The College Meltdown Index: Profiting from the Wreckage of American Higher Education

“Education, once defended as a public good, now functions as a vehicle for private gain.”

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From Collapse to Contagion

The College Meltdown never truly ended—it evolved.

After a decade of spectacular for-profit implosions, the higher education sector has reconstituted itself around new instruments of profit: debt servicing, edtech speculation, and corporate “partnerships” that disguise privatization as innovation.

The College Meltdown Index—tracking a mix of education providers, servicers, and learning platforms—reveals a sector in quiet decay.

Legacy for-profits like National American University (NAUH) and Aspen Group (ASPU) trade at penny-stock levels, while Lincoln Educational (LINC) and Perdoceo (PRDO) stumble through cost-cutting cycles.

Even the supposed disruptors—Chegg (CHGG), Udemy (UDMY), and Coursera (COUR)—are faltering as user growth plateaus and AI reshapes their value proposition.

Meanwhile, SoFi (SOFI), Sallie Mae (SLM), and Maximus (MMS) thrive—not through learning, but through the management of debt.

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The Meltdown Graveyard

Below lies a sampling of the education sector’s ghost tickers—the silent casualties of a system that turned public trust into private loss.

Symbol	Institution	Status	Approx. Closure/Delisting
CLAS.U	Class Technologies	Defunct	2024
INST	Instructure (pre-acquisition)	Acquired by Thoma Bravo	2020
TWOUQ	2U, Inc.	Bankrupt	2025
CPLA	Capella University	Merged with Strayer (Strategic Ed.)	2018
ESI-OLD	ITT Technical Institute	Defunct	2016
EDMC	Education Management Corporation	Defunct	2018
COCO-OLD	Corinthian Colleges	Defunct	2015
APOL	Apollo Education Group (U. of Phoenix)	Taken Private	2017

Each ticker represents not only a failed business model—but a generation of indebted students.

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The Phoenix That Shouldn’t Have Risen

No institution better symbolizes this moral decay than the University of Phoenix and Phoenix Education Partners (PXED).

At its height, Phoenix enrolled nearly half a million students. By 2017, following federal investigations and mass defaults, Apollo Education Group—its parent company—collapsed under scrutiny.

But rather than disappearing, Phoenix was quietly resurrected through a private equity buyout led by Apollo Global Management, Vistria Group, and Najafi Companies.

Freed from public oversight, the university continued to enroll vulnerable adult learners, harvesting federal aid while shedding accountability.

In 2023, the University of Idaho’s proposed acquisition of Phoenix provoked national outrage, forcing state officials to confront a basic question: Should a public university absorb a for-profit brand built on exploitation?

The deal collapsed—but the temptation to monetize Phoenix’s infrastructure remains. In 2025, a small portion became publicly traded.  Its call centers and online systems remain models of enrollment efficiency, designed to extract just enough engagement to secure tuition payments.

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From Education to Extraction

The sector’s transformation reveals a deeper moral hazard.

If students succeed, investors profit.
If students fail, federal subsidies and servicer contracts ensure the money keeps flowing.

Executives face no downside. Shareholders are protected. The losses fall on students and taxpayers.

In this sense, the “meltdown” is not a market failure—it’s a market design.

“The winners are those who most efficiently extract value from hope.”

Public universities increasingly partner with private Online Program Managers (OPMs), leasing their brands to companies that control marketing, pricing, and student data. The once-clear line between public and for-profit education has blurred beyond recognition.

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The Quiet Winners of Collapse

A few companies continue to prosper by aligning with “practical” or “mission-safe” sectors:

• Adtalem (ATGE) in nursing and health education,

• Grand Canyon Education (LOPE) in faith-branded online degrees,

• Bright Horizons (BFAM) in corporate childcare and workforce training.

Yet all remain heavily dependent on public dollars and tax incentives. The state subsidizes their existence; the market collects the rewards.

Meanwhile, 2U’s bankruptcy leaves elite universities scrambling to explain how a publicly traded OPM, once championed as the future of online learning, could disintegrate overnight—taking with it a network of high-priced “nonprofit” certificate programs.

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A Reckoning Deferred

The College Meltdown Index exposes a system that has internalized its own failures.
Fraud has been replaced by financial engineering, transparency by outsourcing, and accountability by spin.

The real collapse is not in the market—but in moral logic. Education, once the cornerstone of social mobility, has become a speculative instrument traded between hedge funds and holding companies.

Until policymakers—and universities themselves—confront the ethics of profit in higher education, the meltdown will persist, slowly consuming what remains of the public good.

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“The real question is not whether the system will collapse, but who will rebuild it—and for whom.”

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Sources:

• Higher Education Inquirer, College Meltdown 2.0 Index (Nov. 2025)

• SEC Filings (2010–2025)

• U.S. Department of Education, Heightened Cash Monitoring Reports

• An American Sickness – Elisabeth Rosenthal

• The Goosestep – Upton Sinclair

• Medical Apartheid – Harriet A. Washington

• Body and Soul – Alondra Nelson

• The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks – Rebecca Skloot

The Right-Wing Roots of EdTech

The modern EdTech industry is often portrayed as a neutral, innovative force, but its origins are deeply political. Its growth has been fueled by a fusion of neoliberal economics, right-wing techno-utopianism, patriarchy, and classism, reinforced by racialized inequality. One of the key intellectual architects of this vision was George Gilder, a conservative supply-side evangelist whose work glorified technology and markets as liberating forces. His influence helped pave the way for the “Gilder Effect”: a reshaping of education into a market where technology, finance, and ideology collide, often at the expense of marginalized students and workers.

The for-profit college boom provides the clearest demonstration of how the Gilder Effect operates. John Sperling’s University of Phoenix, later run by executives like Todd Nelson, was engineered as a credential factory, funded by federal student aid and Wall Street. Its model was then exported across the sector, including Risepoint (formerly Academic Partnerships), a company that sold universities on revenue-sharing deals for online programs. These ventures disproportionately targeted working-class women, single mothers, military veterans, and Black and Latino students. The model was not accidental—it was designed to exploit populations with the least generational wealth and the most limited alternatives. Here, patriarchy, classism, and racism intersected: students from marginalized backgrounds were marketed promises of upward mobility but instead left with debt, unstable credentials, and limited job prospects.

Clayton Christensen and Michael Horn of Harvard Business School popularized the concept of “disruption,” providing a respectable academic justification for dismantling public higher education. Their theory of disruptive innovation framed traditional universities as outdated and made way for venture-capital-backed intermediaries. Yet this rhetoric concealed a brutal truth: disruption worked not by empowering the disadvantaged but by extracting value from them, often reinforcing existing inequalities of race, gender, and class.

The rise and collapse of 2U shows how this ideology plays out. Founded in 2008, 2U promised to bring elite universities online, selling the dream of access to graduate degrees for working professionals. Its “flywheel effect” growth strategy relied on massive enrollment expansion and unsustainable spending. Despite raising billions, the company never turned a profit. Its high-profile acquisition of edX from Harvard and MIT only deepened its financial instability. When 2U filed for bankruptcy, it was not simply a corporate failure—it was a symptom of an entire system built on hype and dispossession.

2U also became notorious for its workplace practices. In 2015, it faced a pregnancy discrimination lawsuit after firing an enrollment director who disclosed her pregnancy. Women workers, especially mothers, were treated as expendable, a reflection of patriarchal corporate norms. Meanwhile, many front-line employees—disproportionately women and people of color—faced surveillance, low wages, and impossible sales quotas. Here the intersections of race, gender, and class were not incidental but central to the business model. The company extracted labor from marginalized workers while selling an educational dream to marginalized students, creating a cycle of exploitation at both ends of the pipeline.

Financialization extended these dynamics. Lenders like Sallie Mae and Navient, and servicers like Maximus, turned students into streams of revenue, with Student Loan Asset-Backed Securities (SLABS) trading debt obligations on Wall Street. Universities, including Purdue Global and University of Arizona Global, rebranded failing for-profits as “public” ventures, but their revenue-driven practices remained intact. These arrangements consistently offloaded risk onto working-class students, especially women and students of color, while enriching executives and investors.

The Gilder Effect, then, is not just about technology or efficiency. It is about reshaping higher education into a site of extraction, where the burdens of debt and labor fall hardest on those already disadvantaged by patriarchy, classism, and racism. Intersectionality reveals what the industry’s boosters obscure: EdTech has not democratized education but has deepened inequality. The failure of 2U and the persistence of predatory for-profit models are not accidents—they are the logical outcome of an ideological project rooted in conservative economics and systemic oppression.

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Sources

• EdSurge. “What a New Strategy at 2U Means for the Future of Online Higher Education.” August 5, 2022. https://www.edsurge.com/news/2022-08-05-what-a-new-strategy-at-2u-means-for-the-future-of-online-higher-education

• Newswire. “2U Faces Lawsuit for Pregnancy Discrimination.” June 2015. https://www.newswire.com/news/2u-faces-lawsuit-for-pregnancy-discrimination

• Christensen, Clayton M. and Michael B. Horn. Disrupting Class. McGraw-Hill, 2008.

• McMillan Cottom, Tressie. Lower Ed: The Troubling Rise of For-Profit Colleges in the New Economy. The New Press, 2017.

• Cellini, Stephanie Riegg. “For-Profit Higher Education: An Assessment of Costs and Benefits.” National Bureau of Economic Research, 2012.

• Rosenthal, Elisabeth. An American Sickness. Penguin, 2017.

Will Maximus and Its Subsidiary AidVantage See Cuts?

Maximus Inc., the parent company of federal student loan servicer Aidvantage, is facing growing financial and existential threats as the Trump administration completes a radical budget proposal that would slash Medicaid by hundreds of billions of dollars and cut the U.S. Department of Education in half. These proposed changes could gut the very federal contracts that have fueled Maximus's revenue and investor confidence over the last two decades. Once seen as a steady player in the outsourcing of public services, Maximus now stands at the edge of a political and technological cliff.

The proposed Trump budget includes a plan to eliminate the Office of Federal Student Aid and transfer the $1.6 trillion federal student loan portfolio to the Small Business Administration. This proposed restructuring would remove Aidvantage and other servicers from their current roles, replacing them with yet-unnamed alternatives. While Maximus has profited enormously from servicing loans through Aidvantage—one of the major federal loan servicers—it is unclear whether the company has any role in this new Trump-led student loan regime. The SBA, which lacks experience managing consumer lending and repayment infrastructure, could subcontract to politically favored firms or simply allow artificial intelligence to replace human collectors altogether.

This possibility is not far-fetched. A 2023 study by Yale Insights explored how AI systems are already outperforming human debt collectors in efficiency, compliance, and scalability. The report examined the growing use of bots to handle borrower communication, account resolution, and payment tracking. These developments could render Maximus’s human-heavy servicing model obsolete. If the federal government shifts toward automated collection, it could bypass Maximus entirely, either through privatized tech-driven firms or through internal platforms that require fewer labor-intensive contracts.

On the health and human services side of the business, Maximus is also exposed. The company has long served as a contractor for Medicaid programs across several states, managing call centers and eligibility support. But with Medicaid facing potentially devastating cuts in the proposed Trump budget, Maximus’s largest and most stable contracts could disappear. The company’s TES-RCM division has already shown signs of unraveling, with anonymous reports suggesting a steep drop-off in clients and the departure of long-time employees. One insider claimed, “Customers are dropping like flies as are longtime employees. Not enough people to do the little work we have.”

Remote Maximus employees are also reporting layoffs and instability, particularly in Iowa, where 34 remote workers were terminated after two decades of contract work on state Medicaid programs. Anxiety is spreading across internal forums and layoff boards, as workers fear they may soon be out of a job in a shrinking and increasingly automated industry. Posts on TheLayoff.com and in investor forums indicate growing unease about the company’s long-term viability, particularly in light of the federal budget priorities now taking shape in Washington.

While Maximus stock (MMS) continues to trade with relative strength and still appears profitable on paper, it is increasingly reliant on government spending that may no longer exist under a Trump administration intent on dismantling large parts of the federal bureaucracy. If student loan servicing is eliminated, transferred, or automated, and Medicaid contracts dry up due to funding cuts, Maximus could lose two of its biggest revenue streams in a matter of months. The company’s contract with the Department of Education, once seen as a long-term asset, may become a political liability in a system being restructured to reward loyalty and reduce regulatory oversight.

The question now is not whether Maximus will be forced to downsize—it already is—but whether it will remain a relevant player in the new federal landscape at all. As artificial intelligence, austerity, and ideological realignment converge, Maximus may be remembered less for its dominance and more for how quickly it became unnecessary.

The Higher Education Inquirer will continue tracking developments affecting federal student loan servicers, government contractors, and the broader collapse of the administrative state.

Maximus AidVantage Contracts with the US Department of Education Publicly Available

The Higher Education Inquirer has received all the current contracts between the US Department of Education and Maximus/AidVantage through a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request. Maximus serves millions of student loan debtors and has faced increased scrutiny (and loss of revenues) for not fulfilling their duties on time. 

The FOIA response (23-01436-F) consists of a zip file of 998 pages in 5 separate files. HEI is sharing this information with any news outlet or organization for free, however we would appreciate an acknowledgement of the source. 

We have already reached out to a number of organizations, including the Student Borrower Protection Center, the Debt Collective, the Project on Predatory Lending, the NY Times, ProPublica, and Democracy Now!  We have also posted this article at the r/BorrowerDefense subreddit.