A university ranked design and construction firms
pursuing projects at the institution not only according to their skill and
experience, but also in terms of how much money they had contributed in support
of students, either through scholarships or internships. Some in the
construction industry shrugged this off as part of the cost of doing business,
while others saw it as extortion.
Rising tuition and
declining public support for higher education have led many colleges and
universities to search for other forms of revenue in order to balance their
books. Donations from alumni and supporters of these institutions have become
one of the most important sources of additional income, enabling administrators
to reduce the cost of attendance through scholarships and enhance the
experience of students through internships, among other forms of
extra-curricular activity.
Raising money in this way
seems like a win-win for everyone. Students receive a more affordable
education, donors see the immediate benefit of their gifts, and universities
can stretch their already limited funds. The tax laws, at least in the United
States, make this an attractive transfer of money from wealthy adults to poor
students, while also encouraging investment in our future through support of
the best and brightest of our youth.
But what if the donations
are not entirely voluntary? What if, as in the case here, gifts to an
institution come as part of a quid pro quo in exchange for giving a commission
to the individual or firm making the contribution? And does it matter if this
“you-scratch-my-back, I’ll-scratch-yours” approach to philanthropy goes to a
good cause – financially supporting students in need – or do the ends, however
noble, not justify the means?
Philanthropy, of course,
always involves a degree of pressure applied by those seeking a gift on those
who have the capacity to give. That pressure, though, almost always takes the
form of playing upon a donor’s allegiance to the institution, eagerness to help
others, or desire to be recognized or remembered in some permanent way. At the
same time, there almost always involves some quid pro quo in philanthropy,
although that, too, usually involves acknowledging a gift publically, naming something
in honor of the donor, or inscribing the donor’s name in some highly visible
place.
But when donations to a
college or university get linked to doing business there, a ethical line gets
crossed. However “voluntary” this may seem, in that a firm has the right not to
pursue a business opportunity with the institution, giving a gift in order to
compete for work has more of the characteristic of extortion. In a difficult
economy, when firms may be desperate for work and unable to walk away from a
possible commission, this arm-twisting on the part of the institution becomes
even more objectionable, taking advantage of businesses, financially, when they
can least afford it.
Situations like this
highlight the limits of modern ethics. A utilitarian might argue that ranking
firms based on the amount of scholarship money they have given disadvantages a
few – the owners of a firm – in order to benefit many – the generations of
students who will receive the scholarship. At the same time, a Kantian might
argue that the good intention of the institution to help students in need makes
this policy acceptable, however objectionable the means of doing so.
But good ends or good
intentions do not justify any means, and extortion – even if implicit in a
request for proposals – must remain outside the bounds of what we consider
ethical. We would, otherwise, quickly create a condition in which bribery and
extortion became an expected aspect of trade, a practice that we see happening
in some corrupt countries and that has the paradoxical effect of impoverishing
everyone as a few try enriching themselves in the process. A world in which no
good deed happens voluntarily means that only bad ones will.
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