Standing inside the Gibbons Center for Arctic Studies, I cannot help but be reminded of the parallels with the Walker Art Building, dating back to the Gilded Age. At Gibbons’s entrance, and the Bowdoin College Museum of Art’s (BCMA) original, I immediately notice a sign dedicating the building to its singular donor. Compare this with Smith Union or Druckenmiller Hall: even rooms in academic buildings are named after one of the many people who contributed to its construction. It is not an insult to those donors when I make this comparison; however, there is an observation to be made about the enormous wealth our alumni once possessed during the peak of the Gilded Age and what that means for today’s growing wealth divide.

In the 20 years between 1890 and 1910, Hubbard Hall, Searles Hall and the BCMA were swiftly constructed and now dominate the college’s image with their beauty. In each instance, the capital to design and build such edifices came from industrial robber barons, leaving a reminder of their privilege in the facades that look down upon the Main Quad. With the recently-built Mills Hall and Gibbons and the future construction of a new library, the College may have access to the modern equivalent of the wealth held by the rich during the Gilded Age. This can be seen across the country: While the factory in my hometown struggles to replace its aging workforce amid large budget cuts and growing military recruitment, the state is building an overpass so that wealthy tourists can skip over this failing town while traveling to the coast on vacation. Hundreds of years with rich and powerful alumni is a key reason for Bowdoin’s prestige, but how can the College uphold this dynamic and remain committed to the common good?

Like many Bowdoin students and alumni, the College’s mission to advance the common good is a core reason I chose to attend. However, with Bowdoin ignoring protests against its compliance with Israel’s genocide in Gaza to optimize investment, it becomes clear that the Gilded Age’s appetite for profit continues to dominate the College’s mission. This is seen in nearly every one of Bowdoin’s decisions, whether it is supporting imperialism or reflecting the political agenda of its wealthiest donors. Reed Hastings ’83 is a great example of how such alumni influence the College’s decisions. While Zohran Mamdani ’14 ran for the mayorship of New York City, Hastings donated $250,000 to a campaign against him. Once Mamdani won—to the excitement of Americans nationwide—the College had limited congratulations to give, which could be correlated with the millions in donations given by Hastings. Bowdoin alumni’s accelerating growth in wealth is, once again, distancing the College from its original purpose laid out by Joseph McKeen: to be endowed for the common good.

During America’s First Gilded Age, donations were made to improve the facilities of the small liberal arts college to educate future generations of donors. However, with hundreds of years of donations, American higher education now revolves around institutional capacity to solve problems. The Hastings Initiative for AI and Humanity is by far the largest donation made by a single person to Bowdoin College. But unlike Gilded Age funds, this donation doesn’t have to be another Hubbard Hall or Walker Art Building; the College can finally begin following its mission of the common good without compromising its morals. While Bowdoin could use the money from its increasingly wealthy alumni base to further cater to them, it can also establish itself as an institution truly committed to its mission by using their donations to better the community and, by its influence, the world. Bowdoin is no longer simply an institution for the elite; so, to that end, the influx of donations from the College’s tycoons profiting from the Second American Gilded Age must be used to support the many, not the few.

Tyler Zobel is a member of the Class of 2027.