told The New Yorker, “The settlement effectively requires Columbia to shut down speech that is indisputably constitutionally protected.”
The Trump administration’s approach has been praised by some, including the Anti-Defamation League and former State Department special envoy Deborah Lipstadt, who see it as a necessary step to protect Jewish students. But critics argue that the focus on antisemitism as a problem primarily of the left, and the special protections for Jewish students, could backfire. Kenneth Stern fears that this approach could create the perception that Jews are accorded special privileges, potentially fueling resentment and antisemitic animus rather than alleviating it.
Meanwhile, the broader academic community is left grappling with the question: Are universities becoming hostages to political power? With federal agencies supplying more than 50 percent of academic R&D funding nationwide, even the wealthiest universities feel the pinch when the spigot is turned off. Settlements, then, are not just about compliance—they’re about survival. But at what cost?
As Newsom frames it, this is a moral test for American higher education: Will universities stand firm for democracy and academic freedom, or will they bend under the weight of financial necessity and political pressure? The answer, it seems, will shape not only the future of these storied institutions but the very nature of academic inquiry in the United States.
In the end, the standoff between principle and pragmatism has never felt more acute. Whether elite universities will be remembered as defenders of independence or as cautionary tales of capitulation may depend on how they navigate this fraught landscape, where every decision reverberates far beyond the ivory tower.
