This isn’t just political theater. It’s part of a broader and troubling pattern: a sustained attack on scientific research, the public institutions that produce it, and the higher education system that trains the researchers behind it.
As a sociology professor at a public university, I’ve watched with concern as public trust in science and expertise has eroded. The pandemic magnified these trends, but they have long been in motion—accelerated by social media, political polarization, and the growing popularity of conspiratorial thinking. The resurgence of autism misinformation is just the latest iteration.
The CDC’s study represents the best of public-facing science: it’s evidence-based, transparent, and focused on improving equity. The data show that more children—especially Black, Latino, and low-income children—are finally being diagnosed and receiving support. For decades, these children were overlooked in clinical research and excluded from early intervention programs. Their families often lacked access to diagnostic services, and cultural stigma around disability further compounded delays in recognition and care.
That makes this progress all the more important. It means health and education systems are becoming more responsive to the needs of diverse communities. It’s a win for public health, for special education, and for racial equity. But Kennedy’s remarks obscure that progress and instead imply institutional deceit, further corroding the already fragile relationship between the public and research institutions.
This moment should concern everyone in higher education. When research is publicly undermined by powerful voices, it isn’t just scientists or health experts who lose credibility—it’s the entire academic enterprise. Faculty working in controversial or misunderstood fields face online harassment. Public universities face funding cuts. Politicians introduce legislation to restrict what can be taught, who can be included, and which research is “acceptable.” These are not isolated attacks. They are part of a broader campaign to delegitimize the role of higher education in a democratic society.
We’ve seen it before. Climate science, gender studies, and even basic public health data have been politicized and distorted. In many cases, these attacks are racialized, aimed at scholars of color or those researching topics related to race, equity, and social justice. The goal is not simply to disagree with findings—it’s to sow public doubt about the legitimacy of the research process itself.
If higher education wants to defend its role in shaping public understanding and policy, we must do more than produce knowledge—we must also protect it. That means publicly pushing back when bad actors distort science. It means communicating our research clearly and accessibly, especially in communities where trust in institutions has historically been low. And it means preparing the next generation of students not only to be critical thinkers, but to be defenders of fact in an era that increasingly devalues it.
The consequences of not responding are far-reaching. When misinformation takes root, it influences public health decisions, erodes confidence in life-saving vaccines, and increases distrust in institutions we rely on during crises. The damage isn’t abstract—it’s measurable in declining vaccination rates, increased health disparities, and growing skepticism toward experts in medicine, climate science, and education. The ripple effects extend into classrooms, clinics, and communities, where the stakes are all too real.
It also threatens the progress being made in autism awareness and support, particularly in communities that have only recently gained access to diagnostic and therapeutic services. When Kennedy promotes falsehoods about the cause of autism, he doesn’t just mislead the public—he makes it harder for families to trust medical providers, harder for schools to advocate for neurodiverse students, and harder for researchers to do their work without facing backlash.
Kennedy’s remarks may seem like a fringe view to those of us working in higher ed. But their reach—and their harm—are real. If we remain silent, we risk allowing misinformation to fill the vacuum we leave behind. That vacuum won’t remain empty. It will be filled with falsehoods that, once embedded in public consciousness, are incredibly difficult to reverse.
This is a time for the academic community to speak clearly and often. We must show that science is not about dogma—it’s about rigor, peer review, and accountability. We must reaffirm that public universities serve not just students, but society. And we must reclaim our role in informing the public—not just in lecture halls and labs, but in newspapers, social media, and public discourse.
We can’t afford to treat this moment as politics as usual. It’s a test of our collective commitment to truth, equity, and the public good. The integrity of science—and the credibility of higher education—depends on it.
Dr. Yolanda Wiggins is an Assistant Professor of Sociology at San José State University.
