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The absence of a meaningfully coordinated defense might have been predicted from the “prisoner’s dilemma,” a classic game-theory framework that reveals why rational actors often fail to cooperate against a common enemy — even when doing so would benefit them.
In the prisoner’s dilemma, Alex and Frankie are accused of a crime and interrogated separately. If both cooperate (which in this case means stand up for themselves and not capitulate), they each receive a relatively light sentence. If one capitulates while the other does not, the capitulator goes free and the other suffers a heavy sentence. If both capitulate, they each receive moderate sentences. Clearly, the best collective decision is for both of them to cooperate and stand up for themselves.
The challenge of the prisoner’s dilemma is that neither Alex nor Frankie sees it that way. Alex’s best individual decision is to capitulate, regardless of what Frankie does, and Frankie’s best decision is the same. Though sticking together is collectively better for both, each has an individually strategic reason to do the opposite.
In today’s version, American research universities are the prisoners, and the federal government is the interrogator. The dilemma is this: Should one university publicly defend another when attacked, knowing that solidarity might provoke retaliation — or stay silent and hope vindictive attention is directed elsewhere?
So far, most have chosen silence. It’s a missed opportunity. As in business, geopolitics, sports, and personal relationships, noncooperation leads to worse outcomes for all.
Indeed, research universities seemingly possess considerable collective leverage. Together, they host the world’s most-advanced laboratories, train the nation’s technical and thought leaders, and have the expertise and infrastructure to turn federal research funds into discoveries that cure disease and propel the economy. Undermining them risks ceding America’s global leadership in research and innovation to competitors eager to take its place.
We haven’t seen much cooperation yet. The current crisis came on fast and, so far, has been treated as a series of one-shot games.
On some level, Americans know that. But the main story is lost by fragmentation, into one university that can’t stand up to antisemitism, another lost in its woke ideals, another held hostage by subversive immigrants.
To be fair, today’s university presidents face layers of constraints that complicate the neatness of game-theory models. Heterogeneous constituencies of faculty, students, boards, donors, and alumni pull in competing directions. Responses to external threats increase internal discord — yet another way for external parties to fragment their opponents. Columbia is being pulled apart by those who cannot possibly know what it is like to be in the arena.
But game theory, and decades of experiments on the prisoner’s dilemma itself, suggest a way out of the trap of isolation. Cooperation is more likely in repeated games, particularly if participants can communicate between rounds. In these cases, individual organizations like universities or law firms develop operational strategies across them, and a sense of trust, that promote long-term cooperation.
We haven’t seen much cooperation yet. The current crisis came on fast and, so far, has been treated as a series of one-shot games. But later strategies may benefit from iterative experience and communication.
To escape the prisoner’s dilemma, universities must shift from individual risk management to strategic alignment. That means:
1. Speak up for each other. When one university is targeted, others must respond. Unity of voice raises the cost of political attacks, and calling out the pretexts helps to arm the base against them.
2. Form mutual defense pacts. Along the lines of strategic military alliances, institutions should establish coalitions that pledge resources for collective response.
3. Scenario plan together. Institutions should anticipate future flash points, preparing coordinated responses in advance, rather than alone and under pressure.
4. Rev up existing organizations. Organizations like the Association of American Universities and the Association of American Medical Colleges must step beyond the conventions of peacetime and become more muscular advocates for their members and for society.
5. Stop being so academic. The stereotypical academic hates anecdote and loves nuance. But describing risks to science, knowledge, or democracy in the abstract doesn’t show the losses to identified people who depend on universities to discover cures, create jobs, drive the economy, and advance personal and social opportunity.
The prisoner’s dilemma helps explain why we see so little coordination among natural allies facing a common threat. But it also points to a way out: If universities can see past the outcomes of any single encounter, and can reawaken the mutual trust they have long operated with, they may reset the terms of engagement between higher education and the state, and defend the values that make them indispensable for our future.
