As a second-generation alum of the University of Michigan, I’ve often reflected on how this institution shaped my life. The Diag, the center of campus with its steady hum of voices calling out injustice. The lecture halls, alive with challenge and possibility. The long nights spent reading, debating, dreaming. It’s where I forged lifelong friendships, found my voice, and learned to believe in the transformative power of education and civic engagement.
But in these times, that same university—the one that gave me so much—is at the center of a new scandal that I find both heartbreaking and infuriating. It’s a betrayal of everything we were taught to believe Michigan stood for. Michigan and its executive leaders have clearly lost their way.
According to a deeply reported investigation by The Guardian, the University of Michigan has deployed undercover private investigators to surveil, harass, and intimidate students—most of them engaged in peaceful, pro-Palestinian protest.
Let me be very clear: this is not about public safety. It is about power. And fear. And the criminalization of student free speech.
Undercover at Michigan?
Let’s start with the facts. The university paid at least $800,000 to a private security firm, City Shield, and its parent company, Ameri-Shield, to conduct covert operations on campus. These “investigators” didn’t just stand quietly by to ensure order at protests. No, they followed students off campus, eavesdropped on conversations in cafes, recorded them on personal phones, and—in at least one case—allegedly accelerated a car at a student protester.
The targets? Primarily members of student groups like SAFE (Students Allied for Freedom and Equality), part of the national Students for Justice in Palestine network. These are not criminals. These are students exercising their constitutional right to peacefully protest what they view as unjust U.S. and university complicity in the war on Gaza.
If you’re not alarmed yet, let me share this: undercover investigators were caught on video pretending to be disabled, faking hearing and speech impediments, and even screaming false accusations, such as theft and assault, at students who dared to confront them. And yes, the university not only knew about this, but funded it.
From Diag to Dystopia
When I attended Michigan, protest was part of our DNA. I remember walking through the Diag and hearing passionate students take the mic to speak out—against racism, against war, against tuition hikes, and for labor rights. And who could forget Hash Bash, that chaotic, beloved blend of protest and celebration in support of Mary Jane? That was the spirit of Michigan—the messy, courageous, and beautiful exercise of democracy. I even introduced two of my closest friends in the Diag who later married, George and Jasmeen, while George and I were walking together to protest The Michigan Daily for what we believed was unfair coverage. That’s the kind of community Michigan fostered—one where activism ignited not just social change, but lifelong relationships.
According to reporting, today, that same Diag is being monitored by spies in plain clothes pretending to be disabled, pretending to be deaf, pretending to be students. When confronted, they scream accusations. They lie. They incite. They act not as stewards of safety, but as agents of chaos—with university funding in their pockets.
Criminalization as Strategy
Let’s not pretend this was the result of a rogue decision by one department. According to The Guardian, this was a coordinated campaign—sanctioned by university leadership, the Board of Regents, and, alarmingly, Michigan Attorney General Dana Nessel. The university went so far as to bypass local prosecutors and hand the cases directly to Nessel’s office. Why? Possibly because local prosecutors might have declined to pursue charges rooted in flimsy or politically motivated evidence.
But Nessel didn’t just accept the cases—she became a central actor in the crackdown. Her office worked hand-in-glove with the university to file misdemeanor trespassing charges and even pursue felony charges carrying prison time. These cases were largely built on “evidence” gathered by undercover private investigators—many of whom were later exposed for using deceptive and inflammatory tactics. In one particularly damning example, U-M police bodycam footage revealed officers reviewing surveillance material in a group chat titled “U-M intel,” where these private agents shared videos of students they had trailed and filmed.
Let that sink in: group chats. Covert surveillance. Private contractors lurking in cafes. Undercover agents using slurs, faking disabilities, and fabricating claims. Paid consultants initiating disciplinary complaints that university employees refused to file. This wasn’t security—it was repression. A chilling escalation of authoritarian tactics under the banner of public safety at one of the nation’s most respected public universities.
And then came the reversal.
On May 5, 2025, in a packed courtroom filled with keffiyehs, chants, and anxiety, Michigan Attorney General Dana Nessel dropped all charges against seven of the pro-Palestinian student protesters. They had faced felony charges for allegedly resisting and obstructing police, along with misdemeanor trespassing accusations stemming from last year’s Diag encampment. Their defense attorneys had long argued the prosecution was an outrageous attempt to criminalize free speech—and in the end, the state backed down.
The courtroom erupted in cheers. Students hugged their attorneys, and crowds outside celebrated with chants of “Free Palestine.” The dismissal was stunning, not only because of the stakes, but because of the reason behind it. Nessel’s decision was influenced, in part, by an inappropriate letter of support for her office submitted to the court by the Jewish Federation of Greater Ann Arbor. In a rare moment of candor, Nessel admitted that the letter’s submission to the court compromised the integrity of the process. She defended her original decision to file charges but made clear the case had become, in her words, a “lightning rod of contention.”
What began as a heavy-handed, politically charged prosecution—propped up by secret surveillance and strategic overreach—ultimately collapsed under the weight of its own contradictions. The felony charges, once carrying the threat of two years behind bars, became a symbol of institutional failure and the unyielding resilience of student protest.
While the decision to dismiss the charges was both just and overdue, it cannot erase the months of anguish, legal fees, ankle monitors, reputational harm, and psychological toll inflicted on these students. Nor does it absolve the university—or the Attorney General’s office—of accountability for choosing surveillance and criminalization over dialogue and democracy.
The damage has been done. And we must not forget who inflicted it.
“Any Means Necessary”?
One of the most heavily surveilled students, Josiah Walker, counted more than 30 different people following him before he gave up keeping track. In one incident, a car sped toward him in a university parking lot. In another, an investigator faked being deaf, mocked Walker for having special educational needs, then shouted “He wants my wallet!” when Walker walked away—an apparent attempt to frame him for robbery.
The university claimed in a brief email statement that it “does not condone or tolerate any behavior by employees or contractors that demeans individuals or communities.” But it did not deny the surveillance. Nor has it explained why it paid millions to City Shield and consultants to create what looks increasingly like a private intelligence network.
Let’s also not ignore the racial dynamics here. Many of the students targeted—like Walker—are students of color. It’s hard not to see echoes of COINTELPRO, the FBI’s infamous program to infiltrate and undermine Black, Indigenous, and left social movements. Only now, it’s being done on behalf of a university that wraps itself in diversity brochures and social justice slogans.
A Deep and Shameful Irony
It is galling that the University of Michigan would justify this by citing “safety.” Safety for whom? Certainly not the students. Certainly not students now afraid to attend events, walk home, or even speak up in class because they are being surveilled by secret agents. This isn’t about isolated bad decisions. It’s about a culture of top-down repression aimed at preserving the university’s political standing at any cost—even if it means harming its own students. The irony is suffocating. The university claims to protect academic freedom, but spends millions spying on students. It claims to promote wellness, but pays people to provoke and traumatize students in public. It claims to support dialogue, while criminalizing dissent. If this were happening in Florida or Texas, we’d be outraged—and rightfully so. But it’s happening at my alma mater. Our state university. And it demands the same level of condemnation.
This Is a National Warning
What happens in Ann Arbor won’t stay in Ann Arbor. As public universities face rising political pressure, weakened protections for student rights, and emboldened culture warriors, this case sets a terrifying precedent. Today it’s Palestine. Tomorrow it might be Black Lives Matter. Then climate justice. Labor. LGBTQ+ rights. The precedent being set here is clear: dissent will be watched, recorded, and punished. That’s why this moment requires a full-throated response. From students. From staff. From faculty. From alumni. From the civil rights community. From anyone who believes that universities are meant to expand freedom—not pay to crush it.
A Call to Action
To those who share my Michigan roots, I say this: if we truly love our alma mater, we cannot stay silent. Not now. Not while the university targets young people for standing up for what they believe. Not while it pays private actors to harass them in parking lots and record them in bars. Not while it hides behind PR statements while people’s lives are disrupted, criminalized, and surveilled. We were taught that the University of Michigan is a place where the “leaders and best” are made. But leadership doesn’t look like spying. It looks like courage. It looks like standing up—not cracking down.
To the Regents: reverse course. Cease all contracts with City Shield and similar contractors. Offer a full public accounting of who authorized this. Apologize to the students. And commit—legally and ethically—to never again spy on students. Regents Jordan Acker and Paul Brown are up for re-election in 2026. Voters will remember whether they chose accountability or complicity.
To former president Santa Ono: it is unacceptable for the university’s top executive to have remained silent during this crisis. This episode appears to be a further stain on your legacy after departing Michigan. Leadership requires moral clarity, not strategic evasion. Students were followed, harassed, and criminalized under your watch. History will remember that.
To current students: we see you. We support you. You are not alone.
To the courageous young people leading this fight—this is your Diag now. And we have your back!!!!!!
Michigan Must Choose Its Legacy
The University of Michigan must now answer one of the oldest and most important questions: What side of history are you on?
Are you on the side of repression, secrecy, and surveillance? Or on the side of free inquiry, human rights, and student voice?
You cannot have both.
You cannot celebrate the legacy of the civil rights movement and then prosecute today’s protesters. You cannot cheer MLK Day and arrest young Black men for expressing free speech. You cannot market your commitment to “diversity, equity, and inclusion” while secretly paying private actors to intimidate students.
You cannot claim to be a beacon of higher learning while descending into fear-driven authoritarianism.
So yes, I will always be a Wolverine. But today, I am not proud.
Today, I am angry.
Today, I am ashamed.
And today, I am calling on everyone who loves the University of Michigan to speak the truth and demand better.
Because silence, in moments like this, is not neutrality.
It is complicity.
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Cloaking Inequity 
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