Steven Mintz’s Exit from Inside Higher Ed: A Thoughtful Retreat or Quiet Surrender?

After more than a decade of weekly columns on the shifting terrain of academia, Steven Mintz—professor, public intellectual, and longtime contributor to Inside Higher Ed—has stepped away from his platform, “Higher Ed Gamma.” In his farewell post, Mintz characterizes the move as a philosophical shift, not a retreat. But for those engaged in the daily battles to defend the public mission of higher education, his withdrawal from one of the few widely read, accessible venues for higher ed critique feels like something else: a concession at a moment when visibility and resistance are needed more than ever.

Mintz says he is no longer as interested in “reacting to headlines,” preferring instead to explore the quieter realms of cultural inquiry—grappling with themes like grief, historical consciousness, and the inner lives of students through essays on Bob Dylan, T. S. Eliot, and opera. His transition to Substack, where he will continue to write freely and thoughtfully, signals an intentional shift toward what he calls “a different rhythm.”

But what happens when thought leaders retreat from public forums just as the foundations of higher education are being dismantled?

Mintz’s departure from Inside Higher Ed comes amid a historic and escalating assault on higher education’s core values: the elimination of DEI programs, political meddling in public institutions, massive layoffs, closures of small colleges, and a crisis of labor precarity among adjuncts and graduate students. It is a time of culture war, economic shock, and administrative capture—one that demands vigilance, confrontation, and critical dialogue. The silence of well-respected voices like Mintz, even when artfully composed, leaves a vacuum at precisely the wrong moment.

To be sure, Mintz has always occupied an ambiguous space in the higher ed discourse: never quite a radical, but often reflective and open to challenging assumptions. He offered important insights about student success, the role of the humanities, and institutional reform. But his columns were also marked by a cautious optimism that sometimes failed to account for the structural brutality many faculty, staff, and students experience daily—from exploitative adjunct labor to debt peonage and corporate takeovers of the academy.

In retreating from Inside Higher Ed—a public-facing, open-access platform—and into Substack, a more insular, self-selecting venue, Mintz risks preaching to a smaller choir. His musings on literature, aesthetics, and ambiguity, while intellectually rich, come at the cost of direct engagement with the high-stakes political and economic struggles now engulfing academia. In a word: the move feels safe.

But there is no safety for the contingent instructor evicted from their job mid-semester. No retreat for students saddled with unpayable debt. No intellectual sanctuary for librarians, counselors, and staff facing layoffs. The reality of higher ed today demands more than reflective essays on opera and poetry; it demands solidarity, analysis, and resistance.

To be fair, Mintz is not abandoning the field entirely. He promises to continue writing “sometimes about higher ed, sometimes about what it means to be human.” That is a noble aim. But as the privatization and defunding of higher education accelerate, and as faculty governance erodes in favor of corporate management, the fight to preserve the very possibility of the humanities and liberal inquiry depends on public intellectuals remaining in the arena, not retreating to side chambers of culture.

Mintz closes his farewell with an affirmation that “education—real education—is still worth defending.” We agree. But the defense requires more than aesthetic reflection. It requires naming enemies, calling out injustice, and staying embedded in the public struggles that define this moment in American education.

For those of us who continue the work of muckraking, exposing inequality, and sounding alarms about the corporatization of the university, Mintz’s exit from Inside Higher Ed is less a turning of the page than a missed opportunity to stand firm. The page is burning, and too many are still waiting for the writers to put out the fire.

Remembering Bill Moyers (1934-2025)

In a media landscape often dominated by soundbites, spin, and sensationalism, Bill Moyers was a rare voice of clarity, compassion, and conscience. With his passing, America has lost not only a gifted journalist and public intellectual but also one of its most courageous truth-tellers.

For more than half a century, Moyers stood at the intersection of journalism, politics, and public education—unyielding in his pursuit of justice and understanding. From his early days as White House Press Secretary under President Lyndon Johnson to his groundbreaking work with PBS, Moyers embodied the spirit of democratic inquiry: probing deeply, listening intently, and speaking boldly. He held the powerful to account, but always with the dignity and decency that defined his Texan roots and Baptist upbringing.

Bill Moyers never saw journalism as a career; he saw it as a calling. His programs—Now with Bill Moyers, Bill Moyers Journal, and Moyers & Company—were sanctuaries for critical thought and inconvenient truths. He gave voice to the voiceless: whistleblowers, teachers, laborers, poets, and prophets. In a time when the corporate capture of media narrowed the spectrum of acceptable opinion, Moyers stretched it wide—amplifying progressive theologians, investigative reporters, civil rights leaders, and scholars ignored by commercial networks.

His love of learning, and his belief in public education as a democratic cornerstone, made him a champion of educators and lifelong learners. He understood that education is not merely about credentials or career preparation, but about cultivating the moral imagination. That insight animated his long relationship with public broadcasting, where he insisted that television could—and should—educate, illuminate, and elevate.

Bill Moyers also saw through the fog of power. He knew how elite institutions—government, media, universities, and corporations—could align to manufacture consent and mystify the public. And yet he maintained hope. Not a naive optimism, but a deep belief in people’s capacity to awaken, organize, and transform society. As he once said, “Democracy is not a lie, it is a leap of faith. But you need to keep leaping.”

In a moment when American higher education faces crises of affordability, access, and meaning—when trust in journalism is frayed, and when truth itself feels embattled—Bill Moyers’ legacy reminds us that integrity matters. So does context, complexity, and compassion.

His loss is personal for those of us at the Higher Education Inquirer. Many of us were shaped by his work, inspired by his commitment to investigative rigor and human dignity. His interviews with thinkers like Howard Zinn, Cornel West, Barbara Ehrenreich, and Joseph Campbell helped expand the public's moral and intellectual horizons—precisely what higher education should strive to do.

In remembering Bill Moyers, we are called to do more than mourn. We are called to follow his example: to ask harder questions, to listen more deeply, to speak more clearly, and to stand, always, with the people who are too often ignored or maligned.

Rest in power, Bill Moyers. Your words lit candles in the darkness. May we carry that light forward.