Higher Education Without Illusions

In 2025, the landscape of higher education is dominated by contradictions, crises, and the relentless churn of what might be called “collegemania.” Underneath the polished veneer of university marketing—the glossy brochures, viral TikToks, and celebrity endorsements—lurks a network of systemic pressures that students, faculty, and society at large must navigate. The hashtags trending below the masthead of Higher Education Without Illusions capture the full spectrum of these pressures: #accountability, #adjunct, #AI, #AImeltdown, #algo, #alienation, #anomie, #anxiety, #austerity, #BDR, #bot, #boycott, #BRICS, #climate, #collegemania, #collegemeltdown, #crypto, #divest, #doomloop, #edugrift, #enshittification, #FAFSA, #greed, #incel, #jobless, #kleptocracy, #medugrift, #moralcapital, #nokings, #nonviolence, #PSLF, #QOL, #rehumanization, #resistance, #robocollege, #robostudent, #roboworker, #solidarity, #strikedebt, #surveillance, #temperance, #TPUSA, #transparency, #Trump, #veritas.

Taken together, these words map the terrain of higher education as it exists today: a fragile ecosystem strained by debt, automation, political polarization, and climate urgency. Students are increasingly treated as commodities (#robostudent, #strikedebt), faculty are underpaid and precarious (#adjunct, #medugrift), and universities themselves are subjected to the whims of markets and algorithms (#algo, #AImeltdown, #robocollege).

Financial pressures are unrelenting. The FAFSA system, once intended as a bridge to opportunity, now functions as a tool of surveillance and debt management (#FAFSA, #BDR). Public service loan forgiveness (#PSLF) continues to be delayed or denied, leaving graduates to navigate the twin anxieties of indebtedness and joblessness (#jobless, #doomloop). Meanwhile, austerity measures squeeze institutional budgets, often at the expense of research, mental health support, and academic freedom (#austerity, #anomie, #anxiety).

Automation and artificial intelligence are now central to the higher education ecosystem. AI grading tools, predictive enrollment algorithms, and administrative bots promise efficiency but often produce alienation and ethical dilemmas (#AI, #AImeltdown, #roboworker, #bot). In this context, “robocollege” is not a metaphor but a lived reality for many students navigating hyper-digitized classrooms where human mentorship is increasingly rare.

Political and cultural currents further complicate the picture. From the influence of conservative campus organizations (#TPUSA, #Trump) to global shifts in power (#BRICS), universities are battlegrounds for ideological and material stakes. Moral capital—the credibility and legitimacy of an institution—is increasingly intertwined with corporate sponsorships, divestment movements, and climate commitments (#moralcapital, #divest, #climate). At the same time, greed and kleptocracy (#greed, #kleptocracy) permeate administration and policy decisions, eroding trust in higher education’s social mission.

Yet amid this bleakness, there are threads of resistance and rehumanization. Student debt strikes, faculty solidarity networks, and advocacy for transparency (#strikedebt, #solidarity, #transparency, #rehumanization) reveal a persistent desire to reclaim the university as a space of collective flourishing rather than pure financial extraction. Nonviolence (#nonviolence), temperance (#temperance), and boycotts (#boycott) reflect strategic, principled responses to systemic crises, even as anxiety and alienation persist.

Ultimately, higher education without illusions demands that we confront both the structural and human dimensions of its crises. Universities are not just engines of credentialing and profit—they are social institutions embedded in broader networks of power, ideology, and technology. A recognition of #veritas and #QOL (quality of life) alongside the demands of #collegemania and #enshittification is essential for any hope of reform.

The hashtags are more than social media markers—they are diagnostics. They chart a system in flux, exposing the frictions between automation and humanity, austerity and access, greed and moral responsibility. They call on all of us—students, educators, policymakers, and citizens—to act with accountability, solidarity, and courage.

Higher education without illusions is not pessimism; it is clarity. Only by naming the pressures and contradictions can we begin to imagine institutions that serve human flourishing rather than perpetuate cycles of debt, alienation, and social inequality.

Sources & Further Reading:

• An American Sickness, Elisabeth Rosenthal

• Medical Apartheid, Harriet Washington

• Body and Soul, Alondra Nelson

• HEI coverage of student debt, adjunct labor, and AI in higher education

Medugrift and the price makers in higher education

In the United States, the cost of higher education is not a natural phenomenon. It is deliberately constructed by a network of institutional actors who function as price makers: university presidents, chief financial officers, boards of trustees, governors, and state legislators. They determine what students pay, how institutions are structured, and whose interests higher education ultimately serves. Their decisions shape tuition, labor conditions, program priorities, and the balance between education and the expanding world of medugrift—the hybrid system where medicine, education, debt, and corporate extraction intersect.

For decades, the American public has been told that tuition rises because education is inherently expensive. But as Richard Wolff argues in his critiques of the “War on the Working Class,” the economic decisions shaping tuition, labor costs, athletics, administrative growth, and capital projects reflect class priorities. The price makers choose which costs are fundamental and which are negotiable. They choose what gets built, who gets hired, and how much debt institutions take on. They choose who pays.

University presidents now act more like corporate executives than academic leaders. They negotiate seven-figure salaries, travel globally for fundraising, and preside over campuses where luxury construction often outruns academic needs. They approve budgets that elevate branding and athletics while pressuring academic departments to justify their existence through profit metrics. Tuition increases rarely slow presidential compensation; instead, they are framed as regrettable necessities dictated by “the market” or “competitive realities.”

CFOs enforce a financial logic that prioritizes credit ratings, cash reserves, and debt-financed expansion. They present budgets as neutral, but each line reflects a hierarchy of value. Instruction is cast as a cost center. Staff health care, faculty benefits, and student services become “inefficiencies.” Meanwhile, massive expenditures on consultants, real estate, information systems, and administration are justified as essential to “modernization.” The result is predictable: the people who teach and learn bear the burden while those who administer expand.

Trustees represent another layer of price making. Often drawn from banking, private equity, real estate, biotech, and corporate medicine, trustees bring a worldview shaped by capital accumulation rather than public service. They authorize tuition hikes, approve investment strategies, and greenlight partnerships that blend public education with private profit. Many trustees sit simultaneously on hospital boards or medical investment firms, allowing medugrift to flourish in the shadows of institutional legitimacy. Their decisions shape which programs expand, which shrink, and which students are offered genuine opportunity.

State governors and legislators are external architects of scarcity. Since the 1980s, state governments have systematically defunded public higher education while channeling resources to mass incarceration, gambling revenue schemes, corporate tax breaks, and subsidies to companies like Amazon. These choices undermine the ability of public institutions to remain affordable and force them to operate increasingly like private universities. The shift from public funding to tuition revenue is not inevitable; it is a political strategy. HBCUs and tribal colleges have lived with this manufactured scarcity for generations. Their chronic underfunding—documented in numerous state audits and federal investigations—illustrates what happens when government treats education for marginalized communities as optional.

The emergence of medugrift reveals a deeper structural problem. At the intersection of higher education and corporate medicine sits an engine of extraction. University medical systems leverage public funding, student tuition, and philanthropic contributions to build financial empires that often serve administrators first and communities last. Medical schools charge extreme tuition while placing students into debt-heavy paths. University hospitals consolidate regional health systems, increasing costs while reducing access. Research produced through public dollars is routinely captured by private pharmaceutical or biotech companies. Meanwhile, residents and faculty in these health systems often endure poor working conditions and stagnant pay. Medugrift conceals itself behind the prestige of medicine, but its logic mirrors that of predatory education: privatize gains, socialize losses, and extract from those with the least bargaining power.

Who determines the costs to students? The answer lies in the aggregated decisions of these actors. When a university raises tuition to protect its bond rating, that is a decision. When trustees invest in athletics while cutting humanities programs, that is a decision. When governors choose prisons over scholarships, that is a decision. When state legislatures allow gambling revenue to substitute for stable taxation, that is a decision. Each choice shifts the financial burden downward while consolidating power upward.

This is not simply mismanagement; it is a class project. The people who determine prices do not feel them. Students, families, adjunct instructors, and underfunded communities do. For working-class students, particularly those from historically excluded backgrounds, the price makers have built a system defined by debt, precarity, and limited mobility.

Nothing about this system is inevitable. There was a time when public universities were affordable, when trustees included community members and labor leaders, when presidents were educators, and when medical centers served the public rather than corporate conglomerates. If the price makers can build this system, a more democratic and humane system can be built to replace it.

The question for the coming decade is not whether higher education is too expensive. The public has already reached its verdict. The question is whether students, workers, and communities will continue to let the price makers—and the medugrift machinery attached to them—define who gets educated, who gets indebted, and who gets left behind.

Sources
Richard D. Wolff, Understanding Socialism; Capitalism Hits the Fan
Elisabeth Rosenthal, An American Sickness
Harriet A. Washington, Medical Apartheid
Rebecca Skloot, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
Alondra Nelson, Body and Soul
State Higher Education Finance (SHEF) Reports
U.S. Department of Education, Office for Civil Rights, HBCU Funding Analyses

Medugrift: The Unsustainable Nature of University-Related Health Care

University-related health care has become a sprawling and increasingly unsustainable enterprise. What began as a mission to train doctors, nurses, and medical researchers in service of the public good has morphed into a vast, profit-driven complex. Tied to the branding of universities, the financial imperatives of Big Medicine, and the precarious economics of higher education, this “Medugrift” reflects many of the same dysfunctions we see across American higher ed.

The University as Health Care Conglomerate
Major research universities often operate sprawling medical centers that rival Fortune 500 corporations in both revenue and expenses. Academic health systems like those at Johns Hopkins, Duke, Michigan, or USC bring in billions annually. Yet despite this scale, their finances are increasingly fragile. They rely heavily on a combination of government reimbursements, philanthropy, and sky-high tuition from medical students—many of whom graduate with debt loads exceeding $200,000.

For universities, medical schools and hospitals serve as prestige engines and revenue streams, but they also drain resources, saddle institutions with debt, and expose them to scandals involving fraud, patient neglect, or mismanagement.

The Student and Worker Burden
The workforce supporting university health systems—residents, nurses, adjunct faculty, contract staff—often face long hours, low pay relative to the work demanded, and little job security. Meanwhile, students in health care disciplines are treated less as apprentices of the healing profession and more as revenue sources for both the university and affiliated corporations.

Many young doctors-in-training are funneled into a system where their debt and exhaustion make them more compliant with the corporatization of medicine. Universities profit from this cycle, while students and patients carry the costs.

Ballooning Costs and Broken Promises
Despite claims of providing cutting-edge care and serving communities, university health systems often contribute to the nation’s crisis of affordability. Hospital charges at university facilities are often higher than at non-teaching hospitals, reflecting not only the real costs of research and training but also the administrative bloat, marketing budgets, and executive compensation packages that mirror the rest of higher ed.

Patients face sticker shock, insurers pass costs to the public, and communities are left to wonder whether these “nonprofit” institutions are truly accountable.

Medugrift and the Future
The term Medugrift captures the contradictions: universities use the prestige of medical schools and hospitals to attract funding and political clout, but the system feeds on debt, underpaid labor, and inflated costs. It is not financially or ethically sustainable.

As university debt rises and student loan defaults grow, the Medugrift may become a central fault line in the higher education crisis. Already, some universities have been forced to sell or spin off their hospitals. Others double down, betting on health care revenue streams to subsidize declining undergraduate enrollments.

But this path cannot hold indefinitely. Like the broader higher education bubble, the university health care complex rests on fragile assumptions: endless student demand, limitless patient reimbursements, and unquestioned public trust. If those foundations crack, the consequences for both higher education and health care will be profound.

The Higher Education Inquirer: Six Hundred Thousand Views, and Still Digging

The Higher Education Inquirer has crossed another milestone, reaching more than 600,000 views over the past quarter. For a niche publication without corporate backing, this is a significant achievement. But the real measure of success is not in page views—it is in the stories that matter, the investigations that refuse to die even when the higher education establishment would rather they disappear.

Since its inception, HEI has taken the long view on the crises and contradictions shaping U.S. colleges and universities. We continue to probe the issues that mainstream media outlets often skim or ignore. These are not passing headlines; they are structural problems, many of them decades in the making, that affect millions of students, faculty, staff, and communities.

Among the stories we continue to pursue:

• Charlie Kirk and Neofascism on Campus: Tracing how right-wing movements use higher education as a recruiting ground, and how student martyrdom narratives fuel a dangerous cycle.

• Academic Labor and Adjunctification: Investigating the systemic exploitation of contingent faculty, who now make up the majority of the academic workforce.

• Higher Education and Underemployment: Examining how rising tuition, debt, and credentials collide with a labor market that cannot absorb the graduates it produces.

• EdTech, Robocolleges, and the University of Phoenix: Following the money as education technology corporations replace faculty with algorithms and marketing schemes.

• Student Loan Debt and Borrower Defense to Repayment: Tracking litigation, regulatory shifts, and the human toll of a $1.7 trillion debt system.

• U.S. Department of Education Oversight: Analyzing how federal enforcement waxes and wanes with political cycles, often leaving students exposed.

• Online Program Managers and Higher Ed Privatization: Investigating the outsourcing of core academic functions to companies driven by profit, not pedagogy.

• Edugrift and Bad Actors in Higher Education: Naming the profiteers who siphon billions from public trust.

• Medugrift and University Medicine Oligopolies: Connecting elite medical centers to systemic inequality in U.S. healthcare.

• Student Protests: Documenting student resistance to injustice on campus and beyond.

• University Endowments and Opaque Funding Sources: Pulling back the curtain on how universities build wealth while raising tuition.

• Universities and Gentrification: Exposing the displacement of working-class communities in the name of “campus expansion.”

• Ambow Education as a Potential National Security Threat: Tracking foreign-controlled for-profit education companies and their entanglements.

• Accreditation: Examining the gatekeepers of legitimacy and their failure to protect students.

• International Students: Covering the precarity of students navigating U.S. immigration and education systems.

• Student Health and Welfare: Looking at how universities fail to provide adequate physical and mental health support.

• Hypercredentialism: Interrogating the endless inflation of degrees and certificates that drain students’ time and money.

• Veritas: Pursuing truth in higher education, no matter how uncomfortable.

These are the stories that make HEI more than just a blog—they make it a watchdog. As higher education drifts deeper into corporatization and inequality, we will keep asking difficult questions, exposing contradictions, and documenting resistance.

The numbers are gratifying. But the truth is what matters.

Baby Boomers Turning 80: The Flip Side of the 2026 Enrollment Cliff (#medugrift)

While COVID eliminated hundreds of thousands of older Americans from the dependency rolls, higher education experts have not expressed the profound effect that the Baby Boomers reaching their 80s will have on state budgets. In 2026, the year we expect an enrollment cliff, the first Boomers will turn 80. Transfers of wealth will enrich the upper-middle class and the rich, but working-class folks will be further devastated. 

Some of this should not be surprising. US birth rates have been declining for more than six decades. And US inequality began widening about a decade later. 

It should also be unsurprising that younger adults have chosen to have fewer children. Non-immigrants have even fewer--below replacement level. We may not see a population decline soon, but it does change the composition of the US age pyramid (see images below).

This demographic phenomenon, of more older people and fewer young people to care for them, will strain state budgets that need more money for nursing homes and other forms of long-term care. It is taken for granted (from a medical perspective) that with aging in the US comes years of disease, advanced disability, and large medical costs with expensive pills, procedures, hospitalizations, and institutionalization becoming the norm. "Eds and meds" are major employers in most US cities. And ageism, ableism, and sedentary lifestyles make the situation worse. 

The CDC estimates that 80% of adults aged 75 and older have at least one chronic health condition, and 50% have at least two. Some of the most common chronic health conditions among older adults include heart disease, stroke, cancer, diabetes, and arthritis.

According to the Alzheimer's Association, dementia among people in the US over 75 years of age is relatively common. In fact, they estimate that 6.2 million Americans aged 65 and older are living with Alzheimer's dementia, which is the most common form of dementia. Additionally, they estimate that 700,000 Americans aged 65 and older are living with vascular dementia, which is the second most common form of dementia.The risk of developing dementia increases with age, and people over the age of 75 are at the highest risk.

There are a number of ways in which people over 75 in the US differ from elders in other countries. Some of the key differences include:

• Health: Older adults in the US are more likely to have chronic health conditions and disabilities than older adults in other developed countries. For example, the US has the lowest life expectancy among wealthy countries, and the gap between the US and other countries widens as people get older.
• Wealth: Older adults in the US are more likely to be living in poverty than older adults in other developed countries. For example, an estimated 6.2 million Americans aged 65 and older live below the poverty line.
• Social support: Older adults in the US are less likely to have strong social support networks than older adults in other developed countries. For example, the US has a relatively high rate of social isolation among older adults.
• Access to healthcare: Older adults in the US are more likely to have difficulty accessing affordable healthcare than older adults in other developed countries. For example, the US has a high rate of uninsured and underinsured older adults.

Robotics and other less human strategies to manage elders may reduce costs. However, unless there are dramatic cuts in the US healthcare system, K-12 education, and prisons, community colleges and non-flagship state universities are likely to face more austerity.  Suzanne Mettler described this budgetary strain in her 2014 book Degrees of Inequality.  It's almost ten years later and little has been done to prepare for this wave. 

States with large percentages of poor elderly may be harder hit.  This may include New Mexico (13.3%), Mississippi (12.4%), Louisiana: (12.4%), New York: (11.8%), Rhode Island: (11.2%), Texas: (11.1%), Florida: (10.6%), and California: (10.5%). 

Changing the inverting pyramid would have economic and political consequences. Forcing girls and women to have children may be more likely in 2023 than it was in 1973, but that's not likely to improve the human condition. Allowing more immigration does not appear politically feasible. And adding population to the US means more global environmental destruction--the ultimate rate limiting factor.

 

(Source: PopulationPyramid.net) 

Related link:

"Let's all pretend we couldn't see it coming" (The US Working-Class Depression)

State Universities and the College Meltdown

Community Colleges at the Heart of College Meltdown