Casino Colleges: How Higher Education Mirrors a Vegas-Style Economy

Higher education in the United States has become its own high-stakes game, where students—particularly those from working-class backgrounds—risk their futures on degrees that may never deliver the promised payoff. Like Las Vegas, the system thrives on speculation, scams, and extraction, creating a casino economy in which the house almost always wins.

The dynamics at play in universities mirror those of Las Vegas. Tuition fees have tripled over the last two decades, and in 2025, outstanding student loan debt in the U.S. exceeds $1.9 trillion, carried by over 45 million borrowers. For many graduates, the return on investment is uncertain: nearly 40% of college-educated workers report being in jobs they do not enjoy or that do not require a degree.

Las Vegas itself provides a cautionary tale. The city’s economy depends on high-risk speculation, from manipulated gaming odds to predatory pricing and real estate bubbles. Hospitality and gaming workers are trapped in precarious jobs, and tourists are increasingly voicing dissatisfaction with hidden fees and scams. The parallels with higher education are striking: both systems rely on extracting value from participants while minimizing risk for those in control.

Labor unrest in both arenas highlights the human cost. University adjuncts, graduate assistants, and service staff face low pay, unpredictable schedules, and limited benefits—even as administrators and shareholders reap the gains. Similarly, culinary and hospitality workers in Vegas struggle under similar dynamics, a reminder that exploitation scales across sectors.

Casino capitalism—the U.S. default—demonstrates that short-term profits often trump long-term stability. In higher education, the consequences include credential inflation, student debt crises, and a growing divide between those who can gamble successfully and those for whom the system is rigged. Just as Vegas may eventually face a tourist backlash, higher education risks a reckoning if working-class students continue to shoulder the losses of a speculative system.

In this economy, whether the stakes are on the strip or in the classroom, the house may always win—but only until the players refuse to play.

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Sources

• Higher Education Inquirer. “The Student Debt Crisis and For-Profit Colleges.” HEI, 2024. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2024/02/the-student

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Elite Universities on Lockdown: Labor, Debt, and Exploitation.” HEI, 2024. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2024/09/elite-universities-on-lockdown.html

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Elite University Presidents: Most Hated and Least Trusted.” HEI, 2025. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/02/elite-university-presidents-most-hated.html

• Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis. “Student Loans and Household Debt Statistics.” 2025. https://fred.stlouisfed.org

• Pew Research Center. “Job Satisfaction and College Graduates in the U.S.” 2025. https://www.pewresearch.org

Higher Education and Climate Change: Choppy Waters Ahead

For years, Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) has documented how the climate crisis intersects with higher education. The evidence shows universities caught between their public claims of sustainability and the realities of financial pressures, risky expansion, and—in some cases—climate denial.

Bryan Alexander’s Universities on Fire offers a framework for understanding how climate change will affect colleges and universities. He describes scenarios where institutions face not only physical damage from storms, floods, and wildfires, but also declining enrollments, strained budgets, and reputational harm if they continue business as usual.

HEI’s reporting on Stockton University illustrates this problem. Its Atlantic City campus was celebrated as a forward-looking project, but the site is highly vulnerable to sea-level rise. Projections show more than two feet of water by 2050 and as much as five feet by 2100. Despite this, the university has continued to invest in the property, a decision that raises questions about long-term planning and responsibility.

The problems are not only physical. HEI has reported on “science-based climate change denial,” where the language of research and inquiry is used to delay or undermine action. This type of denial allows institutions to appear rigorous while, in practice, legitimizing doubt and obstructing necessary changes.

Even the digital infrastructure of higher education is implicated. Data centers and cloud computing require enormous amounts of water for cooling, a fact made more urgent in drought-stricken regions. HEI has suggested that universities confront their digital footprints by auditing storage, deleting unnecessary data, and questioning whether unlimited cloud use is consistent with sustainability goals.

The federal safety net is also shrinking. FEMA cuts have reduced disaster relief funding at a time when climate-driven storms and floods are growing more severe. Colleges and universities that once relied on federal recovery dollars are now being forced to absorb more of the financial burden themselves—whether through state appropriations, private insurance, or higher tuition. In practice, this means students and working families will bear much of the cost of rebuilding.

Meanwhile, contradictions continue to pile up. Camp Mystic, a corporate retreat space that hosts gatherings for university-affiliated leaders, has become a symbol of institutional hypocrisy: universities stage climate conferences and sustainability summits while maintaining financial and cultural ties to industries and donors accelerating the crisis. These contradictions erode trust in higher education’s role as a credible leader on climate.

Climate disruption does not occur in isolation. HEI’s essay Let’s Pretend We Didn’t See It Coming...Again examined how higher education is entangled with a debt-driven economy vulnerable to collapse. With more than $1.7 trillion in student loans, heavy reliance on speculative finance, and partnerships with debt-financed ventures, universities are already positioned on fragile ground. Climate change adds another layer of instability to institutions already at risk.

Taken together, these trends describe a sector moving into uncertain waters. Rising seas threaten campuses directly. Digital networks consume scarce resources. FEMA funding is shrinking. Denial masquerades as academic debate. Debt burdens and speculative finance amplify risks. Universities that continue to expand without accounting for these realities may find themselves not only unprepared but complicit in the crisis.

HEI will continue to investigate these issues, tracking which institutions adapt responsibly and which remain locked in denial and contradiction.

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Sources and Further Reading

• Bryan Alexander, Universities on Fire (2023)

• Higher Education Inquirer: Stockton University and Climate Change

• Higher Education Inquirer: Science-Based Climate Change Denial

• Higher Education Inquirer: When Climate Change Dries Out the Cloud

• Higher Education Inquirer: Let’s Pretend We Didn’t See It Coming...Again

• Higher Education Inquirer: Climate Change Archive

• Wendy Lynne Lee, On the Kleptocene and Commodification of Life (HEI, 2024)

Tech on Lockdown

In 2025, consumers face a deepening dilemma: how much personal information they must surrender in order to simply participate in the digital economy—and how much risk of fraud, surveillance, and exploitation comes with it. The modern internet is locked down, not just by corporate firewalls, but by an endless cycle of demands for identification and the rising threat of scams.

The trade-off is stark. On one side, companies require increasingly invasive personal data for access to basic services. Signing up for a financial aid platform, an online class, or even a subscription news site often involves revealing Social Security numbers, bank accounts, or biometric data. Meanwhile, universities, retailers, and fintech companies justify these demands as “verification” or “compliance.” Consumers are told that without surrendering their information, they cannot belong.

On the other side, scammers are thriving. From phishing emails that mimic official communications to sophisticated AI-generated calls that sound like family members in distress, fraud is no longer just the realm of obvious spam. The same technology that enables secure payments and online enrollment also fuels deepfake schemes, identity theft, and financial ruin.

Caught in this digital chokehold, working-class families often pay the highest price. The poorest are more likely to rely on insecure devices, public Wi-Fi, or predatory fintech platforms. They are also more likely to be blamed when fraud occurs, accused of “carelessness” when in reality the system forces them into unsafe digital practices. Meanwhile, the wealthy and elite universities insulate themselves with private cybersecurity teams, exclusive networks, and legal firepower.

Higher education illustrates this divide vividly. Students applying for loans or grants must disclose enormous amounts of personal data—only to find themselves targets of phishing schemes or, worse, data breaches at the very institutions they trusted. The recent wave of ransomware attacks against universities, along with the growth of “robocolleges” that automate student services with minimal oversight, shows how fragile the system has become. The illusion of safety masks a reality of vulnerability.

The underlying problem is structural. Data has become currency, and consumers are forced to spend it in order to function. Yet once surrendered, it cannot be taken back. Every digital form filled out, every student portal login, every financial aid verification increases the exposure to fraud. The system tells us to “trust” while offering few protections when trust is violated.

“Tech on lockdown” means more than clamping down on personal devices. It means a society where access is conditioned on surrender, and where surveillance and scams thrive in tandem. Consumers must navigate between giving up their privacy or risking being locked out, between handing over sensitive information or falling prey to those who exploit it.

What Consumers Can Do

While systemic change is essential, there are some basic protective strategies individuals can adopt:

• Use multi-factor authentication wherever possible, especially on student loan and financial accounts.

• Limit use of public Wi-Fi for sensitive transactions.

• Monitor credit reports and financial statements regularly.

• Be skeptical of unsolicited emails, texts, or calls—even those that appear to come from trusted institutions.

• When possible, push institutions (including colleges) to explain why they require specific personal data and how they will protect it.

These measures won’t fix the structural issues, but they can provide some insulation while policymakers, regulators, and institutions continue to fall behind in addressing this growing dilemma.

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Sources

• Federal Trade Commission (FTC). Consumer Sentinel Network Data Book 2024.

• Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI). Internet Crime Report 2024.

• EDUCAUSE. Cybersecurity and Privacy in Higher Education, 2024.

• The Higher Education Inquirer. “Robocolleges: Higher Education’s Automation Experiment.” (2024)

• Identity Theft Resource Center. 2024 Annual Data Breach Report.

Shifting the Burden: Labor, Capital, and the University in the US 1969–2025

Over the last half-century, the U.S. economy has undergone a profound transformation, one that has consistently shifted wealth, power, and risk from labor to capital. Nowhere is this transfer more evident than in the American university. Once celebrated as engines of mobility and knowledge, colleges and universities have become laboratories for the financialization of labor and the exploitation of debt, producing both highly educated workers and precarious employment. The story of U.S. higher education mirrors the broader trajectory of labor in the postindustrial economy: the erosion of wages, benefits, and job security, replaced by indebtedness, contingent labor, and privatized risk.

In 1969, union membership in the U.S. reached historic heights, covering nearly one-third of workers, and wages broadly tracked productivity. Universities, like other sectors, offered stable employment, pensions, and health benefits for faculty and staff. Students could pursue degrees without accumulating crushing debt. Yet this stability faced systematic challenges. Rising global competition, stagflation in the 1970s, and growing corporate influence over politics and law set the stage for a deliberate weakening of labor. Influential business leaders, inspired by the Powell Memo of 1971, invested in reshaping regulations, judicial appointments, and cultural attitudes to protect capital and undermine collective worker power.

The higher education sector became a testing ground for these strategies. Universities increasingly adopted anti-union policies, aggressively resisting faculty organizing. Tenured and tenure-track positions stagnated, while the majority of teaching staff shifted to contingent and adjunct roles. Adjunct faculty, who now comprise the majority of instructors at many institutions, are paid a fraction of full-time salaries and frequently lack basic employment protections. Retirement and medical benefits are often unavailable, leaving adjuncts dependent on precarious contract work while navigating an academic labor market that demands high productivity and expertise. Meanwhile, students are encouraged to shoulder growing tuition costs through loans, creating a generation of indebted graduates whose economic vulnerability mirrors that of the adjunct faculty teaching them.

This debt-driven model reflects a broader trend in U.S. labor. As real wages stagnated across most industries, households turned to credit cards, home equity loans, and student loans to maintain living standards. Medical debt and inadequate access to health insurance became commonplace, and pension security eroded as defined-benefit plans gave way to 401(k)s tied to volatile financial markets. Universities, simultaneously relying on contingent labor and student debt, became both emblematic and instrumental in this shift. They profited from a system that exploited the labor of instructors while binding students into decades-long financial obligations.

The 2008 financial crisis and the COVID-19 pandemic further exposed these structural inequalities. Wall Street recovered rapidly through bailouts and financial consolidation, while millions of workers—including adjuncts and early-career academics—experienced housing loss, unemployment, and financial insecurity. Universities, too, leveraged these crises to consolidate programs, increase online offerings, and further casualize labor. Inflation fears and budget shortfalls became convenient rationales for suppressing wages, cutting benefits, and delaying retirement security.

By 2025, a new wave of labor activism is emerging, both inside and outside the academy. Union drives at Starbucks, Amazon, hospitals, and universities reflect widespread discontent, yet union density remains below ten percent. Legal obstacles, from Janus v. AFSCME to state-level right-to-work laws, continue to suppress organizing. Capital, for its part, has adapted. Endowments, private equity firms, hedge funds, and sovereign wealth funds dominate sectors from housing to healthcare to higher education. Pension funds, once a safeguard for workers, have been financialized into instruments that profit the very institutions and executives who outsource or eliminate labor protections.

The consequences are stark. Since 1969, productivity has more than doubled, but real wages for most workers have barely changed. CEO pay has increased by over a thousand percent, while median worker pay stagnates. Household debt exceeds seventeen trillion dollars. Universities, which were once supposed to provide pathways to mobility, increasingly rely on adjunct labor and student indebtedness to function. Workers in both corporate and academic sectors are often left without reliable health coverage or retirement security, forcing them into perpetual economic vulnerability.

Higher education exemplifies the paradox of U.S. labor in the postindustrial era: it produces a highly credentialed workforce while exploiting its own employees and saddling students with debt. The burden of sustaining American capitalism—through longer hours, reduced benefits, and relentless indebtedness—has shifted decisively onto labor. Whether this growing discontent can coalesce into a new labor movement or whether capital—including universities—will continue to restructure society in its own interest remains one of the central questions of our time.

Sources
Gordon Lafer, The Job Training Charade (2002)
Michael Hudson, The Bubble and Beyond (2012)
Maurizio Lazzarato, The Making of the Indebted Man (2011)
Economic Policy Institute, State of Working America Data Library
U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, Historical Tables

Todd S. Nelson: Massive Wealth Built on Soul-Crushing Student Loan Debt

Todd S. Nelson rose from academic beginnings—a B.S. from Brigham Young University and an MBA from the University of Nevada, Reno—to dominate the for-profit higher education space. Over nearly four decades, Nelson has amassed vast personal wealth leading University of Phoenix, Education Management Corporation (EDMC), and Perdoceo Education, even as each institution left embattled students and regulatory fallout in its wake.

Under Nelson’s leadership, Apollo Group (parent of University of Phoenix) mountains of revenue—$2.2 billion and over 300,000 students by 2006—coincided with a $41 million payday in that year alone. He resigned amid pressure over deceptive admissions practices.

Nelson’s move to EDMC in 2007 triggered another enrollment explosion—from 82,000 to over 160,000 students by 2011—propelled by federal student aid. Annual revenues reached nearly $2.8 billion, even as employees were alleged to be encouraged to enroll “anyone and everyone” to meet quotas. This aggressive focus on recruitment came with enormous personal compensation—approximately $13.1 million annually—while students endured mounting debt and dwindling outcomes.

A 2015 landmark settlement exposed EDMC’s alleged violations under the False Claims Act. The Justice Department accused the company of operating as a “recruitment mill,” illegally funneling federal funds through false certifications. EDMC agreed to pay $95.5 million in damages and forgive more than $102 million in student loans, affecting about 80,000 former students—averaging around $1,370 per student.Internal documents and court filings paint a grim picture: incentive-based pay for recruiters, breach of fiduciary duties, and a business model the trustee called “fundamentally fraudulent.”

Nelson’s chapter at Career Education Corporation (later Perdoceo) echoed the same script. Campuses shuttered, including Le Cordon Bleu and Sanford-Brown, left students stranded with untransferable credits—and yet Nelson’s compensation remained soaring. In 2019, he earned $7.4 million and held about $12 million in equity.

Whistleblower accounts from inside Perdoceo’s operations are damning. One former recruiter described pressure to enroll students “by any means necessary,” including coercive calls and emotional manipulation—often targeting vulnerable applicants with low income or lacking basic readiness. Despite those practices, Perdoceo reaped profits, with Nelson publicly touting revenue growth even as the Department of Education issued a formal notice in May 2021: thousands of borrower defense claims were pending against the company, alleging misrepresentations on credits, employment prospects, and accreditation.

Further regulatory investigations deepened through early 2022, focusing on recruiting, marketing, and financial aid practices—yet no executive accountability has followed.

The narrative that emerges is stark: Todd S. Nelson repeatedly led institutions to profit-fueled expansion using students’ federal dollars, while suppressing outcomes and exposing students to debilitating debt. Lawsuits, settlements, and investigative reports expose deceptive enrollment practices, false claims, and regulatory violations—but the executives—including Nelson—walk away with wealth and are rarely held personally responsible.

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Sources

• Wikipedia: Todd S. Nelson—compensation figures and resignation amid scrutiny.

• TribLIVE: Allegations of “anyone and everyone” being enrolled to meet quotas under Nelson’s reign at EDMC.

• Career Education Review: Insights on quality decline amid enrollment growth at EDMC and Perdoceo.

• Department of Justice and NASFAA: 2015 EDMC settlement—$95.5 million damages, $102 million in loan forgiveness for hundreds of thousands.

• Bankruptcy court filings: Allegations of fraudulent business model and incentive-driven recruitment.

• Republic Report & USA Today: Whistleblower testimony on Perdoceo’s predatory recruiting tactics.

Apollo Wants Investors to Buy Back the University of Phoenix. They Shouldn’t. (David Halperin)

Having failed to complete deals to sell the troubled giant for-profit University of Phoenix to major state universities in Arkansas and Idaho — after people in those states got cold feet — the school’s owner, private equity behemoth Apollo Global Management, just before the holiday weekend announced an initial public offering for the school. 

Phoenix’s parent company had been publicly traded until AGM and two other firms took the company private in 2017. Now they have gone back to Wall Street to re-sell the school to investors. 

But should investors want to buy this operation? The presence of the heavily-advertised University of Phoenix in the college market has been bad for U.S. students, taxpayers, and the economy, because it has led many students to enroll in a school that often deceives people, and often leaves students with heavy debts and without the careers they sought — when they could be using taxpayer support and their own money to enroll in better value programs. 

Moral and macro-economic concerns aside, it’s not even clear that buying Phoenix will be good for investor bottom lines. 

The University of Phoenix, which has received tens of billions from federal taxpayers for student grants and loans — at times more than $2 billion in a single year — has faced numerous law enforcement investigations and actions for its deceptive recruiting of veterans, military service members, and other students across the country.

Most notably, in 2019, Phoenix reached a record $191 million settlement with the Federal Trade Commission, which claimed the school had lured students with false claims about partnerships with major employers. Phoenix ran ads falsely indicating that the school had deals with companies including AT&T, Yahoo!, Microsoft, Twitter, and the American Red Cross to create job opportunities for its students and tailor school programs for such jobs, when that was not the case. The deceptive claim went to the heart of prospective students’ motivations for enrolling. Andrew Smith, then the Director of the FTC’s Bureau of Consumer Protection, said at the time of the agreement, “Students making important decisions about their education need the facts, not fantasy job opportunities that do not exist.”

And last year California’s attorney general reached a settlement with Phoenix to resolve allegations that the school’s aggressive recruitment tactics directed at military students violated consumer protection laws. 

The now almost entirely online school did a two-year dance with the University of Idaho that drew immense criticism from lawmakers, executive branch officials, newspaper editorial boards, and others in that state before the deal was finally called off in June.

Bloomberg reported earlier this year that an IPO might value the University of Phoenix operation, which had $810 million in revenue for 2023-24 (81 percent of that from federal taxpayer dollars), at $1.5 billion to $1.7 billion. And the new Trump administration has signaled in multiple ways that it is reducing protections for students against predatory college abuses, a development that may make investors more willing to buy a piece of a school like Phoenix.

But new federal legislation requires schools to provide some financial value for students. Also, state attorneys general, who have curbed and even slayed a number of for-profit giants over a decade, are watching; the media understands this issue, as it did not in the last wild west era fifteen years ago; and more potential students are wary after a generation of abuses.

So it may end up being much tougher to thrive in the predatory college business than some might think. 

David Halperin

Attorney and Counselor

Washington, DC  

[Editor's note: This article originally appeared on Republic Report.]

Pigs on Parade: The University of Phoenix IPO

Apollo Global Management and Vistria have an offer only a pig would consider: the Phoenix Education Partners IPO.

Touted by Morgan Stanley, Goldman Sachs, Bank of Montreal, Jefferies, and Apollo Global Securities, the offering of Phoenix Education Partners brings the University of Phoenix (UoPX) back to public markets—but few fans remain in the audience.

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A Decade of Decline: From Expansion to Erosion

In the early 2000s, UoPX was hailed as a pioneering force in adult education—cozy campuses near freeway exits and an advanced online infrastructure for working learners earned praise. Its founder John Sperling was seen as visionary.

But by 2010 enrollment had already begun plummeting after reaching nearly 470,000 students, and the school’s academic quality and recruiting ethics were under the microscope. Critics decried “The Matrix,” a perverse scheme where recruiters were aggressively incentivized to push enrollments—no matter the cost.

By 2018, more than 450 locations had shuttered, enrollment was down by approximately 80%, and half the remaining sites were no longer accepting new students. Even Hawaii, Jersey City, Detroit, and other major cities were on the closure list.

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Regulatory Fallout: Lawsuits, Settlements, and Borrower Defenses

From the early 2010s onward, UoPX saw an avalanche of legal scrutiny. In 2019, the FTC leveled a $191 million settlement against it for misleading advertising, including deceptive claims about job placement and corporate partnerships.

By late 2023, 73,740 borrower-defense claims had been filed by former students under federal programs. Many of these were settled under the Sweet v. Cardona class action, with estimates of the university’s potential liability ranging from $200 million to over $1 billion. Meanwhile, nearly one million debtors owed a combined $21.6 billion in student loans—about $22,000 per borrower on average.

Another flashpoint: UoPX agreed to pay $4.5 million in 2024 to settle investigations by California’s Attorney General over military-targeted recruiting tactics.

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The Ownership Unicorn: Apollo, Vistria, and Political Backing

After Apollo Global Management and the Vistria Group acquired UoPX in 2016, the school became a commodified unit in a larger private equity portfolio. The deal brought in figures like Tony Miller, a political insider, as chairman—signaling strategic power play as much as financial management.

Vistria’s broader stable included Risepoint (previously Academic Partnerships), meaning both UoPX and OPM entities were controlled by one private-equity firm—drawing criticism for creating a “for-profit, online-education industrial complex.”

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The IPO Circus: “Pigs on Parade”

Enter the Phoenix Education Partners IPO, steered onto the market with all the pomp of a carnival but none of the substance. The front-line banks—Morgan Stanley, Goldman Sachs, BMO, Jefferies, Apollo Global Securities—are being paid handsomely to dress up this distressed asset as a growth opportunity.

But here’s what those colorful floats hide:

• Collapse, not comeback. Enrollment and campus infrastructure have withered.

• Debt, not opportunity. Nearly a million debt-laden alumni owe $21.6 billion.

• Liability, not credibility. Borrower defense claims and state investigations continue to mount.

• Profit, not public good. Ownership is consolidated in private equity with political access, not academic mission.

This is a pig in parade attire. Investors are being asked to cheer for ribbon-cutting and banners, while the mud-stained hooves of exploitative business models trudge behind.

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The HEI Verdict

This IPO isn’t a pivot toward better education—it’s a rebrand of an exploitative legacy. From aggressive recruitment of vulnerable populations (“sandwich moms,” military servicemembers) to mounting legal liabilities, the University of Phoenix remains the same broken system.

Investors, regulators, and the public must not be dazzled by slick packaging. The real story is one of failed promises, students carrying lifelong debt, and private equity cashing out. In education, as in livestock, parades are meant to show off—just make sure you're not cheering at the wrong spectacle.

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Sources

• Higher Education Inquirer. Search: University of Phoenix

• Higher Education Inquirer. “The Slow-Motion Collapse of America’s Largest University” (2018)

• Higher Education Inquirer. “University of Phoenix Collapse Kept Quiet” (2019)

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Fraud Claims Against University of Phoenix” (2023)

• Higher Education Inquirer. “University of Phoenix Uses ‘Sandwich Moms’ in Recruiting” (2025)

• Higher Education Inquirer. “What Do the University of Phoenix and Risepoint Have in Common?” (2025)

• Federal Trade Commission. “FTC Obtains $191 Million Settlement from University of Phoenix” (2019)

• Sweet v. Cardona Settlement Documents (2022–2023)

• California Attorney General. “University of Phoenix to Pay $4.5 Million Over Deceptive Military Recruiting” (2024)

Can College Presidents Tell Us the Truth?

“Truth? You can’t handle the truth!” Jack Nicholson’s Colonel Jessup in A Few Good Men captures the tension at the heart of American higher education: can college presidents confront veritas—the deep, sometimes uncomfortable truths about their institutions—or will they hide behind prestige, endowments, and comforting illusions?

At the foundation of academia lies veritas, Latin for truth or truthfulness, derived from verus, “true” or “trustworthy.” Veritas is not optional decoration on a university crest; it is a moral and intellectual obligation. Yet 2025 reveals a system where veritas is too often sidelined: institutions obscure financial mismanagement, exploit adjunct faculty, overburden students with debt, and misrepresent outcomes to the public.

The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) embodies veritas in action. In “Ahead of the Learned Herd: Why the Higher Education Inquirer Grows During the Endless College Meltdown,” HEI demonstrates that truth-telling can thrive outside corporate funding or advertising. By reporting enrollment collapses, adjunct exploitation, and predatory for-profit practices, HEI holds institutions accountable to veritas, exposing what many university leaders hope will remain invisible.

Leadership failures are a direct affront to veritas. “Scam Artist or Just Failed CEO?” scrutinizes former 2U CEO Christopher “Chip” Paucek, revealing misleading enrollment tactics and financial mismanagement that serve elite universities more than consumers. These corporate-style decisions in a higher education setting betray the very principle of veritas, prioritizing appearance and profit over educational integrity and human outcomes.

Student journalism amplifies veritas further. Through Campus Beat, student reporters uncover tuition hikes, censorship, and labor abuses, demonstrating that veritas does not belong only to administrators—it belongs to those who seek to document reality, often at personal and professional risk.

Economic and political realities also test veritas. In “Trumpenomics: The Emperor Has No Clothes,” HEI exposes how hollow economic reforms enrich a few while leaving the majority behind. Academia mirrors this pattern: when prestige is elevated over substance, veritas is discarded in favor of illusion, leaving students and faculty to bear the consequences.

Structural crisis continues. In “College Meltdown Fall 2025,” HEI documents federal oversight erosion, AI-saturated classrooms with rampant academic misconduct, rising student debt, and mass layoffs. To honor veritas, leaders would confront these crises transparently, but too often they choose comforting narratives instead.

Debt remains one of the clearest tests of institutional veritas. HEI’s “The Student Loan Mess: Next Chapters” shows how trillions in student loans have become instruments of social control. The Sweet v. McMahon borrower defense cases illustrate bureaucratic inertia and opacity, directly challenging the principles of veritas as thousands of debtors await relief that is slow, incomplete, and inconsistently applied.

Predatory enrollment practices further undermine veritas. Lead generators, documented by HEI, exploit student information to drive enrollment into high-cost, low-value programs, prioritizing revenue over truth, clarity, and student welfare. “College Prospects, College Targets” exposes how prospective students are commodified, turning veritas into a casualty of marketing algorithms.

Through all of this, HEI itself stands as a living testament to veritas. Surpassing one million views in July 2025, it proves that the public demands accountability, clarity, and honesty in higher education. Veritas resonates—when pursued rigorously, it illuminates failures, inspires reform, and empowers communities.

The question remains: can college presidents handle veritas—the unflinching truth about student debt, labor exploitation, mismanagement, and declining institutional legitimacy? If they cannot, they forfeit moral and public authority. Veritas is not optional; it is the standard by which institutions must be measured, defended, and lived.

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Sources

• Calling All Campus Reporters: Help Us Tell the Truth

• Trumpenomics: The Emperor Has No Clothes

• HEI Resources Fall 2025

• College Meltdown Fall 2025

• Why the Higher Education Inquirer Continues

• Higher Education Inquirer Surpasses 1 Million Views

• Scam Artist or Just Failed CEO?

• Lead Generators in Higher Education

• The Student Loan Mess: Next Chapters

• Sweet

• Elite University Presidents: Most Hated Men (and Women) on Campus

• Elite Universities on Lockdown. Protestors Regroup.

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”

The Case Against Higher Education Reform (Glen McGhee)

For decades, critics and policymakers have argued that American higher education could be “fixed” through better management, new credentials, accountability systems, or market competition. But the evidence now points to a sobering reality: the time for meaningful reform has passed. What remains is a structurally inert system staggering toward collapse, incapable of adapting in ways that would meaningfully serve students, faculty, or the broader society.

Too Late: The System Has Already Crystallized

Sociologists Michael Hannan and John Freeman warned in 1984 that organizations often fall prey to “structural inertia,” creating a form of lock-in that makes real transformation virtually impossible. Today’s higher education sector exemplifies their theory.

Since 2010, undergraduate enrollment has declined by more than 15%, representing 2.7 million fewer students nationwide. The FAFSA fiasco of 2024–25 alone is expected to result in hundreds of thousands fewer freshmen, according to Brookings. This is not gradual adjustment but systemic breakdown occurring within institutions whose structures are too rigid to respond.

The so-called “demographic cliff” beginning in 2025 will accelerate these failures. The Philadelphia Federal Reserve predicts that 1 in 10 U.S. colleges faces “significant financial distress” in the next decade. Closures are already mounting: Birmingham-Southern College in Alabama shut its doors in 2024 after 168 years, despite political lobbying and emergency funding attempts. In Vermont, the Vermont State Colleges System closed three campuses in 2020, citing declining enrollment and unsustainable costs. In Massachusetts, Mount Ida College collapsed in 2018, leaving students stranded. These are not isolated cases—they are signs of a broader unraveling.

No Power, No Resources: Reform Advocates Lack Institutional Leverage

Those demanding reform—students burdened by debt, adjuncts trapped in precarity, or concerned citizens—lack meaningful power within entrenched governance structures. Administrative hierarchies create what organizational theorists call “hierarchical inertia”: resistance to bottom-up change.

Between 2010 and 2018, spending on administrative services grew by 25%, compared with only 16% growth in instructional spending. Administrative salaries rose faster than faculty pay, and presidents of elite private universities now routinely earn over $1 million annually, while the median adjunct pay per course hovers around $3,500.

Meanwhile, the faculty workforce has stratified into a rigid caste system: 48% of all faculty are adjuncts, compared with only 33% who are tenure-track. Nearly one in four adjuncts qualifies for some form of public assistance, according to the American Federation of Teachers.

Higher Education as a Caste System

The metaphor of higher education as a caste system is not rhetorical exaggeration—it is sociological description.

• Academic labor: Adjuncts teach 60–70% of all undergraduate courses at some public universities, yet lack benefits, job security, or office space.

• Institutional prestige: The top 20 U.S. universities control nearly $400 billion in endowment wealth, while the median endowment across all institutions is less than $200 million—a disparity that drives inequality in faculty hiring, research opportunities, and student aid.

• Student access: Federal data show that students from the top income quartile are five times more likely to attend a selective university than students from the bottom quartile.

As one adjunct professor bitterly described it: “I guess I am in the Sudra—servant—class.”

Path Dependence and the Logic of Lock-In

American higher education is path dependent: historical decisions have created self-reinforcing mechanisms that are now nearly impossible to undo.

The feedback loops are obvious. Average tuition has tripled (in real dollars) since 1980, while total student loan debt now exceeds $1.7 trillion, owed by more than 43 million borrowers. Tuition hikes fuel administrative growth, which requires even higher tuition. Federal student loans underwrite rising costs, which then justify further loan expansion.

Even when institutions attempt reform, history traps them. Consider New College of Florida, a small public liberal arts institution: under political pressure in 2023, its governance was remade to align with a conservative ideological agenda. The result has been turmoil, plummeting enrollment, and national headlines—but no structural fix to the deeper financial instability.

The sector has reached what economists call “quasi-irreversibility”: a point beyond which reform cannot meaningfully occur without collapse.

The Futility of Cosmetic Solutions

The reforms most commonly floated today—cost containment, program elimination, or alternative credentials—misunderstand structural inertia.

In 2025, West Virginia University cut 28 academic programs, including its entire foreign language department, as part of an effort to address a projected $45 million deficit. Dozens of other universities, from regional publics to small privates, have announced similar cuts. These moves balance budgets temporarily but hollow out educational missions.

Calls for universities to spend more of their endowments overlook the fact that even elite institutions already average spending rates around 4.5%, which is close to what financial managers consider sustainable. Meanwhile, 90% of U.S. colleges have endowments under $100 million, meaning they cannot rely on them for meaningful financial rescue.

Alternative credentials face similar structural limits. A 2022 SHRM survey found that while 48% of employers expressed interest in microcredentials, only 20% actually considered them in hiring decisions. Applicant tracking systems are built to screen for traditional degrees, not experimental certificates.

The Iron Law of Institutional Preservation

Sociologists describe “institutional isomorphism”—the tendency for organizations to mimic each other in ways that resist innovation. In higher education, this has created an “iron law” of institutional preservation.

When faced with crisis, universities respond with defensive maneuvers: hiring freezes, program eliminations, and lobbying for more federal support. In 2025 alone, more than 100 institutions announced cuts to majors, from classics to physics, while maintaining administrative and athletic spending.

The overriding purpose of universities is no longer the pursuit of knowledge or the education of students, but the preservation of their own bureaucratic forms.

Collapse Before Reform

The conclusion is stark but unavoidable: American higher education has passed the point of meaningful reform. Its rigid hierarchies, path dependence, and preservation instincts make internal change impossible. Demographic decline and financial pressures will likely force widespread collapse before adaptation occurs.

Hannan and Freeman’s theory predicted this outcome: organizational change is rarely the product of internal reform. Instead, it comes through environmental selection—the replacement of existing institutions by new ones better suited to survive.

The American university may not disappear entirely, but the form it has taken since the mid-20th century is unsustainable. Collapse is not only likely—it may already be underway.

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Sources:
Hannan & Freeman (1984); BestColleges (2025); Brookings (2025); Philadelphia Fed (2024); Forbes (2025); Inside Higher Ed (2023); Academe Blog (2013); Governing (2023); AFT (2020); SHRM (2022); Al Jazeera (2025); ERIC (2020); Birmingham-Southern (2024); WVU (2025); Mount Ida (2018); Vermont State Colleges (2020).

From Philosophy to Sophistry: Why Critical Thinking Matters More Than Ever

Today, we are witnessing a troubling inversion in thought: philosophy—the love of wisdom—is increasingly being displaced by sophistry, rhetoric, and propaganda. What once served as tools for deeper understanding are now too often harnessed to manipulate opinion, defend entrenched power, and obscure reality.

The ancients recognized this danger. Socrates warned against the sophists who sold clever arguments as if they were wisdom itself, teaching young men how to win debates regardless of truth. Plato cautioned that rhetoric untethered from philosophy could become nothing more than flattery and deception. Aristotle, while systematizing rhetoric, insisted it must remain tied to logic and ethics if it was to serve the public good.

But today, these warnings are largely ignored. Rhetoric, unmoored from philosophical foundations, has become a weapon of politics, commerce, and even academia. Universities that once defended philosophy departments as central to a liberal education now shrink or eliminate them, replacing courses in logic and ethics with training in “communications,” “branding,” or “leadership.” The point is no longer truth, but persuasion—often persuasion in service of profit or political expediency.

Propaganda in Higher Education: Then and Now

The problem is not new. During the Cold War, elite universities like Harvard and Stanford became entangled in government propaganda and intelligence work. Research contracts from the Department of Defense and the CIA shaped entire fields, from area studies to behavioral psychology, with the aim of waging ideological war against communism. At Stanford, the Hoover Institution served as a pipeline between academia and Washington, producing research tailored to reinforce Cold War orthodoxy. Students were often unaware that their “objective” curricula were saturated with political agendas.

Corporate influence has also long steered academic knowledge. At the University of Chicago and Harvard Business School, neoliberal economics became dominant not because it was the most rigorous or humane, but because it was well-funded and aligned with Wall Street interests. Entire generations of business leaders were trained to see deregulation, privatization, and financialization as common sense. Meanwhile, corporations like ExxonMobil and Philip Morris poured millions into universities to shape research downplaying the harms of fossil fuels and tobacco—turning respected labs into propaganda mills under the guise of scientific inquiry.

In the for-profit sector, the University of Phoenix and Kaplan University demonstrated how higher education could be weaponized into pure marketing. Phoenix perfected the art of recruiting vulnerable students with glossy advertising campaigns while leaving many graduates with crushing debt and worthless credentials. Sophistry was not the byproduct of the system; it was the business model.

The Debt Machine as Propaganda

The rise of mass student debt in the U.S. is perhaps the clearest example of sophistry in action. For decades, policymakers, banks, and university leaders insisted that loans were an “investment” in the future. Billions of dollars in advertising, recruitment pitches, and presidential speeches told working-class families that debt was the price of opportunity, mobility, and the American Dream.

The rhetoric was powerful—but it was also false. Instead of producing universal prosperity, student loans created a new form of indenture, locking tens of millions of Americans into decades of repayment. Behind every slogan of “access” and “opportunity” was a reality of wage garnishment, ruined credit, and even Social Security checks seized from retirees.

Universities—public, private, and for-profit alike—benefited from this propaganda system. Administrators justified tuition hikes by pointing to the availability of federal loans, while politicians masked austerity and disinvestment by praising the “resilience” of students who borrowed. Sophistry covered over what philosophy might have revealed: that a system built on lifelong debt was neither just nor sustainable.

Contemporary Battles

Today, propaganda saturates every corner of higher education. Corporate partnerships with edtech firms like 2U, Coursera, and Pearson promise “innovation” while shifting costs and risks onto students and contingent faculty. DEI initiatives, while sometimes earnest, are often reduced to branding campaigns that distract from rising tuition, underfunded support services, and administrative bloat. On the other side, anti-DEI crusades, most visibly in Florida under Governor Ron DeSantis, have transformed universities like the University of Florida and New College into battlegrounds where rhetoric substitutes for governance.

Even the managerial language of “student success,” “excellence,” and “resilience” functions as propaganda. At Arizona State University, marketed as the “New American University,” branding and performance metrics often obscure deep reliance on adjunct labor and the struggles of students who leave with debt but no degree.

Why Critical Thinking Matters

In this environment, the ability to distinguish reason from sophistry is not just an academic exercise—it is essential for democratic survival. Critical thinking, logical reasoning, and ethical reflection must not be treated as luxuries reserved for philosophy majors. They are skills every student—and every citizen—requires to navigate a world saturated with propaganda.

If education has any remaining claim to a higher purpose, it is this: to cultivate minds capable of questioning, analyzing, and resisting manipulation. A society that abandons philosophy leaves itself at the mercy of those who wield rhetoric without conscience. But one that revives philosophy as a living practice of inquiry and critique can resist the slide into sophistry and reclaim some measure of truth, justice, and freedom.

The future of higher education, and perhaps democracy itself, depends on whether we choose philosophy or propaganda. The stakes could not be clearer.

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Sources

– Christopher Simpson, Universities and Empire: Money and Politics in the Social Sciences during the Cold War (1999)
– Noam Chomsky & Edward Herman, Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media (1988)
– Derek Bok, Universities in the Marketplace: The Commercialization of Higher Education (2003)
– David Graeber, Bullshit Jobs: A Theory (2018)
– Michael Hudson, The Destiny of Civilization (2022)
– Maurizio Lazzarato, The Making of the Indebted Man (2012)
– William Deresiewicz, Excellent Sheep: The Miseducation of the American Elite (2014)
– Tressie McMillan Cottom, Lower Ed: The Troubling Rise of For-Profit Colleges in the New Economy (2017)