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Pick up the pieces and imagine the worlds of collective liberation that you have practiced building in classrooms where you worked across difference, where you learned to turn toward each other rather than away.
It is graduation season. Years of relentless work, of late nights spent studying for exams that beat like a drum on our most anxious fears, days bent over desks and keyboards trying to gather up words and put together logical arguments built on existing literature. The world was spinning so fast because these students were spinning it with their dedication, focus, and care. And now they are about to graduate—a huge accomplishment that represents, for many, a celebration of all whose sacrifice made these degrees possible.
I teach at John Jay College, part of the City University of New York system. At my college, the majority of students are first-generation college students—the first ones in their families to access higher education. This access required immense sacrifice from many ancestors, parents, siblings, grandparents. When they walk across that stage to receive their diploma, they are not alone. Each person walking across that stage is followed by a parade of ancestors who glow in this immense, powerful accomplishment that celebrates all of their legacies.
For many of my immigrant students, as well as for me, these sacrifices often look like fleeing homes and lands, letting go of the ability to fully express ourselves as we learn a new language, stumbling through years of trying to articulate the depth of our feelings and the texture of our experiences while trying on words that fit awkwardly in our mouths and on our bodies.
We need to do a better job, including the media, in naming this harrowing attack on higher education as an attack on freedom itself.
The City University of New York stands as a beacon against this darkness. Founded in 1847 as the nation's first free public institution of higher education, CUNY's core mission has always been providing first-rate education to all students, regardless of background or financial means. This beacon represents the best of what America can be—a place where education illuminates paths forward for all people, not just those born into privilege.
My students at John Jay College honor these sacrifices with their brilliance and vision. Their degrees aren't just pieces of paper—they are vessels of transformation, tools of liberation forged through years of intellectual courage. According to U.S. News and World Report, John Jay ranks No. 6 nationwide for social mobility (with 6 of the top 10 colleges in that category being City University of New York schools), with 85% of students graduating with zero college debt. These aren't just statistics; they represent real lives being remade, real futures expanding beyond what was once thought possible. In the classroom, in our meetings and research, I witness their world-building every day. They bring vast experience, curiosity, and wisdom from all corners of the world, analyzing problems and creating solutions with remarkable insight that can only come from minds that have been both challenged and nurtured by rigorous education.
This is why it breaks my heart to have conversations with students this semester unlike any I've had before—conversations filled with pain and confusion about their place in our shared reality. When they entered college, they believed they were doing the right thing for their families, communities, and our collective future. But the narrative around higher education has shifted dramatically under the Trump presidency, casting their decisions in a harsh new light—a deliberate attempt to extinguish the very flame of opportunity that has guided generations toward better lives.
This narrative shift is most evident in discussions around student loans. The administration has taken an aggressive stance against anyone with student loans, treating education as a moral failing rather than an investment. These policies represent a direct assault on the founding promise of institutions like CUNY—that education should illuminate paths forward for all people, not just those born into privilege. The light that these institutions have cast for generations is now being deliberately dimmed by those who see education as a commodity rather than a right. During the Biden era, programs like the SAVE plan eased the financial burden of education on middle and lower-income Americans, allowing many of us to meet our financial obligations while paying back our loans. This plan was specifically designed to address racial inequities in student debt, recognizing that Black borrowers typically owe 95% of their original debt even after 20 years, and that Latino borrowers face higher default rates. The SAVE plan was projected to make 85% of community college borrowers debt-free within 10 years—directly benefiting the diverse student populations at institutions like CUNY. Now, the rhetoric has changed dramatically.
"American taxpayers will no longer be forced to serve as collateral for irresponsible student loan policies," declares Secretary of Education Linda McMahon, while White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt insists that "if you take out a loan, you have to pay it back. It's very simple." This simplistic framing attempts to divide us, painting those who sought education as enemies of those who didn't, when in reality, both groups often come from the same middle and working-class backgrounds. Education doesn't make anyone morally superior or inferior—yet this administration aims to create such divisions, further harming those who experience financial precarity.
Even beyond this damaging narrative, my students are entering a world of deep uncertainty. The positions they hoped for—research assistants at institutions, staff at nonprofits—have been decimated by budget cuts instigated by billionaire Elon Musk. Meanwhile, universities themselves are failing students in profound ways.
Our students deserve a government that sees their pursuit of education as admirable, not criminal. They deserve universities that protect them, not betray them.
Some institutions, like Columbia, have abandoned their responsibility to protect students, turning them over to Immigration and Customs Enforcement with little concern for their welfare. In one harrowing account, ICE agents showed up at a Columbia student's apartment, demanding entry without a warrant. Ranjani Srinivasan avoided months—perhaps years—of unlawful detention only because her roommate knew their rights and refused to let agents in without proper documentation. Eventually, Ranjani left the country, her education and dreams interrupted by fear. And she is not alone—countless talented young people from around the world are now choosing not to come here because they cannot trust the United States with their visions and futures. They see the shadows of betrayal, and they're right to reconsider.
Other universities, like those in Ohio state, are dismantling critical programs and criminalizing certain perspectives, erasing entire histories from the classroom. These decisions are not representative of where the public is; for instance, in Ohio the bill banning diversity, equity, and inclusion concepts from the classroom was the most protested-against bill in Ohio history with roughly 1,500 people submitting statements in opposition to it passing and about 30 submitting statements in support. Academic freedom—what makes American universities powerful engines of transformation—is being systematically undermined, with universities complicit in this process. With the graduation season upon us, we are seeing the shape this complicity takes now. On May 14, New York University decided to withhold the diploma of their valedictorian for speaking truth to power—simply mentioning the atrocities taking place in Palestine. This act of courage is exactly what we should hope our students would do when witnessing injustice.
This attack on education is part of a broader assault on public institutions. When billionaires like Musk unravel our public services, they are revealing that this has nothing to do with government efficiency—instead, this too is about a fundamental attack on the infrastructure of democracy itself. This convergence of oligarchic wealth and authoritarian politics threatens not just our government services but our very capacity to exist as a democratic society. Our freedom to thrive—to access education, to expand our minds, to challenge ourselves, to grow beyond our circumstances—hangs in the balance as they attempt to dim the collective light we've worked generations to build.
We need to do a better job, including the media, in naming this harrowing attack on higher education as an attack on freedom itself. Education remains essential to democracy not just as a concept but as a lived practice. Public universities serve as beacons of social mobility in an increasingly unequal landscape. The pursuit of knowledge is not a crime but a fundamental right that must be defended in policy, in funding, and in our national conversation.
Our students deserve a government that sees their pursuit of education as admirable, not criminal. They deserve universities that protect them, not betray them. They deserve a future where their sacrifices and those of their families are honored, not mocked. And they deserve a society that recognizes our collective liberation depends on our commitment to education as a public good—one that we must fight to preserve through voting, through advocacy, and through refusing the narrative that education is merely a private commodity.
To all students who are graduating: I'm so proud of you. All of your ancestors are cheering you on, celebrating you because you really are their wildest dreams coming true. Keep on world-building, even amid everything falling apart. Pick up the pieces and imagine the worlds of collective liberation that you have practiced building in classrooms where you worked across difference, where you learned to turn toward each other rather than away. You won't be alone in this work; we'll be there, right by your side, organizing in solidarity across our differences, just as you've learned to do. The skills of dialogue, of challenging each other with care, of finding common ground while honoring our distinct experiences—these are exactly what we need to rebuild our democratic institutions. Your education has prepared you not just for careers, but for the crucial work of collective action that lies ahead.
This administration rejects American values as it embraces bribes from foreign dictators, harasses journalists, imprisons op-ed writers, and threatens judges.
At its deepest level, government is a moral force grounded in a moral view of the world.
It may not comport with morality as most of us view it; the Saudi oppression of women, the Russian violence against the queer community, and the Iranian brutal suppression of that nation’s democracy movement are all examples of things most Americans consider immoral.
But each is grounded in a particular moral worldview that those governments and their leaders have adopted.
While America has experienced many dark moral episodes throughout our history, we’ve always held or at least espoused a basic set of moral principles:
Until now.
Republicans in the House of Representatives just inserted into their must-pass “Big, Beautiful” multi-trillion-dollar-tax-break-for-billionaires legislation a provision that would enable the president to designate any nonprofit—from Harvard to the American Civil Liberties Union to your local Democratic Party—a “terrorist-supporting organization” that then loses their tax-exempt status, effectively putting them out of business.
And who decides who gets that designation? The president. And he gets do to it in secret.
When we abandon our own stated principles in foreign relations, those first laid out in our Declaration of Independence and Constitution, the results are almost uniformly bad for us, for them, and for democracy around the world.
This is exactly how both Russian President Vladimir Putin and Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán first destroyed dissent and free speech in Russia and Hungary.
U.S. President Donald Trump has been pursuing this for a decade, from his trying to designate Antifa a “terrorist organization” to his attacks on our universities to his use of Stalin’s phrase “enemy of the people” to describe journalists and opinion writers like me.
One level above these core democratic principles—of free speech, the right to protest, and the power of the people in free and fair elections to change our leadership—are two major reformations that came about after major national upheavals.
The first was after the Civil War, when the nation (at least in principle) embraced the humanity and citizenship of nonwhite people with Reconstruction and the 13th through the 15th Amendments to the Constitution. The second was during the Republican Great Depression, when FDR rebooted our republic to become the supporter of last resort for the working class, producing the world’s first more-than-half-of-us middle class.
Now Trump, Elon Musk, and their cabal of right-wing billionaires are trying to dissolve virtually all of this, replacing it with the sort of “illiberal democracy” we see in Russia and Hungary, where there are still elections (but their outcome is pre-determined), still legal protections for the press and free speech (but only when that speech doesn’t challenge those in power), and only the wealthy can truly enjoy safety and security.
After the Saudi, Emirati, and Qatari governments each gave the Trump family massive gifts in the form of billion-dollar development and Trump hotel or golf course licensing deals, Trump made a speech in which he abandoned our 250-year history of advocating democracy around the world.
Of course, as mentioned, we’ve often failed at that mission in the past. Former President Ronald Reagan’s support for the death squads in Central America haunt our southern border to this day; former President Dwight D. Eisenhower’s embrace of the Shah of Iran still rattles the Middle East; and former President Richard Nixon’s tolerance of Chinese brutality led us to, in the name of capitalism, help that nation’s communist leaders create the most powerful and medieval surveillance state in world history.
But these exceptions prove the rule: When we abandon our own stated principles in foreign relations, those first laid out in our Declaration of Independence and Constitution, the results are almost uniformly bad for us, for them, and for democracy around the world. And it becomes even more destructive when this administration rejects American values as it embraces bribes from foreign dictators, harasses journalists, imprisons op-ed writers, and threatens judges.
This issue of morality in government has been at the core of our political debate for centuries. Then-President Harry Truman was explicit about it way back in 1952:
Now, I want to say something very important to you about this issue of morality in government.
I stand for honest government… To me, morality in government means more than a mere absence of wrongdoing. It means a government that is fair to all. I think it is just as immoral for the Congress to enact special tax favors into law as it is for a tax official to connive in a crooked tax return. It is just as immoral to use the lawmaking power of the government to enrich the few at the expense of the many, as it is to steal money from the public treasury. That is stealing money from the public treasury…
Legislation that favored the greed of monopoly and the trickery of Wall Street was a form of corruption that did the country four times as much harm as Teapot Dome ever did.Private selfish interests are always trying to corrupt the government in this way. Powerful financial groups are always trying to get favors for themselves.
Tragically, for both America and democracy around the world, this is not how Donald Trump was raised and does not comport with the GOP’s current worldview. Fred Trump built a real estate empire through racism, fraud, and deceit. He raised Donald to view every transaction as necessarily win-lose, every rule or regulation as something to get around, and every government official as somebody to be influenced with threats or money.
The GOP embraced a similar worldview with the Reagan Revolution as former Labor Secretary Robert Reich notes in his must-read Substack newsletter:
But starting with Reagan, America went off the rails. Deregulation, privatization, free trade, wild gambling by Wall Street, union-busting, record levels of inequality, near-stagnant wages for most, staggering wealth for a few, big money taking over our politics.
Stock buybacks and the well-being of investors became more important than good jobs with good wages. Corporate profits more important than the common good.
Greed is a type of moral stance. It’s not one that open, pluralistic, democratic societies embrace beyond their tolerance of regulated capitalism, but it is a position that expresses a certain type of morality, one most famously expounded by David Koch and Ayn Rand.
It’s inconsistent with the history of humanity itself, as I document in detail in The Hidden History of American Democracy: Rediscovering Humanity’s Ancient Way of Living. From Margaret Mead pointing out how healed leg bones in hundred-thousand-year-old skeletons show that ancient societies cared for their wounded to the ways Native American tribes dealt with people who stole or hoarded even without the use of police or prisons, the triumph of greed has historically been the exception rather the rule.
When Donald Trump said, “My whole life I’ve been greedy,” it was one of the few honest bits of self-appraisal he’s ever tendered. And it should have warned all of us.
Greed and hunger for power are, ultimately, anathema to our traditional American values.
And it’s high time we began to say so, and to teach our children the difference between a moral nation that protects its weakest citizens while promoting democracy around the world and an “illiberal democracy” like Russia, Hungary, and the vision of today’s GOP.
We’ve been better than this in the past, and it’s high time we return to those moral positions that truly made America great.
The richer you are, the smaller the portion of your investment gains you pay in tax and the greater the portion of those investment gains converted to permanent wealth. That’s how wealth concentrates.
The top tax rate wealthy Americans pay on their investment gains today runs barely half the top rate the rest of us pay on our wages. But that only begins to tell the story of how lightly taxed our richest have become compared to the rest of us.
On the surface, the nominal tax rate on long-term capital gains from investments seems somewhat progressive, even given the reality that this rate sits lower than the tax rate on ordinary income. Single taxpayers with $48,350 or less in taxable income face a zero capital gains tax rate. Taxpayers with over $533,400 in taxable income, meanwhile, face a 23.8% tax on their capital gains, a rate that includes a 3.8% net investment income tax..
But these numbers shroud the real picture. In reality, we tax the ultra-rich on their investment gains less, not more. The rates we see on paper only apply to gains taxpayers register in the year they sell their investments. But we get a totally different story when we calculate the effective annual tax rate for long-held investments, especially for America’s wealthiest who sit in that nominal 23.8% bracket.
Buffett and Bezos may be poster children for reforming our absurdly regressive capital gains tax policy. But the problem remains wider than a handful of billionaires who founded wildly successful businesses.
For members of America’s top echelon—the wealthiest 2% or so of American households—the effective annual tax rate on capital gains income, the rate that really matters in measuring the impact a tax has on wealth accumulation, actually rates as sharply regressive.
That sound complicated? Let’s just do the simple math.
The federal tax on capital gains doesn’t apply until the investment giving rise to those gains gets sold, be that sale comes two years after purchase or 20. During the time a wealthy American holds an asset, the untaxed gains compound, free of tax. In other words, as the growth in the investment’s value increases, the effective annual rate of taxation when the investment finally gets sold decreases.
The graphic below shows how the effective annual tax rate on investment gains—all taxed nominally at 23.8%—varies dramatically with the rate of the gain and how long the taxpayer hangs on to the asset.
If an investor sells an asset that has averaged an annual growth of 5% after five years, the one-time tax of 23.8% on the total gain translates to an effective annual tax rate of 22.1%. In effect, paying tax at a 22.1% rate each year on investment gains that accrue at a 5% rate would leave the investor with about the same sum after five years as only paying a tax—of 23.8%—upon the investment’s sale.
In that sale situation, the tax-free compounding of gains over the five years causes a modest reduction in the effective annual tax rate, less than two percentage points. The 22.1% effective rate reduces the 5% pre-tax growth rate of the asset to a 3.9% rate after tax.
Let’s now compare that situation to an investment that grows at an average annual rate of 25% before its sale 40 years later. In this scenario, the tax-free compounding significantly reduces the effective annual tax rate to a meager 3.39%. That translates to a barely noticeable reduction in that 25% annual pre-tax rate of growth to 24.15% after tax.
Put simply, in our current tax system, the more profitable an investment proves to be, the lower the effective tax on the gains that investment generates. You could not design a more regressive tax system.
Who benefits from our regressive tax system for capital gains? We hear a lot from our politicians about some of those folks, the ones they want us to focus on.
Think of someone who starts a small business—with a modest investment of, say $100,000—that over three decades grows into a not-so-small business worth $25 million. Our culture celebrates small-business success stories like that, and political leaders in both parties seek to protect the owners of these businesses at tax time. Why punish, these lawmakers ask, small business people who started from humble beginnings and sacrificed weekends and vacations to build up their enterprises?
But do we get sound policy when we base our tax rates on high incomes on the assumption that certain high-earners have sacrificed nobly for their earnings? Think of a highly specialized surgeon who made huge personal sacrifices to develop the skills she now uses to save the lives of her patients. Should the annual income tax rate she pays on her wages be 10 times the effective annual income tax rate on the gain that the founder of a telephone solicitation call center realizes when he sells the business after 30 years?
We hear similar policy justifications for the ultra-light taxation of the gain realized upon the sale of a family’s farmland. But those who push these justifications rarely point out that the gain has little to do with the family’s decades of farming and far more to do with the land either sitting atop a recently discovered mineral deposit or sitting in the path of a major new suburban development.
Just as magicians get their audiences to focus on the left hand and pay no attention to the right, defenders of the lax tax treatment of investment gains heartily hail the hard work of farmers and small business owners, a neat move that diverts our attention from what simply can be windfall investment gains.
America’s taxation of capital gains runs regressive where it most needs to be progressive—to halt the concentration of our country’s wealth.
Those lucky farmers and business owners, you see, provide political cover for America’s billionaires, by far the biggest beneficiaries of the regressive taxation of capital gains. Consider Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon. His original investment in Amazon over 30 years ago, in the neighborhood of $250,000, has now grown close to $200 billion. And that’s after he’s sold off billions of dollars worth of shares. Or how about Warren Buffett, whose original investment in Berkshire Hathaway, the source of virtually all his wealth, dates back to 1962?
Bezos and Buffett, when they sell shares of their stock, face effective annual rates of tax similar to those in that far-right bar of the graphic above, under 4%.
Buffett and Bezos may be poster children for reforming our absurdly regressive capital gains tax policy. But the problem remains wider than a handful of billionaires who founded wildly successful businesses.
In 2022, for example, the top one-tenth of the top 1% of American taxpayers reported nearly one-half the total long-term capital gains of all American taxpayers. Average taxpayers in that ultra-exclusive group of just 154,000 tax-return filers had over $4.7 million of capital gains qualifying for preferential tax treatment, a sum that rates some 943 times the capital gains reported, on average, by taxpayers in the bottom 99.9% of America’s population. And this bottom 99.9%, remember, includes the bottom nine-tenths of the top 1%, who themselves boast some pretty healthy incomes,
The regressive taxation of capital gains drives the tax avoidance strategy I call Buy–Hold for Decades–Sell. The essence of this simple strategy: buy investments that will have sustained periods of growth, hold them for several decades, then sell.
The strategy works fantastically well if you happen to hit a home run with an investment and achieve sustained annual growth of 20% a year, like those who purchased shares in Microsoft in 1986 did. But you only need to do modestly well to benefit enormously from Buy–Hold for Decades–Sell. If, for instance, you only manage 10% a year growth, barely more than the average return on the S&P 500, your effective annual tax rate if you sell at the end of 30 years would be just 9.28%, leaving you with an after-tax pile of cash over 13 times the amount of your original investment.
If we dig into the data produced by economists Edward Fox and Zachary Liscow, we can see clearly that once we get to the upper levels of America’s economic pyramid, the tax avoidance benefit of Buy–Hold for Decades–Sell increases mightily as we progress to the pinnacle.
Fox and Liscow estimate, for the period between 1989 and 2022, the average annual growth in unrealized taxpayer gains at various levels in our economic pyramid [see their research paper’s second appendix table]. The clear pattern: The higher your ranking in our economic pyramid, the greater your average annual growth in unrealized gains.
And when the growth in unrealized gains is running at its highest rate, the annual effective rate of tax on those gains—when finally realized—is running at its lowest. Why? The same factors that drive the growth rate of unrealized gains higher—longer asset holding periods and higher rates of appreciation in value—also drive the annual effective tax rate lower, as the graphic above vividly shows
In short, thanks to Buy–Hold for Decades–Sell, America’s taxation of capital gains runs regressive where it most needs to be progressive—to halt the concentration of our country’s wealth. The higher we go on our wealth ladder, from the highly affluent to the rich to the ultra-rich, the lower the rate of tax. The upshot: The richer you happen to be, the smaller the portion of your investment gains you pay in tax and the greater the portion of those investment gains converted to permanent wealth. That’s how wealth concentrates.
Unless we reform the taxation of capital gains to shut down Buy–Hold for Decades–Sell, the concentration of our country’s wealth at the top—and the associated threat to our democracy—will worsen.
It’s just math.