How Durkheim's Theory Explains Why Money Trumps Morality in Advanced Capitalism

Introduction

In October 2025, Amazon announced it would lay off 14,000 corporate workers, despite reporting gross profits of $86.89 billion for the quarter ending June 30, 2025. We live in a world where corporations receive billion-dollar tax breaks, but a single mom on food stamps is called a 'freeloader.' Where CEOs are praised for laying off thousands to boost profits, but workers asking for a living wage are called 'greedy.' This isn't hypocrisy. It's the logic of a system that treats money as sacred. And until we name it, we can't change it.

How Durkheim's Theory Explains Why Money Trumps Morality in Advanced Capitalism

Émile Durkheim, an early 20th century French sociologist, argued that the sacred/profane distinction was more fundamental to human society than even good and evil. His insight offers us a lens for understanding one of the most troubling aspects of advanced capitalism: how financial imperatives have consistently overridden moral considerations in business and politics. By examining capitalism through Durkheim's framework, we can see how money, the almighty dollar, has become our modern sacred, not only in the United States but increasingly throughout the world. This sacred symbol is a force so revered that it operates beyond traditional moral categories, shaping behavior and justifying actions that might otherwise be seen as deeply unethical.

Durkheim's framework helps us see how capitalism isn't only an economic system but a belief system. By exposing money’s sacred status as a social construction, we can begin to imagine a different approach and begin the reordering of our collective values.

The Architecture of the Sacred

For Durkheim, the sacred represents what societies set apart as inviolable and transcendent. It's not merely about religious objects or beliefs; it's about what binds communities together and what gives them their collective life meaning. The sacred creates social order and provides purpose. Its counterpart, the profane, encompasses the mundane, the ordinary, and the individual aspects of life. This distinction is more foundational than moral binaries like good and evil because it defines what a society holds as beyond question.

In advanced capitalism, money has assumed this sacred status. It's no longer just a medium of exchange as economists have taught us, but a collective representation of value. In other words a sacred symbol of what matters most, including success, and even moral worth. The pursuit and accumulation of wealth have become ritualized through institutions like stock markets, quarterly earnings reports, and consumer culture. These aren't merely economic activities; they're quasi-religious ceremonies that reinforce money's transcendent significance.

Critics (a better term might be the devout) might argue that money’s sacred status drives innovation and growth. But when financial imperatives override ethical considerations, when profit justifies pollution, exploitation, or inequality then we must ask: growth for whom, and at what cost to society, future generations, and our planet?"

When Profit Becomes Prayer

Let's consider how corporate decision-making operates in this sacred framework. When companies prioritize shareholder value over, for example, environmental sustainability or worker welfare, are they making a conscious choice to be "evil?" Probably not. What they are doing is following the sacred logic of capitalism, where financial growth is the ultimate good that justifies all means. This explains why executives can sleep soundly after laying off thousands while posting record profits. Just look at all the announcements in tech over the past year and Amazon's announcement just this week.

Profits over labor shows up not only in layoffs but in attitudes that corporation take towards their employees. For example, many CEOs and business leaders are anti-labor. Even, so called "progressive" companies become less so when the whispers of union activity reach their ears Starbucks, Trader Joe's. With or without unions, many companies are quick to cut (or try to cut) benefits when attempting to increase profits. These business leaders are not violating the sacred; they're honoring it.

The hustle culture preaches a gospel of endless productivity and growth. Even our language reveals this sacralization (treating as untouchable or divine): we speak of "market corrections" with the inevitability of natural law, and "disruption" with the reverence once reserved for divine intervention.

The veneration of wealth in our culture mirrors religious devotion. Forbes lists of billionaires function like a roster of saints. Many of these billionaires are looked upon as almost divine, and often sought for their opinions on topics beyond their expertise (think Elon Musk asked and answers about almost any topic in the world). It is almost as if the accumulation of money provides them unlimited knowledge (God like for sure). At the same time luxury, brands and elements like gold, serve as religious icons. The Oval Office itself has recently been turned into the sacred altar, adorned with gold.

Durkheim argues that the sacred creates social cohesion. We see this in our devotion to money. For example, the stock market isn’t just a tool for wealth accumulation; it’s a collective ritual where millions participate in the "worship" of financial growth, reinforcing shared beliefs about success and failure.

The American Taboo: Socialism and the Profane Poor

Perhaps nowhere is the sacred nature of money more evident than in the American taboo against socialism (which links to the anti-union activity) and social welfare. These programs aren't just criticized on practical grounds. They're treated as moral threats to the social order itself (any threat to the economic leadership is automatically tied to the social order). The stigma attached to welfare recipients reveals how thoroughly we've internalized the sacred/profane distinction: those who need assistance aren't just economically disadvantaged; they're morally suspect, vilified, and even subhuman in the eyes of some.

This taboo operates through a perverse moral logic. Self-reliance and market success are virtuous; needing help is a character flaw. The "welfare queen" becomes a cautionary tale under Ronald Reagan. This conjured up image exemplified a profane figure who violates the sacred order of individual responsibility even as she was more of a con-artist/thief who stole from the system rather than a qualified recipient of needed aid. The first cuts that DOGE implemented or targeted revolved around programs (food assistance, education programs, foreign aid). Meanwhile, the structural forces that create poverty like wage stagnation, healthcare costs, and educational inequities remain unexamined because questioning them would mean questioning the sacred system itself.

The racialization of welfare in American history has intensified this dynamic by coding poverty as a moral failing of marginalized groups. Again, think of the welfare queen being portrayed as a Black woman even though she presented a fluid racial identity. By coding welfare recipients as "other" the system justifies their exclusion from the sacred community of "deserving" citizens. This isn't just prejudice; it's a mechanism for maintaining the sanctity of capitalism by defining who belongs within its blessed circle and who remains outside.

The Hidden Sacred: Corporate Welfare's Invisible Hand

While individual welfare faces constant scrutiny and stigma, corporate welfare (pardon, I think we need to call them tax breaks, subsidies, bailouts) operates in the realm of the sacred, protected by invisibility and complexity. This double standard reveals how the sacred/profane distinction protects power.

Corporate welfare is framed as "investment" or "incentive," but never as dependency. Its beneficiaries are "job creators," not welfare recipients. The complexity of tax codes and the secrecy of corporate negotiations shield these transfers from public scrutiny. For example, when Amazon pays zero federal taxes or oil companies receive billions in subsidies despite climate catastrophe, these aren't seen as moral failures but as smart business or necessary economic policy.

The 2008 financial crisis momentarily pulled back the curtain on this sacred protection. Banks that had gambled recklessly with other people's money received trillion-dollar bailouts while homeowners faced foreclosure. Yet even this revelation didn't fundamentally challenge the sacred status of corporate welfare. The bailouts were justified as necessary to save the economy and society. The sacred imperative overrode questions of fairness or moral hazard.

The sacredness of corporate welfare doesn’t just coexist with the stigmatization of the poor but it depends on it. By framing some, mostly individuals, as undeserving, the system justifies lavish rewards and economic protection for others, usually corporations.

Some might argue that the elevation of money to the sacred has fueled progress but this progress in measured in production of goods and services. Progress has not meant decreased inequality, environmental harmony, or reduction of many social tensions. So we must ask, progress for whom?

Breaking the Spell

Understanding money's sacred status in capitalism doesn't mean accepting it as inevitable. Throughout history, societies have changed what it considers sacred. Different values arise for example the rise of human dignity during the civil rights movement, the importance of environmental protection in response to climate change, and increase in public health during the pandemic. These moments of transformation often occur during crises when the existing sacred order fails to provide security or meaning.

The COVID-19 pandemic offered a glimpse of this possibility. Suddenly, essential workers were recognized as valuable regardless of their wages. Universal basic income and rent moratoriums became thinkable. The sacred logic of "the economy" was temporarily subordinated to public health. These shifts, though temporary, showed that the sacralization of money is neither natural nor permanent.

Conclusion: Toward a New Sacred

Durkheim's framework helps us understand why moral arguments often fail to constrain capitalism's excesses. When money is sacred, appeals to good and evil are secondary to financial logic. But recognizing this dynamic also points toward transformation. If societies can sacralize money, they can also sacralize other values like community, sustainability, and human dignity.

The sacred has always been a human creation, even when we've forgotten our role as creators. Durkheim's work argues that it is inevitable for human societies to hold things sacred. The question isn't whether we'll have a sacred, it is what we as a society holds sacred. Will we continue to worship at the altar of endless growth and individual accumulation? Or can we imagine new rituals, new taboos, and new forms of reverence that honor our interconnectedness and shared humanity?

So here are the questions: What would it look like to treat healthcare, housing, and education as sacred? To build rituals and institutions that honor care, not just capital? What would happen if we treated people as sacred, and money as a tool? If we built a society where no one had to choose between dignity and survival?

The first step is to name money’s sacred status—and then dare to profane it. In other words to see the money for what it is, not sacred, not divine, but human-made. And that means we can remake it. It's time to remember our power and for us to enact policies and programs of what we really revere. The moral future of our society may depend on it.

Source:

Durkheim, Émile. "The Elementary Forms of Religious Life." Translated by Joseph Ward Swain. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1915.

The Ones Who Walk Away From Our "Perfect City"

The Veil Removed

In Ursula K. Le Guin's haunting story "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas," citizens live in a perfect city of prosperity and joy. The streets are clean, the people are happy, children play in sunlit squares. It is, in every way, an ideal society very similar to what many Americans wish our country to be.

Except for one thing.

In a basement beneath the city, a child sits alone in filth and darkness. This child's suffering—deliberate, ongoing, and known to all—is the foundation upon which Omelas' perfection rests. Every citizen eventually learns of the child's existence. Most find ways to justify it, to accept it as necessary. They tell themselves the child is somehow different, perhaps even deserving. They focus on all the good their beautiful city provides.

Some cannot. These are the ones who walk away.

The Empty Chair

Last week, regulars at Buona Forchetta, a beloved Italian restaurant in San Diego's South Park neighborhood were stunned. On Friday, May 30th, heavily armed ICE agents in tactical gear, more armed than some soldiers that fought in Afghanistan or Iraq, entered the restaurant, and detaining four workers out of the 40 employed there. The operation involved 20+ federal agents using assault rifles and flash-bang grenades to arrest people who didn't have proper identification.

The restaurant couldn't open that night. "We have a lot of reservations but our employees were traumatized and they don't want to work tonight," said the general manager. I am sure it was less of wanting and more of they just couldn't after being traumatized by the military style raid in broad daylight.

Three hundred miles away, in the small Missouri farming town of Kennett, customers at John's Waffle & Pancake House kept asking the same question: "Where's Carol?" Ming Li Hui, known to everyone as Carol, had been their waitress for nearly 20 years, serving pecan waffles and giving hugs to the breakfast crowd. In late April, she went to St. Louis for what she thought was a routine meeting to renew her work authorization. Instead, ICE detained her.

"I voted for Donald Trump, and I feel like I made the best decision for the economy, but I believed him that he was going to take hardened criminals — but they took Carol," said one customer, tears in her eyes. "What happened to the hardened criminals? I look at Trump differently when I see him on TV."

The regulars felt something they hadn't expected. Not relief that "the system was working," but loss. Genuine loss. Because these weren't statistics or policy abstractions. These were people they knew. People in their community.

The Promise

We, the American people, were told our "perfect city" required this. We were promised that deportations would target "bad hombres," gang members, criminals who threatened our safety. We were assured that good, hardworking people had nothing to fear. The policy was surgical, precise, moral.

Many believed this because they wanted to. Because it allowed folks to support border security and law and order while maintaining the image of everyday Americans as compassionate people. Some believed we have both: a safe, orderly society and a clear conscience.

Just like the citizens of Omelas, we were told the suffering was limited, contained, justified. Different from us that were law abiding.

The Basement

But now we see what was always true. The Hong Kong waitress who fled and built a quiet life serving coffee and waffles while learning English—she was in the basement. The restaurant workers who sent money home to their families while cooking our meals—they were in the basement too.

Our "perfect city," with its promise of safety and order, requires their removal. Not because they are dangerous, but because their very existence here, without proper papers, is deemed incompatible with the America some want. Their dreams, their families, their integration into our communities—all of this must be sacrificed so the promise can be fulfilled and America can have the ideal, or at least the appearance, of law and order.

We didn't see them before because we weren't meant to or didn't want to. They worked in restaurant kitchens, cleaned office buildings at night, picked fruit in distant fields. Their suffering, being underpaid, overworked, living in the shadows, was kept at a proper distance, like the child in Le Guin's basement.

But now we know. The regular customer asking "Where's Carol?" can no longer pretend this is about MS-13. The family whose children played with the deported mother's kids can no longer believe this only affects "bad people."

The Choice

In Le Guin's story, once citizens truly see the child, they face an impossible choice. They can stay in their beautiful city, finding ways to rationalize what they now know. Or they can walk away into the unknown.

Most stay. They tell themselves the child's suffering serves a greater good. They focus on all the wonderful things their city provides. They argue that changing the system would destroy everything they've built.

But some cannot live with what they've seen. These are the ones who walk away from Omelas.

Today, we face the same choice. Now that we see who really pays the price for our perfect city—the waitress, the cook, the cleaner, the person who was part of our daily life until they weren't—what kind of people are we?

We can rationalize. We can focus on laws and procedures and the greater good. We can convince ourselves that their suffering is necessary for our safety, our order, our ideal America.

Or we can become the ones who walk away.

Le Guin never tells us where those people go when they leave Omelas. She doesn't need to. The important part isn't the destination—it's the choice to stop participating in a system that requires innocent suffering.

The waitress is gone. The restaurant workers have vanished. The empty chairs at tables across America mark the spaces where our neighbors used to be.

Now you know they were there. Now you know what our "perfect city" costs.

What kind of person does that make you?

It's time to revisit Erich Fromm: Why His Ideas Are More Relevant Than Ever

Erich Fromm doesn’t come up in conversation outside of academic circles related to psychology, psychoanalysis, or maybe sociology. This wasn’t always true. Fromm was a widely known and discussed figure in his day. His seminal work, “Escape from Freedom” (1941), and his international best seller, “The Art of Loving” (1956), made him and his ideas popular beyond academia. Having recently reread Escape from Freedom, I realized how relevant his ideas remain, not only in the U.S. but throughout the world.

My goal with this piece is to (re)introduce Fromm and provide some thought starters as to why he remains as relevant today as he did back when he published his famous works (1941–1970s).

First, a quick background on Fromm. Erich Fromm was a Frankfurt born (1900) German-American social psychologist, psychoanalyst, and humanistic philosopher renowned for his contributions to critical theory, social psychology, psychoanalysis, and his critique of modern capitalist society’s effects on the human psyche. Many of his ideas and approaches were framed from having been a German during the rise of Nazism. He left Germany after the Nazis took power, first landing in Geneva and then moving to New York in 1934 where he taught at Columbia University. Fromm was a member of the Frankfurt School, a group of theorists and philosophers associated with the Institute for Social Research at Goethe University Frankfurt. At 79 he passed away in Switzerland (1980).

Escape from Freedom

Let’s start with one of Fromm’s most famous works, “Escape from Freedom” (1941). This book is probably his most important work and it is considered a seminal work in critical theory, social psychology, and psychoanalysis. In this book he explores how the human quest for freedom can paradoxically lead to feelings of isolation and powerlessness, and how individuals seek to escape this freedom through various means such as authoritarianism and submission to authority.

The book offers a critique of modern capitalist society, its effects on the human psyche, and how it shapes individuals’ personalities, behavior, and well-being. He contends that in capitalist societies, people are free to pursue their own goals and desires, but this freedom often leads to feelings of alienation and a lack of connection to others.

This concept of “escape from freedom” remains relevant today. Fromm’s insight that our struggle with freedom can lead to isolation illuminates a striking paradox in modern society: despite unprecedented personal liberty and connectivity, loneliness has reached epidemic proportions. What Fromm identified as the existential burden of freedom seems to manifest in today’s digital age as chronic social disconnection. Loneliness among those in the U.S. has been increasing for years and made worse since the pandemic. For more details on the pandemic of loneliness see this Harvard study or this report published pre-pandemic by Cigna.

Powerlessness is also a prevalent issue among U.S. residents. In a 2015 piece for the World Economic Forum, Robert Reich wrote about the increasing feeling of powerlessness among the U.S. population. He attributes this to decreased choices in everything from employment opportunities to how companies treat their customers. Just as Fromm predicted, this widespread sense of powerlessness has triggered reactions that seek to restore autonomy — it’s no wonder that the pandemic accelerated both the ‘Great Resignation’ and ‘quiet quitting.’ These movements represent precisely what Fromm would recognize as attempts to reclaim personal power after years of growing alienation in modern economic structures.

Social Character

Fromm’s work on the concept of “social character” is also notable. With this concept, he argues that the personality structure of individuals is shaped by the societal pressures and economic conditions of the society they live in. He suggests that the social character of capitalist societies is characterized by “marketing orientation,” that is, by the need for economic success, material possessions, and the fear of losing social status.

These societal structures lead to conformism and lack of individuality. The function of marketing orientation is that is helps maintain the status quo. Everything is seen as a transaction. People “sell” themselves, everything from their personal appearances and personalities to their job skills. For example, we call applying for a job as marketing or selling your skills to get hired.

Fromm observed that too much freedom without meaningful connection creates a sense of alienation due to the loss of community. This allows for some orientations to be more prone to authoritarianism and automaton conformity, which is surrendering one’s individuality to become part of something larger. In this state, individuals become more susceptible to authoritarian appeals. Like much of marketing, the most powerful political messages work through emotion more than logic. Fromm would likely recognize today’s political landscape through this lens: authoritarian leaders succeed not primarily through logical arguments but through emotional appeals that promise belonging and collective identity. Those who promise group identity would succeed even if seen as potentially authoritarian. In essence, they offer relief from the existential burden of isolation. That is precisely the ‘escape from freedom’ that Fromm identified decades ago.

Human Needs

Fromm’s work on the concept of “human needs” is another important aspect of his work. He argues that human needs are not limited to physical survival but also include emotional, psychological and spiritual needs. He emphasizes that the satisfaction of these needs is necessary for human happiness and well-being.

The human needs that Fromm outlined are:

Relatedness — simply put, this is the need to connect with others. This can be through love, friendship, or any productive relationship, but it can also come through a distortion of a relationship as in submission and domination.

Transcendence — this is the drive that gives us purpose. It is the act of purposeful behavior and not just reacting to a situation. Transcendence can be expressed through creating, be it art, writing or even moral action. On the malignant side, it can also express through destruction and cruelty.

Rootedness — is the need to seek belonging and connections to our origins. As humans we seek family, community, and traditions. This creates a sense of being grounded in something beyond ourselves in modern society. Unfortunately, it can also manifest as attachment to authoritarian rule and regressive dependence.

Sense of Identity — we need a stable self to thrive within a society. Authenticity and uniqueness are pillars of self identity but we can also get a sense of self in a malignant way through conformity, status-seeking, and identifying with things outside ourselves (for example work or addiction).

Frame of Orientation (and Devotion) — we need a system of values, beliefs, and goals. As we become separate from the natural world, we seek something bigger than ourselves. We can achieve this through religion, art, ideology but also through blind fanaticism.

Different social systems have varying ways of encouraging how we meet these needs. According to Fromm, a sane society would encourage freedom, love, creativity, and responsibility, but our capitalist society distorts these and instead encourages material gains, competition, and distorted identity.

How important is Erich Fromm today

Overall, Fromm’s work continues to be influential in the fields of sociology, psychology, and philosophy. In some circles, his ideas continue to be discussed, especially around topics of consumerism, capitalism, and human freedom.

His critiques of consumerism and materialism in capitalist societies, and his emphasis on the importance of human freedom and self-actualization, remain relevant in today’s world. In a world where authoritarian ideas are becoming increasingly normalized, it is important to step back and critically analyze why we are once again heading in that direction across the globe.

His work on human needs also continues to be important as it emphasizes that the satisfaction of emotional, psychological, and spiritual needs is necessary for human happiness and well-being. This is a crucial reminder in today’s world that focuses heavily on material success and economic growth.

Conclusion

Fromm’s insights transcend their historical context precisely because they address timeless human struggles. As we face rising authoritarianism, accelerating technological change, and deepening alienation in the digital age, his framework offers something uniquely valuable: an understanding of freedom that acknowledges both its promise and its perils. Consider the rise of social media and its effects on identity formation — platforms that encourage what Fromm would recognize as ‘marketing orientation,’ where users package themselves for likes and followers.

While his contemporaries in the Frankfurt School focused primarily on theoretical critique, Fromm’s emphasis on psychological mechanisms and human potential provides actionable wisdom. What distinguishes Fromm from other critical theorists is his unique integration of psychoanalysis with social theory, offering not just diagnosis but pathways to healing. Where Marx provided economic analysis and Adorno cultural critique, Fromm illuminates the psychological mechanisms that connect social structures to personal experience.

His vision of a ‘sane society’ remains unfulfilled, but his careful diagnosis of our social pathologies — and his hopeful prescription for greater authenticity, love, and productive engagement — offers a compelling alternative to both unbridled individualism and authoritarian collectivism.

Other works by Fromm

Erich Fromm continued to publish books and articles throughout his career, up until his death in 1980. Some of his later works include:

“The Art of Loving” (1956)

“The Revolution of Hope: Towards a Humanized Technology” (1968).

“The Crisis of Psychoanalysis: Essays on Freud, Marx, and Social Psychology” (1971).

“To Have or To Be?” (1976)

When Citizenship Was Defined by Race: The Pivotal Supreme Court Cases of 1922

One thing I've noticed in my years of research and teaching is how little most people know about this country's racial history — and how directly that history connects to the consumer markets, communities, and cultural dynamics we study today. Race isn't just a demographic variable. It's a legal, political, and social construction with a long paper trail.

With that, I am beginning a series that covers some of the topics that we should all know about. Mainly the history of how race has been defined in this country and how 'whiteness' has been protected, in law, throughout our history.

Given the current societal situation in our country, it is important for us to know that much of what is happening regarding race and ethnicity is not new but a continuation of this country's unresolved issues with race.

When Citizenship Was Defined by Race: The Pivotal Supreme Court Cases of 1922

In our ongoing conversations about racial equity and immigration, we often overlook the foundational legal battles that shaped U.S. citizenship. 1922 marked a critical year in Supreme Court jurisprudence on race and naturalization that continues to echo in today's legal landscape.

Takao Ozawa v. United States: Defining "Whiteness"

In October 1922, the Supreme Court unanimously rejected Takao Ozawa's petition for citizenship. Despite living in the United States for 20 years, graduating from Berkeley, raising his U.S. born children as English speakers, and being Christian, Ozawa was deemed ineligible for naturalization.

Why? Because he was not "white" as required by the Naturalization Act of 1906.

Justice George Sutherland, writing for a unanimous Court, established that "the words 'white person' were meant to indicate only a person of what is popularly known as the Caucasian race." With this, the court determined that Japanese people, regardless of their skin tone or cultural assimilation, could not be classified as "white persons" under the law. The Court established that "white" referred specifically to those of Caucasian descent - creating a scientific-sounding racial barrier to citizenship.

The Court determined that Japanese people were "not Caucasian" within the meaning of the law and thus ineligible for citizenship.

United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind: Shifting Definitions

Just months later in 1923, the Court confronted an unexpected challenge to their Ozawa reasoning. Bhagat Singh Thind, an Indian Sikh who had served in the U.S. Army during World War I, argued that as a high-caste Hindu of Aryan descent, he was scientifically Caucasian and therefore eligible for citizenship.

The Court, faced with their own logic from Ozawa, abruptly shifted their reasoning. Justice Sutherland, writing again for a unanimous Court, declared that "white person" should be interpreted according to "common understanding" rather than scientific classification. Thus, despite being technically "Caucasian," Indians were deemed not "white" as commonly understood.

It is interesting to note that Bhagat Singh Thind was initially granted citizenship by an Oregon district court in 1920, but the Bureau of Naturalization appealed this decision, which led to the Supreme Court case United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind in 1923.

The district court's decision to grant him citizenship was based on the argument that as a "high-caste Hindu of full Indian blood," he could be classified as a "white person" under existing naturalization laws. However, when the case reached the Supreme Court, they unanimously overturned this decision, revoking his citizenship.

Thind would later become a U.S. citizen in 1936, after changes in immigration laws allowed veterans of World War I to naturalize regardless of race.

The Legacy

These cases reveal how legal definitions of race were manipulated to maintain racial hierarchies and restrict citizenship. The Court established that:

1. "Whiteness" was a prerequisite for belonging

2. The definition of "white" could shift as needed to exclude certain groups

3. Scientific classifications would be employed or discarded based on the desired outcome

Today, as we grapple with issues of immigration, citizenship, and racial justice, these century-old cases remind us that our legal history on race is neither neutral nor consistent. Legal arguments that appear objective often mask deeper biases.

Understanding this history is essential for those of us working in education, law, policy, diversity and inclusion, or simply concerned citizens wanting to build a more equitable future.

What historical legal cases do you think we should study more closely to understand today's challenges?

Source: Ozawa v. United States (1922); United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind (1923)