The interaction between the National Institutes of Health’s funding practices and evolving legal language has placed universities, especially large recipients, in a position where grant terms can meaningfully affect research trajectories. The University of Michigan’s experience illustrates how newly introduced grant language can trigger pauses in funding, even as institutions are accustomed to predictable funding streams. This convergence of policy changes, civil rights enforcement tools, and executive-order rhetoric has added layers of risk assessments for researchers, administrators, and legal counsel across major research universities. The Michigan case shows not only how administrative decisions can pause support for long-standing research programs but also how the federal government’s shifting expectations about civil rights compliance and political values interacts with day-to-day scientific work. In short order, the environment surrounding NIH awards has shifted from a straightforward fiscal relationship to a complex governance issue that blends law, policy, and science in ways that universities are still learning to navigate.
Background: Michigan’s NIH funding pause and the emergence of new grant terms
In the early part of this year, a biomedical researcher at the University of Michigan received an update from the National Institutes of Health about funding for the upcoming year on the researcher’s multi-year grant. The NIH had given the green light to begin releasing funds, signaling that the initial steps of the fiscal cycle were proceeding as expected. However, not long after this signal, the university halted the release of funds through that same grant. The pause was not simply a budgetary decision; it grew out of internal legal considerations as university lawyers grappled with a difficult question: whether to accept new terms embedded in the NIH Notice of Award, the formal document that articulates the grant’s terms and conditions. What began as a routine administrative matter quickly evolved into a broader policy question with potential implications for the university’s entire portfolio of NIH awards.
The University of Michigan is a prominent example among NIH grantees, both in scale and in the potential impact of these terms. In 2024, it ranked among the top three university recipients of NIH funding, with more than $750 million in grants. The institution’s public affairs office did not provide detailed commentary on the matter when approached for this article, directing attention instead to its research website. Within conversations with Michigan scientists and in internal communications obtained by the reporting team, administrators explained that the delays were tied to new language appearing in NIH grant notices. The crux of the concern was the possibility that universities could face liability under a Civil War-era statute—the False Claims Act—if they failed to comply with civil rights laws and a January 20 executive-order framework related to gender. This combination of statutory risk and executive-policy language created a scenario in which universities faced legal exposure for what could be framed, in some circumstances, as a failure to meet civil-rights-related obligations embedded in grant terms.
Across the university, the anticipated effect of these terms was to loosen the normal rhythm of research funding. The delays were not simply administrative backlogs; they reflected a fundamental shift in how grant notices could potentially be construed and enforced. The university’s leadership, including its communications team, indicated a cautious approach to new requirements, particularly those that linked grant compliance to civil-rights standards and to executive-order commitments around gender identity, sex, and related policy areas. Because the Notice of Award language was newly introduced and nuanced, university attorneys and risk managers had to weigh the potential for significant liability against the practical needs of ongoing research programs. The stakes, in practical terms, were substantial: if a grant was ultimately deemed to violate the new terms, the government could, under the False Claims Act, seek to recover a portion of federal funds or, in the worst-case scenario, up to triple the amount of funds involved in the violation.
As the university’s leadership navigated these questions, the broader public discourse around NIH funding shifted in parallel. The attention of policymakers and commentators initially focused on actions the administration could take—such as freezing or terminating grants at elite institutions for alleged civil-rights violations or reconfiguring funding priorities in response to new political directions. The Michigan case, however, highlighted a crucial dynamic that often gets less attention: the way institutions themselves experience and respond to federal directives that touch on civil rights, diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) in the context of scientific research. The changes in the grant language were framed in legal terms and policy objectives, but the practical impact was measured in paused budgets, delayed experiments, and the possibility of personnel changes if funding did not resume promptly. The central narrative that emerges from this background is that NIH funding is now situated at the intersection of science management and legal risk management, with universities required to interpret and operationalize new compliance expectations in real time.
The hold affected not only the flow of funds but also the morale and confidence of researchers who rely on stable resources to maintain core laboratories and to sustain long-running programs. A number of researchers described a sense that the environment was shifting beneath their feet, with the possibility that decisions about funding could be influenced by factors beyond the science itself. One researcher characterized the atmosphere as a broader sense that “somebody’s out to get scientists,” a sentiment that reflected anxiety about how federal policy shifts might be used to leverage compliance or limit certain lines of inquiry. These concerns were compounded by the fact that the hold applied to a large portion of the university’s NIH portfolio. The pause was not simply about one grant; it indicated a latent vulnerability in the funding architecture that could have cascading effects across projects, personnel, and timelines. The potential for disruptive consequences drove a sense of urgency among researchers and administrators to understand the scope of the new terms, to assess their compliance obligations, and to determine how to proceed in a landscape where civil-rights law and grant policy are increasingly entwined.
In the weeks that followed, the university began to implement a dual-track approach. On one hand, officials sought to verify which awards would be affected and to ensure that institutional policies aligned with the new language in the notices. On the other hand, they sought practical ways to minimize disruption to research programs, including reordering grant schedules, reallocating internal resources where possible, and preparing communications to researchers that could explain the rationale behind the pause while offering reassurance about ongoing oversight and potential resumption timelines. Even as the public-facing posture remained cautious, behind the scenes there was an effort to maintain continuity of research wherever feasible, particularly for projects that were central to patient care and biomedical innovation. The dynamic in Ann Arbor, as in other research hubs, was one of balancing the need to remain compliant with civil-rights expectations and the imperative to preserve the continuity of scientific work that often depends on long-term planning and cross-disciplinary collaboration.
In the weeks after the initial pause, questions about which awards were affected began to crystallize through internal notices and communications. Some researchers observed, with limited access to information, that the hiatus could be wider than initially anticipated, potentially encompassing the vast majority of NIH-funded projects with multi-year commitments. Others noted that the university had begun releasing funds for certain awards, suggesting a staggered approach that could reflect varying risk assessments across departments or programs. In any case, the pattern indicated that the university was diligently evaluating the new terms and interpreting how they might translate into enforceable obligations and possible enforcement actions. The evolving narrative at the University of Michigan was not merely about budget mechanics; it was a case study in how major research institutions adapt to legal frameworks that tie federal funding to civil-rights compliance in ways that were not historically emphasized in NIH grant terms.
The administrative response also highlighted a broader trend in how universities approach government mandates when those mandates intersect with sensitive social and political issues. Even as institutions were careful to avoid mischaracterizing policies or overreacting to the optics of new compliance regimes, they faced the practical reality that noncompliance—whether by design or inadvertently—could carry heavy penalties under the False Claims Act. The possibility of triple damages, while discussed by legal scholars and policy observers, loomed as a potential worst-case scenario in the minds of administrators who were charged with safeguarding the university against financial risk while also ensuring that their research missions were not unduly constrained. This tension between risk aversion and research vitality became a defining feature of the Michigan episode, a microcosm of how universities might respond in a broader national context as more NIH notices include civil-rights-related provisions and as executive-order language shapes the interpretation of what constitutes compliance in the realm of federal research funding.
Throughout this period, the university’s leadership maintained a careful public stance, signaling adherence to civil-rights laws while avoiding substantive commentary on the legal underpinnings of the grant terms. The public affairs office pointed stakeholders to the institution’s research website for general information rather than offering detailed insights into the legal rationale behind the hold. This approach reflected a cautious communications strategy that prioritized institutional stability and the protection of ongoing research activities. In interviews with Michigan scientists and within internal communications reviewed by the reporting team, administrators sought to strike a balance between transparency and caution, acknowledging uncertainty about how the new terms would be applied and what the long-term implications might be for the university’s funding portfolio. The result was a period of introspection and recalibration in which stakeholders—researchers, grant administrators, legal counsel, and senior leadership—worked to interpret the evolving regulatory landscape in real time and to prepare for a range of possible outcomes, including the potential for rapid releases of funds or, conversely, protracted periods of uncertainty.
This background helps explain why the university’s public-facing narrative around the pause was nuanced and guarded, even as the underlying issues were widely debated among scholars, policymakers, and the legal community. The interplay between a Civil War-era liability framework, contemporary civil-rights enforcement, and the federal government’s A-to-Z approach to grant administration created a novel risk environment for institutions accustomed to predictable, grant-specific obligations. The Michigan case thus serves as a lens into how universities might navigate the next waves of policy shifts that attach legal consequences to civil-rights compliance within the grant process, how they decide when to accept new terms, and how to communicate those decisions to researchers whose work depends on consistent funding streams. It also foreshadows a broader national conversation about whether the government’s use of the False Claims Act and related enforcement tools will become a de facto gatekeeper for research practices, or whether universities will push back through litigation, policy negotiation, or a rethinking of how grant terms are structured to align scientific integrity with civil-rights objectives.
In sum, the Michigan experience underscores a critical shift: NIH funding is increasingly entangled with civil-rights compliance expectations and executive-order rhetoric that demand careful legal interpretation and proactive risk management by universities. The pause in funding—whether temporary or more extensive—illustrates that the path from grant notice to funded research cannot be assumed to be linear or immune to policy shifts. As the federal landscape continues to evolve, universities must anticipate that grant notices may carry robust compliance statements, and they must ensure that their internal governance mechanisms, from research administration to legal counsel, can translate federal requirements into operational realities on campus. The implications go beyond a single grant or a single institution; they point to a fundamental rethinking of how scientific funding is conditioned, monitored, and enforced in the current era.
The legal framework at work: The False Claims Act, civil rights, and evolving enforcement
The shifting NIH landscape cannot be fully understood without a careful look at the legal framework that binds federal funding to compliance with civil-rights and related policies. Central to the discussion is the False Claims Act (FCA), a decades-old statute that authorizes the government to recover treble damages in cases where someone knowingly submits a false claim for payment or approval of government dollars. The FCA’s reach, particularly the possibility of treble damages—meaning up to three times the financial harm caused—creates a powerful incentive for institutions to tighten controls and err on the side of caution when evaluating new grant terms that could implicate compliance obligations. In the context of NIH funding, the prospect of FCA liability is framed as a potential consequence for failing to adhere to civil-rights obligations or to certify compliance with related executive-order directives. The theoretical maximum exposure for a large university in a major program could amount to billions of dollars if multiple awards and claims were implicated, especially in a scenario where a court finds that submissions contained knowing false statements or deliberate misrepresentations.
Two additional features of the FCA contribute to the complexity of the Michigan case and to the broader risk calculus for universities. The first is the statutory “three-times” damages provision, which many observers describe as the most potent enforcement tool in federal civil fraud cases. The second, the qui tam mechanism, allows private plaintiffs to file action on behalf of the United States and to potentially gain part of any recovery if their suit results in a government win. The qui tam provision can magnify the government’s enforcement reach and can be a powerful incentive for whistleblowers or private parties to act as prosecutors in federal fraud cases, sometimes notwithstanding the government’s own capacity to identify and pursue all instances of fraud. While the government does not automatically pursue every potential FCA violation, and while it does not always endorse private actions in every context, the possibility that a private entity could initiate litigation and trigger a multi-billion-dollar liability is a potent deterrent and an important consideration for university decision-makers.
In the Michigan context, experts emphasize that the FCA’s liability regime intersects with a broader regulatory framework governing civil rights and anti-discrimination compliance. The January 20 executive-order framework referenced in grant notices is not merely ceremonial; it is a policy signal about the government’s expectations in areas such as gender identity, sex-based rights, religious conscience, and related civil-rights protections. The executive order’s emphasis on “clear and accurate language and policies that recognize women are biologically female, and men are biologically male” represents a particular ideological stance incorporated into grant terms. While the order is subject to administrative interpretation and legal challenge, the presence of such language in NIH Notices of Award—along with other civil-rights compliance commitments—means universities must consider whether their internal policies and practices align with these directives. The four bullets in the notice, including an acknowledgment that “a knowing false statement” regarding compliance may trigger FCA liability, add a layer of potential punitive action that could be asserted even if the underlying civil-rights issues themselves would be subject to separate enforcement mechanisms.
The policy environment in which the FCA operates in this context has evolved in tandem with other federal actions. On April 21, NIH issued a policy requiring universities to certify that they will not participate in discriminatory DEI activities or boycotts of Israel, signaling a broader commitment to certain social and political objectives as a condition of funding. The policy’s trajectory—briefly rescinded, reinstated, and then rescinded again as White House oversight and guidance evolved—illustrates the volatile nature of grant terms that can be introduced, altered, or removed in response to shifting political guidance. In May, an announcement from the Department of Justice reinforced the use of the FCA in civil rights enforcement, underscoring that the government views civil-rights compliance as a domain where federal funds can be at risk if noncompliance is alleged. Taken together, these policy actions create a framework in which universities must interpret a mosaic of requirements: civil-rights compliance, anti-discrimination commitments aligned with DEI or anti-boycott stances, gender-identity and sex-based policies, and the broader civil-liberties concerns that the government expects institutions to honor.
From a legal-interpretation perspective, a central question is where a university’s responsibility begins and ends within this complex web of obligations. Institutions can adopt policies and training programs to align with civil-rights expectations, but the question remains whether these official statements are enough to guarantee compliance in the eyes of federal regulators or whether ad hoc or campus-level actions could be construed as noncompliant. For example, a student group or a department within a university could act in a way that diverges from the adopted institutional policy, potentially leading to a perception that the university, as a whole, is not in compliance. Critics and some legal scholars argue that the FCA-liability framework can be weaponized when it is aligned with political or ideological agendas aimed at suppressing speech or pressuring institutions in a way that extends beyond the original intent of the anti-fraud statute.
A number of experts assert that the FCA’s liability threshold—knowing misrepresentation or deliberate ignorance—can provide universities with strong grounds to defend themselves in court. They emphasize that the standard is high and that a successful FCA action requires clear evidence of intent or a willful disregard of facts. Nevertheless, the fear of even the possibility of such liability—especially with the potential to claim triple damages—drives risk-averse decision-making within research administrations. The risk calculus is not simply a matter of whether civil-rights laws are fully complied with in all campus activities; it also concerns how grant notices can be interpreted by a federal administration that may hold broad and sometimes ambiguous views about what constitutes compliance in the modern research environment. The explanation offered by some legal scholars is that universities are generally well-positioned to prevail in court because the high standard for FCA liability demands clear proof of knowing falsity, yet the threat of litigation can significantly influence institutional behavior even if ultimate legal outcomes are uncertain.
In this frame, the Michigan case also raises questions about how best to resolve disputes between universities and federal agencies over grant terms. Some scholars suggest that it could be beneficial for trade associations and university coalitions to undertake strategic legal challenges that examine the constitutionality and statutory compatibility of the new NIH terms. There is an argument, made by one libertarian legal scholar, that these conditions on spending may be unconstitutional if they extend beyond what Congress authorized. The core of such a challenge would be to analyze whether the government’s use of the FCA to enforce civil-rights compliance in grant agreements lies within Congress’s constitutional powers and whether it constitutes spending conditions that are appropriately tied to scientific activity. These debates, while theoretical in some contexts, have real consequences for how universities prepare for potential litigation or settlement strategies, and they influence how aggressively institutions pursue a legal defense against expansive or vague grant terms.
From the NIH’s perspective, the agency has not publicly engaged in a direct response to these concerns in this specific report, but the absence of a formal comment does not diminish the weight of the policy changes observed in grant notices and official communications. The interplay of FCA risk, civil-rights enforcement, and executive-order-driven requirements creates a terrain where universities must assess both their legal exposure and their capacity to deliver high-quality, compliant scientific research. In practical terms, the FCA framework pushes universities toward more robust internal controls, comprehensive compliance training for researchers and administrative staff, and more careful review of grant terms during the award process. The hope among policymakers and administrators who accept these terms is that such measures will reduce fraudulent claims and ensure that federal dollars are used in ways that align with civil-rights and public-policy objectives. Yet, the dynamic nature of the policy landscape means that institutions must be prepared for ongoing adjustments to grant terms and the potential for new enforcement actions that could change the financial and operational calculus for research programs.
In sum, the FCA’s role in this evolving environment is both punitive and preventive: punitive in its capacity to impose substantial damages for misrepresentations, and preventive in shaping university governance and grant-management practices to minimize the risk of noncompliance. The December-to-June period in federal policy and grant notices demonstrated how quickly terms can be added, removed, or reinterpreted, and how such changes can translate into real-world consequences for research planning and the confidence of researchers about the stability of funding. As universities increasingly navigate the FCA landscape in conjunction with civil-rights expectations and executive-order guidance, the question becomes how best to design internal processes that can adapt to shifting requirements, how to communicate these changes effectively to researchers, and how to maintain a robust research enterprise even when policy directions appear unsettled or ambiguous. The Michigan case, therefore, offers a concrete example of how the FCA and civil-rights enforcement mechanisms intersect with scientific funding and departmental decision-making, underscoring the need for strategic planning and legal clarity in the management of federal research dollars.
Policy shifts, DEI, and Israel-related certification: What changed in NIH notices
The policy environment around NIH grant notices has become increasingly complex, with multiple shifts occurring over a short period that have significant implications for how universities certify compliance and how they manage DEI commitments. One of the most visible changes has been the introduction of language tying grant compliance to a January 20 executive-order framework. This framework asserts a stance on gender and civil-rights matters and requires grant recipients to acknowledge and accept that noncompliance could trigger liability under the FCA. The notices have included language that not only references civil-rights laws but also requires a formal acknowledgment of the possibility of liability for knowledgeably false statements related to compliance. In practical terms, this means that institutions must carefully assess whether their internal policies, training programs, and institutional statements adequately reflect the expectations embedded in the executive order and the broader civil-rights enforcement posture that accompanies it. The risk associated with failing to meet these expectations is framed, in the notices, as a potential basis for FCA liability, reinforcing the concept that even subtle misalignments between policy declarations and actual practice could be construed as noncompliance.
In addition to civil-rights language, the NIH introduced a policy on April 21 that required universities to certify their nonparticipation in discriminatory DEI activities or boycotts of certain regions. Specifically, the policy aimed to ensure that grant recipients would not engage in activities deemed discriminatory or in alignment with political campaigns that could be interpreted as discriminatory in nature. The policy’s text noted that false statements regarding compliance would be subject to penalties under the FCA. This DEI-related certification requirement, although intended to promote inclusive and non-discriminatory practices, generated concerns among scholars and administrators about the breadth of interpretation and the potential for misapplication. The policy’s implementation was not static; it faced revisions, reversals, and re-evaluations amid ongoing White House guidance, signaling how fragile and negotiable such policy instruments can be within the federal policy ecosystem. The reverberations of this policy were not purely administrative; they affected grant applicants’ risk calculations, institutional decision-making, and the orientation of campus programs toward or away from certain DEI or anti-boycott positions in the name of compliance and funding stability.
The policy shifts also included an emphasis on addressing perceived or real anti-discrimination commitments in the context of gender rights and related policy areas. The January executive-order language, reinforced through grant notices, demanded that recipients acknowledge and address the administration’s stance on gender and civil rights, in effect elevating political considerations to the level of grant compliance. The four-bullet-point framework embedded in grant notices served as a structured checklist for recipients to address compliance concerns explicitly. One of the four bullets required an acknowledgement that a knowing false statement about compliance would trigger FCA liability. This is not a trivial requirement: it transforms how researchers and institutions must communicate about their compliance practices, how they document these practices, and how they audit and report potential inconsistencies between policy and practice. The explicit inclusion of the FCA provision in grant notices creates a formal mechanism by which enforcement can occur, even if the underlying civil-rights issues themselves may be subject to separate legal or policy proceedings.
Amid these changes, the NIH’s approach to implementation remained dynamic. In May, a Department of Justice announcement encouraged the use of the FCA to enforce civil-rights provisions, signaling a broader federal emphasis on civil-rights enforcement in the research funding context. The combined effect of these actions is a heightened sense of risk for universities, particularly for those with large NIH portfolios and substantial compliance mandates. The interplay between civil-rights enforcement, executive-order language, and DEI-related certification introduced a set of new decision criteria that administrators must weigh alongside scientific and budget considerations. This interface raises questions about how much weight should be given to civil-rights and political alignment when awarding and administering federal research dollars, and whether these expectations could be used (or misused) to influence not only compliance but also the direction of research agendas.
It is important to note that these policy changes did not occur in isolation. They took place during a period of broader federal activity in civil-rights enforcement and higher-education policy. Some observers argued that the expansion of FCA liabilities and the tightening of compliance expectations were designed to address concerns about civil-rights violations in universities or, more broadly, to deter certain activities that federal officials perceive as contrary to the administration’s values. Others warned that the terms could be vague, allowing for aggressive interpretation by federal officials or politically motivated enforcement that could undermine academic freedom or scientific innovation. In either case, the net effect for universities has been to create more elaborate compliance frameworks, more rigorous internal audits, and a higher threshold for risk tolerance when accepting grant terms. The practical impact has included legal and administrative churn, as well as a heightened sense of vigilance among researchers at institutions that rely heavily on NIH funding to support advanced biomedical research, clinical trials, and translational science.
The NIH’s policy moves, their reversals, and their alignment with Department of Justice enforcement create a complex governance landscape. Universities must not only ensure that their internal policies meet civil-rights obligations but also actively monitor how these obligations are codified in grant notices and how enforcement discretion could be exercised in the future. The dynamic nature of this landscape makes it difficult for institutions to establish a single, stable interpretation of what constitutes compliant conduct under NIH terms. Instead, universities must develop ongoing processes for policy review, risk assessment, and internal communication that can adapt as notices evolve and as White House guidance shifts. In practical terms, this means sustained collaboration among research administration, compliance offices, and senior leadership to monitor changes in grant terms, to interpret new language in ways that align with the university’s mission and legal obligations, and to devise strategies for communicating with researchers about any uncertainties or potential implications for funding.
The broader implication of these policy shifts is that grant eligibility and funding security increasingly depend on alignment with civil-rights expectations, executive-order language, and anti-discrimination commitments. The potential consequences of misalignment extend beyond financial loss; they include reputational risk, potential constraints on research topics, and the administrative burden associated with implementing and documenting compliance. The Michigan case thus offers a real-world example of how policy shifts at the federal level can translate into immediate, tangible effects on the day-to-day operations of universities and the strategic planning of research programs. It underscores the need for robust governance structures capable of parsing complex and sometimes ambiguous grant terms, while also highlighting the importance of transparent communication with researchers about the implications of these terms for their projects and for the university’s broader research portfolio.
The Michigan experience: funding pauses, resumed awards, and the human impact
The split between policy language and practical funding decisions became most explicit in Michigan’s experience, where researchers observed that funds thought to be released were placed on hold, and then began to flow again after a notable interval. The period of uncertainty affected more than a single grant; it signified a potential recharacterization of how the university would handle a large portion of its NIH portfolio under the new terms. The university’s public affairs office did not comment directly on the specifics of the legal arguments or the nuanced interpretation of the FCA provisions, but internal communications reviewed by researchers indicated a cautious approach to the new terms. In conversations with Michigan scientists and through documents obtained by the reporting team, administrators explained that the delays were driven by concerns about new language in NIH notices that could hold universities liable for civil-rights compliance under the FCA. The basis for these concerns lay in the possibility that universities would be required to certify compliance with civil-rights laws and related executive-order directives, with noncompliance potentially triggering lengthy enforcement actions.
The sheer scale of the university’s NIH awards heightens the potential consequences of such a hold. Michigan’s annual NIH portfolio includes tens of awards, with the potential for disruption across more than 270 awards if the status of funds were to be interpreted as noncompliant under the new terms. The internal conversations indicated that the delays could have ripple effects across laboratories, laboratories, and departments that rely on stable funding to maintain operations, hire staff, and advance long-term research goals. One of the most immediate and practical concerns raised by researchers who were affected by the pause was the risk of staff reductions or furloughs if the funding did not come through in a timely manner. The fear that “there’s a possibility that someone could be out of a job tomorrow” without a clear explanation or soon-to-be-resolved funding status reflects the anxiety felt by personnel at different levels of research programs who could be forced to adjust their hiring and continuation plans in response to uncertain funding.
Researchers who spoke with Undark on condition of anonymity described the personal and professional strain created by the pause. The prospect of interrupted funding for critical research lines created a sense of vulnerability and, in some instances, concern about the sustainability of large-scale studies that require stable, long-term support. The pressure was compounded by the knowledge that the federal funding environment had become more politicized, with civil-rights enforcement and executive-order directives potentially tilting how funds would be allocated. The stakes were not merely financial; the outcomes of these funding decisions could shape the scientific priorities of a research program, influence collaborations, and affect the ability to retain skilled personnel. The researchers’ accounts conveyed a palpable sense that federal policy shifts were now part of the operational reality of scientific work, as opposed to an abstract regulatory concern that existed in theory only.
On June 11, a few days after Undark circulated questions to the university’s public affairs office, an important development occurred: some researchers began receiving emails indicating that funding would be released for their previously paused awards. In addition, administrators were informed that the university would begin releasing funding for more than 270 awards that had been held. This shift—moving from a period of pause to one of release—marked a turning point and offered a glimpse into how the university intended to manage the accumulated delays and the new compliance expectations. Yet even as funds began to flow, the underlying questions about how to interpret the new grant language remained. The university’s approach appeared to be pragmatic: ensure that funds reach researchers to support ongoing work while continuing to monitor for compliance with civil-rights and DEI-related obligations embedded in grant notices. The challenge for the university was to reconcile the practical need to maintain scientific momentum with the legal and policy uncertainties that had prompted the pause in the first place.
This period of the Michigan case offers an instructive snapshot of how a large research university negotiates the tension between policy risk and scientific productivity. It highlights the delicate balance that administrators must strike when civil-rights commitments, executive-order stipulations, and enforcement actions intersect with the operational realities of funding research, managing budgets, and sustaining human capital. The human dimension—a university environment in which researchers depend on predictable financial support for their laboratories, staff, and ongoing projects—was front and center in the experiences of Michigan scientists who described the stakes in stark terms. The sense of insecurity around the funding status translated into practical concerns about project timelines, personnel stability, and the possibility of re-scoping research plans to accommodate potential fluctuations in funding. While the immediate funding issues were resolved, the broader policy question lingered: how will institutions plan and execute multi-year research agendas in a funding climate where new terms can be introduced, amended, or rescinded, with consequences that span legal liability and scientific integrity?
The Michigan case is not merely a localized incident; it raises broader questions about national policy and the consistency of grant terms across institutions. It illustrates how the infusion of FCA risk language into NIH grant notices can alter the daily lived experience of scientists, from grant administrators who must counsel researchers to the scholars who must decide whether to pursue experiments under terms that carry significant liability risk. The case also demonstrates the potential for a ripple effect: other universities might experience similar pauses or shifts in funding if they confront the same language in grant notices, particularly as the policy environment evolves and as White House guidance continues to shape civil-rights expectations in the research funding context. It is a live demonstration of how federal policy choices can shape not just the financial bottom line but also the strategic priorities of universities’ research enterprises, the safety margins around new research ideas, and the willingness of institutions to push into areas that might raise civil-rights concerns or be interpreted through the lens of compliance and enforcement. For researchers, the Michigan episode emphasizes the importance of staying informed about grant notice language, seeking timely guidance from legal and compliance offices, and preparing for the possibility that even well-established research programs could experience interruption or reconfiguration in response to shifting federal requirements.
Expert voices, risk, and the legal horizon: What scholars and practitioners think
The infusion of FCA risk language into NIH notices has sparked a robust and sometimes heated set of conversations among legal scholars, policymakers, and higher-education administrators. Some experts describe the Fiat-like certainty of a large-scale enforcement regime: the government’s ability to pursue claims against universities that it believes have submitted false statements about compliance, potentially resulting in multiple damage recoveries, is a powerful tool that could be used to reshape how institutions structure and defend research programs. Others caution that the FCA’s liability regime is subject to significant legal hurdles, and that the threshold for proving a knowing false claim remains high. In this framing, the risk is less about inevitably facing triple damages and more about the possibility that strategic litigation, threatened settlements, or the specter of large-scale enforcement could influence how universities choose to allocate resources, whether to pursue certain research directions, and how aggressively to pursue or defend against civil-rights litigation.
A prominent figure in this discussion is Samuel Bagenstos, a law professor at the University of Michigan who has served in the Biden administration as general counsel for the Department of Health and Human Services. Bagenstos emphasized the FCA’s potential as a broad enforcement mechanism that could have significant implications for the university’s finances. He noted that the false-claim framework provides a check on misrepresentation by government recipients and, by extension, creates incentives for institutions to maintain rigorous compliance cultures. Yet he also added an important caveat: he did not advise the university’s lawyers on the specific issue at hand, signaling that this remains a controversial and evolving area where opinions differ on how the law should be applied, how it should be interpreted by courts, and how universities should prepare their defenses. His perspective highlights a tension between the risk of aggressive enforcement and the likelihood that many FCA claims would require careful factual and legal analysis to determine whether a “knowing” false claim occurred.
Other legal scholars have pointed to the FCA’s qui tam provision as a double-edged sword. Richard Epstein, a libertarian legal scholar, suggested that the NIH’s new terms may be unconstitutional because they condition federal spending on issues that are not directly tied to scientific endeavor, and because such conditions may transcend Congress’s authority to regulate spending. Epstein proposed that if the terms challenge constitutional boundaries, they could be subject to formal judicial review and could drive significant litigation that might ultimately recalibrate the scope of federal power in the funding of scientific research. The implication of Epstein’s argument is that the current approach to grant terms, which intertwine civil-rights enforcement with federal funding, may provoke constitutional challenges that would require a higher court’s interpretation of the relationship between federal spending, regulatory conditions, and academic freedom.
The concerns raised by some scholars extend beyond constitutional questions to issues of pragmatism and policy implementation. Andrew Twinamatsiko, a director at the Center for Health Policy and the Law at the O’Neill Institute for National and Global Health Law at Georgetown University, underscored the ambiguity in terms like “gender ideology” and “DEI” that frequently appear in grant notices or related institutional policies. He argued that litigation-averse universities may retreat from certain programming or reduce innovative offerings, not only to avoid potential enforcement action but also to avoid ambiguity that could lead to misconstrued compliance failures. This line of thinking emphasizes how the ambiguity and breadth of new terms could lead to risk-averse behavior that dampens experimentation and the pursuit of novel research avenues. The concerns raised by Twinamatsiko highlight the broader risk management dilemma faced by universities: how to translate broad or vague policy directions into precise, defensible institutional standards that remain faithful to the core scientific mission and the university’s values.
Some observers have suggested that a political or policy coalition could push back against the NIH’s terms by pursuing a legal challenge. Richard Epstein and others have proposed that trade groups or coalitions of universities, potentially led by bodies such as the Association of American Universities, could play a role in testing the constitutionality and legal validity of the NIH’s grant terms. The argument here is that the national interest in supporting robust biomedical research must be balanced against the constitutional constraints on spending and the risk of enabling political enforcement through grants. These suggested legal paths would require careful preparation, robust legal arguments, and a willingness among universities to engage in protracted litigation. While these discussions are theoretical, they underscore the potential for a broader strategic stance by higher education institutions that could influence how NIH terms are structured in the future, how they are enforced, and how universities defend themselves against allegations of noncompliance.
Amid these discussions, some voices express surprise or skepticism about the inclusion of FCA language in NIH grant notices. Michael Yassa, a professor at the University of California, Irvine, who is a renowned neurobiology and behavior scientist and a study-section chair involved in NIH-funded work, noted that he was not aware of the new terms until contacted by Undark. His candid response indicated that many funded researchers may not immediately recognize the significance of FCA-triggering language in notices. He admitted that he would need to consult with a legal team to assess the implications for his own research and institution. This anecdote underscores another facet of the shared challenge: the rapid evolution of grant language can outpace researchers’ day-to-day understanding, forcing a rapid education in complex legal frameworks that were not historically central to scientific funding decisions.
Andrew Miltenberg, an attorney based in New York City with a national profile in Title IX litigation and related enforcement actions, assessed the legal landscape in stark terms: he questioned the rationale for including FCA language in the grant notices, contending that the terms did not belong in the grant framework and that they could be legally dubious. Miltenberg suggested that the terms may require judicial interpretation to determine their place within the grant context, emphasizing the potential for future lawsuits to clarify or reinterpret the scope of FCA liability in relation to grant compliance. Miltenberg’s comments reflect a broader sense in the legal community that the NIH’s approach may be overreaching or inadequately supported by existing statutory authority. His assessment speaks to a growing skepticism among some practitioners that grant terms should serve as mechanisms for civil-rights enforcement, especially when the terms blur lines between compliance oversight and the core scientific purpose of the funding.
Taken together, the expert perspectives reveal a field in flux: a set of well-established enforcement tools—such as the FCA—being deployed in creative ways that intertwine civil-rights policy with the administration of federal research funds. This hybrid dynamic creates a meaningful tension between institutions’ obligations to follow civil-rights law, researchers’ need for clear and predictable funding streams, and the government’s desire to pursue compliance through legal channels. The Michigan case is being watched as a potential bellwether for how universities across the United States will respond to the possibility of FCA enforcement tied to grant terms. Whether institutions choose to litigate, negotiate, or adjust internal policies will depend on their assessment of legal risk, funding needs, and the broader policy context that continues to evolve with White House guidance. In the meantime, researchers and administrators alike must navigate uncertainfederal expectations and the practical implications of grant terms that may be interpreted in multiple ways, sometimes with profound consequences for science, scholarship, and the ability of universities to sustain long-term research programs.
The human and institutional stakes: Can universities weather the FCA-influenced funding landscape?
Beyond the legal theory and policy debates, the practical consequences of FCA-linked grant language are felt most acutely by the people at the heart of research: the scientists. When a grant is paused under terms that could carry liability implications, researchers confront immediate operational challenges. The dampening effect on a research program can be tangible: a pause in funding can stall experiments, limit the ability to hire or retain staff, constrain the procurement of essential equipment, and impede the progression of clinical trials and translational research that rely on steady investment over time. In one vivid account from the Michigan context, a researcher described a scenario where “I don’t have a lot of money left,” highlighting the precarious financial position that can arise when funds are withheld for extended periods. The same researcher warned about the potential for personnel to be laid off or research activities to be halted if funding did not resume promptly, underscoring how the shifts in grant terms can transform a laboratory into a risk-managed environment where staff are vulnerable to decisions rooted in policy risk rather than scientific necessity.
The personal dimension is complemented by organizational and institutional consequences. Universities bear the burden of interpreting new grant terms, ensuring internal compliance, and communicating with researchers about the status and implications of funding decisions. The process requires heightened collaboration across offices of research, general counsel, and executive leadership, with frequent cross-checks to avoid misinterpretations that could expose the institution to FCA liability. The administrative overhead associated with this work—documenting certifications, training, and internal policies that align with evolving federal expectations—consumes time and resources that could otherwise be directed toward scientific innovation. This reallocation of resources can affect the efficiency of grant administration, potentially slowing down processes that previously benefited from a straightforward review and approval workflow.
In practical terms, universities must prepare for a future in which funding cycles are more dynamic and policy-driven than in the past. The Michigan case demonstrates that grant notices can incorporate safe harbors or risk signals embedded within the terms themselves, requiring institutions to respond with proactive risk management strategies rather than reactive responses after a problem has arisen. One implication is that grant offices may need to implement more robust pre-award reviews to assess how new terms could affect a project’s ability to proceed, including the potential impact on multi-year commitments, collaborations, and the ability to scale programs over time. Institutions may also need to review and revise internal policies that govern civil-rights compliance in research settings, to ensure that these policies are not only aligned with external requirements but also actionable in ways that researchers and staff can understand and implement in real time.
The Michigan experience also raises questions about how the scientific community should respond if a large portion of a university’s funding is subject to scrutiny under new FCA-linked terms. If a significant number of grants could be affected by noncompliance claims, institutions might consider creating multi-disciplinary task forces to monitor compliance, provide rapid guidance to researchers, and develop contingency plans to maintain research momentum even during periods of funding uncertainty. Such efforts would require careful balancing of transparency, researchers’ autonomy, and the university’s legal exposure. A proactive stance could help mitigate some of the adverse effects on science while preserving civil-rights commitments and ensuring alignment with federal expectations. The ultimate test is whether universities can maintain the integrity and breadth of their research agendas in a funding environment that emphasizes civil-rights compliance as a central criterion.
In addition to the internal governance implications, there are broader, systemic questions about the resilience of the U.S. research enterprise in the face of FCA-linked enforcement and civil-rights mandates within grant terms. For example, how will smaller institutions, which may have limited compliance resources, fare under a regime in which grant terms attach liability for civil-rights missteps? Will larger research universities with greater administrative capacity be better equipped to absorb the complexity, or will the policy environment exacerbate disparities in research capacity across the higher-education landscape? These are strategic questions for universities, funders, and policymakers as they seek to preserve the vitality of biomedical research while maintaining robust civil-rights protections. The Michigan case—though localized in scope—offers a cautionary tale about the fragility of even well-funded research ecosystems when confronted with a rapidly evolving enforcement framework that binds grant eligibility to civil-rights and other policy commitments.
From a human perspective, the narrative remains anchored in the scientists who push the frontiers of knowledge and the researchers whose careers hinge on stable, predictable funding. The anxieties expressed by researchers—concern about being targeted for retaliation, fear of sudden changes to funding status, and worry about how policy shifts could influence the direction of scientific inquiry—reflect a broader climate in which public policy and science are increasingly entangled. While some observers are confident that courts will ultimately interpret FCA liabilities in ways that protect scientific inquiry, others worry that the risk of litigation or enforcement actions could impose chilling effects on experimentation and collaboration. The diversity of opinions among scholars, practitioners, and researchers underscores the complexity of the issue and the need for thoughtful, evidence-based policymaking that protects both civil rights and the integrity of scientific research.
As this policy terrain continues to evolve, researchers and institutions will likely seek to balance two competing priorities: compliance with civil-rights and anti-discrimination standards, and the uninterrupted, forward momentum of biomedical research that has profound implications for public health and society. The Michigan experience demonstrates that the path toward reconciliation is not predetermined; it requires ongoing dialogue, careful interpretation of grant notices, and careful risk management by university leaders. It also suggests that the policy environment surrounding NIH funding will likely continue to reflect a tension between enforcement and scientific partnership—where officials, scholars, and administrators must negotiate a landscape that values civil rights and scientific excellence in roughly equal measure, recognizing that both are essential to the nation’s research agenda and to the public trust that supports federal investment in science.
Conclusion
The University of Michigan’s encounter with funding pauses, newly minted grant terms, and FCA-based risk signals offers a window into a broader shift in how federal research funding is governed. As NIH grant notices begin to embed civil-rights compliance language, and as the executive-order framework intersects with enforcement actions to shape grant terms, universities face a new normal in which funding decisions are inseparable from legal interpretation and policy direction. The consequences are real for researchers, administrators, and institutions as a whole: extended funding uncertainties, the need for more robust compliance and governance structures, and the potential for strategic legal action that could reframe constitutional questions around the spending power and the authority to condition federal dollars on civil-rights compliance. In this environment, the path forward for universities involves building resilient research ecosystems that can navigate this nexus of science and regulation, while continuing to pursue research that advances public health and scientific knowledge. As the policy landscape continues to evolve, the decisions made by universities in the near term will shape how federal funding is managed in the years ahead, setting precedents for how civil rights expectations and research excellence can be reconciled in a landscape characterized by complex legal instruments, evolving executive guidance, and a rigorous standard for truth and compliance in grant reporting.
