An Open Letter to the ASU+GSV Summit Committee: Who Does Your North Star Truly Guide?
Dear Members of the ASU+GSV Summit Committee,
Every year, your event brings together the brightest minds in education, technology, and venture capital to discuss the future of learning. The promise of “innovation for all” and “equity at scale” is woven into the Summit’s mission, framed as a North Star guiding decisions that could reshape how billions of people access knowledge. But as the Summit grows in influence—and as its sponsors, speakers, and agendas evolve—a critical question lingers: Who truly benefits from this North Star?
Let’s start by acknowledging the good. The ASU+GSV Summit has amplified groundbreaking ideas, from adaptive learning platforms to workforce development initiatives. It’s created a space where educators, entrepreneurs, and policymakers can collaborate. Yet beneath the glossy panels and celebratory keynotes, there’s an uncomfortable tension between the Summit’s stated ideals and its operational realities.
The Disconnect Between Rhetoric and Action
The Summit’s tagline, “Everyone Has the Right to Equal Access to the Future,” is undeniably inspiring. But when we examine who dominates the conversation—and who funds it—the picture becomes murkier. Venture capitalists and edtech CEOs fill prime speaking slots, while grassroots educators and marginalized students often feel like afterthoughts. Last year, less than 15% of mainstage speakers represented public K-12 schools or community colleges, institutions that serve the majority of learners in the U.S.
This imbalance isn’t just symbolic. It shapes the Summit’s priorities. Panels on “the future of AI in education” attract millions in funding and media attention, while sessions on fixing crumbling school infrastructure or addressing teacher shortages are relegated to side stages. When a for-profit coding bootcamp secures more airtime than a rural school district battling broadband inequity, what message does that send about whose problems matter?
The Venture Capital Conundrum
No one disputes that innovation requires investment. But when venture capital becomes the primary engine driving education’s “transformation,” we risk conflating profitability with progress. Consider this: In 2023, over 70% of startups featured in the Summit’s pitch competitions focused on products for affluent markets—test prep tools, corporate upskilling platforms, or AI tutors priced beyond the reach of public schools. Meanwhile, solutions for adult literacy, special education, or multilingual learners rarely make the cut.
This isn’t accidental. Venture capitalists seek scalable returns, not incremental improvements. But education isn’t a typical market. The students who need the most support—those in underfunded districts, those with disabilities, those navigating systemic barriers—are often the least lucrative to serve. If the Summit’s North Star prioritizes investor-friendly innovations, are we quietly sidelining the communities that inspired the Summit’s mission in the first place?
A Question of Representation
Diversity metrics at the Summit have improved, but true inclusion requires more than checking demographic boxes. It demands centering voices that challenge the status quo. How many sessions have featured students explaining how edtech tools failed them? How many panels included critics of data privacy practices in K-12 software? When a Summit attendee can spend three days immersed in discussions about “disruption” without hearing a single teacher’s union perspective, it’s worth asking: Are we fostering dialogue—or an echo chamber?
Even the language of “disruption” feels at odds with the collaborative, patient work of education reform. Real change in schools happens through partnership, policy shifts, and sustained investment—not just flashy apps or viral TED Talks. By glamorizing Silicon Valley’s “move fast and break things” ethos, the Summit risks undermining the very institutions it claims to uplift.
A Path Forward: Recentering the North Star
This isn’t a call to dismantle the Summit but to realign it. Here’s how:
1. Elevate Unseen Innovators: Reserve mainstage slots for leaders from Title I schools, HBCUs, and rural districts. Let them define what “innovation” looks like in contexts where resources are scarce but creativity is abundant.
2. Rethink Funding Priorities: Launch a fund dedicated to scaling non-commercial solutions—open-source platforms, teacher-led initiatives, or community partnerships that prioritize equity over ROI.
3. Create Accountability Mechanisms: Form an independent advisory board of students, parents, and public educators to audit the Summit’s agenda and ensure its programming reflects the full spectrum of educational needs.
4. Amplify Dissent: Invite critics to engage in structured debates. Let’s discuss the ethical implications of AI in classrooms, the pitfalls of privatizing public education, and the gaps between edtech promises and realities.
The ASU+GSV Summit has the potential to be more than a networking hub for the elite. It could become a model for how power, capital, and creativity can converge to serve all learners. But this requires interrogating uncomfortable truths about who holds influence—and who gets left behind.
So, Committee Members, I leave you with this challenge: When you look to your North Star, whose faces do you see reflected in its light? Are they the faces of venture capitalists celebrating exits, or the faces of a first-generation student logging into her first virtual class? The answer will determine whether the Summit remains a well-intentioned gathering or evolves into a transformative force for global education.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Advocate for Equitable Education
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