Higher Learning Commission Passes the Buck on Ambow-CSU Deal

The Higher Learning Commission (HLC), the regional accreditor for Colorado State University (CSU), has refused to comment on whether it is investigating or overseeing any partnership between CSU and Ambow Education, a Chinese-American education technology company with a record of volatility, opacity, and questionable business practices.

In an email to the Higher Education Inquirer on July 28, HLC Public Information Officer Laura Janota wrote, “You would need to check with the institution regarding any specifics about its agreement with Ambow Education.” While acknowledging that HLC evaluates an institution’s offerings and operations as part of its ongoing accreditation relationship, Janota pointed to generic contractual guidance on the HLC website rather than offering any assurance that the accreditor is scrutinizing a deal involving Ambow—a company that has raised alarms due to its foray into the U.S. higher ed sector via its HybriU platform.

This type of response is not unusual for HLC, which has come under criticism for its lack of accountability and its longstanding pattern of accrediting both elite universities and subprime colleges.

As previously reported by the Higher Education Inquirer:

"Institutional accreditation is no sign of quality. Worse yet, accreditation by organizations such as the Middle States Association, Western Association of Schools and Colleges, and the Higher Learning Commission is used by subprime colleges to lend legitimacy to their predatory, low-standard operations."

According to the U.S. Department of Education, HLC currently accredits 946 Title IV-eligible institutions, opening the doors for them to collectively receive nearly $40 billion in federal student aid annually—along with billions more from the Department of Defense and Department of Veterans Affairs.

HLC accredits prestigious institutions such as the University of Chicago, University of Michigan, and Notre Dame. But it also accredits notorious subprime schools including Colorado Technical University, DeVry University, University of Phoenix, Walden University, National American University, and Purdue University Global. On the three pillars of regional accreditation—compliance, quality assurance, and quality improvement—HLC has consistently failed when it comes to oversight of predatory institutions.

Even as far back as 2000, critics within academia called out the ethical rot. The American Association of University Professors protested HLC’s support of for-profit schools. That same year, then-AAUP General Secretary Mary A. Burgan remarked:

"I really worry about the intrusion of the profit motive in the accreditation system. Some of them, as I have said, will accredit a ham sandwich."

HLC’s financial structure reinforces this compromised position: it is funded by the institutions it accredits. Over the last 30 years, HLC has collected millions of dollars in dues from some of the nation’s most predatory schools. This funding model mirrors the conflicts of interest that plagued credit rating agencies during the 2008 financial crisis—a comparison made explicitly by economists David Deming and David Figlio in a 2016 report:

“Accreditors—who are paid by the institutions themselves—appear to be ineffectual at best, much like the role of credit rating agencies during the recent financial crisis.”

Despite public attention, federal oversight of accreditors remains weak. Under the Trump-DeVos administration, regulatory protections were rolled back significantly. A 2023 internal investigation revealed that the U.S. Department of Education was not adequately monitoring accreditors, confirming what many higher education watchdogs already knew: that no one is truly watching the accreditors.

The Ambow-CSU situation underscores this systemic failure. Rather than acting as an independent reviewer, HLC has chosen to defer responsibility to the very institution it is tasked with overseeing. This is not just a case of passing the buck; it's another example of accreditors shielding themselves from accountability while public institutions are left to make private deals with for-profit entities—unchecked, unregulated, and largely unreported.

Sources:

• Email correspondence from Laura Janota, Higher Learning Commission, July 28, 2025

• https://www.hlcommission.org/institution/1046/

• Higher Education Inquirer, September 24, 2018: Higher Learning Commission: Accreditation Is No Sign of Quality

• David Deming and David Figlio, Accountability in US Education: Applying Lessons from K–12 Experience to Higher Education (2016)

• U.S. Department of Education accreditation database

• Public statements from AAUP and archived remarks by Mary A. Burgan

When American Greed is the Norm

Greed is no longer a sin in America—it’s a system. It’s a curriculum. It’s a badge of success. In the American higher education marketplace, greed is not the exception. It’s the norm.

We see it in the bloated salaries of university presidents who deliver austerity to everyone but themselves. We see it in billion-dollar endowments hoarded like dragon’s gold while students drown in debt. We see it in the metastasizing ranks of middlemen—consultants, online program managers, enrollment optimization firms—who profit off the dreams and desperation of working-class families.

But greed in American higher education is more than a few bad actors or golden parachutes. It is institutionalized, normalized, and weaponized.

The Student as Customer, the Campus as Marketplace

It began with the rebranding of education as a “return on investment,” a transaction rather than a transformation. The purpose of college was no longer to liberate the mind but to monetize the degree.

By the 1990s, under bipartisan neoliberal consensus, public colleges were defunded and forced to adopt the private sector’s logic: cut costs, raise prices, sell more. Tuition rose. Debt exploded. The ranks of administrators swelled while faculty were downsized and adjunctified. The market had spoken.

But even that wasn’t enough. A generation of edu-preneurs emerged—Silicon Valley-funded disruptors, for-profit college chains, and online program managers—who turned learning into a scalable commodity. Robocolleges like Southern New Hampshire University, Purdue Global, and the University of Phoenix began operating more like tech platforms than institutions of thought.

The result? Diploma mills at the front end and collection agencies at the back.

Greed in the Name of God and Country

Greed doesn’t always look like Wall Street. Sometimes it wears the face of morality. Religious colleges, some of them under the protection of nonprofit status, have become breeding grounds for political operatives and ideological grooming—while raking in millions through taxpayer-funded financial aid.

Liberty University, Grand Canyon University, and a host of lesser-known Bible colleges operate under a warped theology of prosperity, turning salvation into a subscription plan. Meanwhile, they push anti-democratic ideologies and funnel money toward political causes far removed from the mission of education.

Accreditation as a Shell Game

The accreditors—the supposed watchdogs of educational quality—have been largely asleep at the wheel or complicit. When greed is the norm, accountability is an inconvenience. For-profit schools regularly reinvent themselves as nonprofits. Online program managers operate in regulatory gray zones. Mergers and acquisitions disguise collapse as growth.

Accreditation agencies rubber-stamp it all, as long as the paperwork is tidy and the lobbyists are well-compensated.

Debt as Discipline

More than 43 million Americans carry federal student loan debt. Many will never escape it. This debt is not just financial—it’s ideological. It keeps the workforce compliant. It disciplines dissent. It renders critical thought a luxury.

And those who push for debt relief? They are met with moral lectures about personal responsibility—from the same lawmakers who handed trillions to banks, defense contractors, and fossil fuel companies.

Silicon Valley's Hungry Mouth

The new frontier of greed is AI. Tech giants like Google, Amazon Web Services, and Meta are embedding themselves deeper into education—not to empower learning, but to extract data, monetize behavior, and deepen surveillance. Every click, every quiz, every attendance record is a monetizable moment.

Universities, starved for funding and afraid of obsolescence, are selling access to students in exchange for access to cloud infrastructure and algorithmic tools they barely understand.

Greed Isn’t Broken—It’s Working as Designed

In this system, who wins? Not students. Not faculty. Not society.

The winners are those who turn knowledge into a commodity, compliance into virtue, and inequality into inevitability. Those who build castles from the bones of public education, then retreat behind walls of donor-backed endowments and think tanks. The winners are few. But they write the rules.

A Different Future Is Possible

If American greed is the norm, then what remains of education’s soul must be found in the margins—in the community college professor working three jobs. In the librarian defending open access. In the adjunct organizing a union. In the students refusing to be pawns in someone else’s game.

The antidote to greed is not charity—it’s solidarity.

Until justice is funded as well as football. Until learning is valued more than branding. Until access is more than a talking point on a donor brochure—then greed will remain not just a sin, but a system.

---

Sources

• U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics

• The Century Foundation, “The OPM Industry: Profits Over Students” (2023)

• Chronicle of Higher Education, “Administrative Bloat and the Adjunct Crisis”

• IRS Nonprofit Filings, Liberty University and Grand Canyon University

• Debt Collective, “The State of Student Debt” (2025)

• Public records and audits of Title IV institutions, 2022–2024

• Higher Education Inquirer archives

Smoke, Mirrors, and the HybriU Hustle: Ambow's Global Learning Pitch Raises Red Flags

On July 25, 2025, Ambow Education released a press statement heralding the launch of its HybriU Global Learning Network—a grand vision to connect U.S. universities with students around the world through AI-driven hybrid classrooms, immersive tech, and overseas support centers in places like Singapore and China. The announcement paints Ambow as a transformative edtech player capable of bypassing borders, red tape, and traditional learning models.

But for all its futuristic promises, the press release is long on hype and short on verifiable substance.

Ambow’s materials list no actual U.S. university partnerships. There are no student outcomes, no published evaluations, and no pricing models. Instead, the rollout appears to rest on vague invitations for licensing or revenue-sharing arrangements, alongside a photo shoot of stock images and boilerplate claims about AI, 3D environments, and "borderless" learning.

HEI's previous stories on Ambow Education are here. 

A Track Record of Trouble

Ambow’s track record hardly inspires confidence. Its U.S. acquisition, Bay State College, was fined by the Massachusetts Attorney General in 2020 for deceptive marketing and lost accreditation before closing in 2023. Another acquisition, NewSchool of Architecture & Design in San Diego, is under federal Heightened Cash Monitoring, has fewer than 300 students, and is embroiled in lawsuits over unpaid wages and bills.

Despite this, Ambow continues to market itself as a next-gen education leader while reporting zero dollars in research and development spending for three years running. Its executive leadership is unusually consolidated—CEO Jin Huang also serves as CFO and Board Chair—and its auditor is a little-known Chinese firm, casting doubt on financial transparency.

Universities Should Proceed with Caution

Ambow claims it can solve the international enrollment crisis for U.S. schools by providing overseas “learning centers” where students can engage in U.S. courses without needing a visa. It’s a seductive pitch in the wake of global travel restrictions, demographic cliffs, and state budget cuts. But unless Ambow can produce proof of academic rigor, data security, and actual delivery, U.S. institutions risk far more than bad PR.

So far, no university named in the company’s outreach has confirmed participation—including those Ambow has quietly courted, such as Colorado State University.

A Deafening Silence from Regulators

Following this latest press release, The Higher Education Inquirer sent detailed concerns and background information to:

• The Securities and Exchange Commission

• The U.S. Department of Education

• The U.S. House Select Committee on the Chinese Communist Party

• Multiple national and regional media outlets

None have responded.

Given the financial, academic, and geopolitical risks involved, this silence is as disturbing as the press release itself. If federal agencies, lawmakers, and the mainstream press won’t investigate edtech ventures like Ambow, who will hold them accountable?

The Pitch Doesn’t Match the Product

In an age where marketing often outpaces regulation and due diligence, Ambow’s HybriU project looks less like innovation and more like vaporware. It’s a business strategy built on perception, not performance.

Until Ambow can show real partnerships, transparent governance, and validated outcomes, universities would be wise to avoid becoming the next Bay State College.

Sources

Ambow Education press release via Yahoo Finance:
https://finance.yahoo.com/news/ambow-launches-hybriu-global-learning-100000841.html

Massachusetts Attorney General fine against Bay State College (2020):
https://www.mass.gov/news/ag-healey-secures-relief-for-students-of-bay-state-college

Accreditation loss and closure of Bay State College:
https://www.bostonherald.com/2023/06/01/bay-state-college-officially-closes-after-months-of-controversy/

Heightened Cash Monitoring database, U.S. Department of Education:
https://studentaid.gov/data-center/school/hcm

Ambow Education SEC filings:
https://www.sec.gov/edgar/browse/?CIK=1489947

NewSchool of Architecture lawsuits (public docket research required for updates)

Hillsdale College’s DOJ Survey: A Masterclass in Hypocrisy Disguised as Civic Concern

Hillsdale College’s latest “National Survey on the Department of Justice” masquerades as a civic exercise in constitutional literacy and patriotism. In reality, it’s a loaded questionnaire riddled with ideological bias, selective outrage, and institutional self-congratulation. Far from promoting constitutional order, this survey reveals Hillsdale’s deep entanglement in a partisan culture war—ironically undermining the very principles of equal justice and civic education it claims to uphold.

The survey opens with a question any reasonable person would answer affirmatively: “Do you believe in the constitutional principle of equal justice?” But quickly, the mask slips. Subsequent questions shift from abstract ideals to coded political messaging: “Do you believe the far-Left uses the Department of Justice to target constitutional conservatives?” This is not a good-faith attempt to gauge public opinion—it’s a rhetorical trap, designed to confirm a worldview rather than explore the public’s views on justice or democracy.

The language is ideologically charged and binary. There is no question about right-wing abuses of federal power, no concern for political violence from the far-right, and no space for nuance. Respondents are offered a singular narrative: that left-wing actors have “weaponized” the DOJ, and that only Hillsdale’s form of “sound education” can prevent tyranny.

Even the educational initiatives Hillsdale boasts about—its 1776 Curriculum, its “American Left: From Liberalism to Despotism” course—are less about critical civic engagement and more about indoctrination. There’s no mention of racial injustice, mass incarceration, or corporate influence in shaping federal law enforcement priorities. Those issues, central to any serious discussion about equal justice, are absent. Instead, Hillsdale reinforces the myth that it alone is safeguarding the Constitution.

The college’s proud refusal to accept federal or state aid—touted in question eight—is framed as proof of moral and intellectual purity. But this “independence” allows Hillsdale to operate outside the standard frameworks of accountability that most institutions of higher learning must navigate. It also enables the school to present one-sided content without the obligations tied to Title IV compliance or public transparency.

While the survey parades as a constitutional check on tyranny, it is in fact a political tool—a form of ideological branding meant to consolidate a conservative base under the guise of education. This approach not only fails to promote meaningful civic discourse but actively contributes to its erosion.

If Hillsdale College were genuinely interested in fostering a thoughtful dialogue on the rule of law and civic education, it would ask more open-ended questions, avoid partisan framing, and welcome diverse viewpoints. Instead, it’s selling a product: a prepackaged narrative that conflates conservatism with constitutional fidelity and equates dissent with radicalism.

In the end, the survey doesn’t reflect a deep concern for the Department of Justice or the American legal system—it reflects Hillsdale’s campaign to position itself as the intellectual vanguard of a specific political movement. And for a college that claims to champion critical thinking, that’s the real betrayal.

Sources:

• Hillsdale College, National Survey on the Department of Justice (2025)

• “Hillsdale’s 1776 Curriculum,” Hillsdale College

• Imprimis, Hillsdale College

• U.S. Department of Education College Scorecard

• Federal Student Aid: Title IV Compliance Information

Triumphalism in Decline: A Critique of “They Attack Because We’re Strong”

In his recent Inside Higher Ed opinion piece, “They Attack Because We’re Strong,” Frank Fernandez argues that American higher education is under fire not because it is failing, but because it is too powerful and influential. He calls for a long-view perspective that celebrates the accomplishments of U.S. colleges and universities over the past century. But his essay—well-intentioned as it may be—reads less as a sober reflection and more as institutional nostalgia, untethered from the brutal realities of the present.

Fernandez’s triumphalism overlooks or distorts several truths. It is true that U.S. universities have had moments of undeniable achievement: scientific breakthroughs, professional training, and expansion of access. But to say “higher education won” is to ignore the hollowing out of public trust, the corporatization of academia, and the structural harm inflicted on millions of students and contingent workers. If this is victory, it has come at a staggering cost.

“Higher Education Won”? Who Lost?

One of the glaring absences in Fernandez’s narrative is any sustained acknowledgment of the student debt crisis—more than $1.7 trillion in outstanding loans that have left borrowers in financial limbo for decades. The author does not address how rising tuition, stagnating wages, and declining public investment have turned the promise of higher education into a burden for the working class and communities of color.

Nor does he wrestle with the implications of an adjunct majority workforce. Most college instructors today work under precarious contracts with little pay, no benefits, and no job security. This is not a sign of institutional strength. It is a labor crisis.

The rhetorical move to compare today’s struggles with the early 20th century glosses over the fact that the institutions that once expanded access are now increasingly exclusionary. Public flagships and elite privates alike are doubling down on selectivity, building billion-dollar endowments, and investing in luxury amenities while cutting humanities departments and hiking student fees.

If the past 100 years have brought expansion, the past 20 have brought erosion.

Legitimacy Cannot Be Willed into Being

Fernandez concedes that “our challenge in this new era is primarily one of legitimacy.” But he frames this as a problem of perception, not performance. He cites faculty critiques over gendered language in a voter turnout study as a distraction, implying that the real work of the academy is hindered by too much internal debate. But that line of thinking presumes that legitimacy can be restored by tone and unity, not by systemic reform.

Legitimacy is not gained by declaring relevance—it is earned through material impact. That means resisting extractive tuition models, ending the abuse of contingent labor, and seriously confronting how the industry has facilitated racial and economic stratification.

It also means acknowledging that some of the conservative critiques—about administrative bloat, about ideological insularity, about weak accountability mechanisms—are not entirely without merit. These issues are not the inventions of “Trump acolytes,” but of decades of elite capture and mission drift.

A House Divided

Perhaps most troubling is Fernandez’s call for national solidarity among faculty and institutional leaders, modeled after the early AAUP. But today’s higher education system is profoundly stratified. Community colleges face declining enrollments and funding cliffs. HBCUs and regional publics have long been underresourced. For-profit colleges exploit the most vulnerable. And elite institutions continue to hoard wealth and status.

There is no shared struggle here. There is no unified front. The idea that faculty from a state university in Texas or an adjunct at a California community college share the same institutional mission as leadership at Princeton or Stanford is a comforting illusion. Solidarity will not emerge without reckoning with this inequality.

Conclusion

Fernandez asks us to see the attacks on higher ed as a signal of strength. But what if these attacks are, in part, the result of decades of institutional failure? What if irrelevance is not imposed from the outside but cultivated from within—through inaccessibility, arrogance, and systemic exploitation?

If higher education is to have a future worth defending, it will require more than collective nostalgia and appeals to tradition. It will require a commitment to equity, transparency, and accountability—not just to the ideals of the past, but to the people failed by the system today.

Sources:

• U.S. Department of Education. “Student Loan Portfolio Summary.” Federal Student Aid.

• AAUP. “Data Snapshot: Contingent Faculty in US Higher Ed.”

• Center for American Progress. “The Cost of Cuts: A Look at the Ongoing Crisis in Public Higher Education.”

• Georgetown University CEW. “The College Payoff.”

• The Century Foundation. “How Public Colleges Have Been Undermined.”

• National Center for Education Statistics (NCES). Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System (IPEDS).

Netanyahu Denies Starvation as Civilians Die at Gaza Food Sites, While U.S. Campuses Suppress Dissent

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu stated this week that “there is no starvation in Palestine,” contradicting extensive reporting from international aid organizations documenting famine conditions and lethal attacks on civilians at food distribution sites in Gaza.

A May 2025 report by the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC), a United Nations-supported initiative, found that over 70 percent of Gaza’s population was experiencing catastrophic food insecurity. Nearly 30 percent of children under the age of five were acutely malnourished. The World Food Programme has labeled the crisis a "man-made famine."

On July 20, Doctors Without Borders reported that a drone strike hit near its food and medical site in Khan Younis, killing nine civilians, including three children.

On July 24, the Palestinian Red Crescent Society reported that at least 15 civilians were killed when Israeli forces opened fire near an aid distribution point in Gaza City. The United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) confirmed the death of one of its staff members in the incident. 

Despite these conditions, Netanyahu has denied the existence of starvation, and the U.S. government has continued its military and diplomatic support. The United States provides approximately $3.8 billion annually in military aid to Israel, and U.S.-manufactured weapons have been linked to attacks on aid sites. The U.S. has also vetoed or blocked three United Nations Security Council resolutions since October 2023 aimed at enforcing ceasefires or expanding humanitarian access.

Meanwhile, suppression of speech and surveillance on U.S. campuses has escalated. Across dozens of universities, students and faculty who have spoken out against the war in Gaza or criticized U.S. and Israeli policies have faced disciplinary action, police monitoring, and digital surveillance. Peaceful protests and teach-ins have been met with administrative crackdowns, restrictions on student group activities, and, in some cases, expulsions.

At several campuses, private security firms with ties to law enforcement and intelligence agencies have been contracted to monitor student activism. Surveillance tools, including facial recognition and social media tracking software, have been used to identify and target protesters. In many cases, these efforts have been carried out with little or no oversight.

Faculty members who have criticized U.S. foreign policy or supported Palestinian rights have reported threats to job security and tenure, especially in public institutions receiving defense-related research funding. Some have been the targets of smear campaigns and blacklists promoted by outside organizations.

At least 24 U.S. universities maintain partnerships or research contracts with defense contractors such as Lockheed Martin, Raytheon, and General Dynamics—companies whose weapons systems are deployed in Gaza. This financial entanglement has made many administrations unwilling to permit open debate, let alone challenge the broader militarization of U.S. higher education.

These repressive measures raise fundamental questions about the role of the university in a democratic society. When criticism of state violence is policed, and protest against war is surveilled, the campus ceases to function as a space of inquiry and dissent. It becomes, instead, an extension of the national security state.

As civilians are killed while waiting for food and as children die of hunger and infection, the U.S. government and its educational institutions remain enmeshed in systems of silence, denial, and complicity. The suppression of free speech on campus is not peripheral to this crisis—it is part of it.

Sources:
UNRWA Situation Reports, July 2025
World Food Programme Emergency Updates
Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC), May 2025
Palestinian Red Crescent Society, July 2025
Médecins Sans Frontières Field Reports
World Health Organization, Gaza Emergency Briefings
UNICEF Gaza Nutrition Data, July 2025
U.S. State Department Foreign Military Financing Budget, 2024–2025
UN Security Council Voting Records, 2023–2025
Coalition for Civil Freedoms Campus Speech Tracker
Higher Education Inquirer archives on university-defense contractor ties

Shrouded in Silence: The Problem with Nondisclosure Agreements in Higher Education (DC Whistleblower)

Nondisclosure agreements, or NDAs, are quietly undermining the values that higher education claims to uphold—truth, accountability, and the free exchange of ideas. Used by colleges, universities, and education-related nonprofits, these legal tools have become instruments of control. Rather than fostering environments of transparency and ethical responsibility, NDAs are used to conceal wrongdoing, silence dissent, and protect powerful individuals and institutions from public scrutiny.

This issue is not abstract to me. Years ago, while working for a Washington, DC-based nonprofit that claimed to serve the public interest, I was forced to sign an NDA. What I believed would be an opportunity to contribute to meaningful education reform turned into a lesson in how institutions manipulate legal agreements to suppress criticism. I was not allowed to speak publicly about unethical behavior I observed—behavior that directly affected low-income students and underpaid labor. That experience has stayed with me, and it mirrors the stories I now hear from others across higher education.

In today’s academic landscape, NDAs are often imposed on staff, faculty, and students at vulnerable moments—after reporting sexual harassment, exposing fraud, or simply trying to leave a toxic workplace. Institutions frame these agreements as standard procedure, offering settlements or severance in exchange for permanent silence. The reality is coercive: speak up and risk losing not just financial security, but career prospects and professional reputation.

Faculty and staff on contingent contracts—especially adjuncts—are easy targets for this kind of legal intimidation. Graduate students, already caught in exploitative labor arrangements, are often silenced through similar means. Survivors of sexual assault who report misconduct are sometimes pushed into signing NDAs as part of resolution agreements, which then prevent them from warning others or publicly critiquing the institution's response. Even undergraduate students who face institutional failure or discrimination can find themselves legally bound to stay silent.

NDAs have also become standard practice in for-profit and quasi-profit education operations. Employees at a number of edtech companies have described being pressured into signing agreements that prohibit them from disclosing questionable practices, including deceptive marketing, inflated job placement claims, and the targeting of vulnerable students for high-interest loans. Some are warned explicitly that any public statements—even years later—could bring legal consequences.

What makes NDAs so dangerous in education is their impact on public knowledge and democratic accountability. Institutions that receive millions or even billions in federal and state funding are able to hide systemic issues from lawmakers, regulators, journalists, and the public. Whistleblowers, once silenced, are effectively erased from the narrative. Patterns of abuse continue, protected by layers of legal language and institutional inertia. Journalists investigating misconduct in higher education—including those of us at The Higher Education Inquirer—frequently encounter potential sources who decline to speak on the record due to NDAs. The agreements don’t just silence individuals—they distort the historical and ethical record.

The use of NDAs also undermines government oversight. Agencies such as the U.S. Department of Education rely on insiders to report fraud and abuse related to Title IV funding. But when those insiders are bound by NDAs, they are forced to weigh the public interest against the threat of lawsuits. In this way, NDAs shield not only bad actors but also fraudulent systems that disproportionately harm students from working-class, Black, and Brown communities.

Legislative responses have so far been piecemeal. A few states have passed laws restricting NDAs in sexual misconduct settlements, but these measures rarely address the broader use of NDAs in cases of fraud, labor violations, or institutional abuse. Nor do they cover students, faculty, or contractors who are pressured into silence outside of formal settlements.

We need stronger federal protections for whistleblowers in education. We need laws that prohibit the use of NDAs by institutions that receive public funds. Accrediting bodies must stop ignoring the use of legal intimidation as a governance practice. And we need a cultural shift in higher education—a collective refusal to treat silence as professionalism.

As someone who once signed away my voice under legal pressure, I understand the fear and isolation that NDAs produce. But I also believe that silence, when coerced, is not consent—it’s complicity enforced by power. And in a system as dependent on public trust and democratic ideals as education, that silence comes at a cost we can no longer afford to ignore.

The Nation of Everything but Happiness

“Love our families? We live in a nation of broken homes. Walk in nature? We live in a nation of the obese. Read the great works? We live in a nation of the illiterate. Dream new dreams? We live in a nation of fear and desperation. We consume. We shop. We can have everything we want the next day—except happiness.”

These words, uttered by a disillusioned higher education executive, cut to the core of a national sickness. They are not just an indictment of American culture—they are a mirror held up to a society in collapse. Behind the marketing slogans and innovation-speak of American higher education lies a deeper rot: institutions that no longer produce wisdom, foster reflection, or cultivate the common good. They produce debt, anxiety, and compliant consumers.

In the 21st century, higher education became increasingly transactional and performative. Degrees were marketed like fashion, skills were bundled into micro-credentials, and students were rebranded as “customers.” Behind every glossy website lay crumbling adjunct faculty conditions, student mental health crises, and financial aid schemes rigged to entrap rather than empower.

This system did not emerge in a vacuum. It is the natural outgrowth of an economy where the line between marketing and meaning has disappeared, and where truth is whatever keeps the donor pipeline flowing. In this world, critical thinking is a threat, reading the great works is a waste of time, and loving one’s family is optional so long as the tuition gets paid.

The American dream, once tied to education, now runs through warehouses and fulfillment centers. You can click your way to convenience, but not to connection. Universities partner with Amazon, Google, and Blackstone, hoping some of that algorithmic magic will rub off. But what gets lost in the process is incalculable: imagination, community, citizenship.

Broken homes? A generation of young adults crushed by debt can’t afford to start families.

Obesity? PE is gone, recess is shrinking, nature is privatized, and students sit in Zoom classes fed by vending machines.

Illiteracy? College students now arrive without ever reading a full book—and many leave with diplomas having never done so.

Fear and desperation? Campus shootings, climate anxiety, unpaid internships, and the looming threat of being replaced by AI all feed into a student body running on caffeine, anxiety meds, and borrowed hope.

What do we tell young people today? That if they take out $100,000 in loans, hustle harder, and say the right things on LinkedIn, they might land a gig job in the "knowledge economy"? Or do we tell them the truth: that higher education has been captured—by corporate interests, by cowardice, and by a political system that rewards short-term metrics over long-term meaning?

We live in a country where you can overnight a yoga mat and a mindfulness app, but you can’t overnight purpose. The institutions that once claimed to cultivate the mind and soul have outsourced their very missions. Presidents are now brand managers. Professors are content providers. Students are monetizable data streams.

The businessman’s quote, raw and despairing, reminds us that the crisis is spiritual as much as it is structural. Higher education cannot fix everything, but it could be something more than it is now. A space to reflect. A place to reconnect. A tool for healing—not just hustling.

But not without a reckoning.

Because in a nation where we can have everything but happiness, the question remains: what is higher education for? And if it can’t help answer that, what’s left of it worth saving?

---

Sources:

• Anonymous quote from higher education executive, 2025

• National Center for Education Statistics: Literacy and Outcomes

• American College Health Association: Student Mental Health Trends

• U.S. Department of Education: Student Debt Statistics

• Higher Education Inquirer investigations on academic labor, edtech partnerships, and institutional mission drift

A Broken Promise: Why the GI Bill Demands Major Reform

The GI Bill was meant to be a pathway to economic opportunity for those who served. But behind the patriotic language and glossy marketing lies a deeply flawed system—one that routinely fails to deliver on its promise. The Higher Education Inquirer’s own investigations, including Blue Falcons: Politicians, Government Agencies, and Nonprofits Serve Themselves, Not Those Who Have Served, have exposed how a powerful network of politicians, government agencies, and nonprofit actors have prioritized institutional profit over veterans' well-being. These actors cloak themselves in red, white, and blue, while steering billions of taxpayer dollars into the hands of subprime and for-profit colleges that consistently produce poor educational and economic outcomes.

In Veterans Left Behind: How Oversight Failures Harm Veterans in Higher Education, Michael Hainline recounts his personal experience of being misled by a federally approved training program in commercial trucking. The program used outdated, dangerous equipment. He was injured, left without the credentials he was promised, and unable to work in the field. Despite numerous formal complaints, the State Approving Agency and Department of Veterans Affairs failed to act. His story is not unique. Thousands of veterans have lost valuable time, their health, and their benefits to programs that were supposed to help them reintegrate into civilian life.

These anecdotes are supported by hard data. A 2021 study from the National Bureau of Economic Research, covered by Forbes, found that veterans who used the Post‑9/11 GI Bill earned $900 less per year, nine years after service, than peers who did not use the benefit. While the GI Bill slightly increased college enrollment and bachelor’s degree attainment, the economic return was negative for most users. The worst outcomes were concentrated among those who attended for-profit colleges, as well as those who had lower Armed Forces Qualification Test (AFQT) scores or served in lower-skilled military roles. Instead of launching veterans into thriving careers, the GI Bill has too often led them into low-value programs that waste time, drain benefits, and reduce long-term earnings.

The scale of the issue is enormous. GI Bill expenditures now exceed $13 billion annually—more than all state-funded scholarships and Pell Grants combined. Yet for each marginal bachelor’s degree produced, the GI Bill program spends between $486,000 and $590,000. For-profit colleges, despite their poor outcomes and frequent legal troubles, continue to absorb a disproportionate share of these funds. Their business model depends heavily on recruiting veterans, aided by a legal loophole that allows GI Bill funds to be excluded from the federal 90–10 funding cap. That exemption incentivizes aggressive marketing campaigns targeting veterans and military families, while institutions offer minimal support and poor instruction in return.

Veterans deserve better, and the American public deserves transparency and accountability for how billions of dollars are spent. Reform begins with policy rooted in results. That means requiring schools to meet minimum thresholds for graduation rates, job placement, and post-graduation earnings before receiving GI Bill funds. The 90–10 loophole must be closed, and federal agencies must reinstate the gainful employment rules that were gutted under previous administrations. Oversight bodies like the VA’s Office of Inspector General and State Approving Agencies need resources and independence to investigate, enforce, and shut down bad actors. Just as importantly, veterans need access to transparent, comprehensible data on outcomes before they enroll—data about job placement rates, average earnings, completion rates, and institutional accreditation.

The obsession with four-year degrees also needs to be reexamined. Many veterans would be better served by career-aligned certificates, apprenticeships, and credentialing programs that build directly on their military experience. These programs often provide faster, cheaper, and more secure pathways into the labor market, especially in fields like skilled trades, technology, and logistics.

Problem	Proposed Reform
Predatory institutions and marketing practices drain GI Bill funds and deliver poor outcomes	Enforce outcomes-based funding, limiting GI support to programs with strong results
Legal loopholes allow evasion of accountability	Close the 90–10 exemption and restore gainful employment rules
Oversight is fragmented and ineffective	Fund and empower federal and state oversight agencies to act decisively
Veterans lack guidance in a confusing marketplace	Mandate counseling and public reporting of school-level outcome data
Degree inflation and misalignment with the job market	Expand alternative credentialing pathways tied to real workforce demand

The GI Bill is more than a financial benefit—it is a symbol of the nation’s promise to those who have served. When that promise is broken, it not only damages individual veterans, but undermines trust in the institutions meant to serve the public good. Reforming the GI Bill is not just a budgetary concern—it is a moral imperative.

The Higher Education Inquirer calls for immediate, systemic reform. Veterans have earned more than shallow rhetoric and exploitation. They deserve an education system that works. That system must be transparent, accountable, and rooted in reality—not nostalgia or false promises. It must reward service with genuine opportunity, not debt and disappointment. Until then, we will continue to investigate and expose the truth—and stand with veterans who are being left behind.

Empire in Decline: What the Fall of Rome Tells Us About the American Oligarchy

There are tax farmers squeezing a province dry. There are soldiers fighting for the emperor's baton. And then there are a few who dread the empire's fall and dream of the old republic.

This is not just the story of ancient Rome. It's also an apt metaphor for the state of contemporary America—a late-stage empire defined by extreme inequality, militarization, and a governing class that clings to power while the social fabric unravels.

In Rome, the Senate once stood as the heart of the Republic, composed of elite Patrician families who wielded enormous religious, political, and economic influence. But as historian and economist Michael Hudson writes in The Collapse of Antiquity, these elites became entrenched creditors and landlords, a rentier class unwilling to compromise or adapt. They refused debt cancellation, land redistribution, or any reforms that might curb their power—transforming what was once a dynamic, if imperfect, republic into a brittle and parasitic empire.

This refusal to evolve created an unsustainable system. Wealth concentrated in fewer hands. Small farmers and urban workers were crushed under debts. The rural economy collapsed as latifundia (large estates) displaced independent farmers. Military commanders, frustrated with elite gridlock, seized power for themselves. And the Senate, once a genuine force of governance, became a ceremonial shell. What followed was a long descent: civil wars, authoritarianism, economic stagnation, and eventually the re-feudalization of the West.

Hudson’s view is clear: the Roman Senate and elite, by prioritizing their creditor rights over the common good, destroyed the economic base that sustained the Empire. In their greed and rigidity, they ensured the fall they feared.

Now consider the United States. Like Rome, America has become dominated by a professional ruling class: oligarchs, financiers, tenured politicians, credentialed technocrats, and think-tank warriors. Institutions of higher education, once engines of democratic possibility, have increasingly become training grounds for this elite. And like the Roman Senate, they are largely unaccountable—privatizing gains, socializing losses, and suppressing reform.

Just as Roman tax farmers drained the provinces, today’s student loan servicers, for-profit colleges, and hedge fund–backed housing firms squeeze the public to fund private empires. Just as Roman generals became emperors, today’s billionaires and media moguls wield near-sovereign power over public discourse, elections, and foreign policy. And just as the Roman elite clung to legal fictions while society crumbled, our ruling class insists the republic is healthy—even as inequality soars, infrastructure decays, and democratic norms erode.

There are still those who long for a return to the "old republic"—to a time when education was a public good, when civic virtue mattered, and when government sought the common welfare. But those voices are increasingly drowned out in a landscape of imperial spectacle, culture wars, and managed decline.

Hudson reminds us that ancient societies that survived economic collapse—like those in Mesopotamia—did so by recognizing the need for periodic resets. They canceled debts. They redistributed land. They prioritized stability over elite entrenchment. Rome—and perhaps America—refused to learn those lessons.

In this moment of crisis, the choice is stark: will we continue down the path of empire, ruled by debt and extraction? Or will we recover some measure of republic, with institutions that serve people, not just capital?

One thing is certain: empires fall. But their people don’t have to fall with them—if they choose to resist.

Sources:

• Michael Hudson, The Collapse of Antiquity: Greece and Rome as Civilization's Oligarchic Turning Point, 2023

• Mary Beard, SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome, 2015

• Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, 1776–1789

• Kyle Harper, The Fate of Rome: Climate, Disease, and the End of an Empire, 2017

• Higher Education Inquirer, ongoing coverage on student debt and elite university structures

• U.S. Department of Education, data on student debt and institutional concentration of resources

Publishers Refuse to Print Ryan Walters’ Election & Religion‑Infused Curriculum

Oklahoma’s State Superintendent of Public Instruction, Ryan Walters, has drawn national scrutiny for issuing new social studies standards that embed Trump-aligned conspiracy theories and Christian nationalist narratives into K–12 curricula.

The standards, adopted in December 2024, direct teachers to question the legitimacy of the 2020 presidential election using thoroughly debunked claims: late-night ballot drops, “illegal” mail-in votes, and suspiciously high turnout. Walters also inserted language suggesting COVID-19 was likely engineered in a Chinese laboratory and mandated that students learn the United States was founded explicitly as a Christian nation rooted in “Judeo-Christian principles.”

But when the Oklahoma Department of Education tried to find publishers willing to produce textbooks that match the new standards, they were met with silence—or polite refusals.

---

Textbook Publishers Say No

According to reporting by LGBTQ Nation, major educational publishers—including Houghton Mifflin Harcourt—declined to produce materials conforming to the new standards. Two smaller publishers also reportedly turned down the request, citing concerns about the accuracy, ideological slant, and commercial viability of such textbooks.

As one publisher put it, Oklahoma’s K–12 market is too small to justify rewriting and potentially damaging the integrity of their materials for national distribution. Another privately said they would not "print lies.”

This puts Oklahoma teachers in a bind: either use outdated materials, create their own lesson plans that conform to politicized standards, or face potential disciplinary action from Walters’ office.

---

The Bigger Agenda

The state’s new standards were developed behind closed doors by a group of far-right activists, including PragerU founder Dennis Prager, Project 2025 architect Kevin Roberts, and pseudo-historian David Barton. Their vision aligns with broader Christian nationalist efforts to reshape public education—and ultimately public life—by teaching a distorted version of U.S. history and civics.

In fact, the standards are so extreme that Walters’ own advisory group suggested adopting PragerU Kids videos and other ideologically driven content in classrooms, effectively privatizing parts of the curriculum with unaccredited, partisan material.

---

What It Means for Higher Education

These developments in Oklahoma are not isolated—they are part of a national movement to reshape public education from kindergarten through college. What’s happening now in K–12 has ripple effects in higher education, including:

• Erosion of Academic Standards: Students taught disinformation in high school may enter college ill-prepared for evidence-based inquiry.

• Politicization of Education: Public education is increasingly divided along ideological lines, with colleges caught in the crossfire.

• Chilling Effect on Educators: K–12 and higher ed instructors alike are facing new political pressures, including book bans, curriculum censorship, and loyalty tests to partisan ideas.

• Curriculum Segregation: As some states embrace fact-based education while others embrace political indoctrination, a two-tier education system is emerging—deepening inequality and distrust.

---

Will Oklahoma be OK? 

Walters’ campaign to institutionalize misinformation in Oklahoma classrooms has hit a critical obstacle: publishers won’t print it. This quiet but firm resistance from the educational publishing industry stands in contrast to the state’s increasingly aggressive posture toward teachers, schools, and dissenters.

It also raises a critical question: if public institutions are compelled to teach lies, who will tell the truth?

---

Sources

• Owen, Greg. “Textbook Publishers Ignore Far-Right Education Chief’s Demands to Print Trumpian Lies.” LGBTQ Nation, July 25, 2025. https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2025/07/textbook-publishers-ignore-far-right-education-chiefs-demands-to-print-trumpian-lies/

• Walker, Chris. “New Oklahoma School Curriculum Requires Students to Learn the ‘Big Lie’.” Truthout, March 18, 2025. https://truthout.org/articles/new-oklahoma-school-curriculum-requires-students-to-learn-the-big-lie/

• Rivas, Yunior. “Oklahoma Set to Teach Trump’s Election Lies in Public Schools as Parents and Teachers Push Back.” Democracy Docket, June 28, 2025. https://www.democracydocket.com/analysis/oklahoma-set-to-teach-trumps-election-lies-in-public-schools-as-parents-and-teachers-push-back/

 

This story was originally published by Chalkbeat. Sign up for their newsletters at ckbe.at/newsletters

Fighting for my students’ right to read, I lost my teacher’s license. I’d risk it all again.

Summer Boismier, Chalkbeat

Jul 24, 2025 at 2:22pm EDT

“The Hate U Give.” “Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe.” “Challenger Deep.” “The Poet X.” These are just some of the titles my students researched and recommended as part of a 2018 project-based learning unit I had assigned. The goal: to diversify our high school’s required reading lists. “Why don’t we have these books?” the superintendent of the district where I was teaching English at the time asked me.

The following school year, these books were integrated into the English I curriculum as choice reads for our literature circles. I find it hard to fathom such a thing happening today.

Four years later, I was teaching in another school district, this one in Norman, Oklahoma. Just days before we were set to return for the 2022-23 academic year, teachers were advised during a faculty meeting to restrict or remove student access to classroom libraries.

Such a sprint toward soft censorship was a response to the Oklahoma State Board of Education’s enforcement of House Bill 1775 of 2021, which restricts conversations around race and sex in academic spaces. Concerned about a potential accreditation downgrade for violating this law, a school site administrator suggested I cover the 500-plus books in my classroom library with butcher paper, which I did. But that was far from the end of the story.

Without the classroom library that I had spent my career curating, some of my students walked into class that first day to find stories that reflected their lives had been reclassified as contraband. So I wrote on the butcher paper covering my shelves, “Books the state doesn’t want you to read.” A protest in pixels, I also added a QR code for students to scan for information about Books Unbanned, a nationwide initiative from Brooklyn Public Library, offering students ages 13-21 free eCard access to the library’s more than 500,000 digital items.

I’ve never taught a math class, but I knew that 500,000 books > 500 books. I also knew that this act of resistance could cost me my job or even my teacher’s license. But if state leadership was going to censor classrooms, I was going to make sure my students still had ample opportunities to read, think, and decide for themselves.

Oklahoma’s HB 1775, which is facing a challenge in federal court, and similar laws from Texas to Florida to Iowa, followed the first Trump administration’s 2020 Executive Order on Combating Race and Sex Stereotyping. These state mandates are often referred to as “divisive concepts” laws. But really, they are censorship by another name. And they don’t just silence ideas; they silence people. They resist the inclusion of historically marginalized voices, such as BIPOC and LGBTQ+ perspectives, because those voices challenge the comfort of the dominant narrative.

“Most characters/authors are straight white guys, and that kind of reflects how we treat literature,” one of my students reflected back in 2018, as they were working on the reading list project.

That student said they wanted to see more diversity in the assigned reading. Unfortunately, the progress made to integrate inclusive, relevant texts into curriculums and libraries is now at risk.

Friday, August 19, 2022, was my first day of year nine as a certified English teacher in Oklahoma public schools and my second year in the Norman district. By day’s end, however, I was placed on leave and told to report to district offices first thing Monday morning. Although the district expressed hope I would return to the classroom, I chose instead to resign so that I could continue to speak out for intellectual freedom and against HB 1775. Soon, my story was making headlines.

And while in 2023 an assistant state attorney general recommended against revoking my teaching license, the Oklahoma State Board of Education still took it away the next year. That has put my livelihood and my life on hold for the foreseeable future and taken an irrevocable toll on my mental health.

Recently, at my eldest nibling’s kindergarten graduation, I was ambushed somewhere around the second chorus of Imagine Dragons’ “Believer” by a panic attack. To an outside observer, I was there in that small-town auditorium, listening to a stage full of big little voices as they belted out “Pain! You made me a believer, believer.”

However, at that moment, I could not have been further from row G, seat 1.

Suddenly and without consent, I was lost amid the voices in my head that for almost three years have relentlessly labeled me a loser, letdown, failure, and fraud — my entire being seized by a feeling akin to what I can only describe as white-knuckling an electric fence.

Until recently, I associated post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, with literal soldiers scarred by the hell of war. Yet I’ve spent most of the past decade not on the battlefield, but in the classroom. I’ve learned, however, that the majority of PTSD diagnoses do not in fact stem from past military service. Apparently, standing up for students’ right to read can leave its own scars.

Despite the deep personal and professional costs, it’s impossible to convey just how little remorse I have. None at all, really. Because not every battle worth fighting is winnable. Because sometimes “Paycheck or principle?” isn’t a rhetorical question.

We are living through a near-constant deluge of crises that are designed to make meaningful teaching and learning unsustainable and undesirable — from efforts to dismantle the Department of Education to the wholesale retraction of diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives, from book bans in PK-12 schools to ideological litmus tests imposed on American universities.

In this era of renewed threats to civil liberties coming out of the White House, the statehouse, and the courthouse, I’d challenge all teachers in the schoolhouse to ask themselves: What’s your QR code?

To teach is to take a stand. And just like teaching, taking a stand can look a lot of different ways, including:

• Recommending a story to a student that speaks to them as they are.
• Incorporating diverse voices and perspectives intentionally in lesson plans.
• Affirming students’ identities through intentional language and identity-sustaining classroom culture.
• Facilitating workshops for teachers on responding to educational gag orders and preserving access to diverse texts.
• Bringing together educators, librarians, and community members for public events defending inclusive curriculums.
• Documenting and reporting instances of censorship and/or policy overreach.

Sometimes, it can even look like resting, a radical act of resilience for the fight ahead.

As the youth scholar and artist Jasmine Lewis shared with me in a recent email exchange, “[The world today] reminds me how important it is that we continue reading, writing, and harnessing care in any/every space that we are able to.”

Against the torrent of extreme partisan interference in our public schools, it is your persistence, teachers, that forms the foundation for meaningful resistance to censorship efforts. Despite everything you’re up against, we need you for what comes next: the 2025-26 school year. There’s a lot riding on the integrity of those spines beyond books.

Summer Boismier (she/her) is an English language arts educator and doctoral student at the University of Oklahoma whose work focuses on free expression issues, culturally sustaining pedagogies, and educational equity in public schools. A nationally recognized youth free expression advocate, she is also a recipient of the Oklahoma State Department of Education’s 2019 Rising Star Award and Piedmont Public Schools’ 2018-2019 District Teacher of the Year honor. In 2024, the Oklahoma State Board of Education unanimously revoked her teaching certificate for telling her students about a public library card.

Chalkbeat is a nonprofit news site covering educational change in public schools.

Can Student Loan Debtors Work as Digital Nomads?

In recent years, the concept of working remotely while traveling—becoming a digital nomad—has become an aspirational lifestyle for many young professionals. The freedom to work from Bali, Buenos Aires, or Budapest with nothing more than a laptop and a Wi-Fi connection appeals to a generation burdened with economic precarity, stagnating wages, and dwindling faith in the American Dream.

But for over 40 million Americans burdened with student loan debt, the digital nomad lifestyle is not so simple. Can student loan debtors escape the geographic boundaries of the U.S. and work abroad without financial or legal risk? The answer depends on the type of loans, their repayment status, and how U.S. policy—particularly under presidential administrations—impacts enforcement and forgiveness.

The Debt No Passport Can Escape

Unlike credit card debt or even some tax liabilities, federal student loan debt follows Americans abroad. The U.S. Department of Education, through contracted servicers such as Aidvantage (a Maximus company), can still pursue debtors overseas. Wage garnishment, while difficult to enforce on foreign earnings, can be imposed if the debtor returns to the U.S. or has U.S.-based assets. More critically, failure to make payments can lead to loan acceleration, collection fees, and destruction of credit—regardless of one’s physical location.

Private student loans, meanwhile, can be even more punishing. While they don't have access to federal collection tools like tax refund garnishment, private lenders have fewer forgiveness options and are often aggressive in court.

Income-Driven Repayment and Remote Work

In theory, debtors enrolled in an income-driven repayment (IDR) plan could continue making small or even zero-dollar payments based on low or foreign-earned income. The Biden administration’s SAVE Plan is one such program, but its future is uncertain under political pressure and litigation.

However, reporting foreign income can be complex. Many digital nomads use foreign bank accounts, local clients, or under-the-table gigs, making it hard to verify income and remain compliant. The IRS, via the Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act (FATCA), already monitors foreign financial activity of U.S. citizens. Student loan servicers may increasingly cross-reference this information under future administrations eager to enforce repayment—especially if a second Trump administration pursues cuts to loan forgiveness or implements harsh penalties.

The Visa Question

Living abroad full-time usually requires a visa that allows remote work—a gray area in many countries. Some nations, like Portugal, Estonia, and Costa Rica, offer special digital nomad visas. However, these often require proof of steady income. A heavily indebted American with little in the bank and fluctuating freelance income might not qualify. And overstaying a tourist visa while evading loan collectors could lead to a new form of 21st-century statelessness: not legally grounded in any system, and hunted by both creditors and immigration authorities.

Loopholes and Limitations

Some student loan debtors have used their overseas lifestyle to delay or dodge repayments, either by avoiding wage garnishment or reporting low-to-no income. But this is a short-term tactic that can have long-term consequences. Defaulting on federal loans leads to disqualification from forgiveness programs and adds ballooning interest and penalties.

On the other hand, those determined to pursue Public Service Loan Forgiveness (PSLF) or new cancellation pathways must remain in qualifying U.S.-based work. International remote work doesn’t count, even if the employer is American or the job is virtual.

The Future of Debtors Abroad

With growing disillusionment in the U.S. labor market, housing unaffordability, and distrust in higher education, the idea of “exiting the system” is gaining appeal. Online forums like Reddit’s r/studentloandebt and r/digitalnomad are filled with testimonies of people seeking a way out—physically and financially.

But the federal student loan system was never designed with mobility in mind. Instead, it anchors borrowers to domestic obligations. Until policymakers make meaningful reforms—through widespread cancellation, interest elimination, or true debt jubilee—student loan debt will continue to act as a modern tether. For many, even paradise has strings attached.

Final Thoughts

Digital nomadism may offer a temporary reprieve from America’s financial rat race, but it is not a cure for systemic debt. For the student loan debtor, a life abroad might feel freer—but the burden of higher education’s broken promise still weighs heavily, no matter the zip code or time zone.

As the Higher Education Inquirer continues to investigate the exploitative nature of the U.S. credential economy, we invite student loan borrowers abroad or aspiring nomads to share their stories. In this new phase of global capitalism, the educated underclass is learning to move—but cannot yet escape.

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)

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.