Deep Capture

The Administrative State’s Intellectual Origins

Woodrow Wilson holds a distinction no other American president has: he earned a Ph.D., completing his doctorate in political science and history at Johns Hopkins University in 1886. That same year, he wrote an essay called “The Study of Administration,” later published in the inaugural volume of Political Science Quarterly. Historians widely credit this essay as the founding document of public administration as a formal academic field, and Wilson himself as the father of that discipline.

Wilson’s central argument was that government should be split into two separate domains: politics, where elected officials set broad goals and policy direction, and administration, a technical, expert-driven sphere that should be run with “large powers and unhampered discretion” and insulated from day-to-day political interference. 

Wilson suggested that government ought to be removed from the political process…in other words: “Democracy is too important to be left to voters.” He explicitly encouraged American reformers to study European administrative models – including Prussia’s – for lessons in efficiency, arguing that the US had fallen behind other nations in developing a science of government administration. 

Later scholars have debated how far Wilson actually intended this separation to go, and some interpret his argument as calling for administrators to be almost entirely removed from political accountability. His essay laid the intellectual groundwork for what would become the modern professional civil service – insulated from patronage and run by career administrators rather than political appointees or elected officials.

The Frankfurt School’s American Exile

Nearly 50 years later, a very different intellectual tradition found refuge in the same city that Wilson’s ideas would eventually help administer. Max Horkheimer became director of the Institute for Social Research in Frankfurt, Germany in 1930, leading a group of thinkers who developed what became known as Critical Theory. Its core members included Theodor Adorno, Herbert Marcuse, Erich Fromm, and Leo Löwenthal. Critical Theory is a philosophical framework that analyzes power structures and social inequalities.  

Developed by the Frankfurt School in the 1930s and 1940s, it shifted Marxism from a strict economic focus to a critique of culture, media, and modern society. Critical Theory was a different way of looking at philosophy; where philosophy was a search for truth – trying to explain phenomena and things that were not easily proven by science (ethics for example) – Critical Theory shifted to look at philosophy specifically through the lens of Marxism. It became no longer a search for truth but a means of propagandizing, which some would argue was a betrayal of philosophy.

When the Nazis seized power in 1933, Horkheimer was forced to relocate the group first to Geneva and then to New York, where it formed a loose affiliation with Columbia University in 1934–35. Horkheimer’s actual scholarly project – laid out in works like Dialectic of Enlightenment and Eclipse of Reason – described how instrumental reason, mass culture, and authoritarianism are able to take hold in modern societies. 

It was also between 1933 and 1937 that several regulatory agencies were established that would come to form the backbone of the modern Administrative State.

Port Huron and the Old/New Left Split

By the early 1960s, the American left was largely defined by an older tradition: labor unions, industrial organizing, and class-based politics rooted in the fights of the 1930s and ’40s. In June 1962, a group of Socialist Organization representatives, student activists, organized labor unions, civil rights leaders, and foreign observers gathered in Port Huron, Michigan, and produced a document that would come to mark a generational break from that tradition.

Students for a Democratic Society had grown out of the Student League for Industrial Democracy, the youth wing of an older Socialist educational group called the League for Industrial Democracy, which itself traced back to the Intercollegiate Socialist Society founded in 1905. In early 1960, that student branch renamed itself Students for a Democratic Society. 

The manifesto produced at Port Huron was drafted primarily by Tom Hayden, a University of Michigan student and former editor of the Michigan Daily, working from ideas that blended the sociology of Columbia’s C. Wright Mills and Walter Reuther with the direct-action tactics of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. The week-long meeting brought together groups who wrote, debated, and voted on a 60-page document. Notably, it took place at a United Auto Workers retreat, with the UAW under Reuther’s leadership covering a range of the convention’s costs. Inside circles among Reuther’s contemporaries referred to it as “The Long Journey.” 

The statement opened with a line that became its signature: “We are people of this generation, bred in at least modest comfort, housed now in universities, looking uncomfortably to the world we inherit.” Its authors argued that two forces had shaken them out of complacency – the civil rights struggle against racial bigotry in the South, and the threat of nuclear war under the Cold War’s shadow. 

Where the Old Left had organized around labor and class struggle, Port Huron’s New Left shifted the terrain. It called for a “participatory democracy” in which ordinary people – not just union leaders or party bosses – would have a direct hand in the decisions shaping their lives, workplaces, schools, and government. It criticized both American Cold War policy and Soviet communism, explicitly opposing the Soviet system’s suppression of organized dissent. And because the statement judged the civil rights, peace, and student movements too poor and marginalized to drive change on their own, and organized labor too quiet, it looked instead to universities – which it saw as institutions open to people of nearly any viewpoint who could be recruited as “useful innocents” (often mistranslated as “useful idiots”) to carry the water – as the engine of a new movement. Media, unions, high schools, and elementary schools were to follow. 

The Port Huron Statement went on to shape the framing of Great Society-era politics, the anti-Vietnam War movement, and the broader counterculture that carried into the early 1970s. Historians and participants alike have described it as the founding document of the New Left and a turning point. 

The Modern Left’s Long March

The strategic logic for how a university-centered movement might expand its influence beyond campus came from Germany. West German student movement leader Rudi Dutschke, nicknamed “Red Rudi,” coined the phrase “der Lange Marsch Durch die Institutionen” (the long march through the institutions), borrowing the “long march” imagery from Mao’s Chinese Communist Red Army march of 1934–35. The idea was that instead of pursuing a frontal revolutionary confrontation with the state, radicals should embed themselves inside existing institutions and overtake them from within over time. The name (and indeed his nickname) was a deliberate echo of the Chinese Communist Party.

Herbert Marcuse (The Frankfurt School) explicitly endorsed the approach of pursuing radical change not through revolution but by working patiently inside the institutions of government and civil society until they were captured and transformed from within. Writing to Dutschke in 1971 he intoned: “Your notion of the ‘long march through the institutions’ is the only effective way” forward for the movement. Marcuse became an enthusiastic backer of the strategy, and summarized Dutschke’s strategy in his 1972 book Counterrevolution and Revolt as “working against the established institutions while working within them.”

He described infiltrating while learning their actual skills and functions rather than simply obstructing them; by “not simply ‘boring from within’ but by ‘doing the job’…learning how to program and read computers, how to teach at all levels of education, how to use the mass media, how to organize production, how to recognize and eschew planned obsolescence.

Writing nearly three decades later, cultural critic Roger Kimball invoked this same Marcusean formulation to explain how the radicalism of the 1960s ultimately achieved its aims not through revolution but through patient institutional capture – “by insinuation and infiltration rather than by confrontation” (The Long March: How the Cultural Revolution of the 1960s Changed America). The result, as later commentators (The Successful Long March Through the Institutions, The American Vision) have characterized it, was a transformation accomplished without open conflict: “Not a shot was fired. No one was forced into concentration camps. Millions of parents willingly sent their children into public schools and universities systems…” that had, by then, been reshaped from within. Effectively replacing “bloody revolutions from without” with institutional capture from within.

Dutschke’s thinking is often linked to the earlier work of Antonio Gramsci, the imprisoned Italian Marxist theorist who argued that revolution in developed Western societies wouldn’t come from a single decisive uprising but from a slow “war of position” – a patient campaign to win cultural and institutional influence over time. While there’s no direct evidence Dutschke had read Gramsci when he coined the term, notably, his diaries and biography reference other influences, including Georg Lukács, Che Guevara, and Mao Zedong.

Khrushchev famously said “We will bury you,” which he later clarified to mean that communism would trounce capitalism. The Long March Through the Institutions is reminiscent of the Marxist/Communist concept of the “Vanguard State” as the “bridge” between a Capitalist state and a Socialist/Communist state.  

Marcus Raskin and the Institute for Policy Studies

One American figure who embodied this institution-building, infiltrating strategy was Marcus Raskin. Born in Milwaukee in 1934 to Russian immigrant parents, Raskin studied at the University of Chicago, where he earned his law degree in 1957. During his time at Chicago, Raskin studied under Rexford Tugwell, who was a Columbia economist and a key member of Franklin Roosevelt’s “Brain Trust.” 

It was Tugwell who had suggested that it would be necessary to collect money (from the American people) to begin the process of creating an Administrative State. 

In 1933, President Franklin Roosevelt issued Executive Order 6102, requiring most Americans to surrender their gold coins, bullion, and certificates to the Federal Reserve in exchange for paper dollars, citing that private gold hoarding was worsening the Depression. The following year, the Gold Reserve Act of 1934 revalued gold from $20.67 to $35 an ounce—a roughly 69 percent devaluation of the dollar against gold—which meant the government profited handsomely on the gold it had just collected at the lower price. Tugwell was among the New Deal’s most influential architects of expanded federal planning, helping design agencies like the Agricultural Adjustment Administration and the Resettlement Administration. The devaluation, paired with an expanded money supply, gave Washington greater fiscal room to fund Administrative State projects. 

After Chicago under Tugwell, Raskin went on to work as legislative counsel for several Congressmen in the late 1950s, then joined the Kennedy administration’s National Security Council in 1961 as an aide to McGeorge Bundy. He resigned in 1962, citing his opposition to the Cuban Missile Crisis response. In 1963, alongside fellow Kennedy-administration alumnus Richard Barnet, Raskin co-founded the Institute for Policy Studies (IPS) in Washington, D.C. – widely described as the first independent progressive think tank, built explicitly on the idea that the systemic change they wanted couldn’t be achieved from inside government, and would instead have to come through social movements and infiltrating institutions.

IPS was closely tied to the New Left from the start. Historian Brian Mueller has written that IPS “epitomized the ideals of the New Left, especially those found in the 1962 Port Huron Statement” and, in fact, a 1962 prospectus Raskin wrote for IPS contained ideas strikingly similar to Port Huron’s. Fellow IPS founder Arthur Waskow joined SDS in 1963, and both men wrote for the New Left magazine Ramparts.

IPS drew sustained scrutiny throughout the Cold War for its foreign-policy positions. The House Committee on Internal Security and later conservative critics documented Raskin and Barnet’s contacts with North Vietnamese communist officials during the Vietnam War, Raskin’s board membership at Ramparts (which the same committee called “pro-Hanoi, pro-Castro”) and, later, in the 1980s, IPS-organized conferences with Soviet officials that a bipartisan group of roughly 80 members of Congress warned could be used for Soviet intelligence purposes. 

Carter, Ink, and the Reshaping of Federal Administration

The administrative machinery Wilson had theorized decades earlier took its modern shape under President Carter. By 1977, Carter had concluded that the federal civil service system needed its first comprehensive overhaul since the Pendleton Act of 1883. The opportunity came in the aftermath of Watergate and amid broader public distrust of government institutions. In March 1978, he sent Congress his reform proposal; after 13 days of hearings and testimony from more than 200 witnesses, Congress passed the Civil Service Reform Act, and Carter signed it into law that October – just over seven months after it was introduced. 

The Act abolished the US Civil Service Commission and split its functions among three new agencies: the Office of Personnel Management (OPM), which handles federal personnel policy; the Merit Systems Protection Board (MSPB), which adjudicates federal employee appeals; and the Federal Labor Relations Authority (FLRA), which oversees federal labor-management relations. 

The reform’s chief architect and implementer was Dwight Ink, a career federal executive who had served in every presidential administration since Eisenhower. Ink had already built a formidable reputation of cutting through red tape and quickly executing major government overhauls, earning him the nickname “Mr. Implementation.” Ink himself later wrote that he couldn’t recall any other government-wide management reform as broad as the 1978 act being enacted so quickly. The transformation was praised by Marcus Raskin’s intellectual incubator, IPS, which has documented ties to the American Communist Party and drove DNC capture between 1972 and 1978. 

That same year, Carter signed a second landmark law. The Inspector General Act of 1978 established 12 statutory offices of Inspector General across major federal departments and agencies, giving each the authority to audit internal agency documents, investigate fraud, and report findings both to their agency heads and directly to Congress every six months. By 1988 additional IGs had been added for smaller independent agencies, and there are now 73 statutory Inspectors General across the federal government. By systematically replacing public servants with IGs and positions functioning as commissars who decide investigative targets, including the US elections commission, the landscape for a coup became fertile.  

Marching Along

CIGIE, created in 2008, was established by the Inspector General Reform Act by merging two earlier coordinating bodies: the President’s Council on Integrity and Efficiency (PCIE) and the Executive Council on Integrity and Efficiency (ECIE). Those two predecessor councils themselves went back to 1992, created by executive order under President George H.W. Bush. Between the original 1978 IG Act and the 2008 creation of the unified CIGIE structure are three decades of Long March institutional groundwork.

CIGIE functions as a coordinating and standard-setting body for the IG community – running training, setting audit and investigation standards, and housing an Integrity Committee that investigates allegations against IGs themselves. Its voting members include not just the Inspectors General of individual agencies, but also representatives from the CIA, the Office of the Director of National Intelligence, the FBI, the Office of Government Ethics, and the Office of Special Counsel – a genuinely broad cross-section of oversight and intelligence-adjacent offices sitting on one council, which could be described as a “control layer.”

The IG Act has continued to evolve since 1978: notably, the 2022 Securing Inspector General Independence Act added new protections against politically motivated IG removals, requiring the President to give Congress 30 days’ notice and a substantive, case-specific rationale before removing an Inspector General.

CIGIE today represents a sui generis entity where one office effectively oversees software integrity across 3,143 counties. This structure echos Woodrow Wilson’s administrative state-framed government as “too important to be left to the voters,” relying on a political-technocratic elite and completes the Marxist Commissar model.

The GAP

In 1977 the Institute for Policy Studies formed the Government Accountability Program (GAP). On its surface it looked like a place for whistleblowers to find shelter, especially after the Pentagon Papers, and indeed many whistleblowers from the intelligence community and national defense program gravitated there. Critics suggest, however, that it was actually used as a honeypot to entice, contain, and control the whistleblowers, even as it collaborated and often even worked directly with the US Office of Special Counsel (OSC). 

The Office of the Whistleblower Ombudsman was created in January 2019, as part of the House rules package adopted at the start of the 116^th Congress (when Democrats took control of the House). It established, within the House of Representatives, a mandate to develop practices for House offices receiving confidential information from whistleblowers about government wrongdoing – including setting up reporting systems, maintaining confidentiality, and training staff. 

It sat without a director for about a year. Then in February 2020, shortly after the conclusion of Trump’s first impeachment trial (which had been sparked by a whistleblower complaint), Speaker Nancy Pelosi announced that she had appointed Shanna Devine as the inaugural director of the office. Devine had previously worked at GAP. 

Critics questioned whether someone from an advocacy group could serve a “nonpartisan” role, citing concerns that the position could function as a filter protecting officials from exposure, and worrying whether this infrastructure meant this office could effectively legally spy on everyone – including Congress.

GAP also had a prominent role in advocating for the office’s creation.  Samantha Feinstein, GAP’s senior legal and international analyst, testified before Congress to request the creation of the Ombudsman Office, which meant GAP was influencing policy from the outside as well. 

The Modern Left’s Electoral Rise

Decades after Port Huron, the left flank that it and IPS helped seed has grown into an electoral force. The Democratic Socialists of America was formed in 1982 through the merger of two left-wing organizations: the Democratic Socialist Organizing Committee, founded in 1973 by socialist Michael Harrington, and the New American Movement. For decades it remained small and aging – its median member age was 68 in 2013. 

That changed after 2016. Bernie Sanders’ presidential campaign highlighted disaffection with mainstream Democratic politics and helped consolidate a younger left wing, and DSA’s median member age dropped to 33 by 2017. One commentator described the shift as transforming the group from a “musty debate club for retired social democrats into an electoral powerhouse of young, ecumenical radicals.”

Electoral wins followed quickly. In 2017, fifteen DSA members won local and state offices, including Lee Carter’s election to the Virginia House of Delegates. The breakthrough came in 2018, when DSA member Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez defeated incumbent Congressman Joe Crowley in a primary upset in New York’s 14th District, becoming a national figure. She and Rashida Tlaib became the first two DSA members elected to Congress that year.

The organization’s footprint in elected office has continued to grow, with Ashik Siddique, a research analyst at one IPS program (National Priorities Project) who is also separately, and much more significantly, the current national co-chair of the DSA. That means that a sitting IPS staffer simultaneously holds DSA’s top elected position. 

Notable DSA-linked officials now include Ocasio-Cortez, Tlaib, and New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, elected in 2025. By 2025, more than 250 DSA members held elected office across 40 states, with 90% of them elected after 2019. As of mid-2026, DSA has grown to more than 120,000 members and now plays an influential role within the Democratic Party, and the group and its local chapters have endorsed 150 candidates this year, claiming 38 wins so far.

The group draws sharp fire from opponents. President Trump has characterized Mamdani and other DSA-backed candidates as “communist,” exposing their links to adversaries like the CCP – though DSA describes itself as aiming for “democratic socialism.”

Expert Colonel Tim Shindelar describes The New Left’s methodical inching into the Modern Left as “The Final Mile.” The Old Left (Marxism, 1908-1962; 54 years) was about class struggle and establishment of unions. The New Left (Social Justice, 1962-1982; 20 years), focused on issues like abortion, capital punishment, civil rights, environmentalism, feminism, gay rights and gender roles, and immigration. The Modern Left (Final Mile, 1982-present; 44 years) has evolved into policies like the Green New Deal, making higher education free, social ownership of the American economy (placing governors on true free market capitalism), national defense reduction, a Democratic Party shift into the progressive far left, along with pro-Palestinian and anti-Zionist causes.

The Media and The Last Mile

This shift to administrative power effectively renders elected officials powerless. Just because someone is elected to office doesn’t mean they have any real power; the administrative state will allow elected officials (even executive ones) to ride in the back but they cannot drive the car. 

Which means that voters are at the kids table, because it doesn’t matter who the elected official is if the power lies with the Administrative State…thus embodying and defining Wilson’s vision of keeping politics out of government because democracy is too important to be left to voters. The politics in which we all engage is merely a rubber match, and is unconnected to the outcome; the real match is occurring in a different stadium entirely. 

Much of this neutralization and marginalization of the actual people (voters), while maintaining the illusion that it is neither by validating the scrimmage to its participants, traces to mid-20th-century globalist planning (1952–1956), building on Wassily Leontief’s 1953 work aimed at phasing American labor to China while addressing excess human labor and galvanizing wealth concentration among a technocratic elite. Individual self-interest via game theory was expected to align populations toward what we now describe as the Singularity, but Marx’s framework did not anticipate AI collapsing labor demand to zero – accelerating the need for focused population control programs. But there would be no buy-in unless a different diorama was presented. 

The 1928 book Propaganda was written by the nephew of Sigmund Freud, Edward Bernays (1891–1995). Bernays was the son of Freud’s sister and also related through his mother, who was Freud’s sister. His father was also the brother of Freud’s wife Martha.  

Bernays is often called the “father of public relations” and Propaganda argued that manipulating public opinion is a necessary part of a functioning democracy. It drew heavily on his uncle’s psychoanalytic theories to explain how to influence mass behavior through unconscious desires rather than rational argument.  

George Orwell didn’t invent the world of 1984 out of thin air – he drew it directly from Stalinist Russia, where erasing and reshaping history was institutionalized state policy. Not long after Stalin consolidated control, images of Leon Trotsky, the driving force behind the 1905 and 1917 revolutions, started vanishing from public life. In their place came grand, fictionalized depictions of Stalin standing shoulder to shoulder with Lenin as co-architects of the Bolshevik uprising, while Trotsky, despite having founded the Red Army himself, was written out entirely. These doctored scenes became fixtures of Soviet propaganda, plastered across office walls, towering billboards, museum halls, and postage stamps.

The effect on public memory was profound. Younger citizens absorbed the fabrication as historical fact, while older ones who had lived through the actual events found their genuine recollections gradually blurring with the state’s preferred narrative – a strange kind of political false memory syndrome. People who reconciled what they actually remembered with that which the government insisted they believe developed what Orwell described as “doublethink.” Those who refused – old revolutionaries who knew firsthand – were branded traitors, class enemies, or fascist sympathizers; they faced arrest, torture, forced public confessions, and execution.

With total command over media and law enforcement, it is possible to rewrite the collective memory of an entire population if you have one generation in which to accomplish it. With fully infiltrated and captured institutions it is possible to take control over an entire country without firing a shot if you have two. We are in the final mile, and the ghost in the machine has a government ID.