The College Meltdown: A Retrospective

[In 2017, we collaborated with Crush the Street on a video describing the College Meltdown.]  

“Education is not merely a credentialing system; it is a humanizing act that fosters connection, purpose, and community.”

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Origins

The College Meltdown began in the mid-2010s as a blog chronicling the slow collapse of U.S. higher education. Rising tuition, mounting student debt, and corporatization were visible signs, but the deeper crisis was structural: the erosion of public accountability and mission.

By 2015, the warning signs were unmistakable to us. On some campuses, student spaces were closed to host corporate “best practices” conferences. At many schools, adjunct instructors carried the bulk of teaching responsibilities, often without benefits, while administrators celebrated innovation. Higher education was quietly being reshaped to benefit corporations over students and communities — a true meltdown.

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Patterns of the Meltdown

Enrollment in U.S. colleges began declining as early as 2011, reflecting broader demographic shifts: fewer children entering the system and a growing population of older adults. Small colleges, community colleges, and regional public universities were hardest hit, while flagship institutions consolidated wealth and prestige.

Corporate intermediaries known as Online Program Managers (OPMs) managed recruitment, marketing, and course design, taking large portions of tuition while universities retained risk. Fully automated robocolleges emerged, relying on AI-driven templates, predictive analytics, and outsourced grading. While efficient, these systems dehumanized education: students became data points, faculty became monitors, and mentorship disappeared.

“Robocolleges and AI-driven systems reduce humans to data points — an education stripped of connection is no education at all.”

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Feeding the AI Beast

As part of our effort to reclaim knowledge and influence public discourse, we actively contributed to Wikipedia. Over the years, we made more than 12,000 edits on higher education topics, ensuring accurate documentation of predatory practices, adjunct labor, OPMs, and corporatization. These edits both informed the public and, inadvertently, fed the AI beast — large language models and AI systems that scrape Wikipedia for training data now reflect our work, amplifying it in ways we could never have predicted.

“By documenting higher education rigorously, we shaped both public knowledge and the datasets powering AI systems — turning transparency into a tool of influence.”

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Anxiety, Anomie, and Alienation

The College Meltdown documented the mental health toll of these transformations. Rising anxiety, feelings of anomie, and widespread alienation were linked to AI reliance, dehumanized classrooms, insecure faculty labor, and societal pressures. Students felt like credential seekers; faculty suffered burnout.

“Addressing the psychological and social effects of dehumanized education is essential for ethical recovery.”

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Trump, Anti-Intellectualism, and Fear in the Era of Neoliberalism

The project also addressed the broader political and social climate. The Trump era brought rising anti-intellectualism, skepticism toward expertise, and a celebration of market logic over civic and moral education. For many, it was an era of fear: fear of surveillance, fear of litigation, fear of being marginalized in a rapidly corporatized, AI-driven educational system. Neoliberal policies exacerbated these pressures, emphasizing privatization, metrics, and competition over community and care.

“Living under Trump-era neoliberalism, with AI monitoring, corporate oversight, and mass surveillance, education became a space of anxiety as much as learning.”

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Quality of Life and the Call for Rehumanization

Education should serve human well-being, not just revenue. The blog emphasized Quality of Life and advocated for Rehumanization — restoring mentorship, personal connection, and ethical engagement.

“Rehumanization is not a luxury; it is the foundation of meaningful learning.”

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FOIA Requests and Whistleblowers

From the start, The College Meltdown relied on evidence-based reporting. FOIA (Freedom of Information Act) requests were used to obtain internal communications, budgets, and regulatory filings, shining light on opaque practices. Whistleblowers, including adjunct faculty and staff at universities and OPMs, provided firsthand testimony of misconduct, financial malfeasance, and educational dehumanization. Their courage was central to the project’s mission of transparency and accountability.

“Insider testimony and public records revealed the hidden forces reshaping higher education, from corporate influence to predatory practices.”

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Historical Sociology: Understanding the Systemic Collapse

The importance of historical sociology cannot be overstated in analyzing the decline of higher education. By examining the evolution of educational systems, we can identify patterns of inequality, the concentration of power, and the commodification of knowledge. Historical sociology provides the tools to understand how past decisions and structures have led to the current crisis.

“Historical sociology reveals, defines, and formulates patterns of social development, helping us understand the systemic forces at play in education.”

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Naming Bad Actors: Accountability and Reform

A critical aspect of The College Meltdown was the emphasis on naming bad actors — identifying and holding accountable those responsible for the exploitation and degradation of higher education. This included:

• University Administrators: Prioritizing profit over pedagogy.

• Corporate Entities: Robocolleges and OPMs profiting at the expense of educational quality.

• Political Figures and Ultraconservatives: Promoting policies that undermined public education and anti-intellectualism.

“Holding bad actors accountable is essential for meaningful reform and the restoration of education's ethical purpose.”

[In 2016, we called out several bad actors in for-profit higher education, including CEOs Jack Massimino, Kevin Modany, and Todd Nelson.] 

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Existential Aspects of Climate Change

The blog also examined the existential dimensions of climate change. Students and faculty face a dual challenge: preparing for uncertain futures while witnessing environmental degradation accelerate. Higher education itself is implicated, both as a contributor through consumption and as a forum for solutions. The looming climate crisis intensifies anxiety, alienation, and the urgency for ethical, human-centered education.

“Climate change makes the stakes of education existential: our survival, our knowledge, and our moral responsibility are intertwined.”

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Mass Speculation and Financialization

Another critical theme explored was mass speculation and financialization. The expansion of student debt markets, tuition-backed bonds, and corporate investments in higher education transformed students into financial instruments. These speculative dynamics mirrored broader economic instability, creating both a moral and systemic crisis for the educational sector.

“When education becomes a commodity for speculation, learning, mentorship, and ethical development are subordinated to profit and risk metrics.”

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Coverage of Protests and Nonviolent Resistance

The College Meltdown documented student and faculty resistance: tuition protests, adjunct labor actions, and campaigns against predatory OPM arrangements. Nonviolent action was central: teach-ins, sit-ins, and organized campaigns demonstrated moral authority and communal solidarity in the face of systemic pressures, litigation, and corporate intimidation.

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Collaboration and Resistance

Glen McGhee provided exceptional guidance, connecting insights on systemic collapse, inequality, and credential inflation. Guest authors contributed across disciplines and movements, making the blog a living archive of accountability and solidarity:

Guest Contributors:
Bryan Alexander, Ann Bowers, James Michael Brodie, Randall Collins, Garrett Fitzgerald, Erica Gallagher, Henry Giroux, David Halperin, Bill Harrington, Phil Hill, Robert Jensen, Hank Kalet, Neil Kraus, the LACCD Whistleblower, Wendy Lynne Lee, Annelise Orleck, Robert Kelchen, Debbi Potts, Jack Metzger, Derek Newton, Gary Roth, Mark Salisbury, Gary Stocker, Harry Targ, Heidi Weber, Richard Wolff, and Helena Worthen.

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Lessons from the Meltdown

The crisis was systemic. Technology amplified inequality. Corporate higher education rebranded rather than reformed. Adjunctification and labor precarity became normalized. Communities of color and working-class students suffered disproportionately.

Dehumanization emerged as a central theme. AI, automation, and robocolleges prioritized efficiency over mentorship, data over dialogue, and systems over human relationships. Rising anxiety, anomie, and alienation reflected the human toll.

“Rehumanization, mentorship, community, transparency, ethical accountability, and ecological awareness are essential to restore meaningful higher education.”

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Looking Forward

As higher education entered the Trump era, its future remained uncertain. Students, faculty, and communities faced fear under neoliberal policies, AI-driven monitoring, mass surveillance, litigation pressures, ultraconservative influence, climate crises, and financial speculation. Will universities reclaim their role as public goods, or continue as commodified services? The College Meltdown stands as a testament to those who resisted dehumanization and anti-intellectualism. It also calls for Quality of Life, ethical practice, mental well-being, environmental responsibility, and Rehumanization, ensuring education serves the whole person, not just the bottom line. 

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Sources and References

• Washington, Harriet A. Medical Apartheid. Doubleday, 2006.

• Rosenthal, Elisabeth. An American Sickness. Penguin, 2017.

• Skloot, Rebecca. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Crown, 2010.

• Nelson, Alondra. Body and Soul. University of Minnesota Press, 2011.

• Paucek, Chip. “2U and the Growth of OPMs.” EdSurge, 2021. link

• Ravitch, Diane. The Death and Life of the Great American School System. Basic Books, 2010.

• Alexander, Bryan. Academia Next. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2020.

• U.S. Department of Education. “Closed School Information.” 2016–2020. link

• Federal Reserve Bank of New York. Student Debt Statistics, 2024. link

• Wayback Machine Archive of College Meltdown Blog: link

The Grand Irony of Nursing Education and Burnout in U.S. Health Care

Nursing has long been romanticized as both a “calling” and a profession—an occupation where devotion to patients is assumed to be limitless. Nursing schools, hospitals, and media narratives often reinforce this ideal, framing the nurse as a tireless caregiver who sacrifices for the greater good. But behind the cultural image is a system that normalizes exhaustion, accepts overwork, and relies on the quiet suffering of an increasingly strained workforce.

The cultural expectation that nurses should sacrifice their own well-being has deep historical roots. Florence Nightingale’s legacy in the mid-19th century portrayed nursing as a noble vocation, tied as much to moral virtue as to medical skill. During World War I and World War II, nurses were celebrated as patriotic servants, enduring brutal conditions without complaint. By the late 20th century, popular culture reinforced the idea of the nurse as both saintly and stoic—expected to carry on through fatigue, trauma, and loss. This framing has carried into the 21st century. During the COVID-19 pandemic, nurses were lauded as “heroes” in speeches, advertisements, and nightly news coverage. But the rhetoric of heroism masked a harsher reality: nurses were sent into hospitals without adequate protective equipment, with overwhelming patient loads, and with little institutional support. The language of devotion was used as a shield against criticism, even as nurses themselves broke down from exhaustion.

The problem begins in nursing education. Students are taught the technical skills of patient care, but they are also socialized into a culture that emphasizes resilience, self-sacrifice, and “doing whatever it takes.” Clinical rotations often expose nursing students to chronic understaffing and unsafe patient loads, but instead of treating this as structural failure, students are told it is simply “the reality of nursing.” In effect, they are trained to adapt to dysfunction rather than challenge it.

Once in the workforce, the pressures intensify. Hospitals and clinics operate under tight staffing budgets, pushing nurses to manage far more patients than recommended. Shifts stretch from 12 to 16 hours, and mandatory overtime is not uncommon. Documentation demands, electronic medical record systems, and administrative oversight add layers of clerical work that take time away from direct patient care. The emotional toll of constantly navigating life-and-death decisions, combined with lack of rest, creates a perfect storm of burnout. The grand irony is that the profession celebrates devotion while neglecting the well-being of the devoted. Nurses are praised as “heroes” during crises, but when they ask for better staffing ratios, safer conditions, or mental health support, they are often dismissed as “not team players.” In non-unionized hospitals, the risks are magnified: nurses have little leverage to negotiate schedules, resist unsafe assignments, or push back against retaliation. Instead, they are expected to remain loyal, even as stress erodes their health and shortens their careers.

Recent years have shown that nurses are increasingly unwilling to accept this reality. In Oregon in 2025, nearly 5,000 unionized nurses, physicians, and midwives staged the largest health care worker strike in the state’s history, demanding higher wages, better staffing levels, and workload adjustments that reflect patient severity rather than just patient numbers. After six weeks, they secured a contract with substantial pay raises, penalty pay for missed breaks, and staffing reforms. In New Orleans, nurses at University Medical Center have launched repeated strikes as negotiations stall, citing unsafe staffing that puts both their health and their patients at risk. These actions are not isolated. In 2022, approximately 15,000 Minnesota nurses launched the largest private-sector nurses’ strike in U.S. history, and since 2020 the number of nurse strikes nationwide has more than tripled.

Alongside strikes, nurses are pushing for legislative solutions. At the federal level, the Nurse Staffing Standards for Hospital Patient Safety and Quality Care Act has been introduced, which would mandate minimum nurse-to-patient ratios and provide whistleblower protections. In New York, the Safe Staffing for Hospital Care Act seeks to set legally enforceable staffing levels and ban most mandatory overtime. Even California, long considered a leader in nurse staffing ratios, has faced crises in psychiatric hospitals so severe that Governor Gavin Newsom introduced emergency rules to address chronic understaffing linked to patient harm. Enforcement remains uneven, however. At Albany Medical Center in New York, chronic understaffing violations led to hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines, a reminder that without strong oversight, even well-crafted laws can be ignored.

The United States’ piecemeal and adversarial approach contrasts sharply with other countries. In Canada, provinces like British Columbia have legislated nurse-to-patient ratios similar to those in California, and in Quebec, unions won agreements that legally cap workloads for certain units. In the United Kingdom, the National Health Service has long recognized safe staffing as a matter of public accountability, and while austerity policies have strained the system, England, Wales, and Scotland all employ government-set nurse-to-patient standards to protect both patients and staff. Nordic countries go further, with Sweden and Norway integrating nurse well-being into health policy; short shifts, strong union protections, and publicly funded healthcare systems reduce the risk of burnout by design. While no system is perfect, these models show that burnout is not inevitable—it is a political and policy choice.

Union presence consistently makes a difference. Studies show that unionized nurses are more successful at securing safe staffing ratios, resisting exploitative scheduling, and advocating for patient safety. But unionization rates in nursing remain uneven, and in many states nurses are discouraged or even legally restricted from organizing. Without collective power, individual nurses are forced to rely on personal endurance, which is precisely what the system counts on.

The outcome is devastating not only for nurses but for patients. Burnout leads to higher turnover, staffing shortages, and medical errors—all while nursing schools continue to churn out new graduates to replace those driven from the profession. It is a cycle sustained by institutional denial and the myth of infinite devotion.

If U.S. higher education is serious about preparing nurses for the future, nursing programs must move beyond the rhetoric of sacrifice. They need to teach students not only how to care for patients but also how to advocate for themselves and their colleagues. They need to expose the structural causes of burnout and prepare nurses to demand better conditions, not simply endure them. Until then, the irony remains: a profession that celebrates care while sacrificing its caregivers.

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Sources

• American Nurses Association (ANA). “Workplace Stress & Burnout.” ANA Enterprise, 2023.

• National Nurses United. Nursing Staffing Crisis in the United States, 2022.

• Bae, S. “Nurse Staffing and Patient Outcomes: A Literature Review.” Nursing Outlook, Vol. 64, No. 3 (2016): 322-333.

• Bureau of Labor Statistics. “Union Members Summary.” U.S. Department of Labor, 2024.

• Shah, M.K., Gandrakota, N., Cimiotti, J.P., Ghose, N., Moore, M., Ali, M.K. “Prevalence of and Factors Associated With Nurse Burnout in the US.” JAMA Network Open, Vol. 4, No. 2 (2021): e2036469.

• Nelson, Sioban. Say Little, Do Much: Nursing, Nuns, and Hospitals in the Nineteenth Century. University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001.

• Kalisch, Philip A. & Kalisch, Beatrice J. The Advance of American Nursing. Little, Brown, 1986.

• Oregon Capital Chronicle, “Governor Kotek Criticizes Providence Over Largest Strike of Health Care Workers in State History,” January 2025.

• Associated Press, “Oregon Health Care Strike Ends After Six Weeks,” February 2025.

• National Nurses United, “New Orleans Nurses Deliver Notice for Third Strike at UMC,” 2025.

• NurseTogether, “Nurse Strikes: An Increasing Trend in the U.S.,” 2024.

• New York State Senate Bill S4003, “Safe Staffing for Hospital Care Act,” 2025.

• San Francisco Chronicle, “Newsom Imposes Emergency Staffing Rules at State Psychiatric Hospitals,” 2025.

• Times Union, “Editorial: Hospital’s Staffing Violations Show Need for Enforcement,” 2025.

• Oulton, J.A. “The Global Nursing Shortage: An Overview of Issues and Actions.” Policy, Politics, & Nursing Practice, Vol. 7, No. 3 (2006): 34S–39S.

• Rafferty, Anne Marie et al. “Outcomes of Variation in Hospital Nurse Staffing in English Hospitals.” BMJ Quality & Safety, 2007.

• Aiken, Linda H. et al. “Nurse Staffing and Education and Hospital Mortality in Nine European Countries.” The Lancet, Vol. 383, No. 9931 (2014): 1824–1830.

Defunded and Targeted: The 2025 Crisis Facing Minority-Serving Institutions

In a move that has rattled institutions, students, and advocates, the U.S. Department of Education under the Trump administration has announced it will eliminate approximately $350 million in discretionary grant funding for dozens of minority-serving institutions (MSIs) nationwide. The cuts affect seven major grant programs that support Hispanic-Serving Institutions, Predominantly Black Institutions, Alaska Native and Native Hawaiian-Serving Institutions, and Asian American, Native American, and Pacific Islander-Serving Institutions.

The administration’s stated rationale is that these programs violate constitutional equal protection principles by limiting eligibility based on race and ethnicity. A Solicitor General determination in July argued that some of these programs run afoul of the Fifth Amendment’s Equal Protection Clause. As a result, the Department of Education says it must terminate these discretionary funds and “reprogram” them into initiatives without race or ethnicity as eligibility criteria.

These grants have been essential for many MSIs: they have financed academic support services, facility improvements, staffing, mentoring and advising programs, and Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics pathways aimed at underrepresented students. They have also helped institutions meet accreditation requirements and federal compliance demands. In the California State University system, for instance, 21 of its 22 campuses qualify as Hispanic-Serving Institutions. CSU Chancellor Mildred García has warned that the loss of funding will cause “immediate impact and irreparable harm” across the system, with many of those campuses having Hispanic students constituting nearly half of their enrollment.

Legally, the Department of Justice has declined to defend several of these MSI programs in litigation filed by Tennessee and Students for Fair Admissions. The core legal claim is that race- or ethnicity-based eligibility constitutes an unconstitutional preference not sufficiently justified under strict scrutiny. The administration has portrayed its actions not only as legal necessities but as aligning with broader priorities that avoid what it sees as constitutionally weak race-based criteria.

The consequences are likely to be broad. Without this discretionary funding, many MSIs will struggle to maintain programs focused on student persistence, remedial education, and equity‐oriented innovation. Services and supports for students who already face systemic barriers risk being cut. For students, this could translate into higher dropout rates, longer time to degree, and fewer resources. More broadly, institutions serve as engines of social mobility; removing a key source of institutional support may disproportionately harm communities of color and rural or underserved areas.

These changes arrive amid growing concerns about campus safety and the psychological toll inflicted by fear and disruption. In recent days several Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) have been forced into lockdown or canceled classes following hoax threat calls—“swatting” incidents—that mimic real violence but are ultimately false. Schools including Virginia State University, Hampton University, Alabama State University, Bethune-Cookman University, Spelman College, Morehouse, Clark Atlanta, Southern University & A&M College, and others faced terroristic threat letters or hoax calls that led to shelter-in-place orders, lockdowns, and heightened security measures. Though the FBI confirms that as of now no credible threat has been identified in many cases, the disruption has been real and traumatic for students, faculty, and administrators. These events underscore how fragile promises of safety can be, especially in institutions that already contend with systemic underfunding and inequity.

Administrations of affected universities have responded with caution. Some campuses suspended operations entirely, others canceled classes for multiple days, and many restricted access and tightened identification requirements. There are also broader legal and psychological costs: the stress, fear, and interruption to learning can exacerbate existing inequities in mental health and academic performance.

Even congressionally mandated funding—approximately $132 million that cannot immediately be reprogrammed—is under review for constitutionality. If more funding is cut or reallocated, more programs that target underrepresented populations by race or ethnicity may be dismantled.

Reaction from campus leaders, student advocates, and civil rights organizations has been swift. Many insist that these MSI programs are essential for closing equity gaps and forging institutional capacity that benefits all students. They argue that the cuts and these swatting-style threats combine to send a message: that institutions serving marginalized communities are especially vulnerable, legally and physically. The administration holds that it is compelled by constitutional law to end programs it deems indefensible, and that reprogramming funds to race-neutral programs is the correct path forward.

Looking ahead, legal challenges are almost certain. Questions include: what justifications are required under constitutional scrutiny; whether socioeconomic, geographic, or first-generation status metrics can be substituted for race or ethnicity eligibility; how institutions will respond financially and operationally; and what role Congress might play in defending or restructuring funding mandates. Meanwhile, ensuring physical and psychological safety on campuses—especially HBCUs—will remain a pressing concern in a climate where hoaxes and threats have become disturbingly frequent.

The elimination of $350 million in discretionary grants to minority-serving institutions marks a major shift in federal higher education policy. For MSIs, their students, and the communities they serve, the immediate effects may be devastating. But the broader questions raised—about constitutional limits, equity, race as public policy, and the safety of marginalized communities—are likely to echo well beyond this administration.

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Sources

• Diverse: Issues in Higher Education, “Trump Administration Cuts $350 Million in Grants to Minority-Serving Colleges,” September 2025.

• AP News, “Historically Black Colleges Issue Lockdown Orders, Cancel Classes After Receiving Threats,” September 2025. apnews.com

• Washington Post, “Multiple Historically Black Colleges Launch Lockdowns After ‘Terroristic’ Threat,” September 2025. washingtonpost.com

• Axios, “’Terroristic threats’ disrupt life at HBCUs across the U.S.” axios.com

• People Magazine, “Threats Force Multiple HBCUs Across Southern U.S. to Lock Down, Cancel Classes.” people.com

• The Guardian, “Black students and colleges across US targeted with racist threats day after Charlie Kirk killing.” theguardian.com

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.

Campus Cops, A Critical History

Campus policing in the United States has a long and complicated history, one that cannot be understood apart from the larger culture of violence in the nation. Colleges and universities, far from being sanctuaries of peace, have mirrored the broader society’s struggles with crime, inequality, and abuse of power. The development of campus police forces is both a symptom of these realities and a contributor to them.

From Watchmen to Armed Police

In the early 20th century, many colleges relied on night watchmen or unarmed security guards to keep order. Their duties were limited: locking buildings, checking IDs, and responding to minor incidents. But as campuses expanded in size and complexity—particularly after the GI Bill opened higher education to millions—colleges began to formalize security forces. By the 1960s and 1970s, during an era of political unrest and rising crime rates, many institutions established their own sworn police departments with full arrest powers.

The rationale was simple: the surrounding society was becoming more violent, and colleges were not immune. Campus shootings, from the University of Texas tower massacre in 1966 to Virginia Tech in 2007, underscored the vulnerability of universities to extreme violence. Administrators and legislators justified campus policing as a necessary protection against a culture of guns, crime, and fear.

The Expansion of Campus Policing

Today, more than 90 percent of U.S. colleges and universities with 2,500 or more students have some form of armed campus police. Many operate as fully accredited police departments, indistinguishable from municipal counterparts. They are tasked with preventing theft, responding to assaults, and increasingly, preparing for mass shootings. This expansion reflects the broader American decision to deal with social breakdown through policing and incarceration rather than through prevention, education, or healthcare.

Yet the rise of campus police also brings deep contradictions. If colleges are supposed to be places of learning and community, what does it mean that they are patrolled by officers trained in the same punitive logics as city police? What does it say about the United States that students—especially students of color—often feel surveilled rather than protected?

Campus Coverups and the Protection of Institutions

Beyond concerns about over-policing, there is another side to the story: under-policing and coverups. Colleges have long been criticized for minimizing reports of sexual assault, hazing, hate crimes, and other misconduct in order to protect their reputations. Title IX litigation, Department of Education investigations, and journalism have revealed systemic patterns of universities failing to report crimes or discouraging survivors from coming forward.

Campus police departments have sometimes been complicit in these coverups. Because they report to university administrations rather than independent city governments, their accountability is compromised. The incentive to “keep the numbers down” and maintain the appearance of a safe, prestigious campus can lead to the suppression of reports. Survivors of sexual violence often describe being dismissed, ignored, or retraumatized by campus police who appeared more concerned about institutional liability than student well-being.

The Contradictions of Campus Safety

The dual role of campus police—protecting students from external dangers while shielding institutions from internal accountability—illustrates the contradictions of higher education in a violent society. Universities are expected to provide safety in a nation awash with firearms, misogyny, racism, and economic desperation. But instead of challenging these conditions, many campuses rely on armed policing, surveillance technologies, and public relations strategies.

The result is a paradox: campuses are policed as if they are dangerous cities, yet when crimes happen within their walls, especially those involving sexual violence or elite fraternities and athletes, those same crimes are often hidden from public view.

Toward a Different Model of Safety

Critics argue that true campus safety requires moving beyond reliance on police alone. Investments in mental health services, consent education, community accountability processes, and structural reforms to address gender violence and racial inequities are essential. Some advocates push for independent oversight of campus police, ensuring they are accountable not just to administrators but to students, staff, and the broader public.

If campus policing has grown because America has normalized violence, then reimagining campus safety requires confronting the roots of that violence. As long as universities remain more committed to protecting their brands than their students, campus cops will embody the contradictions of American higher education—part shield, part coverup, and part reflection of a society unable to address its deeper wounds.

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Sources

• Sloan, John J. and Fisher, Bonnie S. The Dark Side of the Ivory Tower: Campus Crime as a Social Problem. Cambridge University Press, 2011.

• Karjane, Heather M., Fisher, Bonnie S., and Cullen, Francis T. Campus Sexual Assault: How America’s Institutions of Higher Education Respond. National Institute of Justice, 2002.

• U.S. Department of Education, Clery Act Reports.

• Armstrong, Elizabeth A. and Hamilton, Laura. Paying for the Party: How College Maintains Inequality. Harvard University Press, 2013.

Why Dating/Hooking Up Is Not a Good Idea for College Students and New Grads

In an era marked by rising tuition costs, crushing student loan debt, mental health crises, and economic uncertainty, college students and new graduates face mounting pressures from all directions. Amid this storm, the expectation to date—or participate in hookup culture—can seem like a rite of passage. But for many young adults, especially those without privilege or financial safety nets, dating and hooking up can distract from more urgent priorities, expose them to emotional and physical risks, and reinforce the same systems of inequality that exploit them.

It’s time we rethink the glorified image of the college romance and the casual hookup as liberating experiences.

Emotional Labor with Little Return

Dating and especially hooking up are often sold as part of the “college experience.” But what’s rarely discussed is the emotional cost: the anxiety, confusion, and heartbreak that often follow. For young people navigating their identities, finances, and future, romantic entanglements can amplify insecurities and derail emotional stability. Rather than providing intimacy or connection, dating in college often reinforces performative behavior and emotional detachment.

This is especially true in environments dominated by hookup culture, where emotional vulnerability is stigmatized and communication is shallow. A culture of disposability encourages people to use each other for attention or sex, often under the illusion of freedom, when in fact it's a distraction from deeper needs—like belonging, purpose, and healing.

Financial and Time Costs in a Precarious Economy

College students and new graduates are already financially strapped. A “cheap date” may still mean a $40 night out—money that could go toward groceries, transit, or student loan interest. For many working-class students, romantic relationships can add financial burdens they can't afford. Some even take on extra jobs or credit card debt just to impress a partner or maintain appearances.

Time is another critical resource. Hours spent chasing love or sex are hours not spent studying, building networks, applying for jobs, or sleeping. In the high-stakes reality of a declining job market and disappearing middle class, time and energy are luxuries. Romantic distractions can delay career paths, lower GPAs, or worsen burnout.

Exploitation, Power Imbalances, and Gendered Harms

In practice, dating and hooking up are rarely egalitarian. Women, nonbinary students, LGBTQ+ individuals, and students of color often face higher risks of exploitation, coercion, and assault. The Title IX system is overwhelmed and unevenly enforced, and many survivors are left unsupported, retraumatized, or silenced. The cultural normalization of hookup culture—facilitated by dating apps and alcohol-fueled party scenes—often masks deeply entrenched power dynamics.

For young men, toxic masculinity pressures them into performative sexuality and emotional suppression. For women and gender minorities, the stakes can be even higher, involving bodily autonomy, safety, and self-worth.

And while some college relationships are supportive and healthy, many are not. They may involve manipulation, codependence, or even intimate partner violence. At a time when mental health services are underfunded and stigmatized, these dynamics can go unnoticed and untreated.

The Illusion of Liberation Through Dating Apps

Tinder, Bumble, Hinge, and other apps promise connection and empowerment. In reality, they are profit-driven platforms that thrive on superficiality and dissatisfaction. Their algorithms commodify users, pushing us toward endless swiping rather than meaningful interaction. For many students, these apps become addictive distractions—dopamine hits that erode real-world social skills and deepen loneliness.

Moreover, dating apps collect massive amounts of personal data and monetize insecurity. Like the student loan system or the for-profit college industry, they prey on vulnerability and sell back false hope.

Post-Graduation Drift and Relationship Fallout

New graduates face enough instability: uncertain housing, job searches, cross-country moves, and identity crises. Romantic relationships often buckle under this pressure. What seemed like a connection during college may not survive the chaos of adult life. Graduates may find themselves navigating breakups while unemployed, uninsured, or thousands of miles from their support networks.

In worst-case scenarios, toxic relationships extend into early adulthood, delaying independence, or entrenching cycles of emotional or financial dependence. This is especially dangerous for those without parental safety nets or stable careers.

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Focus on Solidarity, Not Distraction

College students and new graduates don’t need romance or hookups to feel validated. They need community, purpose, and protection in a hostile economy. They need peer networks, mentorship, paid internships, unionized jobs, and access to affordable mental healthcare—not more heartbreak, ghosting, or gaslighting.

The myth of carefree college romance serves the same system that sells the dream of the American meritocracy. It diverts attention from the real structural challenges young people face and seduces them with fantasies that rarely play out as promised.

Rather than chasing validation through dating, young people might be better served investing in themselves, building collective power, and reimagining what intimacy and care can look like outside the logic of profit and performance.

Sources:

• The End of Love by Eva Illouz

• Trick Mirror by Jia Tolentino

• American College Health Association reports

• Pew Research Center on Gen Z dating and loneliness

• CDC: Sexual Violence on College Campuses

• Student Loan Hero: Average student loan debt statistics

• National Center for Education Statistics

• Data from Hookup culture studies, Lisa Wade (Occidental College)

Let the Higher Education Inquirer know your thoughts: contact us at gmcghee@aya.yale.edu.

Brutal and Beautiful: Advice for Incoming Freshmen on Navigating Life Mindfully

Starting college is a moment filled with excitement, hope, and a sense of possibility. It’s a time when many young people step into new independence, meet people from different walks of life, and discover passions that can shape their future. Yet, alongside the promise and energy, college life is often brutally challenging.

As an incoming freshman, it’s important to approach these years with mindfulness—aware that your experience will be a mix of hardship and beauty, setbacks and breakthroughs, confusion and clarity. The journey through higher education rarely follows a simple or linear path.

The Brutal Side
College can be harsh. The academic demands are intense, and the pressure to succeed weighs heavily. Many students face mental health struggles, financial strain, social isolation, and systemic barriers that can feel overwhelming. For some, the cost of tuition and living expenses leads to debt that will shadow their lives for years. For others, the classroom and campus culture can reveal inequalities and injustices that challenge ideals of fairness and opportunity.

You might encounter moments of self-doubt, exhaustion, or even failure. These experiences are part of the process—not signs of personal inadequacy. Recognizing the difficulties without sugarcoating them prepares you to face challenges without being crushed by them.

The Beautiful Side
Despite the hardships, college also offers moments of profound growth and connection. You’ll find friendships that change you, mentors who inspire you, and ideas that ignite your imagination. College can be a space to explore your identity, challenge assumptions, and develop a clearer sense of purpose.

The beauty of this experience is often found in resilience: how you respond to setbacks, how you carve out community, and how you claim your voice in academic and social spaces. It’s in the small victories—a paper well-written, a difficult conversation that leads to understanding, or the realization that you belong.

Being Mindful
Mindfulness means paying attention to your experiences as they come, without judgment or avoidance. It means acknowledging pain and joy alike and understanding that both are temporary, fluid parts of your college life. Cultivating this awareness can help you maintain balance and perspective.

Some ways to practice mindfulness during college include:

• Taking time to reflect regularly, through journaling or quiet moments.

• Seeking support when needed, whether through campus counseling, peer groups, or trusted adults.

• Staying aware of your physical health, as body and mind are deeply connected.

• Setting realistic expectations and celebrating progress, not just outcomes.

Chapter 1

Your college years will not be perfect or painless. They will be a complex mix of brutal and beautiful moments. Embracing that truth equips you with resilience and compassion—both for yourself and for others navigating this journey.

Approach your freshman year with open eyes and an open heart. The experiences you gather, both difficult and inspiring, will shape who you become—not just as a student, but as a person ready to engage with the world.

Welcome to this chapter of your life. It’s as challenging as it is transformative, and your mindful presence in it will make all the difference.

Throwing the Flag for the Fourth Time: U.S. College Students Are Still Gambling with Student Aid

In this fourth installment of our continuing investigation into student gambling, one issue looms larger than ever: the misuse of student financial aid to fund risky betting behavior. This is not an isolated anomaly or a cautionary footnote. It is a widespread and worsening crisis that reveals the vulnerabilities in a higher education system increasingly entangled with digital addiction and financial exploitation.

An estimated one in five U.S. college students has used student aid—whether federal loans, Pell Grants, or other education funds—to place bets, often through mobile sports betting platforms. These findings, confirmed in recent surveys by Intelligent.com and state gambling councils, expose a troubling truth: higher education is not just failing to prevent this behavior; it may be silently enabling it.

Since the 2018 Supreme Court decision that overturned the federal ban on sports betting, online gambling has exploded in popularity. Students can now place bets with a few taps on their phones, often encouraged by targeted promotions, social media ads, and campus culture. A 2023 NCAA survey showed that nearly 60 percent of 18- to 22-year-olds had engaged in sports betting, with as many as 41 percent betting on their own school’s teams. What was once considered deviant is now normalized.

Financial aid, originally intended to help students pay for tuition, housing, and books, has become a silent reservoir for gambling losses. Students who misuse these funds often do so quietly, making it easy for the behavior to go undetected until academic or financial disaster strikes. This is not only a matter of personal irresponsibility but of systemic neglect. With little oversight of how aid money is spent after disbursement, students can easily divert those funds toward high-risk activities without triggering institutional red flags.

The consequences are severe. Students who gamble with loan money frequently fall behind on rent and tuition. Some accumulate additional credit card debt. Many report heightened levels of anxiety, depression, and academic disengagement. A subset drops out entirely—often with thousands of dollars in nondischargeable debt and no degree to show for it. What we’re witnessing is the transformation of long-term educational debt into a form of speculative entertainment, with young people bearing the cost and the state underwriting the risk.

Colleges and universities, for the most part, have done little to stop this. Fewer than a quarter have any formal gambling policy in place. Counseling centers are often underfunded and untrained in gambling-specific treatment. Awareness campaigns are limited and usually reactive. Meanwhile, the gambling industry continues to rake in profits and expand its reach on college campuses, sometimes through sponsorship deals or targeted advertisements that blur the lines between athletics, student identity, and wagering.

The NFL Foundation’s $600,000 commitment to gambling awareness may be well-intentioned, but it’s woefully insufficient when compared to the scale of the problem and the profits at stake. While a handful of schools have taken steps to limit advertising or incorporate gambling risk into financial literacy programs, these measures remain the exception rather than the rule.

This is not a moral panic. It is a public health crisis driven by the same factors that have fueled other digital addictions: rapid technological change, corporate lobbying, student precarity, and institutional inaction. It is part of a broader shift toward what we’ve described in previous articles as “digital dope”—a system in which tech companies engineer compulsive behaviors for profit, and colleges quietly adjust to a reality where student attention, money, and mental health are fair game.

The normalization of gambling, especially among male students, mirrors other troubling trends we’ve reported: rising alcohol abuse, declining classroom engagement, and growing alienation from educational institutions. Many of these students are not just gambling because it’s fun—they are using it to escape a deeper sense of disconnection, uncertainty, and despair.

To meaningfully address this crisis, institutions must confront the uncomfortable truth that financial aid is being used to subsidize digital addiction. That means enforcing clear restrictions on gambling app promotions, integrating gambling screening into student health protocols, rethinking how aid is distributed and monitored, and establishing formal policies that treat gambling risk with the same urgency as alcohol or drug abuse.

In publishing our fourth report on student gambling, The Higher Education Inquirer again asks: how many warnings are needed before the problem is acknowledged at scale? How many more students must drop out, spiral into debt, or fall into addiction before administrators, lawmakers, and the Department of Education take this seriously?

The answers are not hard to find. What’s missing is the will to act.

Sources:
Intelligent.com (2022, 2023), College Student Gambling Surveys
NCAA (2023), Sports Betting Participation Data
Nevada Council on Problem Gambling (2024)
Florida Council on Compulsive Gambling (2023)
CollegeGambling.org
Time Magazine (2024), “An Explosion in Sports Betting Is Driving Gambling Addiction Among College Students”
Kindbridge (2025), “Is America in the Middle of a College Student Gambling Addiction Crisis?”
Addiction.Rutgers.edu (2024), “The Rise of Sports Betting Among College Students”
HigherEducationInquirer.org (2025), “Student Aid and Student Gambling: Risky Connection”

Higher Education Inquirer: Transparency, Accountability, and Value

Our vision for the Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) has been to increase transparency, accountability, and value for consumers of higher education, workers in higher education, and student loan debtors.  Your insights, your stories, and yes, your critiques, are the lifeblood of this endeavor.

We remain committed to staying ahead of the learned herd, challenging orthodoxies, and asking the uncomfortable questions that others often ignore. But to continue on this path, we need your support. One of the most immediate ways you can contribute is by commenting on our articles—anonymously if you prefer—and sharing them widely. Every comment, every share, strengthens our community and amplifies the work we do.

With your continued input, we will persist in our investigative efforts: analyzing hidden data, exposing malfeasance, interviewing experts, and speaking to whistleblowers who trust us to tell stories that matter. Our goal is not merely to inform but to propose solutions. We seek to highlight best practices and showcase promising alternatives to the status quo—whether they arise from within classrooms or boardrooms, or beyond them entirely.

We also welcome collaborations. If you know of individuals or organizations that bring meaningful insight to higher education’s most pressing issues, please let us know. The Inquirer thrives on the collective intelligence and diversity of its contributors.

In the coming year, we intend to deepen our focus on several core areas of concern:

Mental Health Support: We will examine the quality and accessibility of mental health services for both students and campus employees. From long wait times to underfunded counseling centers, from financial barriers to the unseen toll of psychological distress, we will explore how these challenges intersect with academic success and retention.

Financial Literacy: Colleges often promise to prepare students for life beyond graduation, yet too many fall short in equipping them with the tools for financial independence. We will investigate how institutions teach (or fail to teach) personal finance, and how that connects to the broader burden of student debt and financial anxiety.

Economic Inequality: As higher education grapples with its own complicity in deepening socioeconomic divides, we aim to uncover how colleges and universities either exacerbate or alleviate inequality. Our reporting will examine affordability, access, and the real economic value of a college degree, especially for first-generation and low-income students.

Civic Engagement: In a time of political polarization, the role of higher education in cultivating civic responsibility has never been more urgent. We will explore campus-based initiatives aimed at encouraging informed, active citizenship—and assess whether they are rising to the challenge.

Sustainable Living: With climate concerns mounting, we will investigate how institutions are responding. Are they merely "greenwashing" or making measurable progress in reducing their environmental footprint? We will also explore how sustainability is integrated into both operations and curricula.

Reimagining Education: Finally, we will look to the future of learning itself. From innovative teaching models to the ethical use of AI, from lifelong learning to digital classrooms, our reporting will spotlight the possibilities and perils of reimagining education for a rapidly changing world.

This is a pivotal time for higher education—and for those of us committed to examining it critically and constructively. We invite you to walk with us, challenge us, and contribute to the stories that need to be told. Together, we can create a more just, transparent, and thoughtful academic landscape.

Ketamine Is Not the Cure We Need

Ketamine is having a moment. Once used almost exclusively as an anesthetic and known on the street as “Special K,” it is now being hailed as a cutting-edge treatment for depression, PTSD, and anxiety. Private clinics are popping up in cities and suburbs alike, offering infusions, nasal sprays, and lozenges for a steep price.

But behind the hopeful marketing lies a troubling reality: ketamine’s rise is less about public health than it is about profit.

Follow the Money

In the past five years, venture capital and private equity have flooded into the ketamine space. Chains like Field Trip Health, Ketamine Wellness Centers, and Klarisana have been buying up smaller practices and opening new ones at breakneck speed. Telehealth startups—some born out of pandemic-era deregulation—now ship ketamine lozenges directly to patients’ doors, bypassing in-person medical oversight.

The business model is simple:

• Charge between $400 and $800 per infusion, often multiple times per month.

• Encourage ongoing “maintenance” treatments to sustain fleeting mood improvements.

• Package the drug in a spa-like environment to justify the premium price.

There is no insurance guarantee for most patients, making ketamine therapy a cash-based service—a dream scenario for investors who want high margins without dealing with insurers.

Science on Shaky Ground

While some studies show ketamine can offer rapid symptom relief, the effects often fade within days or weeks. The drug’s long-term safety for repeated psychiatric use remains poorly studied. Potential side effects include memory impairment, bladder issues, and dissociation.

Even the FDA has not approved ketamine for depression—it has only approved esketamine (a derivative, sold under the brand name Spravato) for limited use in treatment-resistant cases. Yet clinics aggressively market generic ketamine “off-label” to a far wider audience.

Selling a Chemical Band-Aid for a Social Wound

The deeper issue is not just that ketamine’s benefits are short-lived—it’s that the marketing of ketamine clinics conveniently sidesteps the structural roots of the mental health crisis.

The United States is facing rising rates of loneliness, economic insecurity, and chronic disease. People are working longer hours for less pay. Housing is unstable, communities are fragmented, and processed food dominates our diets. For-profit healthcare treats these conditions as secondary, focusing instead on profitable “treatments” for their symptoms.

Ketamine fits neatly into this paradigm: it promises quick relief without requiring systemic change. It turns social pain into a personal chemical problem, to be managed one expensive infusion at a time.

The Alternative We’re Not Funding

If we truly want to improve mental health, we need to invest in what actually works long-term:

• Connection: Strong, face-to-face social networks.

• Movement: Exercise as a cultural norm, not a luxury.

• Nutrition: Access to fresh, whole foods—not just cheap processed calories.

• Dignified Work: Jobs that pay living wages and offer stability.

These solutions don’t generate quarterly returns for shareholders. They don’t make headlines in glossy wellness magazines. But they build the kind of resilience no ketamine clinic can replicate.

The question is not whether ketamine can help some people in crisis—it can. The question is whether we are willing to accept a future in which our collective mental health depends on paying private companies to administer short-term chemical escapes, rather than creating a society where people don’t feel so broken in the first place.

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Sources:

• Schatzberg, A.F. (2014). A word to the wise about ketamine. American Journal of Psychiatry, 171(3), 262–264.

• Moncrieff, J., & Cooper, R.E. (2022). “Magic bullet” thinking in psychiatry: The case of ketamine. BJPsych Bulletin, 46(5), 285–288.

• CNBC. (2023). Ketamine therapy clinics see booming business, but experts urge caution.

• STAT News. (2024). Private equity eyes ketamine clinics as mental health crisis deepens.

How Well Are RAs Trained?

Resident Assistants (RAs) are often the first line of defense in college residential life. They’re expected to wear many hats: peer mentors, community builders, rule enforcers, crisis responders, and mental health triage workers. Yet most are undergraduate students themselves—barely older than the residents they oversee—and often underpaid or unpaid for the critical work they do.

Given these responsibilities, one pressing question remains: how well are RAs actually trained to do the job?

The Scope of the RA Role

At most colleges and universities, RAs are chosen through competitive application processes and undergo mandatory training before each academic year. Their job descriptions often include enforcing housing policies, resolving roommate conflicts, planning events, documenting rule violations, and serving as 24/7 on-call crisis contacts.

They are also the ones students turn to in the wake of sexual assaults, substance overdoses, suicidal ideation, or interpersonal violence—scenarios far outside the boundaries of typical student experience or authority.

This raises ethical and legal questions: Are institutions relying too heavily on RAs as stopgaps for inadequate professional staffing? And are RAs adequately equipped for what they’re being asked to do?

Training Duration Varies—Widely

RA training typically ranges from a few days to two weeks, depending on the school. Some institutions provide extensive workshops on topics like mental health first aid, Title IX reporting, diversity and inclusion, active shooter preparedness, and conflict mediation. Others prioritize bureaucratic compliance over practical preparation.

A 2023 survey by Inside Higher Ed and the Association of College and University Housing Officers (ACUHO-I) found that only 47% of RAs reported feeling “fully prepared” to handle crises. Over 25% said they had no meaningful training in trauma-informed response or de-escalation. And fewer than 15% received detailed instruction on dealing with students with disabilities or navigating racial bias incidents—both common issues in residential settings.

Mental Health Crises Are on the Rise

According to the American College Health Association, nearly 75% of students report moderate to serious psychological distress, with campus counselors increasingly overwhelmed. In many cases, RAs become the first responders—waking up in the middle of the night to assess whether someone is suicidal, high, or having a panic attack.

But the stakes are enormous. One misjudgment could lead to a suicide, a lawsuit, or a violent altercation. Without formal mental health credentials or trauma-informed care training, RAs often operate on gut instinct and patchy training.

Several RAs interviewed for this article shared a common sentiment: “We’re expected to be therapists and cops, but we’re not trained to be either.”

Legal Liability and Institutional Risk

Some universities have faced lawsuits and media scrutiny over failures in RA training. A few tragic cases—ranging from overlooked suicide warnings to mishandled sexual assaults—have exposed just how unprepared and unsupported RAs can be.

Despite this, schools continue to delegate serious duties to RAs while insulating themselves from liability. When crises escalate, RAs may be scapegoated or pressured to resign quietly. In return, they often receive compensation that doesn't match the job’s gravity—such as a free dorm room and a small stipend.

Burnout and Attrition

Many RAs experience burnout within the first semester, and turnover can be high, especially at large public universities where staff support is stretched thin. The emotional toll of constant availability, conflict management, and exposure to trauma can be immense.

In one Midwestern state school, RA vacancies jumped 40% in one year, prompting administrators to shorten training and raise hiring quotas—creating a vicious cycle of undertraining and overreliance.

The Disparity Problem

Elite schools with large endowments are more likely to offer robust RA training, professional backup, and wraparound services. Meanwhile, less-resourced regional publics and community colleges often treat RAs as glorified rule enforcers, with minimal oversight and training.

Additionally, BIPOC and LGBTQ+ RAs are often asked—explicitly or implicitly—to do more emotional labor around diversity, bias, and inclusion without being paid or trained for it.

This inequality mirrors larger divides in higher education, where students at wealthier institutions receive better support and protection than their peers at underfunded schools.

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Toward a Better System

If RAs are to remain integral to campus residential life, colleges and universities must invest more in their training, support, and compensation. That includes:

• Standardized, evidence-based training protocols across institutions

• Paid year-round training with scenario-based learning and professional mentorship

• On-call professional support for crisis escalation

• Clear boundaries between peer support and professional intervention

• Mental health services for RAs themselves

At the very least, students should know what they’re signing up for—and institutions should stop outsourcing serious responsibilities to underpaid peers without the tools to succeed.

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Conclusion

Resident Assistants play a crucial role in shaping the campus experience, but the current model puts too much weight on too little training. As mental health crises, racial tensions, and campus violence continue to rise, the question is no longer whether RAs are ready—it’s whether universities are willing to admit they’ve been relying on a broken system.

Sources:

• American College Health Association: National College Health Assessment

• Inside Higher Ed / ACUHO-I RA Training Survey (2023)

• NASPA: Student Affairs Administrators in Higher Education

• Lawsuits and media coverage of RA-related incidents (ProPublica, Chronicle of Higher Education)