The Pritzker Family Paradox: Elite Power, Higher Education, and Political Ambition

          [JB and Penny Pritzker] 

The Pritzker family stands as a symbol of wealth, influence, and access in American public life. From the luxury of Hyatt Hotels to the boardrooms of private equity and the highest ranks of government, their reach extends across economic sectors and institutional spheres. But beneath the carefully managed public image lies a troubling contradiction—one that implicates higher education, for-profit exploitation, and national politics.

Penny Pritzger

Penny Pritzker, a former U.S. Secretary of Commerce and current trustee of Harvard University, has been a key figure in shaping education policy from elite perches. She also had a working relationship with Vistria Group, a private equity firm that now owns the University of Phoenix and Risepoint. These two entities have been central to the subprime college industry—profiting from the hopes of working-class students while delivering poor outcomes and burdensome debt.

Pritzker’s relationship with Vistria runs deeper than simple association. In the late 1990s, she partnered with Vistria co-founder Marty Nesbitt to launch The Parking Spot, a national airport parking venture that brought them both business success and public recognition. When Nesbitt founded Vistria in 2013, he brought with him the experience and elite networks formed during that earlier partnership. Penny Pritzker’s family foundation—Pritzker Traubert—was among the early funders of Vistria, helping to establish its brand as a more “socially conscious” private equity firm. Although she stepped away from any formal role when she joined the Obama administration, her involvement in Vistria’s formation and funding set the stage for the firm’s expansion into sectors like for-profit education and healthcare.

Vistria’s acquisition of the University of Phoenix, and later Risepoint, positioned it as a major player in the privatization of American higher education. The firm continues to profit from schools that promise economic mobility but often deliver student debt and limited job prospects. This is not just a critique of business practices, but a systemic indictment of how elite networks shape education policy, finance, and outcomes.

Penny’s role as a trustee on the Harvard Corporation only sharpens this contradiction. Harvard, a university that markets itself as a global champion of meritocracy and inclusion, remains silent about one of its trustees helping to finance and support a firm that monetizes educational inequality. The governing body has not publicly addressed any potential conflict of interest between her Harvard role and her involvement with Vistria.

JB Pritzger

These contradictions are not limited to Penny. Her brother, J.B. Pritzker, is currently the governor of Illinois and one of the wealthiest elected officials in the country. Though he has no documented personal financial stake in Vistria, his administration has significant ties to the firm. Jesse Ruiz, J.B. Pritzker’s Deputy Governor for Education during his first term, left state government in 2022 to take a top leadership position at Vistria as General Counsel and Chief Compliance Officer.

This revolving-door dynamic—where a senior education policymaker transitions directly from a progressive administration to a private equity firm profiting from for-profit colleges—underscores the ideological alignment and operational synergy between the Pritzker political machine and firms like Vistria. While the governor publicly champions equity and expanded public education access, his administration’s former top education official is now helping manage legal and compliance operations for a firm that extracts value from struggling students and public loan programs.

J.B. Pritzker has announced plans to run for a third term as governor in 2026, but many observers believe he is positioning himself for a 2028 presidential campaign. His high-profile public appearances, pointed critiques of Donald Trump, and increased visibility in early primary states all suggest a national campaign is being tested. With his vast personal wealth, Pritzker could self-fund a serious run while drawing on elite networks built over decades—networks that include both his sister’s role at Harvard and their shared business and political allies.

Elites in US Higher Education, A Familiar Theme 

What emerges is a deeply American story—one in which the same elite networks shape both the problems and the proposed solutions. The Pritzkers are not alone in this dynamic, but their dual influence in higher education and politics makes them a case study in elite capture. They are architects and beneficiaries of a system in which public office, private equity, and nonprofit institutions converge to consolidate power.

The for-profit education sector continues to exploit regulatory gaps, marketing expensive credentials to desperate individuals while avoiding the scrutiny that traditional nonprofit colleges face. When private equity firms like Vistria acquire troubled institutions, they repackage them, restructure their branding, and keep extracting value from public loan dollars. The government lends, students borrow, and investors profit. The people left behind are those without political clout—low-income students, veterans, working parents—who believed the marketing and now face debt with little return.

Harvard’s silence, University of Phoenix’s reinvention, the rebranding of Academic Partnerships/Risepoint, and J.B. Pritzker’s ambitions all signal a troubling direction for American democracy. As more billionaires enter politics and public institutions become more dependent on private capital, the line between public service and private gain continues to erode.

The Higher Education Inquirer believes this moment demands not only scrutiny, but structural change. Until elite universities hold their trustees accountable, until political candidates reject the influence of exploitative industries, and until the public reclaims its voice in higher education policy, the Pritzker paradox will continue to define the American experience—where access to opportunity is sold to the highest bidder, and democracy is reshaped by those who can afford to buy it.

Sources
– U.S. Department of Education College Scorecard
– University of Phoenix outcome data (IPEDS, 2024)
– Harvard University governance and trustee records
– Vistria Group investor reports and public filings
– Wall Street Journal, “America’s Second-Richest Elected Official Is Acting Like He Wants to Be President” (2025)
– Associated Press, “Governor J.B. Pritzker positions himself as national Democratic leader” (2025)
– Vistria.com, “Marty Nesbitt on his friendship with Obama and what he learned from the Pritzkers”
– Politico, “Former Obama Insiders Seek Administration’s Blessing of For-Profit College Takeover” (2016)
– Vistria Group announcement, “Jesse Ruiz Joins Vistria as General Counsel and CCO” (2022)

Release All the Epstein Files

More than five years after Jeffrey Epstein’s suspicious death in federal custody, the full truth about his vast network of sexual abuse, elite privilege, and systemic protection remains locked behind closed doors. Despite high-profile arrests, mainstream media coverage, and multiple court battles, the U.S. government and key institutions—including major universities—have still not released the complete set of Epstein-related documents. The Higher Education Inquirer joins growing public calls: release all the Epstein files now.

This is not just about one man or even a circle of powerful friends. It is an indictment of a broader system—a grotesque synergy of patriarchy and neoliberalism—that enables elite impunity while systematically devaluing the lives of the vulnerable.

The Web of Secrecy

The known facts are damning enough. Jeffrey Epstein, a convicted sex offender with deep ties to academia, finance, royalty, and intelligence services, was allowed to operate with virtual impunity for decades. He funded elite universities like Harvard and MIT. He gained legitimacy through connections to figures like Bill Clinton, Donald Trump, Prince Andrew, and tech moguls. He was gifted a sweetheart plea deal in Florida in 2008, allowing him to avoid serious jail time despite credible allegations from dozens of underage survivors.

Even after his re-arrest in 2019, the system again failed: Epstein died in custody under circumstances that have never been credibly explained. Key surveillance footage went missing. Guards fell asleep. No high-ranking accomplices were charged—only Ghislaine Maxwell, who remains silent behind bars.

Court documents have trickled out—most recently in January 2024, when hundreds of pages from a defamation suit involving Virginia Giuffre were unsealed. But these documents were heavily redacted and incomplete. Names were obscured. The network remains only partially visible. The Department of Justice, the FBI, and several universities still withhold key information under claims of “privacy” and “national security.”

Whose privacy? Whose security? Certainly not that of the survivors.

An Indictment of Patriarchy

At its core, this is a story about the exploitation of women and girls, enabled by a patriarchal power structure that routinely protects the powerful at the expense of the powerless. Epstein's crimes were not hidden in a shadowy underworld—they were committed in mansions, on private islands, in Ivy League offices, and aboard private jets.

Many of his victims were teenage girls from economically precarious families. Some were Black, Latina, or Eastern European. They were groomed, trafficked, silenced, and disbelieved. Their trauma was commodified while their abuser was shielded by lawyers, donors, and university administrators.

To treat this merely as a “sex scandal” is to ignore the structural forces at work. Epstein's operation was not a fluke; it was a feature of a society that commodifies women's bodies, deifies the ultra-wealthy, and demands obedience from institutions that should serve the public interest.

A Neoliberal Failure

Epstein’s reach into higher education and finance is a symptom of neoliberalism’s rot: where ethics are subordinated to endowments, where philanthropy buys silence, and where universities compete for the favor of billionaires rather than serve truth or justice.

How did a man with no college degree and no scientific credentials end up with offices at Harvard and deep ties to MIT’s Media Lab? Why did major figures—Bill Gates, Alan Dershowitz, Larry Summers, Marvin Minsky, and others—accept meetings, flights, and funding without asking harder questions? And why have most of these institutions still not released full internal reviews?

Neoliberal higher education sold its soul for prestige and funding. By chasing Epstein’s money, it became complicit.

This is also true of elite media and political networks. Many journalists, editors, and executives knew about Epstein years before 2019. ABC News reportedly squashed a story in 2015. Powerful names pressured platforms and prosecutors. A “free press” operating under corporate control often becomes an accomplice to coverup.

What’s at Stake

By continuing to withhold the Epstein files, U.S. institutions deepen public distrust and prolong injustice. Survivors deserve full accountability. The public deserves to know who participated, who enabled, and who covered it up.

This is not about voyeurism or scandal-chasing. It is about transparency, justice, and systemic reform. We cannot begin to dismantle the structures that enabled Epstein without exposing them fully.

There is no legitimate reason for the government, law enforcement, or publicly funded universities to sit on thousands of sealed documents—especially when they may implicate individuals who still hold influence over public policy, education, and media.

Release Everything

We call for:

• The Department of Justice to release all non-classified documents related to Epstein, including client lists, flight logs, financial records, and communications.

• Universities like Harvard, MIT, and Arizona State to disclose all funding sources, correspondence, and internal reviews involving Epstein and his associates.

• All sealed court filings involving Epstein and Maxwell—unless doing so would endanger survivors—to be made public.

• An independent, survivor-led truth and reconciliation commission to oversee disclosure and redress.

The Fight Is Bigger Than Epstein

Jeffrey Epstein is dead, but the system that protected him is very much alive. It is a system built on patriarchal control, neoliberal corruption, and elite impunity. Releasing the files is a first step toward dismantling that system.

Until then, every redaction is an act of complicity. Every delay is a betrayal of justice.

Release all the Epstein files. Now.

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If you are a survivor of sexual violence or abuse and need support, call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 800.656.HOPE (4673). Confidential help is available 24/7.

Higher Education Inquirer Nears One Million Views: Investigative Journalism Drives Unprecedented Growth

The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) is approaching a significant milestone: nearly one million total views expected by September 2025. This achievement underscores the growing demand for investigative journalism that holds higher education institutions accountable.

HEI's traffic growth has been steady for more than a year with an explosive rise over the last few months. In the first quarter of 2025, the site recorded about 132,000 views, showing increased interest. By June, monthly views passed 160,000. The highest single-day traffic came yesterday, July 21, 2025, with 10,391 views, breaking previous records. This peak coincided with the release of several articles on economic and social issues facing students, student loan debtors, and young workers.

Key articles included Bryan Alexander’s examination of whether higher education still makes financial sense for students. Our staff contributed reports on young workers’ declining confidence in the job market and the expanding role of fintech companies like SoFi in student loans.

HEI also covers broader social and political topics. An article on June 25 about Gaza’s humanitarian crisis and campus dissent drew hundreds of views, showing the publication’s interest in global issues related to academic freedom and student activism.

One of the most significant examples of HEI’s investigative reporting has been its ongoing coverage of corruption and scandal in the Los Angeles Community College District (LACCD). In May and June 2025, HEI published detailed exposés documenting alleged fraud, retaliation against whistleblowers, grade manipulation, wage theft, and falsification of faculty credentials. These stories brought to light longstanding issues within LACCD, including actions by administrators such as Annie G. Reed, whose conduct has repeatedly raised serious concerns since at least 2016.

The impact of HEI’s coverage extended beyond readership numbers. After critical articles published by allied independent media outlets were removed from online platforms, HEI stood firm in reporting these issues, highlighting the challenges faced by whistleblowers and the vital role of independent journalism in holding institutions accountable.

In July 2025, HEI published an in-depth investigation revealing the Pentagon's longstanding relationship with for-profit colleges, particularly through the Council of College and Military Educators (CCME). The investigation uncovered how these institutions have exploited military-connected students, veterans, and their families, benefiting from federal programs like the Post-9/11 GI Bill and Department of Defense Tuition Assistance. Despite multiple Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) requests, the Department of Defense has withheld critical documents, raising questions about transparency and accountability in military education partnerships.

Additionally, HEI's reporting on the exploitation of veterans under the guise of service highlighted how politicians, government agencies, and nonprofits have failed to protect those who have served. The investigation revealed that instead of supporting veterans, these entities have perpetuated systems that prioritize self-interest over the well-being of veterans, leading to wasted benefits and poor educational outcomes.

Several factors explain HEI’s growth. The publication relies on original documents obtained through Freedom of Information Act requests, legal filings, and insider accounts to reveal facts often missed by mainstream media. This research appeals to readers seeking solid information.

Contributions from scholars and activists like Bryan Alexander, Henry Giroux, David Halperin, and Michael Hainline add context that helps readers understand education trends and policies.

HEI focuses on long-term issues such as adjunct faculty exploitation, college closures, student debt, and the privatization of public education, rather than fleeting news. This approach builds a loyal audience interested in ongoing analysis.

The site offers free access without paywalls or advertising, encouraging sharing and reader interaction through comments, tips, and feedback. Its presence on social media and forums like Reddit helps reach more readers organically.

Central to HEI’s mission is a commitment to transparency, accountability, and value in higher education. The publication seeks not only to reveal problems but also to hold institutions and policymakers responsible. HEI stresses that higher education must deliver real financial, social, and intellectual value and that openness is key to achieving this.

The political and economic context has also contributed to HEI’s growth. Lasting effects of Trump-era policies—such as changes in Title IX enforcement, rollbacks of diversity efforts, and disputes over federal funding—have increased public interest. HEI’s clear, evidence-based coverage helps readers understand these complex changes.

Public concerns about rising student debt, now over $1.7 trillion nationwide, and doubts about the value of college degrees have also driven readers to HEI. At the same time, debates around campus culture and diversity heighten demand for balanced reporting.

As HEI nears its million-view goal, it plans to expand investigative work, grow its viewership base, and increase community engagement through interactive features and reader participation. The publication intends to continue monitoring higher education’s power structures and highlight factors affecting students, faculty, and institutions.

In a time of declining trust in mainstream media and widespread misinformation, HEI’s growth shows a strong need for journalism that is thorough, honest, and focused on those involved in higher education.

For readers seeking clear, direct insight on changes in colleges and universities, HEI offers an essential platform—living up to its motto, “Ahead of the Learned Herd.” Its rise marks a shift toward more accountable journalism in the field.

Neoliberalism, Accreditation, and the Endless Reinvention of Higher Ed Scams

Fraudsters are like cockroaches: persistent, hard to eliminate, and always scurrying just beneath the surface. And like cockroaches, when you see one, you can assume many more are hidden from view. In the sprawling, trillion-dollar ecosystem of American higher education—built on trust, hope, and credentials—fraud has been a constant companion. And under neoliberalism, it doesn’t just survive. It adapts, multiplies, and thrives.

The case of Anthony Bieda and the newly formed National Association for Academic Excellence (NAAE) is a vivid reminder of how this ecosystem protects and even rewards those who have failed the public. Bieda, a former executive at the disgraced Accrediting Council for Independent Colleges and Schools (ACICS), is now fronting a fresh accreditation startup, backed by conservative donors and political forces aligned with Donald Trump’s vision for higher ed deregulation.

NAAE’s mission is to provide a “holistic,” “anti-woke” alternative to traditional accreditors, evaluating colleges not on outcomes like graduation rates or job placement, but on how they shape the “human person.” It's vague, ideological, and intentionally opaque. Even Bieda admits the metrics are a secret—soon to be intellectual property.

Fraud in American higher education didn’t start with Trump University or Corinthian Colleges. It dates back to the 19th century, when diploma mills sold degrees like snake oil. In the early 20th century, accreditation systems emerged to clean up the mess—but fraud simply evolved. As the federal government opened the spigot of student aid after World War II, for-profit colleges and shady operators followed the money.

By the 2000s, the con had been professionalized. Publicly traded companies like Corinthian and ITT Tech learned how to game the system, using slick advertising, inflated job placement rates, and predatory recruiting to rake in billions in Title IV funds. The students—often low-income, Black, Latino, veterans, or single mothers—were left with broken promises and ballooning debt.

The watchdogs failed them. And some, like ACICS, weren’t just negligent—they were complicit.

In theory, accreditors are gatekeepers. In practice, they’ve too often been enablers. Accreditation bodies are funded by the very institutions they review, leading to deep structural conflicts of interest. ACICS became notorious for accrediting schools that federal and state regulators had flagged as predatory. After years of scrutiny, it was finally shut down in 2022.

Yet here we are, three years later, with ACICS’s former leader launching a new accrediting agency, this time cloaked in the language of "freedom of thought" and "anti-wokeness." Backed by the American Academy of Sciences and Letters (AASL), which insists it’s apolitical despite pushing overt culture war themes, NAAE is asking to be trusted with federal gatekeeping power.

It’s neoliberalism in action: dismantle public systems, defang oversight, and recycle failed leaders with fresh branding. The logic isn’t about protecting students—it’s about deregulating markets under the guise of reform.

The digital age has only made things worse. Online colleges with low academic standards, limited faculty oversight, and profit-driven motives are booming. AI will soon be used not just in instruction and grading, but in accreditation assessments themselves. NAAE promises to use AI to detect inconsistencies and enforce its vague standards. But when the standards themselves are ideological and untested, automation becomes a smokescreen.

Meanwhile, shady consultants, student loan relief scammers, and credentialing platforms are multiplying. It's not just about bad schools anymore—it’s an entire financialized ecosystem that treats students as data points and debtors.

Occasionally, the public sees the fraud for what it is. Corinthian and ITT collapsed. Whistleblowers have emerged. Borrower defense lawsuits have won relief. But like cockroaches, fraudsters scatter and reassemble elsewhere. They form new schools, new agencies, new lobbies. They rebrand and wait for the political winds to shift.

And with Trump pushing to dismantle the Department of Education and rewrite accreditation rules by executive order, the roaches are back in the kitchen.

At the Higher Education Inquirer, we believe fraud is not just a byproduct of capitalism—it’s a feature of an underregulated, investor-driven model of education. The solution is not to invent new accreditors with old ideas, but to demand radical transparency and public accountability.

That means open data on outcomes, default rates, and executive pay. It means public audits of accreditor decisions. It requires whistleblower protections for staff and students. And it must include criminal and financial penalties for institutional fraud.

Because fraudsters are like cockroaches. You may never eliminate them all—but you can turn on the lights, close the cracks, and make it a lot harder for them to scurry back into power.

Sources
Theo Scheer, “He Helped Lead a Disgraced College Accreditor. Under Trump, He Might Have Another Shot.” The Chronicle of Higher Education, July 21, 2025
U.S. Department of Education actions on ACICS (2016–2022)
Higher Education Inquirer reporting on for-profit colleges, accreditation failures, and Trump-era education policy
Interviews with whistleblowers and former students of collapsed institutions

Caltech Settlement Spotlights Critical Need for OPM Transparency and Oversight in Higher Education

A recent Republic Report article by Jeremy Bauer-Wolf outlines the terms of a legal settlement between the California Institute of Technology and students enrolled in its Simplilearn-run cybersecurity bootcamp. The case and its resolution reveal larger systemic risks associated with university partnerships with Online Program Managers (OPMs), particularly those involving aggressive marketing, limited academic oversight, and questionable student outcomes.

The Caltech-Simplilearn bootcamp, launched under Caltech’s Center for Technology and Management Education, was marketed heavily using the university's brand. Students enrolled in the program alleged that Caltech misrepresented its level of involvement. The program was, in fact, designed and operated by Simplilearn, a for-profit OPM controlled by Blackstone and backed by GSV Ventures. The university seal and branding were used extensively in recruitment materials, leading some students to believe they were enrolling in a Caltech-created and Caltech-taught program. The class-action lawsuit contended that the program failed to live up to the expectations created by this branding.

As part of the settlement, Caltech and Simplilearn agreed to provide refunds to more than 260 students, totaling about $400,000. In addition to financial relief, the agreement requires clear disclosures that the bootcamp is “in collaboration with Simplilearn” and mandates that recruiters use Simplilearn email addresses rather than appearing to represent Caltech. The university must also ensure instructors possess verifiable professional credentials, not just certificates from prior bootcamp participation. Caltech is scheduled to wind down the program by the end of November 2025.

The Higher Education Inquirer previously reported in September 2024 that the Caltech-Simplilearn partnership was a case study in what can go wrong with white-labeled OPM programs. Simplilearn, which reported 35–45 percent annual revenue growth, had entered similar arrangements with Purdue, UMass, Brown, and UC San Diego. In many of these cases, the university’s brand was being used to sell pre-packaged courses created and delivered by the OPM. In Reddit forums and independent consumer reviews, former students regularly cited misleading marketing, lack of academic rigor, and poor support services. HEI's reporting raised concerns about the involvement of GSV Ventures, whose investors include high-profile education reformers like Arne Duncan and Michael Horn, as well as the private equity backing of Blackstone.

John Katzman, founder of the Noodle OPM, publicly warned about this model in 2024, saying, “White labeling is done everywhere… Still, I wouldn’t put my university’s name on other peoples’ programs without clear disclosure.” The Caltech case confirms that the reputational risks of such arrangements are real and can result in legal and financial liability.

The broader implications are significant. Since the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, universities have increasingly turned to OPMs to expand their online offerings quickly and with limited internal resources. These partnerships often involve tuition-share agreements in which the OPM receives a large percentage of student revenue—sometimes as much as 80 percent. In return, the OPM provides marketing, recruitment, course development, and instructional support. However, as Caltech’s case illustrates, this model can easily sideline university faculty, diminish educational quality, and mislead students.

Policy makers have begun to respond. Minnesota has banned tuition-share arrangements in its public colleges. Ohio now requires OPM disclosure on university websites. A 2023 California state audit found that several public institutions were engaging in misleading marketing through their OPM partners. Yet federal regulations around OPMs remain limited and largely unenforced, despite calls for greater oversight.

The Caltech settlement reinforces the need for strong institutional governance over OPM partnerships. Universities must ensure full transparency in marketing, maintain academic control over curriculum and instruction, and build systems of accountability that protect students from misleading practices. Caltech’s retreat from its bootcamp partnership may serve as a warning to other elite institutions that have outsourced large portions of their online education operations with minimal oversight.

This episode also underscores the importance of investigative journalism in higher education. The Higher Education Inquirer’s early reporting on the Caltech-Simplilearn relationship helped expose a pattern of questionable practices that extend far beyond one institution. With private equity and venture capital deeply embedded in the OPM sector, the risks of commodifying higher education continue to grow.

Sources:
https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2024/09/cal-tech-simplilearn-blackstone-scandal.html
https://www.republicreport.org/2025/caltech-settlement-underscores-need-for-opm-oversight-in-higher-ed/
https://www.govtech.com/education/higher-ed/caltech-settles-lawsuit-over-cybersecurity-boot-camp-marketing
https://newamerica.org/education-policy/edcentral/

The Disillusioned Young Man and Higher Ed in the US

Across the United States, growing numbers of young men are dropping out—of college, of the labor market, and of public life. They are disillusioned, disappointed, and increasingly detached from the institutions that once promised stability and purpose. Higher education is at the center of this unraveling. For many young men, it has become a symbol of a broken social contract—offering neither clear direction nor tangible reward.

Enrollment numbers reflect this retreat. Women now account for nearly 60 percent of U.S. college students. Men, particularly working-class men, have been withdrawing steadily for years. They are not disappearing from education simply out of disinterest—they are being priced out, pushed out, and in some cases replaced.

College has become a high-risk gamble for those without economic security. Some students take out tens of thousands of dollars in loans and find themselves dropping out or graduating into dead-end jobs. Others gamble in a more literal sense. The explosion of online sports betting and gambling apps has created a public health crisis that is largely invisible. Research shows that college students, particularly men, are significantly more likely to develop gambling problems than the general population. Some have even used federal student aid to fund their gambling. The financial and psychological toll is severe.

Alcohol remains another outlet for despair. While binge drinking has long been part of campus life, it is now more frequently a form of self-medication than social bonding. The stresses of debt, job insecurity, isolation, and untreated mental illness have led many young men to drink excessively. The consequences—academic failure, expulsion, addiction, violence—are often invisible until they are catastrophic.

The education system offers few lifelines. Counseling services are understaffed. Mentorship is scarce. For-profit colleges and nonselective public institutions offer quick credentials but little career mobility. Internships are often unpaid. Adjunct professors, who now make up the majority of the college teaching workforce, are overworked and underpaid, with little time for student engagement. The result is an environment where young men are left to fend for themselves, often without guidance, community, or hope.

Into this vacuum step political influencers who promise meaning and belonging—but offer grievance and distraction instead. Charlie Kirk, founder of Turning Point USA, has become one of the most recognizable figures appealing to disaffected young men. His message is simple: college is a scam, the system is rigged against you, and the left is to blame. But Kirk’s rhetoric does little to address real economic suffering. Instead of empowering young men with tools for analysis, organizing, or resilience, he offers them a worldview of resentment and victimhood. It's ideology without substance—an escape route that leads nowhere.

Compounding the crisis is the transformation of the U.S. labor market. Union jobs that once offered working-class men decent wages and stability have been gutted by automation, offshoring, deregulation, and union-busting campaigns. The pathways that allowed previous generations to thrive without a college degree have largely disappeared. Retail and service jobs dominate the landscape, with low pay, high turnover, and little dignity.

Meanwhile, higher education institutions have increasingly turned to international students to fill seats and boost tuition revenue. Many universities, especially at the graduate level, rely on international students—who often pay full price—to subsidize their operations. These students frequently gain access to internships, research positions, and jobs in STEM fields, sometimes edging out U.S. students with less financial or academic capital. While international students contribute intellectually and economically to American higher ed, their presence also reflects a system more concerned with revenue than with serving local and regional populations.

This mix of economic decline, addiction, alienation, and displacement has left many young men feeling irrelevant. Some turn to substances. Some drop out entirely. Others embrace simplistic ideologies that frame their loss as cultural rather than structural. But the deeper truth is this: they are caught between institutions that extract from them and influencers who exploit them.

The American higher education system has failed to adapt to the reality of millions of young men who no longer see it as a path forward. Until colleges address the psychological, social, and economic pain these men are facing—until they offer real support, purpose, and value—the disillusionment will deepen. Until labor policy creates viable alternatives through union jobs, apprenticeships, and living wages, higher education will continue to function not as a ladder of mobility but as a mirage.

Sources:
National Student Clearinghouse Research Center, Current Term Enrollment Estimates
University at Buffalo, Clinical and Research Institute on Addictions
International Center for Responsible Gaming
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Youth Risk Behavior Surveillance
Turning Point USA public statements and financial filings
U.S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics: Union Membership Data
Institute of International Education, Open Doors Report on International Educational Exchange
The Higher Education Inquirer archives on student debt, labor displacement, and campus disinformation campaigns

How Neoliberalism Haunts Our Lives: 24/7/365

Neoliberalism isn’t just an economic theory or a dry policy framework. It’s a lived reality that operates around the clock, shaping our lives in ways many people don’t fully see. Neoliberalism tells us that markets solve everything, that individual responsibility trumps social solidarity, and that human worth is best measured by productivity, consumption, and credentialing. Its presence is constant—at work, in education, in healthcare, in housing, even in our relationships.

This is not a new critique. But as the 21st century drags on and late capitalism becomes more extractive, predatory, and digitally surveilled, the impacts of neoliberal ideology have intensified. For the working class, for students, for adjuncts, for debtors, for renters, and for the chronically ill, neoliberalism is not an abstraction—it is a system of permanent exhaustion.

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The Day Begins: Sleep-Deprived and Algorithmically Watched

The neoliberal day begins before the alarm rings. If you’re poor, you may be sleeping in your car or waking up in a crowded home. If you’re middle-class, the first thing you see is likely your phone, already feeding you metrics about your body (sleep scores, heart rate, missed messages). Neoliberal logic tells us our time must be optimized, even our rest must be productive.

Gig workers check their apps to see if they’ll get enough rides or orders to survive. Others log into remote jobs monitored by keystroke trackers, digital timesheets, or AI productivity tools. Control is constant, and surveillance is internalized: we discipline ourselves with planners, metrics, reminders, shame.

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Education: Credentials Over Knowledge

For students, neoliberal education is a high-cost simulation of opportunity. Degrees are sold as investments in "human capital," with ever-rising tuition and debt. Public funding is replaced by predatory loans, branding consultants, and privatized ed-tech platforms. The curriculum is shaped by market demand, not civic responsibility. Liberal arts are gutted, and adjuncts are paid poverty wages while administrators balloon in number.

The university, once imagined as a space for critical thinking and collective inquiry, is now a debt-fueled credential mill—an HR pipeline for corporations, a subscription model of social mobility that rarely delivers.

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Healthcare: A Business of Despair

Neoliberalism doesn’t take a break when you get sick. In fact, your illness becomes a profit center. In the U.S., the healthcare system is a financial trap. Insurance is often tied to employment; losing your job means losing your access to care. Big Pharma, hospital chains, and insurance conglomerates operate under the logic of maximizing shareholder value—not public health.

Even mental health is commodified. Wellness apps, “self-care” products, and Instagram therapy push the idea that individual solutions will fix systemic problems. Suffering is reframed as personal failure.

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Housing: A Market, Not a Human Right

Housing insecurity is one of neoliberalism’s clearest failures. Real estate speculation, gentrification, and the financialization of housing have made shelter a luxury good. Renters face skyrocketing costs and eviction threats, while homes sit vacant as investment vehicles.

Public housing is stigmatized and underfunded. Homelessness becomes a criminal issue instead of a humanitarian one. You’re told to “pull yourself up” while the ladder is systematically removed.

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Work and Labor: You're Always On

The 9-to-5 is no longer the norm. Neoliberal work is either hyper-precarious or all-consuming. The gig economy pretends to offer flexibility, but in practice it strips away rights, benefits, and security. Professional workers face unpaid overtime, side hustles, and an expectation of constant availability. Labor laws lag decades behind. Union-busting is normalized.

At the same time, those without work are treated with suspicion. Unemployment, disability, and even retirement are framed as moral failings or burdens on the system.

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Nightfall: No Rest for the Weary

At night, the apps don’t sleep. Your data is still harvested. Your bank is still charging fees. Your landlord’s algorithm is still adjusting rent. Your student loan is still accruing interest. Your body, overstressed and under-cared-for, begins to break down.

Even dreams aren’t free: entertainment has been colonized by neoliberal culture, feeding you aspirational lifestyles and endless content to dull your exhaustion. Everything is monetized. Everything is a subscription.

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Resistance in the Cracks

Despite its pervasiveness, neoliberalism is not invincible. People are resisting in small and large ways—through union organizing, mutual aid, alternative media, degrowth activism, and radical pedagogy. These aren’t just political choices; they are survival strategies.

But for resistance to grow, we must name the problem clearly. Neoliberalism is not just a phase of capitalism—it’s an ideology embedded in every institution and mediated by every platform. It isolates us, overworks us, and extracts from us while pretending to offer freedom and choice.

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The 24/7/365 Trap

We live in neoliberalism’s world, but we don’t have to live by its rules. That starts with refusing its myths: that poverty is personal failure, that education is a private good, that health must be earned, that the market is sacred.

As long as neoliberalism governs our lives without challenge, inequality will deepen and democracy will continue to erode. The question isn’t whether we can afford to abandon neoliberalism—the question is whether we can survive if we don’t.

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Sources:

• Wendy Brown, Undoing the Demos

• David Harvey, A Brief History of Neoliberalism

• Sarah Jaffe, Work Won’t Love You Back

• Marion Fourcade and Kieran Healy, “Seeing Like a Market”

• Astra Taylor, The Age of Insecurity

• Michael Hudson, The Destiny of Civilization

• Maurizio Lazzarato, The Making of the Indebted Man

Liberty University Online: Master’s Degree Debt Factory

Liberty University, one of the largest Christian universities in the United States, has built an educational empire by promoting conservative values and offering flexible online degree programs to hundreds of thousands of students. But behind the pious branding and patriotic marketing lies a troubling pattern: Liberty University Online has become a master’s degree debt factory, churning out credentials of questionable value while generating billions in student loan debt.

From Moral Majority to Mass Marketing

Founded in 1971 by televangelist Jerry Falwell Sr., Liberty University was created to train “Champions for Christ.” In the 2000s, the school found new life through online education, transforming from a small evangelical college into a mega-university with nearly 95,000 online students, the vast majority of them enrolled in nontraditional and graduate programs.

By leveraging aggressive digital marketing, religious appeals, and promises of career advancement, Liberty has positioned itself as a go-to destination for working adults and military veterans seeking master's degrees. But this rapid expansion has not come without costs — especially for the students who enroll.

A For-Profit Model in Nonprofit Clothing

Though technically a nonprofit, Liberty University operates with many of the same profit-driven incentives as for-profit colleges. Its online programs generate massive revenues — an estimated $1 billion annually — thanks in large part to federal student aid programs. Students are encouraged to take on loans to pay for master’s degrees in education, counseling, business, and theology, among other fields. Many of these programs are offered in accelerated formats that cater to working adults but often lack the rigor, support, or job placement outcomes associated with traditional graduate schools.

Federal data shows that many Liberty students, especially graduate students, take on substantial debt. According to the U.S. Department of Education’s College Scorecard, the median graduate student debt at Liberty can range from $40,000 to more than $70,000, depending on the program. Meanwhile, the return on investment is often dubious, with low median earnings and high rates of student loan forbearance or default.

Exploiting Faith and Patriotism

Liberty’s marketing strategy is finely tuned to appeal to Christian conservatives, homeschoolers, veterans, and working parents. By framing education as a moral and patriotic duty, Liberty convinces students that enrolling in an online master’s program is both a personal and spiritual investment. Testimonials of “calling” and “purpose” are common, but the financial realities can be harsh.

Many students report feeling misled by promises of job readiness or licensure, especially in education and counseling fields, where state licensing requirements can differ dramatically from what Liberty prepares students for. Others cite inadequate academic support and difficulties transferring credits.

 The university spends heavily on recruitment and retention, often at the expense of student services and academic quality.

Lack of Oversight and Accountability

Liberty University benefits from minimal federal scrutiny compared to for-profit schools, largely because of its nonprofit status and political connections. The institution maintains close ties to conservative lawmakers and was a vocal supporter of the Trump administration, which rolled back regulations on higher education accountability.

Despite a series of internal scandals — including financial mismanagement, sexual misconduct cover-ups, and leadership instability following the resignation of Jerry Falwell Jr. — Liberty has continued to expand its online presence. Its graduate programs, particularly in education and counseling, remain cash cows that draw in federal loan dollars with few checks on student outcomes.

A Cautionary Tale in Christian Capitalism

The story of Liberty University Online is not just about one school. It reflects a broader trend in American higher education: the merging of religion, capitalism, and credential inflation. As more employers demand advanced degrees for mid-level jobs, and as traditional institutions struggle to adapt, schools like Liberty have seized the opportunity to market hope — even if it comes at a high cost.

For students of faith seeking upward mobility, Liberty promises a path to both spiritual and professional fulfillment. But for many, the result is a diploma accompanied by tens of thousands in debt and limited economic return. The moral reckoning may not be just for Liberty University, but for the policymakers and accreditors who continue to enable this lucrative cycle of debt and disillusionment.

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The Higher Education Inquirer will continue to investigate Liberty University Online and similar institutions as part of our ongoing series on higher education debt, inequality, and regulatory failure.

From EdTech Darling to Distressed Asset — A Post-Bankruptcy Autopsy

The fall of 2U, once a poster child of education technology innovation, is a cautionary tale for investors, policymakers, and students alike. After riding a wave of optimism in the online education bo-m, the company declared Chapter 11 bankruptcy in mid-2024, emerging weeks later as a privately held firm now controlled by distressed asset investors. While many of the company’s top executives have been replaced or reshuffled, the story is far from over—and the damage done to public trust in university–edtech partnerships remains.

Founded in 2008 and based in Lanham, Maryland, 2U positioned itself as a premier Online Program Manager (OPM), contracting with top-tier universities to run their online degree programs. By 2019, the company was a billion-dollar operation, boasting partnerships with USC, Georgetown, and Yale. But cracks began to show as questions about cost, transparency, student outcomes, and aggressive recruiting practices became harder to ignore.

By 2023, 2U was bleeding cash, facing multiple lawsuits, regulatory scrutiny, and plummeting investor confidence. The final blow came when the company defaulted on over $450 million in debt. In July 2024, 2U entered and quickly exited Chapter 11 bankruptcy through a pre-packaged deal. The result: 2U is now a private company, with ownership largely transferred to distressed debt investors—Mudrick Capital Management, Greenvale Capital, and Bayside Capital (an affiliate of H.I.G. Capital).

These firms are known not for a commitment to education but for expertise in distressed asset recovery and aggressive restructuring. Mudrick Capital, for instance, made headlines for its role in the AMC “meme stock” frenzy. Bayside Capital has long operated in the shadows of high-risk debt markets, favoring fast-moving deals in stressed financial environments. Greenvale Capital, a lesser-known but analytically rigorous hedge fund, rounds out the group.

Following the takeover, 2U appointed Kees Bol as its new CEO and installed Brian Napack—a veteran of the education sector and former CEO of Wiley—as Executive Chairman of the Board. Whether this new leadership can turn 2U around remains unclear. For now, they are signaling a pivot toward non-degree credentials and corporate upskilling markets, away from costly master’s degree programs that saddled students with debt and poor returns.

But 2U’s shift is not merely a business story. Its implosion exposes broader flaws in the higher education–tech ecosystem. OPMs like 2U operated in a legal gray area, exploiting Title IV federal student aid without direct regulatory oversight. Critics, including lawmakers and consumer protection advocates, argue that these firms served more as enrollment mills than academic partners. The Department of Education’s efforts to rein in the industry through “bundled services” guidance and potential Gainful Employment rules came too late to prevent massive financial fallout.

The universities that partnered with 2U are also complicit. Many ceded control of curriculum design, admissions, and marketing to a for-profit company in exchange for a share of the revenue. In doing so, they risked their reputations—and in some cases, knowingly funneled students into programs with dubious value. These relationships, many of which are still active, should now be reexamined in light of 2U’s restructuring.

Students who enrolled in these programs, often with the promise of career advancement and elite credentials, are left with debt and degrees that may not deliver the expected return. As 2U retools its strategy under the control of financial firms, it's unclear whether these students—or future ones—will benefit at all.

Meanwhile, the venture capitalists and financial engineers behind the scenes have already cashed out or secured their positions in the restructured entity. Like so many stories in the for-profit education sector, 2U’s downfall was not just predictable—it was profitable for those who knew how to play the system.

Have you worked with 2U—or been affected by it?

The Higher Education Inquirer is continuing its investigation into 2U and the wider online program management (OPM) industry. If you are a former or current employee of 2U, Trilogy Education, EdX, or a related company, a university staff or faculty member who collaborated with 2U, a student or graduate of a 2U-powered program, a marketing contractor, admissions specialist, or vendor affiliated with 2U or its partners, or someone with knowledge of the company's restructuring or operations—we want to hear from you.

We are especially interested in experiences involving enrollment pressure tactics, misleading marketing, internal operations, financial mismanagement, compliance concerns, and revenue-sharing agreements with universities. If 2U’s collapse or restructuring affected your job, finances, or education, your story matters.

You can share information confidentially by contacting us at gmcghee@aya.yale.edu. Anonymity will be protected upon request.

Trump Signs Crypto Bill: A Gateway to Corruption and Financial Oppression

On July 17, 2025, Donald Trump signed into law the “American Digital Freedom Act,” a sweeping piece of legislation that federalizes and deregulates cryptocurrency markets in the United States. While hailed by supporters as a victory for innovation and financial autonomy, the new law is more accurately understood as a major victory for crypto billionaires, libertarian think tanks, and political operatives seeking to reshape American financial life with minimal public accountability.

This bill, which strips oversight powers from the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) and restricts consumer protections, was heavily influenced by the cryptocurrency lobby. It legitimizes risky, unregulated financial products, undermines state enforcement power, and further embeds private power into public infrastructure. Far from delivering financial freedom to everyday Americans, this law opens the door to unprecedented corruption and control, continuing a pattern long warned about in the pages of the Higher Education Inquirer.

Echoes of Student Debt, EdTech Fraud, and Neoliberal Capture

In our May 2025 article, "How the New Cryptocurrency Bill Could Open the Door to Corruption and Control," we warned that the crypto bill was less about democratizing finance and more about creating new extractive markets. As with the for-profit college industry, the gigification of academic labor, and the student loan crisis, the crypto sector markets itself to the financially desperate, the underemployed, and the debt-burdened.

Cryptocurrency platforms promise opportunity and empowerment, just as subprime for-profit colleges did during the early 2000s. Instead, they profit from volatility, speculation, and financial illiteracy. The collapse of companies like FTX and the unraveling of various "blockchain for education" experiments—like those pitched by Minerva, 2U, and Lambda School—should have served as a warning. Instead, the American Digital Freedom Act enshrines their business models into law.

From Financial Risk to Political Weapon

While proponents describe the law as a pro-innovation framework, the political context suggests otherwise. The crypto bill was pushed through by some of the same operatives behind efforts to weaken the Department of Education, dismantle Title IX protections, and privatize public universities. The legislation also dovetails with Trump-aligned plans to create “digital citizenship” systems linked to financial identity—a move critics argue could be used to surveil and suppress dissent.

By reducing AML (Anti-Money Laundering) standards and weakening Know Your Customer (KYC) rules, the new law also makes it easier for dark money to enter U.S. elections and political campaigns. The line between crypto lobbying, national security risks, and voter manipulation is already blurred—and this legislation will only accelerate the trend.

As the Higher Education Inquirer, there is a growing convergence of tech capital, deregulated finance, and political ideology that promotes “freedom” while gutting accountability. The crypto bill fits squarely within this pattern.

Targeting the Dispossessed

The communities that will bear the brunt of the consequences are already stretched thin: working-class students drowning in loan debt, unemployed graduates with useless credentials, and gig workers living paycheck to paycheck. These are the same groups now being told that speculative crypto investments are their only shot at economic mobility.

It’s no surprise that crypto apps are targeting community college students, veterans, and underbanked populations with gamified interfaces and referral incentives—echoing the same predatory logic as diploma mills. Instead of building generational wealth, these platforms often lock users into a new form of digital serfdom, driven by data extraction and monetized hype.

The Long Game of Financialized Authoritarianism

The Higher Education Inquirer has consistently highlighted the dangers of unregulated private capital colonizing public institutions. Whether through for-profit colleges, hollow credential marketplaces, or now unregulated crypto markets, the pattern is the same: promise empowerment, deliver exploitation, and consolidate power.

The crypto bill signed by Trump is not an end—it is a gateway. A gateway to a political economy where finance, tech, and politics are indistinguishable, and where the price of dissent may be counted not only in speech, but in digital wallets and blockchain-based reputations.

We will continue reporting on the consequences of this legislation—especially where it intersects with higher education, student debt, and the erosion of democratic infrastructure. If you’ve been affected by crypto scams in academic settings or targeted by blockchain-backed “innovation” schemes, we want to hear from you.

Sources:

• “How the New Cryptocurrency Bill Could Open the Door to Corruption and Control,” Higher Education Inquirer, May 2025

• “Socrates in Space: University of Austin and the Billionaire Pipeline,” Higher Education Inquirer, July 2024

• U.S. Congressional Record, July 17, 2025

• CoinDesk, “Trump Signs Historic Crypto Deregulation Bill,” July 2025

• Public Citizen, “Crypto Lobby’s Push to Rewrite U.S. Law,” June 2025

• SEC Chair Gary Gensler’s Remarks, April–June 2025

• Financial Times, “Digital Authoritarianism and Financial Surveillance,” May 2025

How Higher Education Has Made America’s Caste System Worse

Higher education in the United States has long been marketed as the great equalizer—a system where hard work and talent supposedly translate into opportunity. But over the last four decades, it has increasingly reinforced and legitimized an American caste system. Through elite gatekeeping, rising tuition, unsustainable student debt, and the erosion of public support, higher education has helped harden economic class divisions, limit social mobility, and deepen inequality across racial and geographic lines.

The backdrop to this shift is a broader trend toward inequality in American society. The U.S. Gini Index—a measure of income inequality where 0 is perfect equality and 1 is maximum inequality—rose from 0.403 in 1980 to 0.494 in 2022, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. This ranks the United States among the most unequal of advanced economies. During this same period, college tuition increased by more than 1,200%—far outpacing both inflation and wage growth. Real wages for most Americans have remained stagnant since the late 1970s, while education has become more expensive and less accessible, especially for low- and middle-income families.

Elite universities have played a critical role in this transformation. Institutions such as Harvard, Princeton, Stanford, and Columbia admit more students from families in the top 1% of the income distribution than from the bottom 60% combined, according to research by economists Raj Chetty and colleagues at Opportunity Insights. Legacy admissions, donor preferences, and access to elite extracurricular activities and expensive test prep services give wealthier applicants clear advantages. Despite growing awareness of these disparities, the gates to elite education remain closed to most Americans. In 2023, the Supreme Court struck down affirmative action policies, further limiting access for underrepresented students of color.

Public colleges and universities, once affordable vehicles for upward mobility, have also become less accessible and more commercialized. State disinvestment in public higher education has been dramatic. Between 1980 and 2020, state funding per student declined by nearly 20% in inflation-adjusted dollars. To make up the shortfall, public universities increased tuition and fees, shifted toward out-of-state and international students who pay more, and invested in revenue-generating activities like athletics, real estate, and research partnerships with private industry. Flagship universities have increasingly mimicked elite privates, while regional public universities—serving the most vulnerable populations—have been neglected, consolidated, or closed.

For-profit colleges, often owned by private equity firms, have targeted low-income, first-generation, and non-traditional students, promising quick credentials and job placement. In reality, many of these institutions deliver poor outcomes, high dropout rates, and outsized debt burdens. According to the U.S. Department of Education, students at for-profit institutions are twice as likely to default on their loans compared to those at public colleges.

The student loan crisis is a defining feature of this caste-like system. Total student loan debt in the U.S. surpassed $1.7 trillion in 2023, with more than 45 million Americans carrying loans. Black borrowers, in particular, face disproportionate burdens. Data from the Brookings Institution show that Black graduates owe an average of $25,000 more than white graduates four years after graduation, due in part to differences in generational wealth and post-college income. Many borrowers spend decades in repayment or fall into default, resulting in ruined credit, wage garnishment, and loss of social mobility.

Meanwhile, the internal labor structure of higher education mirrors the broader erosion of the middle class. Since the 1970s, the percentage of faculty in tenure-track positions has declined from roughly 70% to under 30%. Today, more than 70% of college instructors are contingent workers—adjuncts or lecturers without job security, benefits, or a livable wage. Many earn less than $3,500 per course, forcing them to string together multiple jobs or rely on public assistance. The very institutions that promote education as the path to professional stability are exploiting educated workers at scale.

Credential inflation has also contributed to the caste structure. Jobs that once required a high school diploma now demand a bachelor’s degree, while others that once required a bachelor's now demand a master's or doctorate. This escalation has not always come with higher pay or better conditions but has added years of unpaid or underpaid labor, especially in fields like education, social work, and academia. As employers outsource training responsibilities to colleges, individuals are expected to invest more in credentials—often at their own expense—just to remain competitive.

Cultural narratives of meritocracy continue to legitimize these outcomes. College is still portrayed as a personal investment and a moral obligation—despite clear evidence that structural inequality determines who can afford to attend, who can complete a degree, and who can leverage it into economic stability. The myth that higher education is a universal equalizer serves to obscure how deeply stratified the system has become.

Higher education could be a force for economic justice and democratic renewal. But as it currently functions, it serves as a sorting mechanism that reproduces existing hierarchies. Elite institutions credential the ruling class. Public universities ration opportunity through rising costs. For-profit schools prey on the vulnerable. And the debt system punishes those who try to improve their circumstances through education.

Unless the system is restructured—through robust public funding, tuition-free options, large-scale debt relief, labor protections, and a renewed commitment to equity—higher education will continue to solidify America's caste system rather than dismantle it.

Sources: U.S. Census Bureau (Gini Index), U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics, Opportunity Insights, Brookings Institution, Institute for Higher Education Policy, The Century Foundation, “The Merit Myth” by Anthony Carnevale et al., “The Debt Trap” by Josh Mitchell

The Reality of Higher Ed Fraud in 2025

"Fraudsters are like cockroaches"--Anonymous higher education businessman

Fraudsters are like cockroaches: persistent, hard to eliminate, and always scurrying just beneath the surface. And like cockroaches, when you see one, you can assume many more are hidden from view. In the vast, sprawling ecosystem of US higher education—a multi-trillion-dollar industry built on trust, hope, and credentials—fraud has been a lurking presence for more than a century. From diploma mills to for-profit scams, grade inflation to financial aid abuse, deceit has found fertile ground wherever oversight is weak and incentives are perverse.

The Gilded Roots of Fraud

Fraud in American higher education didn’t begin with Trump University or Corinthian Colleges. The roots go back to the 19th century, when the proliferation of unregulated “colleges” allowed opportunists to sell degrees to anyone willing to pay. These early diploma mills, often run by religious organizations or independent operators, flourished in an era before accreditation, issuing worthless credentials that nevertheless offered the illusion of legitimacy.

By the early 20th century, regional accreditation and federal involvement began to tame the worst actors, but fraud adapted. Unethical schools learned how to mimic the symbols of respectability, while federal dollars—including GI Bill money and later Pell Grants and federal student loans—provided irresistible bait.

For-Profit Colleges and the Federal ATM

The rise of for-profit higher education in the post-WWII era, especially from the 1970s onward, signaled a new chapter in educational fraud. Companies like ITT Technical Institute, Corinthian Colleges, and Education Management Corporation were publicly traded entities or private equity darlings that mastered the art of siphoning billions in taxpayer dollars while leaving students with worthless credentials and mountains of debt.

The fraud wasn’t always overt—it often came wrapped in slick marketing, predatory recruiting, falsified job placement statistics, and pressure to enroll students regardless of academic readiness. These institutions gamed federal financial aid systems, manipulating default rates and exploiting regulatory loopholes.

Even when regulators like the GAO or the Department of Education uncovered misconduct, enforcement was sporadic and too often came after the damage was done. In many cases, executives walked away with millions, while students—often from low-income, Black, Latino, and veteran communities—were left in financial ruin.

Accreditation as a Shield

One of the most confounding aspects of US higher ed fraud is the role of accreditors. Supposed to act as gatekeepers, many regional and national accreditors have served more as enablers—either asleep at the wheel or financially incentivized to look the other way. When accreditors are funded by the very institutions they review, conflict of interest becomes systemic.

This has allowed weak or outright fraudulent institutions to hide behind the veneer of legitimacy. Some accreditors, like ACICS (Accrediting Council for Independent Colleges and Schools), became infamous for rubber-stamping schools that should have been shuttered. ACICS accredited both ITT Tech and Corinthian before its federal recognition was finally revoked in 2022.

The New Wave: Online and AI-Enabled Scams

The digital age has added new dimensions to academic fraud. Online colleges like University of Phoenix, Ashford University (now University of Arizona Global Campus), and Western Governors University have raised concerns about low faculty oversight, cookie-cutter instruction, and questions about academic rigor. While not all online institutions are fraudulent, the modality makes it easier to scale shady practices and reduce accountability.

Now, with generative AI entering the classroom and enrollment systems, new questions emerge: How do we ensure academic honesty in an age of algorithmic ghostwriting? How will fraud evolve as institutions increasingly rely on automated admissions, grading, and content delivery?

And it's not just schools. Consultants, influencers, and shady loan servicers feed off the system like parasites—promising student loan relief, admissions guarantees, or academic success for a fee. In this ecosystem, fraud doesn't just survive—it thrives.

When the Roaches Scatter

Occasionally, the light shines in. Whistleblowers, investigative journalists, and government agencies have at times forced fraudsters into the open. Lawsuits have led to settlements. Schools have closed. Presidents have resigned. But like cockroaches, the fraud rarely disappears—it relocates, rebrands, and reinvents itself.

Even with borrower defense to repayment, loan forgiveness programs, and federal oversight mechanisms, restitution often comes too late. And public memory is short. Fraudulent operators have learned how to outlast administrations, court cases, and media cycles.

A Call to Radical Transparency

The Higher Education Inquirer has long called for radical transparency in US higher education. That means open data on outcomes, federal aid, loan default rates, salaries of top administrators, and accreditor performance. It means holding college leaders and board members accountable for failures—not rewarding them with golden parachutes or public pensions.

Fraud may be a permanent feature of capitalist education systems, but its impact can be minimized with independent media scrutiny, better whistleblower protections, and public investment that prioritizes students—not shareholders.

Because fraudsters are like cockroaches. You may never kill them all, but you can make the kitchen a whole lot harder to live in.

Borrower Defense Story 3: Modern Indentured Servitude (Feral Woman)

[Editor's note:  This is the third story in our series on the social and philosophical dimensions of Borrower Defense to Repayment. We hope that by sharing these stories, more people will understand why Borrower Defense is morally essential.] 

I went to school so I could lift myself out of poverty. I went and learned a trade in healthcare that I was told would have an income that would be more than enough to pay my loans. I vetted current providers in the field and learned what would be needed to be successful. 

The school made a lot of promises, but they misrepresented information and, in some cases, completely lied about our profession and our income ability. My profession at the time was averaging 25k-35k/yr in income. They told us it was 100k-125k in order to justify taking out 100k to pay for the education. 

I lived simply and thought that as long as I made 100k I could easily pay my loans back within two years. No student loan should take more than 3 years to pay back, and I had a plan to do it in two.

 
I graduated in the height of the second financial crash of my lifetime - 2007/2008. Turns out there were no jobs available prior to this crash and certainly wasn't during the crash. Opening a practice was impossible and due to illness of both myself and my partner at the time, we were in deep poverty with only a roof over our head due to family. I was able to secure a part-time job at a grocery store. During this time, I also found out that my 4 year medical degree meant nothing outside of the field I was in - also another lie from the school. I couldn't transition to any other medical profession without starting over.

I made 12- 20k a year for several years in unrelated fields, meanwhile catastrophic interest was building. Congress had also passed a law to block bankruptcy and to add capitalized interest to student loans in 2005 - which is considered predatory lending in almost all types of lending, especially for large loans. My interest rate was averaging 8%. As a former business analyst, I knew this was going to have catastrophic impacts.

Since that time, I have tried to pass a student loan bill for the last 17 years that would solve this for 95% of borrowers from the past, current and future. 

I borrowed 108k, paid 85k and I owe close to 260k for this specific degree. I have tried leaving the profession for the last 15 years but have been stuck because of the loans and no one wanting to hire me outside of my profession. I've had a few part-time jobs, but those have also dried up.

I filed for Borrowers Defense, but don't have high hopes that this will be approved under this administration, despite my school being closed down. My education has been a lifetime sentence of indentured servitude. I've been in crisis since I graduated and have never known a moment of peace. I had started to feel some hope in 2019, but lost everything and more in the pandemic and have now declared bankruptcy and will attempt an "adversarial proceeding" to get relief from my student loans as well. It will cost between 6-12k to file for adversarial proceedings with no guarantee I'll win.

I also recently found out that my IBR should have been approved in Jan 2025 for full cancellation, but instead the administration INCREASED the number of years of repayment another 12 years.

If it weren't for my son, I would have fled this country 18 years ago and started over. As it is, I'm preparing to leave because of the fear of debtors' prisons for people like me. I absolutely can not afford any additional payment to my student loans. Despite hard work to change careers and well over 3k applications in the last 4 years, not including prior to that, I keep being told my education and credentials are not enough, even in the field I'm in.

This insanity is easy to fix. Yet, neither Democrats nor Republicans have been willing to pass basic laws to restore (yes restore) sanity to education and student loans.

Wake Forest and Kaplan: Selling Prestige in a Predatory Credential Market

Wake Forest University, a private institution with a proud 185-year history, has long marketed itself as a place for ethical leadership and elite scholarship. But its recent partnership with Kaplan—an infamous name in for-profit education and test prep—raises serious questions about the erosion of academic integrity and the corporatization of American higher education.

Wake Forest’s online offerings, now delivered in collaboration with Kaplan, are dressed in glowing promotional language. Prospective students are promised access to “a global network of 80,000+ alumni,” “1-on-1 guidance from a dedicated Student Success Manager,” and a curriculum shaped by “a Program Advisory Board of diverse business leaders.” The university assures working professionals that they can “earn a 100% online master’s degree or graduate certificate” on their own terms, with a “streamlined admissions process” and “flexible courses.”

But strip away the buzzwords and what’s left is a degree-granting operation outsourced to a for-profit education company with a controversial legacy. Kaplan, now owned by Graham Holdings (formerly the parent company of The Washington Post), has been at the center of lawsuits, regulatory scrutiny, and allegations of exploitative practices in its higher ed ventures—including its role in managing Purdue Global, formerly Kaplan University. The company has a long history of targeting vulnerable populations—especially working-class adults—with high-cost, low-value credentials that often don’t lead to the promised career outcomes.

So why is Wake Forest—an elite university with a storied reputation—collaborating with Kaplan?

The answer is simple: profit and scale.

In an era when even wealthy private universities are looking to expand their revenue streams, online education has become a lucrative frontier. But building and managing online degree programs in-house requires serious investment, time, and expertise. Enter Kaplan, which provides the infrastructure, marketing, enrollment management, and student support—all in exchange for a share of the revenue.

What does this mean for students?

It means that Wake Forest’s name is now being used to sell online degrees to mid-career professionals under the promise of prestige, convenience, and upward mobility—without the full intellectual, cultural, or communal experience that Wake Forest once symbolized. The degrees may bear the Wake Forest seal, but they are increasingly indistinguishable from the mass-produced credentials churned out by dozens of other universities that have sold access to their brands through partnerships with Online Program Managers (OPMs) like Kaplan, 2U, Wiley, and Coursera.

The “1-on-1 Student Success Manager” may sound supportive, but in practice these positions are often little more than call center roles staffed by Kaplan employees trained to ensure retention and upsell future courses—not to engage in meaningful academic mentorship.

The curriculum may be “developed and led by recognized faculty and industry experts,” but in many cases these are adjunct instructors or contract workers who have limited interaction with students and little say in the structure or pedagogy of the courses. This model contributes to the broader exploitation of contingent academic labor—an issue Wake Forest, like many elite universities, prefers not to discuss.

And the promise of becoming a leader “from anywhere” with a Wake Forest SPS degree? That too should be questioned. These degrees exist in an increasingly saturated credential market where employers are skeptical, return on investment is uncertain, and students often find themselves saddled with debt and disappointment.

If Wake Forest were truly committed to ethical leadership, it would take a hard look at the implications of commodifying its brand through a partnership with a company like Kaplan. Instead, it has chosen to chase market share and tuition revenue at the expense of its academic credibility—and at the risk of misleading students who believe they’re buying into the full Wake Forest experience.

The truth is this: Wake Forest is selling the illusion of prestige, wrapped in a glossy brochure of online convenience and corporate optimism. In reality, it’s another cog in a profit-driven machine that markets higher education as a product rather than a public good. And that’s not transformative change. That’s business as usual in the credential economy.