“We want the bureaucrats to be traumatically affected…When they wake up in the morning, we want them to not want to go to work, because they are increasingly viewed as the villains. We want their funding to be shut down…We want to put them in trauma.”
That slice of cruel stupidity was uttered by Russ Vought, a key figure in right-wing politics and a creator of the infamous Project 2025. He said it at an event for his thunk tank, the Center for Screwing, I mean, Renewing America. Vought was talking specifically about government workers, but he might as well have been talking about university workers.
I work for an R1 university, Penn State. R1 basically means big-ass research university. America’s R1 universities, like Penn State, are among the nation’s greatest assets—driving innovation, strengthening the economy, and improving lives across the country. These institutions produce the scientific and technological breakthroughs that keep the U.S. globally competitive, from advanced manufacturing to life-saving vaccines. They attract billions in research funding, train a highly skilled workforce, and serve as economic engines for their regions. Penn State alone supports tens of thousands of jobs across Pennsylvania and beyond, proving that investment in higher education pays tangible dividends to local communities and to the country as a whole.
Despite these contributions, R1 universities have become targets in a wave of political attacks, including from President Semi-Sentient Rotting Carrot and his DOGE-y minions, who have sought to cast higher education as out of touch or politically biased. This rhetoric not only misrepresents the mission of public research universities, but it also threatens to erode the public trust and investment that make their work possible. Institutions like Penn State are not partisan, instead, they are problem-solvers, committed to serving the public good through education, discovery, and service. Undermining them weakens America’s ability to address critical challenges and compete on the world stage.
And enabling all this are a lot of people. These people include doctorates from all around the world, and folks local to the region where the university resides. At Penn State, you will find people from say Asia or Africa working side-by-side in a research building with someone who lives 10 miles away up a winding hollow road. This combination of people of all backgrounds, races, etc., do this amazing work that advances society forward, and this year, in return for that good work, we get to feel like we are being hunted.
America has recently become a nation that treats people who do good work with disdain, especially on the right. Teachers and healthcare workers, for example, exist in workspaces where they are susceptible to assault. These professions have become targets of the right-wing. Scientists and non-teaching university workers have joined those ranks.
Key targets include the National Science Foundation and the National Institutes of Health, which imposed a drastic cap on indirect cost reimbursements, reducing them from rates as high as 59.9% to just 15%. This change has jeopardized the operational funding necessary for maintaining research infrastructure, leading institutions like the University of Illinois to anticipate losses exceeding $67 million annually. Such cuts have forced universities to pause hiring, reduce graduate admissions, and in some cases, consider scaling back or shutting down critical research programs.
The psychological toll on university staff, including those in the office I work in, has been profound. Faculty and researchers feel heightened anxiety over job security and the future of their work. This is going to lead to a brain drain from academia and federal research institutions to other countries, threatening the nation’s long-term innovation and educational excellence. But that’s just part of it.
The human cost is thousands of people wondering if they will lose their homes, see their kids finish college, and basically just live their lives. People are scared, for no good reason because none of this is necessary. We at Penn State are doing things like pulling together a massive effort to make a case for our value, gathering stories about research with real-world impact in areas such as cancer treatment and workforce development. Even before Trump, Penn State and other universities have been making tough budget decisions and cutting waste.
Look, there’s nothing wrong with efficiency, and it’s certainly good to consider the significance of your work. But instead of making a case based on pride in your job and sharing its value, this feels more like begging for our work lives. It feels coerced, and for my coworkers and me, it sometimes feels like this might not matter because the people we are trying to convince are not interested in hearing our case.
It’s a terrible place to be. And yes, I know, we’re not the first people in the world to have our jobs threatened by cuts. But this is spite-driven by mean-spirited, often stupid people. It’s not necessary.
Little to no diner visits for us, of course, where reporters ask us how we feel and our feelings get portrayed as The Most Important Feelings in the Nation, like you saw for Trump voters. We do have diners around these parts. If intrepid reporters from the New York Times or Washington Post ever decide to venture to any college towns like State College, they might want to interview the owners of those diners as well. If we are suffering anxiety about our futures, then those diner owners should be as well. Penn State is the big employer. This is true for other college towns. If we are hurting, then all the local businesses are.
It’s not a good place to be. Penn State’s unofficial motto has long been “We Are…Penn State.” But now it’s We Are…Anxious. In this horrible moment in American history, I guess at least we are not alone in our fears.
The last word goes to The Beach Boys.