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Friday, August 1, 2025

A Preliminary List of Private Colleges in Trouble

Private colleges in the United States—particularly small, tuition-dependent nonprofit institutions—are facing a mounting crisis that shows no sign of abating. Since 2020, dozens have closed, merged, or announced plans to shut down due to enrollment declines, unsustainable debt, and shrinking endowments. In 2025 alone, a growing number of private institutions have either declared their intention to close or been flagged as financially failing. The Higher Education Inquirer has compiled a preliminary and data-driven list of these institutions, including colleges that have shut down, plan to close, or have received failing financial grades from independent analysts.

According to Gary Stocker, founder of College Viability, the telltale signs of college failure are persistent and measurable. “When looking for at-risk colleges, the critical factor is trends. If enrollment and net tuition revenue are down for the past 5–10 years, it is highly unlikely that a turnaround is imminent or even possible,” Stocker explained. This insight reflects the compounding nature of decline in higher education finance. “One bad enrollment year negatively impacts a college for at least 4 years. Multiple bad enrollment years need to be followed by multiple really good enrollment years to have any chance of a financially successful recovery.”

That kind of recovery has proven elusive for a growing list of institutions:

  • Siena Heights University in Adrian, Michigan, will close after the 2025–2026 academic year. Founded in 1919, the Catholic university has seen enrollment drop by nearly a third in the past decade, leaving fewer than 1,900 students. The Board of Trustees deemed its long-term outlook unsustainable.

  • Limestone University in Gaffney, South Carolina, will close after Spring 2025. The school, burdened with $30 million in debt and dwindling enrollment (from over 3,000 students a decade ago to just over 1,600), failed to meet a $6 million emergency fundraising goal.

  • St. Andrews University in Laurinburg, North Carolina, ceased operations in May 2025 after failing to resolve long-standing financial deficits. With fewer than 1,000 students and a modest endowment, it could not survive post-pandemic pressures.

  • Eastern Nazarene College, near Boston, also announced it would close by year’s end. Enrollment declines and ineffective cost-cutting left the institution without viable options.

  • Fontbonne University, a nearly century-old Catholic college in St. Louis, Missouri, will shut down after summer 2025. Enrollment fell below 1,000 students, and efforts to sell assets and cut costs proved insufficient.

  • Northland College, in Ashland, Wisconsin, with fewer than 500 students, will also close in 2025. It had long struggled to maintain financial solvency.

These closures are not isolated events. According to BestColleges.com, more than 80 private nonprofit schools have closed or merged since the start of the pandemic, with nearly 50 shutting down entirely. Financial fragility is widespread and accelerating.

A broader snapshot comes from Forbes' 2024 “College Financial Grades,” which assessed over 900 private nonprofit colleges using data from the National Center for Education Statistics (NCES). These institutions were rated on metrics including endowment per student, operating margin, admissions yield, and return on assets. In the 2024 analysis, 182 colleges received a D grade—up from only 20 in 2021.

Among the D-rated schools were:

  • Anderson University (IN) – Financial score: 1.435

  • Bethel University (IN) – Financial score: 1.223

  • Simmons University (MA)

  • Nichols College (MA)

  • Faulkner University (AL)

  • Spring Hill College (AL)

While not all of these schools are closing immediately, a D grade suggests serious financial vulnerability and potential for closure, merger, or drastic restructuring.

Another dimension of risk lies in overdependence on international tuition. A Forbes 2025 report identified 16 private colleges highly reliant on foreign students. Among them were Hult International Business School in Boston and St. Francis College in Brooklyn. With visa restrictions and geopolitical uncertainty, these colleges face added instability.

Some colleges have sought short-term survival strategies. Albright College in Pennsylvania, once identified as distressed, reported a small operating surplus in 2025 after selling off real estate and trimming staff. However, analysts and faculty remain skeptical, seeing this as a stopgap that may not resolve underlying issues.

Other closures underscore how quickly institutions can collapse:

  • Union Institute & University closed in 2024 and filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy in 2025, citing more than $28 million in liabilities.

  • University of Saint Katherine abruptly shut down in Spring 2024 due to a cash crisis.

  • Paier College, an art school in Connecticut, lost accreditation and will not reopen.

These are not just institutional failures—they are signs of a broader structural contraction in U.S. higher education. Elite universities continue to thrive, but a parallel system of small, regionally based, tuition-driven colleges is eroding. Demographic decline, operational overhead, and public skepticism are converging to create a perfect storm.

Gary Stocker’s warning—based on years of viability research—deserves close attention. Institutions that cannot demonstrate clear upward trends in enrollment and revenue are unlikely to survive, even with aggressive intervention.

The Higher Education Inquirer will continue to update this list and monitor developments as the crisis unfolds.


Sources
Gary Stocker, Founder of College Viability
https://www.bestcolleges.com/research/closed-colleges-list-statistics-major-closures
https://apnews.com/article/d4851555bd0fb360a92dee84a2d93140
https://www.ourmidland.com/news/article/siena-heights-catholic-university-saints-20402839.php
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Andrews_University_(North_Carolina)
https://news.slashdot.org/story/24/10/15/182207/more-colleges-set-to-close-in-2025-even-as-ivy-plus-schools-experience-application-boom
https://www.collegetransitions.com/blog/college-closures-and-mergers
https://bryanalexander.org/horizon-scanning/campus-cuts-mergers-and-closures-from-spring-2025
https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/nri/study/trumps-visa-policy-threatens-16-us-colleges-dependent-on-international-students/articleshow/122015680.cms
https://www.spotlightpa.org/berks/2025/07/higher-education-albright-college-financial-crisis-survival-plan
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Union_Institute_%26_University
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/University_of_Saint_Katherine
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paier_College
https://www.forbes.com/sites/emmawhitford/2025/03/07/forbes-college-financial-grades-2025-americas-strongest-and-weakest-schools
https://deepthoughtshed.com/2024/12/29/colleges-most-likely-to-close-based-on-2024-forbes-financial-health-failing-grades
https://talk.collegeconfidential.com/t/forbes-2024-financial-grades/3672040
https://www.linkedin.com/posts/matt-spivey-22635436_colleges-most-likely-to-close-based-on-activity-7281304623183810560-2hCs
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QljCVUn3tyc

Friday, July 25, 2025

Climate Change 101: This college campus may be literally underwater sooner than you think

Stockton University’s Atlantic City campus may be treading water—literally and figuratively. Built in 2018 on a stretch of reclaimed land in the South Inlet neighborhood, the coastal satellite of Stockton University sits just a few hundred feet from the Atlantic Ocean. With scenic views and beachfront access, it was marketed as a fresh vision for higher education: experiential learning by the sea.

But according to Rutgers University’s Climate Impact Lab and corroborated by NOAA sea level rise projections, that vision may be short-lived. In less than 50 years, large portions of the campus could be underwater—possibly permanently. In fact, with high tide flooding already happening more frequently in Atlantic City and sea levels expected to rise 2 to 5 feet by 2100 depending on emissions, climate change poses an existential threat not just to Stockton’s Atlantic City facilities, but to the broader idea of oceanfront higher education.

The Science: Rutgers’ Stark Warning

Rutgers’ 2021 “New Jersey Science and Technical Advisory Panel Report” projected sea level rise in the state could exceed 2.1 feet by 2050 and 5.1 feet by 2100 under high emissions scenarios. Even under moderate mitigation efforts, the sea is projected to rise 1.4 to 3.1 feet by 2070, placing critical infrastructure—including roads, utility networks, and public buildings—at risk. Stockton’s coastal campus is among them.

A Teachable Crisis

For students and faculty in environmental science, public policy, and urban planning, Stockton's Atlantic City campus is both classroom and case study. Professors can point to flooding events just blocks away as real-time lessons in sea level rise, coastal erosion, and infrastructure vulnerability. Students witness firsthand the tension between development and environmental limits.

Yet these lived experiences also raise ethical questions. Is the university preparing students for the reality of climate displacement—or is it merely weathering the storm until the next round of state funding? Are public institutions being honest about the long-term risks students will face, not just as residents but as debt-burdened alumni?

In many ways, Stockton’s presence in Atlantic City epitomizes the “climate denial by development” that characterizes so much U.S. urban planning: Build now, mitigate later, and leave tomorrow’s collapse for someone else to manage.

No Easy Retreat

Climate adaptation strategies in Atlantic City have been slow-moving, expensive, and often controversial. Proposed solutions—such as sea walls, elevating roads, and managed retreat—require enormous financial and political capital. There’s also no consensus on how to preserve equity in a shrinking, sinking city.

For Stockton University, retreating from the Atlantic City campus would be politically and financially damaging. The expansion was celebrated with ribbon-cuttings and bipartisan support. Pulling back now would mean acknowledging a costly miscalculation. Yet failing to plan for relocation or phased withdrawal could leave students and taxpayers on the hook for an underwater investment.

According to the New Jersey Coastal Resilience Plan, Atlantic County—home to Stockton’s main and satellite campuses—is one of the most climate-exposed counties in the state. And Stockton isn’t just sitting in the floodplain; it’s training the very people who will be tasked with managing these emergencies. It has both a responsibility and an opportunity to lead, not just in mitigation but in public reckoning.

Lessons for Higher Ed

Stockton is hardly the only university caught between mission and market. Across the U.S., colleges and universities are pouring resources into branding campaigns and capital projects that ignore—or actively obscure—the long-term environmental risks. Climate change is often treated as a course offering, not an existential threat.

In Universities on Fire, Bryan Alexander outlines how climate change will fundamentally reshape the higher education landscape—from facilities planning to enrollment, from energy consumption to curriculum design. He warns that campuses, particularly those located near coasts or in extreme heat zones, face not just infrastructural threats but institutional crises. Rising waters, wildfires, hurricanes, and population shifts will force universities to rethink their physical footprints, economic models, and public obligations.

Yet few accreditors or bond-rating agencies have accounted for climate risk in their evaluations. Endowments continue to fund construction in flood-prone areas. Boards of trustees prioritize expansion over retreat. And students, many of whom are first-generation or low-income, are seldom told what climate vulnerability could mean for the real value of their degrees—or the safety of their dormitories.

As sea levels rise and climate models grow more precise, Stockton’s Atlantic City campus may become a symbol—not just of poor urban planning, but of an education system unprepared for the world it claims to be shaping.

What Comes Next?

For now, Stockton continues to expand its Atlantic City footprint, even as new reports suggest that this part of the Jersey Shore may be uninhabitable or cost-prohibitive to protect in a few decades. The university has proposed additional student housing and even a new coastal research center. But each new building reinforces the same flawed logic: that short-term gains outweigh long-term collapse.

At some point, Stockton University—and many other coastal institutions—will have to decide whether to keep investing in property that’s literally slipping into the sea, or to model the kind of resilience and foresight they claim to teach.

Because this is not just a sustainability issue. It’s a justice issue. It’s a debt issue. It’s a survival issue.

And it’s happening now.

Sources

Bryan Alexander. Universities on Fire: Higher Education in the Climate Crisis. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2023.

NJ Department of Environmental Protection. Resilient NJ: Statewide Coastal Resilience Plan. 2020.

Rutgers University. New Jersey Climate Change Resource Center.

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Back Bay Study – New Jersey.

New Jersey Future. “Climate Risks and Infrastructure in Atlantic County.”

Stockton University. Strategic Plan 2025: Choosing Our Path.

NOAA. State of High Tide Flooding and Sea Level Rise 2023 Technical Report.


Wednesday, July 23, 2025

Rebel Diaz: Beats, Truth, and a Higher Education of the Streets

In a nation that throws trillions at war, banks, and billionaires while students drown in debt and public schools crumble, the Bronx-based hip-hop duo Rebel Diaz has carved out a necessary lane—one where education doesn’t come from a classroom but from struggle, solidarity, and sound. Formed by Chilean-American brothers Rodrigo (RodStarz) and Gonzalo (G1) Venegas, Rebel Diaz is more than a music group. They are truth-tellers, radical educators, and architects of a liberatory curriculum that centers the oppressed and calls the system by its name.

Nowhere is that more evident than in their track “A Trillion,” a searing critique of post-9/11 U.S. capitalism, war profiteering, and the impunity of Wall Street elites. It opens with an indictment so sharp it borders on satire:

“A lotta people askin’—‘Is that really nine zeroes?’
Nah, homie, it’s twelve.”

 


And then the verses drop—complex, accessible, and devastating in their precision. G1 raps:

“Lotta speculations on the moneys they made
Markets they played
Pimping the system because they run the game
They trades is inside of the old boy network
Money stays in while they build they net worth.”

This is economics with teeth—naming not just the scale of corruption but the two-tiered justice system that underwrites it. G1 continues:

“If I was to flip money that ain’t exist
Or get a loan on my home and not pay back that shit
Interest will stack up
Moving truck or backup
And the repo man will pack everything up.”

These aren’t abstract critiques. They’re visceral comparisons between the impunity of the rich and the precarity of everyday people. Wall Street collapses the economy and gets bailed out with public funds. Meanwhile, poor and working-class people are criminalized for far less—whether it’s defaulting on a loan, evading rent, or “flipping currency” in the underground economy.

A Trillion was written in the shadow of the Bush administration’s wars in Iraq and Afghanistan—wars that cost American taxpayers more than a trillion dollars, all while social services were gutted and inequality soared. Rebel Diaz doesn’t just call out that grotesque spending. They tie it directly to neoliberal austerity, to gentrification, to student debt, and to the very structure of a U.S. economy built on extraction and punishment.

Their music functions as what bell hooks called engaged pedagogy. It’s teaching that risks something—something real. And it’s rooted not in theory alone, but in a lifetime of organizing, community-building, and lived experience. The brothers’ political lineage runs deep: they are children of Chilean exiles who fled the Pinochet dictatorship, and that legacy of resistance is embedded in every syllable they spit.

Their broader body of work—songs like “Runaway Slave,” “Crush,” “I’m an Alien,” and “Which Side Are You On?”—challenges both the prison-industrial complex and the nonprofit-industrial complex, the police and the politicians, the landlords and the labor exploiters. In their hands, hip-hop becomes a weapon against what Paulo Freire called banking education—where students are seen as empty vessels to be filled, rather than agents of transformation.

Rebel Diaz refuses that model. They’ve facilitated workshops for youth around the world. They founded the Rebel Diaz Arts Collective (RDAC) in the South Bronx—a radical cultural center that functioned as studio, classroom, and sanctuary. While elite universities peddle “diversity” through PR campaigns, Rebel Diaz built power in real time.

A Trillion reminds us that debt and inequality aren’t natural—they’re designed. That a trillion dollars could be conjured for war and bailouts, while education remains underfunded and healthcare inaccessible, isn’t a fluke. It’s policy. It’s ideology. It’s class warfare.

And while most institutions of higher learning remain silent—or worse, complicit—Rebel Diaz offers a curriculum of truth. Their syllabus includes economic justice, anti-imperialism, grassroots organizing, and critical media literacy. Their lectures come through speakers, not Zoom screens. And their degrees? Measured not in credits, but in collective awakening.

In a society that leaves millions in debt for chasing knowledge, and rewards only the knowledge that maintains power, Rebel Diaz flips the script. They aren’t just part of the resistance—they are building the new university.

And in that space, “A Trillion” isn’t just a song. It’s a lesson. A warning. A call to action.


Rebel Diaz Playlist: A Syllabus of Sound

Listen to these Rebel Diaz tracks as an alternative curriculum—one that speaks to the struggles universities often silence:

“A Trillion” — A blistering takedown of war spending, corporate bailouts, and the injustice of capitalism.
“Which Side Are You On?” — A rallying cry against complicity, rooted in a long tradition of protest music.
“Runaway Slave” — A powerful indictment of the prison-industrial complex and systemic racism.
“Crush” — A sharp narrative linking gentrification, police violence, and displacement.
“I’m an Alien” — A migrant anthem reclaiming humanity against the backdrop of dehumanizing immigration policy.
“Work Like Chávez” — A celebration of working-class resistance and Latin American liberation.
“Revolution Has Come” — An intergenerational call to remember the lessons of past uprisings.

These tracks are available via Rebel Diaz’s Bandcamp page, Spotify, YouTube, or independent archives. Better yet, invite them to speak—virtually or in person—if your institution has the courage to confront its own contradictions.

Saturday, July 19, 2025

Language in the Age of Fascist Politics (Henry Giroux)

In the age of expanding fascism, the power of language is not only fragile but increasingly threatened. As Toni Morrison has noted, “language is not only an instrument through which power is exercised,” it also shapes agency and functions as an act with consequences. These consequences ripple through the very fabric of our existence. For in the words we speak, meaning, truth, and our collective future are at risk. Each syllable, phrase, and sentence becomes a battleground where truth and power collide, where silence breeds complicity, and where justice hangs in the balance.

In response, we find ourselves in desperate need of a new vocabulary, one capable of naming the fascist tide and militarized language now engulfing the United States. This is not a matter of style or rhetorical flourish; it is a matter of survival. The language required to confront and resist this unfolding catastrophe will not come from the legacy press, which remains tethered to the very institutions it ought to expose. Nor can we turn to the right-wing media machines, led by Fox News, where fascist ideals are not just defended but paraded as patriotism. 

In the face of this crisis, Toni Morrison’s insight drawn from her Nobel Lecture becomes all the more urgent and makes clear that the language of tyrants, embodied in the rhetoric, images, and modes of communication characteristic of the Trump regime, is a dead language. For her “a dead language is not simply one that is no longer spoken or written,” it is unyielding language “content to admire its own paralysis.” It is repressive language infused with power, censored and censoring. Ruthless in its policing duties and dehumanizing language, it has no desire or purpose other than maintaining the free range of its own narcotic narcissism, its own exclusivity and dominance. “Though moribund, it is not without effect” for it actively thwarts the intellect, stalls conscience, and “suppresses human potential.” Unreceptive to interrogation, it cannot form or tolerate new ideas, shape other thoughts, tell another story, or fill baffling silences. This is the language of official power whose purpose is to sanction ignorance and preserve. 

Beneath its glittering spectacle and vulgar performance, lies a language that is "dumb, predatory, sentimental." It offers mass spectacles, a moral sleepwalking state of mind, and a psychotic infatuation for those who seek refuge in unchecked power. It forges a community built on greed, corruption, and hate, steeped in a scandal of hollow fulfillment. It is a language unadorned in its cruelty and addiction to creating an architecture of violence. It is evident in Trump’s discourse of occupation, his militarizing of American politics, and in his use of an army of trolls to turn hatred into a social media spectacle of swagger and cruelty.



Despite differing tones and political effects, the discourses of the far right and the liberal mainstream converge in their complicity: both traffic in mindless spectacle, absorb lies as currency, and elevate illusion over insight. The liberal mainstream drapes the machinery of cruelty in the language of civility, masking the brutality of the Trump regime and the predatory logic of gangster capitalism, while the far right revels in it, parading its violence as virtue and its hatred as patriotism. Language, once a powerful instrument against enforced silence and institutional cruelty, now too often serves power, undermining reason, normalizing violence, and replacing justice with vengeance. 

In Trump’s oligarchic culture of authoritarianism, language becomes a spectacle of power, a theater of fear crafted, televised, and performed as a civic lesson in mass indoctrination. If language is the vessel of consciousness, then we must forge a new one--fierce, unflinching, and unafraid to rupture the fabric of falsehood that sustains domination, disposability, and terror. The late famed novelist, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, was right in stating that “language was a site of colonial control,” inducting people into what he called “colonies of the mind.”

The utopian visions that support the promise of a radical democracy and prevent the dystopian nightmare of a fascist politics are under siege in the United States. Increasingly produced, amplified and legitimated in a toxic language of hate, exclusion, and punishment, all aspects of the social and the democratic values central to a politics of solidarity are being targeted by right-wing extremists. In addition, the institutions that produce the formative cultures that nourishes the social imagination and democracy itself are now under attack. The signposts are on full display in a politics of racial and social cleansing that is being fed by a white nationalist and white supremacist ideology that is at the centre of power in the US—marked by fantasies of exclusion accompanied by a full-scale attack on morality, reason, and collective resistance rooted in democratic struggle. 

As more people revolt against this dystopian project, neoliberal ideology and elements of a fascist politics merge to contain, distract and misdirect the anger that has materialised out of legitimate grievances against the government, controlling privileged elites and the hardships caused by neoliberal capitalism. The current crisis of agency, representation, values and language demands a discursive shift that can call into question and defeat the formative culture and ideological scaffolding through which a savage neoliberal capitalism reproduces itself. This warped use of language directly feeds into the policies of disposability that define Trump's regime.

State Terror and Trump’s Politics of Disposability

As Trump’s regime concentrates power, he invokes a chilling convergence of law, order, and violence, a cornerstone of his politics of disposability. His acts of cruelty and lawlessness, abducting and deporting innocent people, branding immigrants as “vermin,” claiming they are “poisoning the blood” of Americans, and even proposing the legalization of murder for twelve hours, make clear that his violent metaphors are not just rhetorical flourishes. They are policy blueprints. In Trump’s hands, rhetoric becomes a weaponized prelude to atrocity, a tool of statecraft. Threats, hatred, and cruelty are transformed into instruments of governance.

This is not careless talk, it is a brutal and calculated expression of power. Trump’s threats to arrest and deport critics such as Zohran Mamdani reveal his willingness to use the machinery of the state for political extermination. His targets are predictable: immigrants, Black people, educators, journalists, LGBTQ+ individuals, and anyone who dares to challenge his white Christian nationalist, neoliberal, and white supremacist vision. His language does not merely offend, it incites harm, enacts repression, and opens the gates to state-sanctioned violence. It extends the reign of terror across the United States by labeling protesters as terrorists and deploying the military to American cities, treating them as if they were “occupied territories.” 

Trump is not alone. Many of his MAGA follower use these same hateful discourse. For instance, conservative pundit Ann Coulter wrote “in response to a speech by Melanie Yazzie, a Native artist and professor, about decolonization, “We didn’t Kill enough Indians.” This is not simply harsh rhetoric; nor is it a performative display of emboldened hatred and historical forgetting, it sets the stage for state-sanctioned repression and mass violence. What is at stake is more than civic respect. It is democracy itself. When language loses meaning and truth is blurred, tyranny thrives. Trump’s and too much of MAGA discourse is not about persuasion; it is about dehumanization and domination. It functions as statecraft, laying the groundwork for a society where suffering becomes spectacle and repression masquerades as law and order. Language is the canary in the coal mine, warning us that democracy dies without an informed citizenry.

As Eddie Glaude Jr. has powerfully argued, Americans must confront a brutal truth: the creation and expansion of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), now the largest federal law enforcement agency, is not merely a matter of policy, it is a cornerstone of white supremacy. It is a racist institution, entrenched in an immigration policy designed to uphold the values of white nationalism. In the face of shifting demographics, ICE is tasked with an urgent mission—to make America white again, a calculated attempt to turn back the clock on progress, to preserve an imagined past at the cost of justice and humanity.

We now live in a country where class and racial warfare both at home and abroad is on steroids, exposing the killing machine of gangster capitalism in its rawest, most punitive form. Trump supports the genocidal war waged by a state led by a war criminal. Children are being slaughtered in Gaza. Millions of Americans, including poor children, teeter on the edge of losing their healthcare. Funds for feeding hungry children are being slashed, sacrificed to feed the pockets of the ultra-rich. Thousands will die, not by accident, but by design. Terror, fear, and punishment have replaced the ideals of equality, freedom, and justice. Childcide is now normalized as the law of the land. The lights are dimming in America, and all that remains are the smug, ignorant smirks of fascist incompetence and bodies drained of empathy and solidarity.

Gangster Capitalism and the Death of Empathy

Gangster capitalism lays the foundation for Trump’s racist and fascist politics. As I have noted elsewhere, the United States has descended into a state of political, economic, cultural, and social psychosis, where cruel, neoliberal, democracy-hating policies have prevailed since the 1970s. At the core of this authoritarian shift lies a systemic war on workers, youth, Blacks, and immigrants, increasingly marked by mass violence and a punishing state both domestically and internationally. The U.S. has transformed into an empire dominated by a callous, greedy billionaire class that has dismantled any remnants of democracy, while embracing the fascistic ideology of white Christian nationalism and white supremacy. Fascism now parades not only beneath the flag but also under the Christian cross. 

America has shifted from celebrating unchecked individualism, as depicted in Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, to the glorification of greed championed by Gordon Gekko in Wall Street, and the psychotic avarice of Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. This descent into barbarity and psychotic infatuation with violence is further demonstrated by Justin Zhong, a right-wing preacher at Sure Foundation Baptist Church in Indianapolis, who called for the deaths of LGBTQ+ individuals during a sermon. Zhong defended his comments by citing biblical justifications and labeling LGBTQ+ people as "domestic terrorists." 

It gets worse. During a Men’s Preaching Night at Sure Foundation Baptist Church, Zhong's associate, Stephen Falco, suggested that LGBTQ+ people should "blow yourself in the back of the head," and that Christians should "pray for their deaths." Another member, Wade Rawley, advocated for violence, stating LGBTQ+ individuals should be "beaten and stomped in the mud" before being shot in the head. Fascism in America, nourished by the toxic roots of homophobia, now cloaks itself not just in the poisonous banner of the Confederate flag, but also in the sacred guise of the Christian cross.

Welcome to Trump’s America, where empathy is now viewed as a weakness and the cold rule of the market is the template for judging all social relations. One noted example can be found in the words of Trump’s on-and-off billionaire ally, Elon Musk, who dismisses empathy as a naive and detrimental force that undermines the competitive, individualistic ethos he champions. Speaking to Joe Rogan on his podcast, Musk specifically stated that “The fundamental weakness of western civilization is empathy.” As Julia Carrie Wong observes in The Guardian, the stakes extend far beyond casting empathy as a "parasitic plague." Empathy's true danger lies in its role as an enabler—granting permission to dehumanize others and constricting the very “definition of who should be included in a democratic state.” This is a recipe for barbarism, one that allows both states and individuals to turn a blind eye to the genocidal violence unfolding in Gaza and beyond.

Naming the Deep Roots of the Police State

Ruth Ben-Ghiat has warned that “America has been set on a trajectory to become a police state,” pointing to the passage of the Brutal and Bellicose Bill (BBB), which handed ICE a budget larger than the militaries of Brazil, Israel, and Italy combined. But the roots of this state violence go deeper. The foundation was laid under Bush and Cheney, whose war on terror birthed Guantanamo, Abu Ghraib, mass surveillance, and extraordinary rendition. What Trump has done is strip these earlier authoritarian practices of all pretenses, elevating them to the status of governing principles.

The police state did not begin with Trump; it evolved through him. Now, we see its terrifying maturity: racial cleansing disguised as immigration policy, hatred normalized as political speech, dissent criminalized, birthright citizenship threatened, and everyday life militarized. This is not politics as usual, it is fascism in real time.

Trump’s fascist politics grows even more dangerous when we recognize that his language of colonization and domination has helped transform American society into what Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o chillingly describes as a “war zone.” This war zone now spans the digital terrain—through the internet, podcasts, social media, and educational platforms—becoming a fertile breeding ground for fascist symbols, reactionary values, manufactured identities, and the toxic resurrection of colonial logics. In this battleground of meaning, the language of colonization does more than obscure the truth—it erodes critical thinking, silences historical memory, and disarms the very possibility of empowered agency. What remains in its wake is a nation scarred by suffering, haunted by loneliness, bound by shared fears, and anesthetized by the numbing rituals of a punishing state.

The transformation of America into a war zone finds its most visible expression in the rise of Trump’s omnipresent police state. This authoritarian machinery reveals itself through the mechanisms of state-sponsored terror, a heavily militarized ICE force operating like masked enforcers, and the rapid expansion of detention centers that will increasingly resemble a network of potential forced labor camps. As Fintan O’Toole warns, Trump’s deployment of troops onto the streets of Los Angeles is not merely symbolic—it is “a training exercise for the army, a form of reorientation.” In this reorientation, soldiers are no longer defenders of the Constitution but are being retrained as instruments of authoritarian power, bound not by democratic ideals but by obedience to a singular will.

Nevertheless, we resist or refuse to name the fascist threat and the ideological and economic architecture of its politics. Still, we recoil from calling the Trump regime what it is: a fascist state engaged in domestic terrorism. Still, we remain blind to the fact that economic inequality, global militarism, and the genocidal logics of empire are not peripheral issues, they are the center. Why is it so difficult to admit that we are living in an age of American fascism? Why do the crimes of the powerful, at home and abroad, so often pass without scrutiny, while the victims are blamed or erased?

The Collapse of Moral Imagination

What we face is not only a political crisis, partly in the collapse of conscience and civic courage-- a profound moral collapse. The war being waged at home by the Trump regime is not just against immigrants or the poor, it is a war on critical thought, on historical memory, on the courage to dissent. It is a war on every institution that upholds critical thinking, informed knowledge, and civic literacy. This is a genocidal war against the very possibility of a just future—a war not merely against, but for stupidity, for the death of morality, and for the annihilation of any robust notion of democracy. Viktor Klemperer, in his seminal work The Language of the Third Reich, offers a crucial lesson from history: "With great insistence and a high degree of precision right down to the last detail, Hitler’s Mein Kampf teaches not only that the masses are stupid, but that they need to be kept that way, intimidated into not thinking." Klemperer’s analysis reveals that Nazi politics did not arise in a vacuum; it was cultivated in a culture where language itself was the breeding ground of cruelty and control.

Trump’s rhetoric of fear, racial hatred does not emerge in a vacuum. It resonates because it taps into a long and violent history, a history soaked in blood, built on genocide, slavery, colonialism, and exclusion. His language recalls the genocidal campaigns against Indigenous peoples, Black Americans, Jews, and others deemed disposable by authoritarian regimes. It is a necrotic lexicon, resurrected in service of tyranny. It gives birth to politicians with blood in their mouths, who weaponize nostalgia and bigotry, cloaking brutality in the false promises of patriotism and “law and order.”

Language as War and the Return of Americanized Fascism

This is not merely a rhetoric of cruelty, it is a call to arms. Trump’s words do not simply shelter fascists; they summon them. They silence dissent, normalize torture, and echo the logic of death camps, internment camps, and mass incarceration. His discourse, laden with hatred and lies, is designed to turn neighbors into enemies, civic life into war, and politics into a death cult and zone of terminal exclusion. Undocumented immigrants, or those seeking to register for green cards or citizenship, are torn from their families and children, cast into prisons such as Alligator Alcatraz, a grotesque manifestation of the punishing state. As Melissa Gira Grant writes in The New Republic, it is "an American concentration camp…built to cage thousands of people rounded up by ICE," constructed in a chilling display of colonial disregard, and erected on traditional Miccosukee land without so much as consulting the Tribe.

This is the face of modern cruelty: language wielded as a tool to orchestrate a spectacle of violence, designed to degrade, divide, and erase. Culture is no longer a peripheral force in politics; it has become the central weapon in the rise of state terrorism. The language of war and complicity normalizes America’s transformation into a monstrous carceral state, a symbol of state-sponsored terror where due process is suspended, and suffering is not just an outcome but the point itself. 

A culture of cruelty now merges with state sponsored racial terror, functioning as a badge of honor. One example is noted in Trump advisor Laura Loomer, who ominously remarked that "the wild animals surrounding President Donald Trump’s new immigration detention center… will have 'at least 65 million meals." Change.org, along with others such as Pod Save America co-host Tommy Vietor, noted that her comment “is not only racist, it is a direct emotional attack and veiled threat against Hispanic communities. This kind of speech dehumanizes people of color and normalizes genocidal language.” Her racist remark not only reveals the profound contempt for human life within Trump's inner circle but also highlights how cruelty and violence are strategically used as both a policy tool and a public spectacle. Loomer’s remark is not an aberration, it is a symptom of the fascist logic animating this administration, where death itself becomes a political message. Her blood-soaked discourse if symptomatic of the criminogenic politics fundamental to the working of the Trump regime.

The parallels to history are unmistakable. Loomer’s invocation of death as the outcome of detention recalls the Nazi designation of certain camps as Vernichtungslager, extermination camps, where as Holocaust survivor Primo Levi noted, imprisonment and execution were inseparable. Likewise, the U.S. internment of Japanese Americans during World War II, though often sanitized in public memory, operated under a similar logic of racial suspicion and collective punishment. The message in each case is clear, as Judith Butler has noted in her writing: some lives are rendered invisible, deemed unworthy of legal protection, of family, of dignity, of life itself. In fascist regimes, such spaces function not only as instruments of punishment but as symbolic theaters of power, meant to instill terror, enforce obedience, and declare which bodies the state has marked for erasure.

For Trump, J.D. Vance, and their ilk, fascism is not a specter to be feared but a banner to be waved. The spirit of the Confederacy and the corpse-like doctrines of white supremacy, militarism, and neoliberal authoritarianism have returned, this time supercharged by surveillance technologies, financial capital, and social media echo chambers. In the spirit of the Trump regime, the symbols of the Confederacy are normalized. Confederate flags are now waved by neo-Nazis in public squares and parades, while Trump renames US warships and 7 military bases after Confederate officers, reinforcing a dangerous nostalgia for a past rooted in racism and rebellion against the very ideals of unity and equality that this nation claims to uphold.

Higher Education and the Fight Against Authoritarianism

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It should not surprise us that the American public has grown numb with the constant echo chamber of state terrorism playing out in multiple sites of attack. Powerful disimagination machines, mainstream media, right-wing propaganda platforms, tech billionaires, have flooded public consciousness with conspiracy theories, historical amnesia, and spectacularized images of immigrants and others being deported to prisons, foreign Gulags, and modern day black holes. These are not simply entertainment outlets; they are pedagogical weapons of mass distraction, breeding civic illiteracy and moral paralysis. Under their influence, the American people have been placed in a moral and political coma.

White Nationalism and Reproductive Control

Nowhere is this more evident than in the mainstream media’s failure to address the racial and ideological foundations of Trump’s agenda. His attacks on Haitian immigrants, the travel ban on seven African countries, the shutting down of refugee programs, and his open-door policy for white Afrikaners from South Africa are not merely racist; they are explicitly white nationalist. The same ideology drives attacks on women’s reproductive rights, revealing the deep racial and gender anxieties of a movement obsessed with white demographic decline. These are not isolated skirmishes, they are interconnected strategies of domination.

These converging assaults, white nationalism, white supremacy, patriarchal control, and militarized life, manifest most vividly in the war on reproductive freedom. White nationalists encourage white women to reproduce, to hold back demographic change, while punishing women of color, LGBTQ+ people, and the poor. It is a violent calculus, animated by fantasies of purity and control.

The Systemic Assault on Democracy

This is a full-spectrum assault on democracy. Every act of cruelty, every racist law, every violent metaphor chips away at the social contract. A culture of authoritarianism is now used to demean those considered other, both citizens and non-citizens, critics and immigrants, naturalized citizens and those seeking such status. They are labeled as unworthy of citizenship now defined by the Trump regime as a privilege rather than a right. Meanwhile, a media ecosystem built on clickbait and erasure renders both such fascists as legitimate while making invisible the roots of suffering mass suffering and fear, all the while, turning oppression into spectacle and silence into complicity.

In this fog, language itself is emptied of meaning. Truth and falsehood blur. As Paulo Freire warned, the tools of the oppressor are often adopted by the oppressed. We now see that the logic of fascism has seeped into the culture, eroding civic sensibility, destroying moral imagination, and rendering resistance almost unspeakable.

The Normalization of Tyranny

Trump’s authoritarian fantasies do not alienate his base, they galvanize it. What was once unthinkable is now policy. What was once fringe has become mainstream. Cruelty is not something to be deplored and avoided at all costs, it is a central feature of power, wielded with theatrical and spectacularized brutality. Under the current acting ICE Director, Todd Lyons, this punitive logic has intensified: Lyons oversees a $4.4 billion Enforcement and Removal Operations apparatus staffed by over 8,600 agents across 200 domestic locations, using militarized tactics, surprise raids, and aggressive targeting of immigrant communities to sustain a regime of fear. ICE’s presence is at the heart of Trump’s hyper-police state, and its funding has been greatly expanded to $170 billion under Trump’s new budget bill, creating what journalist Will Bunch calls Trump’s “own gulag archipelago of detention camps across a United States that’s becoming increasingly hard to recognize.”

Meanwhile, figures like Tom Homan, who led ICE under Trump’s first term, laid the groundwork with Gestapo-style operations, midnight raids, family separations, and public declarations that undocumented immigrants “should be afraid”. As the “border tzar” under Trump, Homan has initiated deportation policies that are even more aggressively violent and cruel that those that took place in Trump’s first term as president. As Bunch notes, take the case of “the 64-year-old New Orleans woman, Donna Kashanian, who fled a tumultuous Iran 47 years ago, volunteered to rebuild her battered Louisiana community after Hurricane Katrina, never missed a check-in with U.S. immigration officials , and was snatched by ICE agents in unmarked vehicles while she was out working in her garden and sent to a notorious detention center.” These horror stories now take place daily in cities extending from Los Angeles to Providence, Rhode Island.

A central player in this current regime of state terrorism, systemic racism, mass abductions, deportations, and the criminalization of dissent is Stephen Miller, Trump’s White House Deputy Chief of Staff. During Trump’s first term, Miller was the driving force behind the Muslim ban, the family separation policy, and assaults on birthright citizenship, all rooted in an unapologetic white supremacist and eugenicist worldview. In Trump’s second term, he has emerged as the architect of even more draconian measures, pushing for mass deportations, the abolition of birthright citizenship, and the revocation of naturalized citizenship for those who fall outside his white Christian vision of who deserves to be called American.

Far-right white nationalist such as Miller, Tom Homan and Todd Lyons, do not treat cruelty as a regrettable side effect. For them, cruelty is the currency of power. Suffering becomes a spectacle, and violence a ritual of statecraft. Tyranny is not inching forward in silence; it is advancing at full speed, cheered on by those who treat fear as a governing principle and pain as public policy. At stake here is what Timothy Snyder calls the practice of fascist dehumanization.

This is not a passing storm. It is the death throes of a system that has long glorified violence, commodified everything, and fed on division. Trump’s language is not a performance, it is preparation. His words are laying the foundation for a society without empathy, without justice, without democracy.

Reclaiming the Language of Resistance, Reclaiming Democracy

In a decent society, language is the lifeblood of democracy, a vessel of solidarity, truth, and hope. But in Trump’s America, language has become a weapon, dehumanizing, excluding, and dominating. His vision is not a warning; it is a blueprint. We must resist, or we risk losing everything. The stakes are nothing less than the survival of democracy, the retrieval of truth and the refusal to live in a world where cruelty is policy and silence is complicity. 

What is needed now is not only a rupture in language but a rupture in consciousness, one that brings together the critical illumination of the present with a premonitory vision of what lies ahead if fascist dynamics remain unchecked. As Walter Benjamin insisted, we must cultivate a form of profane illumination, a language that disrupts the spectacle of lies and names the crisis in all its violent clarity. At the same time, as A.K. Thompson argues, we must grasp the future implicit in the present. His notion of premonitions urges us to read the events unfolding around us as urgent warnings, as signs of the catastrophe that awaits if we do not confront and reverse the political and cultural paths we are on. It demands that we see the connections that bind our suffering, rejecting the fragmented reality that neoliberalism forces upon us. 

The time for complacency is past. The time for a new and more vibrant language, one of critique, resistance, and militant hope, is now. A language capable not only of indicting the present but of envisioning a future rooted in justice, memory, and collective struggle.

As Antonio Gramsci remarked in his Prison Notebooks, "The crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dying and the new cannot be born; in this interregnum a great variety of morbid symptoms appear." What is clear is that these morbid symptoms have arrived. Yet, alongside the despair they breed, they also present new challenges and opportunities for revitalized struggles. This is where the power of language comes into play—this is the challenge and opportunity for those who believe in the transformative power of culture, language, and education to address not just the nature of the crisis but its deeper roots in politics, memory, agency, values, power, and democracy itself.

[This article first appeared in the LA Progressive.]


By Henry A. Giroux

Henry A. Giroux currently holds the McMaster University Chair for Scholarship in the Public Interest in the English and Cultural Studies Department and is the Paulo Freire Distinguished Scholar in Critical Pedagogy. His latest book is The Burden of Conscience: Educating Beyond the Veil of Silence (Bloomsbury in 2025). He is LA Progressive's Associate Editor. His website is www.henryagiroux.com

Friday, July 18, 2025

How Immigration Has Fueled the Rise of Trumpism—and Changed Higher Education

In the United States, immigration has long been framed as a symbol of national pride—a beacon for the “huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” But in recent decades, as demographic, economic, and cultural shifts have accelerated, immigration has also become a flashpoint for political backlash. That backlash has taken on a powerful form in Trumpism: a nationalist-populist movement steeped in nativist fear, economic resentment, and white grievance politics. What’s often missing in mainstream analysis is how higher education—both as a driver and a symbol of immigration—has become entangled in this struggle.

At the center of this complexity is a contradictory truth: while much of Trumpism is fueled by anti-immigrant rhetoric and fear of demographic change, some of its most visible leaders and financial backers are themselves immigrants or children of immigrants, particularly from India. In the elite zones of tech, business, and politics, conservative Indian Americans are shaping immigration policy, university priorities, and even culture war narratives in ways that reinforce the very Trumpist ideology they supposedly should oppose.

American higher education has undergone a transformation over the past four decades—from a public good to a privatized, competitive marketplace. As state funding dried up, institutions turned to other sources of revenue: tuition, corporate partnerships, real estate development, and international students. Colleges and universities—particularly large public research institutions and elite private schools—ramped up recruitment of foreign students who could pay full price, especially from China, South Korea, Saudi Arabia, and increasingly, India.

Today, Indian nationals are the second-largest group of international students in the U.S., particularly in STEM fields and graduate programs. Their tuition dollars help subsidize faculty salaries, administrative bloat, and research labs. H-1B visa holders, many of them Indian engineers and tech workers, have become a cornerstone of the U.S. tech workforce—and a key component of university-sponsored visa pipelines. In many graduate programs, foreign students are the programs.

At the same time, working-class Americans—especially in rural areas and former manufacturing hubs—have watched colleges become unrecognizable. For many, the university has become a symbol not of opportunity but of exclusion: a place that speaks a foreign language (literally and culturally), employs foreign-born TAs, and caters to elite global interests while raising tuition and reducing services.

One of the most paradoxical developments in the Trumpist era is the rise of conservative Indian Americans as major players in business, politics, and education policy. Figures like Vivek Ramaswamy, a biotech entrepreneur and 2024 GOP presidential candidate, have become darlings of the MAGA movement, espousing anti-DEI rhetoric, rejecting multiculturalism, and calling for the dismantling of the administrative state—including large swaths of the Department of Education. Kash Patel, Ajit Pai, and others have served in prominent Trump administration roles, often pushing deregulation, aggressive nationalism, and the rollback of civil rights protections.

Many of these individuals are highly educated products of elite U.S. universities—Princeton, Harvard, Yale—who advocate for a vision of America rooted in "meritocracy," free markets, and Christian-coded traditional values. Their rise is no accident. They often come from upper-caste, upper-class families in India and align ideologically with India’s ruling Hindu nationalist party, the BJP. That ideology—Hindutva—is increasingly aligned with global authoritarian movements, including Trumpism, Putinism, and Zionist ethnonationalism.

In higher education, this conservative cohort supports crackdowns on campus protest, restrictions on Critical Race Theory, and the dismantling of diversity programs. Some even promote a two-tier immigration system: open pathways for high-skilled workers and university graduates like themselves, and closed doors for asylum seekers, refugees, and undocumented immigrants.

Trumpist Republicans—often with support from conservative immigrants—have increasingly turned higher education into a battleground in the culture wars. In red states, new legislation and executive orders have targeted DEI offices, faculty unions, and ethnic studies departments. They have moved to restrict international student programs, especially for students from China and the Middle East, while simultaneously undermining tenure protections and academic freedom. Crackdowns on campus protests, often under the guise of "free speech," have been used to suppress progressive voices and student organizing.

As faculty ranks have become more diverse—and more contingent—conservatives have fought to reassert traditional hierarchies, often by using foreign-born faculty and graduate students as a wedge. Critics of tenure and academic “liberalism” claim that universities are out of touch with American values and serve foreign interests. Meanwhile, the same institutions continue to capitalize on the global student market, building campuses in Dubai and Singapore while closing rural extension centers at home.

Trumpism is not just a reaction to immigration itself, but to who benefits from it. At the top are elite immigrants—often from privileged caste backgrounds in India or affluent families in China—who attend top-tier universities and enter high-income fields. Below them are millions of working-class Americans saddled with student loan debt, gig jobs, and eroded social status. And beneath them still are the invisible laborers of higher education: the adjuncts, food service workers, janitors, and maintenance crews—many of them immigrants without documentation or legal protections.

This stratification of labor is mirrored in the classroom. International students often receive better advising, housing, and visa support than low-income domestic students, particularly Black, Latino, and Native students. Colleges may invest in ESL services and global partnerships while cutting mental health counseling, rural outreach, and Pell-eligible student aid.

Immigration is not the cause of Trumpism—but it is the mirror in which many Americans see their own social decline. And higher education has played a central role in projecting that mirror. When universities prioritize international growth over local development, or when elite immigrants champion policies that punish the poor and undocumented, they unwittingly feed the very movement that seeks to close the gates behind them.

Trumpism, for all its contradictions, thrives on this resentment. It exploits the divisions between “model minorities” and “undeserving poor,” between elite institutions and everyday people. It turns the American university—from Berkeley to Ohio State—into a symbol of what has been lost, even as it pretends to offer a way forward.

Immigration and higher education are deeply interwoven in the American story. But as higher ed becomes increasingly globalized, privatized, and stratified, it risks alienating the very people it claims to serve. The rise of Trumpism is not just a rejection of immigrants—it is a rejection of an education system that many see as rigged, elitist, and complicit in their decline.

The challenge for those of us in higher education—and especially for immigrants who have benefitted from it—is to confront these contradictions honestly. We must rethink who higher education serves. We must recognize how caste, class, and color operate not only across borders but within them.

For the Higher Education Inquirer, this is not a call for scapegoating immigrants, but for deeper analysis. How did we arrive at a system where elite global mobility coexists with mass domestic precarity? And what would it look like to build a higher education system rooted in justice—not just for the few who arrive, but for the many who are left behind?

Wednesday, July 9, 2025

Camp Mystic: A Century of Privilege, Exclusion, and Resilience Along the Guadalupe

Nestled along the banks of the Guadalupe River in Kerr County, Texas, Camp Mystic has been a summer rite of passage for generations of elite white girls since its founding in 1926. Created by University of Texas coach E.J. “Doc” Stewart, the camp was envisioned as a Christian retreat that mirrored its brother camp, Camp Stewart for boys. With a blend of outdoor adventure, spiritual practice, and deep-rooted tradition, Mystic became one of Texas’s most exclusive—and enduring—summer institutions.

At its core, Camp Mystic was always more than a camp. It functioned as a social filter, reinforcing class, race, and regional identity. Founded during the Jim Crow era, the camp operated within a system of de facto racial segregation. While no known documents explicitly stated that Black, Mexican American, or Indigenous girls were barred, the overwhelmingly white makeup of campers, counselors, and alumni for decades makes its exclusionary nature clear. Like many private institutions in the South, racial exclusion at Mystic was enforced through unspoken rules, legacy admissions, and the economic barriers of wealth and connection.

The legacy of that segregation lingers today. Camp Mystic remains a predominantly white, upper-class space. The cost of attendance alone is prohibitive to most. A single 30-day session now costs more than $4,300—often closer to $5,000 once flood-related infrastructure and safety fees are added. A $300 to $400 deposit is required up front, and most campers are enrolled years in advance, often the children and grandchildren of Mystic alumnae.

Over the decades, the camp has grown to encompass 725 acres of Texas Hill Country, including historic cypress cabins, a blufftop chapel, and a sprawling recreation hall. Campers are divided into two tribes—Kiowa and Tonkawa—borrowing names from Native peoples with no meaningful cultural ties. They compete in games, attend daily devotionals, and participate in long-standing rituals like Sunday fried chicken dinners and end-of-session vespers. Phones and electronic devices are banned, preserving an air of rustic purity and nostalgic Americana.

Mystic’s leadership has passed through generations of wealthy Texas families. After Stewart sold the camp in 1937, the Stacy family took over, maintaining control even during its World War II closure, when it was leased to the U.S. Army Air Corps as a convalescent facility. From 1948 to 1987, Inez and Frank Harrison—“Iney and Frank”—ran the camp with an old-school Christian ethos. The third-generation owners, Dick and Tweety Eastland, continued the tradition of preserving the camp’s conservative values and cultural uniformity.

The camp’s alumni list reads like a who’s who of Texas society. Laura Bush once served as a counselor. Children of governors, oil executives, and business magnates have long walked the same trails and sat at the same river’s edge. For many, Mystic is as much a symbol of legacy and identity as it is a summer destination.

And yet, the question lingers: what does it mean to sustain a place like Camp Mystic in the 21st century?

While many of its practices seem quaint or charming to supporters, others see a more troubling story—of a camp that has functioned as a training ground for white privilege, Christian nationalism, and cultural insulation. Its use of Native American tribal names, its refusal to modernize its traditions beyond symbolic gestures, and its high economic barrier to entry make it a time capsule of exclusion. Even now, diversity at Camp Mystic appears limited, its brochures and social media reflecting the same demographics it always has.

Today, as Texas faces widening inequality, increasing climate risks, and sharp political divides, Camp Mystic remains perched on a precarious edge—both literally and figuratively. It is a camp shaped by floods and fire, faith and legacy, and a deep belief in preserving “the way things used to be.”

For some, Camp Mystic represents a magical place of lifelong friendship, tradition, and spiritual growth. For others, it is a stark reminder of how privilege and exclusion are often disguised as nostalgia.

Sources:

Monday, July 7, 2025

Science-Based Climate Change Denial: Manufacturing Doubt in the Age of Collapse

Despite overwhelming scientific consensus that human activity—especially the burning of fossil fuels—is the primary driver of climate change, a sophisticated form of climate change denial persists, often cloaked in the language and authority of science itself. This “science-based” climate change denial does not simply reject climate science outright but instead cherry-picks data, emphasizes uncertainties, and amplifies marginal scientific viewpoints to cast doubt on established facts. At the center of this strategy are credentialed scientists, industry-funded think tanks, and academic institutions that provide intellectual cover for the continued exploitation of fossil fuels.

This form of denialism has proved highly effective in delaying climate action, muddying public understanding, and influencing policy—especially in the United States, where partisan politics, neoliberal economic ideology, and extractive capitalism intersect.

The Evolution of Denialism

In the 1990s, outright climate change denial was more common, with prominent voices denying that the Earth was warming or that human activity played any role. But as evidence mounted—through rising global temperatures, melting ice caps, and increasingly destructive weather events—climate denial evolved. Rather than deny global warming altogether, many so-called skeptics now argue that climate models are unreliable, that warming is not necessarily dangerous, or that adaptation is more cost-effective than mitigation.

This shift gave rise to a subtler, more insidious strategy: science-based denial. Unlike conspiracy theories or fringe pseudoscience, this form of denial often involves credentialed experts, peer-reviewed articles (sometimes in low-quality or ideologically driven journals), and selective interpretation of data to mislead the public and stall regulatory action.

Scientists for Hire

Think tanks like the Heartland Institute, Cato Institute, and George C. Marshall Institute have employed scientists with impressive resumes to lend credibility to denialist arguments. Figures like Willie Soon, an astrophysicist at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics, have received funding from fossil fuel interests like ExxonMobil and Southern Company while publishing papers that downplay human contributions to climate change. These financial ties are often undisclosed or downplayed, even though they present a clear conflict of interest.

In some cases, these scientists present themselves as heroic dissenters—mavericks standing up against a corrupt, alarmist scientific establishment. Their arguments are rarely about disproving the reality of climate change, but instead about inflating uncertainties, misrepresenting data, or offering misleading counter-examples that are unrepresentative of broader trends.

The Role of Higher Education

Elite universities and academic journals have sometimes unwittingly enabled science-based denial by embracing a culture of both-sides-ism and neutrality in the face of coordinated disinformation campaigns. In the name of academic freedom, universities have tolerated or even elevated voices that promote denialist rhetoric under the guise of “healthy skepticism.”

Institutions like George Mason University’s Mercatus Center and Stanford University’s Hoover Institution have provided intellectual homes for scholars funded by fossil fuel interests. These institutions maintain the veneer of academic legitimacy while promoting deregulatory, pro-fossil fuel policy agendas.

Furthermore, federal and state funding for climate research has become increasingly politicized, especially under Republican administrations. Under the Trump administration (2017–2021), federal agencies were directed to scrub climate change from reports and suppress scientific findings. Even now, with the potential return of Trump-style governance, science-based denialists are preparing for a resurgence.

Strategic Misinformation

Climate denial campaigns use sophisticated media strategies to manipulate public opinion. Through platforms like Fox News, right-wing podcasts, and social media channels, science-based denial is disseminated to millions. The denialists often invoke “Climategate”—a 2009 scandal involving hacked emails from climate scientists—as proof of corruption in climate science, despite multiple investigations clearing the scientists of wrongdoing.

The playbook is familiar: exaggerate uncertainty, cherry-pick cold weather events, blame solar activity, and discredit prominent climate scientists like Michael Mann or James Hansen. The public, already overwhelmed with crises, becomes confused, disoriented, or apathetic.

Consequences and Countermeasures

The consequences of science-based climate denial are devastating. Delayed action has led to rising sea levels, record heatwaves, agricultural disruption, and biodiversity collapse. Vulnerable communities, particularly in the Global South and marginalized communities in the U.S., bear the brunt of the damage.

To counter this, scholars and educators must move beyond “debating” denialists and instead expose the ideological and financial underpinnings of their arguments. As Naomi Oreskes and Erik Conway showed in Merchants of Doubt, denialism is not a scientific disagreement—it is a political and economic strategy designed to protect powerful interests.

The Higher Education Inquirer supports open scientific inquiry, but not at the expense of truth or the planet. Universities, journalists, and the public must hold denialists accountable and challenge the structures that enable them—especially those in academic robes who lend their credentials to oil-funded propaganda.


Reliable Sources and Further Reading:

  • Oreskes, Naomi, and Erik M. Conway. Merchants of Doubt. Bloomsbury Press, 2010.

  • Brulle, Robert J. “Institutionalizing delay: foundation funding and the creation of U.S. climate change counter-movement organizations.” Climatic Change, vol. 122, no. 4, 2014, pp. 681–694.

  • Dunlap, Riley E., and Aaron M. McCright. “Organized climate change denial.” The Oxford Handbook of Climate Change and Society, Oxford University Press, 2011.

  • Mann, Michael E. The New Climate War: The Fight to Take Back Our Planet. PublicAffairs, 2021.

  • Union of Concerned Scientists. "The Climate Deception Dossiers." 2015. https://www.ucsusa.org/resources/climate-deception-dossiers

  • Inside Climate News. “Exxon: The Road Not Taken.” https://insideclimatenews.org/news/15092015/exxon-the-road-not-taken/

  • Climate Investigations Center. “Tracking the Climate Denial Machine.” https://climateinvestigations.org


For inquiries, reprint permissions, or to contribute your own investigations, contact The Higher Education Inquirer at gmcghee@aya.yale.edu.

Wednesday, July 2, 2025

Public Higher Education is Splitting in Two (Robert Kelchen)

Even though there have been longstanding ideological differences across states, higher education leadership was largely insulated against these differences over the last half-century. Yes, they popped up in meaningful ways on topics such as South African divestment, affirmative action, and antiwar protests, but it was possible for university leaders to move from red states to blue states and vice versa. It helped to share the state’s political leanings, but it was generally not a requirement.

The last month has clearly shown that potential presidents now must pass an ideological litmus test in order to gain the favor of governing boards and state policymakers. Here are three examples:

Santa Ono’s hiring at Florida was rejected by the system board (after being approved by the campus board) due to his previous positions in favor of diversity initiatives and vaccine mandates. He tried to pivot his views, but it was not enough for Republican appointments on the board.Six red states, led by Florida and North Carolina, are seeking to launch a new accreditor to break free from their longtime accreditor (which was the only major institutional accreditor to never have a DEI requirement, although their diversity page is now blank). Florida Governor Ron DeSantis used his press conference to go on a tirade against higher education, but the North Carolina system’s statement was more cautious, focused on academic quality.
The Trump administration’s Justice Department effectively forced out University of Virginia president James Ryan over his alleged noncompliance in removing diversity initiatives from campus. This effort was successful because Virginia’s Republican governor also supported removal and has the ability to push the institution’s governing board to take action.

While there has been a long history of politicians across the ideological spectrum leading universities (such as Mitch Daniels at Purdue, John King at the State University of New York, and Dannel Molloy at Maine), these politicians have generally set aside most of their ideological priors that are not directly related to running an institution of higher education. But now a growing number of states are expecting their campus presidents to be politicians that are perfectly aligned with their values.

There are two clear takeaways from recent events. The first is that college presidents are now political appointments in the same way that a commissioner of education or a state treasurer would be in many states. Many boards will be instructed (or decide by themselves) to only hire people who are ideologically aligned to lead colleges—and to clean house whenever a new governor comes into power. The median tenure of a college president is rapidly declining, and expect that to continue as more leaders get forced out. Notably, by threatening to withhold funding, governors do not even have to wait for the composition of the board to change before forcing a change in leadership. New presidents will respond by requesting higher salaries to account for that risk.

Second, do not expect many prominent college presidents to switch from red states to blue states or vice versa. (It may still happen among community colleges, but even that will be more difficult). The expectations of the positions are rapidly diverging, and potential leaders are going to have to choose where they want to be. Given the politics of higher education employees, blue-state jobs may be seen as more desirable. But these positions often face more financial constraints due to declining enrollments and tight state budgets, in addition to whatever else comes from Washington. Red-state jobs may come with more resources, but they also are likely to come with more strings attached.

It is also worth noting that even vice president and dean positions are likely to face these same two challenges due to presidential transitions and the desire of some states to clean house within higher education. That makes the future of the administrative pipeline even more challenging.


[This article first appeared at the Robert Kelchen blog.]