Beyond the College Meltdown: Moral Decay, Dehumanization, and the Failure of Courage (Dahn Shaulis and Glen McGhee)

At Higher Education Inquirer, our focus on the college meltdown has always pointed beyond collapsing enrollments, rising tuition, and institutional dysfunction. Higher education has served as a warning signal — a visible manifestation of a far deeper crisis: the moral decay and dehumanization of society, compounded by a profound failure of courage among those with the greatest power and resources.

This concern predates the current moment. Through our earlier work at American Injustice, we chronicled how American institutions steadily abandoned ethical responsibility in favor of profit, prestige, and political convenience. What is happening in higher education today is not an anomaly. It is the predictable outcome of decades of moral retreat by elites who benefit from the system while refusing to challenge its injustices.

Permanent War and the Moral Abdication of Leadership

Wars in Gaza, Ukraine, and Venezuela reveal a world in which human suffering has been normalized and strategically managed rather than confronted. Civilian lives are reduced to abstractions, filtered through geopolitical narratives and sanitized media frames. What is most striking is not only the violence itself, but the ethical cowardice of leadership.

University presidents, policymakers in Washington, and financial and technological elites rarely speak with moral clarity about war and its human costs. Institutions that claim to value human life and critical inquiry remain silent, hedging statements to avoid donor backlash or political scrutiny. The result is not neutrality, but complicity — a tacit acceptance that power matters more than people.

Climate Collapse and the Silence of Those Who Know Better

Climate change represents an existential moral challenge, yet it has been met with astonishing timidity by those most capable of leading. Universities produce the research, model the risks, and educate the future — yet many remain financially entangled with fossil fuel interests and unwilling to confront the implications of their own findings.

Student demands for divestment and climate accountability are often treated as public-relations problems rather than ethical imperatives. University presidents issue vague commitments while continuing business as usual. In Washington, legislation stalls. On Wall Street, climate risk is managed as a portfolio concern rather than a human catastrophe. In Silicon Valley, technological “solutions” are offered in place of systemic change.

This is not ignorance. It is cowardice disguised as pragmatism.

The Suppression of Student Protest and the Fear of Moral Clarity

The moral vacuum at the top becomes most visible when students attempt to fill it. Historically, student movements have pushed institutions toward justice — against segregation, apartheid, and unjust wars. Today, however, student protest is increasingly criminalized.

Peaceful encampments are dismantled. Students are arrested or suspended. Faculty are intimidated. Surveillance tools track dissent. University leaders invoke “safety” and “order” while outsourcing enforcement to police and private security. The message is unmistakable: moral engagement is welcome only when it does not challenge power.

This is not leadership. It is risk aversion elevated to institutional doctrine.

Mass Surveillance and the Bureaucratization of Fear

The expansion of mass surveillance further reflects elite moral failure. From campuses to corporations, human beings are monitored, quantified, and managed. Surveillance is justified as efficiency or security, but its deeper function is control — discouraging dissent, creativity, and ethical risk-taking.

Leaders who claim to champion innovation quietly accept systems that undermine autonomy and erode trust. In higher education, surveillance replaces mentorship; compliance replaces curiosity. A culture of fear takes root where moral courage once should have flourished.

Inequality and the Insulation of Elites from Consequence

Extreme inequality enables this cowardice. Those at the top are shielded from the consequences of their decisions. University presidents collect compensation packages while adjuncts struggle to survive. Wall Street profits from instability it helps create. Silicon Valley builds tools that reshape society without accountability. Washington dithers while communities fracture.

When elites are insulated, ethical standards erode. Moral responsibility becomes optional — something to be invoked rhetorically but avoided in practice.

Social Media, AI, and the Automation of Moral Evasion

Social media and Artificial Intelligence accelerate dehumanization while providing cover for inaction. Platforms reward outrage without responsibility. Algorithms make decisions without accountability. Leaders defer to “systems” and “processes” rather than exercising judgment.

In higher education, AI threatens to further distance leaders from the human consequences of their choices — allowing automation to replace care, metrics to replace wisdom, and efficiency to replace ethics.

The Crisis Beneath the Crisis

The college meltdown is not simply a failure of policy or finance. It is a failure of moral leadership. Those with the most power — university presidents, elected officials, financiers, and technologists — have repeatedly chosen caution over conscience, reputation over responsibility, and silence over truth.

War without moral reckoning. Climate collapse without leadership. Protest without protection. Surveillance without consent. Inequality without accountability.

These are not accidents. They are the results of decisions made — and avoided — by people who know better.

Toward Moral Courage and Rehumanization

Rehumanization begins with courage. It requires leaders willing to risk prestige, funding, and influence in defense of human dignity. Higher education should be a site of ethical leadership, not an echo of elite fear.

This means defending student protest, confronting climate responsibility honestly, rejecting dehumanizing technologies, and placing human well-being above institutional self-preservation. It means leaders speaking plainly about injustice — even when it is inconvenient.

Our concern at Higher Education Inquirer — and long before that, at American Injustice — has always been this: What happens to a society when those with the greatest power lack the courage to use it ethically?

Until that question is confronted, the college meltdown will remain only one visible fracture in a far deeper moral collapse.

How Demographics Could Elevate the Political Stakes of Student Loan Debt in 2028 and Beyond

Student loan debt has been a defining economic and political issue in the United States for over a decade. As of 2025, Americans owe nearly $1.8 trillion in student loans, with roughly 42–45 million borrowers carrying federal debt and average balances exceeding $39,000 per borrower. Delinquency rates have surged since repayment reporting resumed, with more than one in five borrowers behind on payments, and millions at risk of default. These financial pressures are now rippling through credit markets and household budgets, especially for younger, middle-aged, and lower-income borrowers. While student debt already garners public attention, shifting demographic trends and mounting economic pressures promise to reshape its political weight in the coming years unless comprehensive changes are enacted.

The largest cohort of student borrowers today consists of Millennials and older members of Generation Z, many aged between 25 and 45. These are prime years for political engagement, as individuals are more likely to vote, form households, buy homes, and shape community priorities. In 2028, this group will be even more politically active, navigating careers, families, and fiscal pressures that student debt directly influences. As borrowers age into life stages where financial stability becomes paramount, their appetite for political solutions — including forgiveness, refinancing, and more manageable repayment structures — is likely to intensify.

Student loan debt also affects communities differently. Black and Latinx borrowers are disproportionately burdened, with Black borrowers often owing more and struggling with repayment longer due to structural inequities in income and wealth. These disparities will continue to grow unless systemic reforms address not just debt levels but the economic systems that compound them over time. Communities of color are projected to constitute a larger share of the eligible electorate by 2030, and when a disproportionate share of voters in a given demographic faces an issue like unsustainable debt, it naturally becomes central to their political priorities and shapes the platforms of candidates seeking their support.

Older Americans are impacted by student loan dynamics not necessarily as borrowers themselves, but as co-signers, parents, or caregivers helping children or grandchildren manage debt. With the U.S. population aging, the 65+ age group is expected to grow as a portion of the electorate, and those over 80 will increasingly drive Medicaid and healthcare costs, adding strain to federal and state budgets. Older voters tend to vote at higher rates than younger voters, and as more families find multigenerational debt obligations weighing on retirement savings, caregiving responsibilities, and healthcare needs, the political urgency around student loan reform may expand beyond traditional “student” demographics and into older voters’ policy concerns.

Geographic and economic shifts also shape the political significance of student debt. States with high education costs, and correspondingly high average debt loads, may see student loan issues become central to local and statewide elections. Migration patterns bringing younger, more diverse populations to new regions — including parts of the South and Midwest — will likely influence electoral alignments and policy debates in competitive districts. Meanwhile, national concerns such as the growing federal debt, ongoing military engagements abroad, and rising costs associated with healthcare for an aging population amplify the stakes, creating competing pressures on policymakers who must balance debt relief against broader fiscal challenges.

Economic inequality further complicates the picture. The concentration of wealth among the richest Americans continues to grow, giving this group greater political influence and shaping policy priorities in ways that often conflict with the needs of student borrowers and middle-class families. As wealth and power accumulate at the top, voters carrying student debt may increasingly perceive systemic unfairness, heightening the political salience of debt relief and broader structural reforms. The interaction of these factors — persistent debt, rising national obligations, ongoing conflict, and economic inequality — suggests that student loans will remain intertwined with larger national debates over fiscal responsibility, social safety nets, and the distribution of economic power.

Student loan debt has already become a wedge issue in national politics, especially within Democratic primaries. The demographic shifts of the late 2020s, rising diversity, coupled economic pressures, and growing awareness of wealth inequality could make it a central concern for a broader slice of the electorate. Policymakers who ignore student debt risk alienating key voter blocs: younger voters whose turnout matters in swing states, communities of color with growing electoral influence, and middle-class families navigating financial strain alongside broader economic and geopolitical uncertainties.

The economic impact of outstanding student loan debt, from delayed homeownership to depressed small business formation, carries demographic implications that feed back into the political sphere. If current trends continue, the cost of inaction will not just be political but economic, affecting national growth rates, tax revenue, social programs, and inequality metrics that in turn shape voter sentiment and policy priorities.

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Student Debt and the Shifting Political Landscape

By 2028 and into the 2030s, demographic change is poised to elevate student loan debt from a pressing public concern to a core political battleground unless policymakers act proactively. With more borrowers entering key voting blocs, disproportionate impacts across racial and economic lines, and economic consequences rippling through communities of all ages, student loan debt is more than a financial issue: it is a demographic reality shaping the future of American politics.

Sadly, the Higher Education Inquirer will not be around to cover these developments as they unfold. HEI has made predictions about student debt and its political consequences in the past, and while nothing is set in stone, the combination of rising demographics, persistent economic inequality, the mounting national debt, ongoing war-related obligations, and pressures from an aging population does not paint a promising picture. Without major policy reforms — such as targeted debt relief, changes to repayment systems, or broader higher education financing reforms — the political salience of student debt is likely to intensify, influencing campaigns, elections, and national discourse for years to come.

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Sources

Education Data Initiative, “Student Loan Debt Statistics 2025,” educationdata.org
TransUnion, “May 2025 Student Loan Update,” newsroom.transunion.com
Forbes, “Student Loans for 64 Million Borrowers Are Heading Toward a Dangerous Cliff,” forbes.com
College Board, “Trends in College Pricing and Student Aid 2025,” research.collegeboard.org
LendingTree, “Student Loan Debt Statistics by State,” lendingtree.com
NerdWallet, “Student Loan Debt Statistics 2025,” nerdwallet.com

Teens Who Made A Difference: Barbara Rose Johns

History often portrays social change as the work of seasoned leaders, elected officials, or famous intellectuals. Yet again and again, it is young people—often teenagers with little formal power—who ignite movements that reshape institutions and force nations to confront injustice. Long before they could vote, hold office, or even graduate, these teens recognized wrongs that adults had normalized and acted with courage that altered the course of history.

Among the most consequential examples in U.S. education history is Barbara Rose Johns, a 16-year-old high school student whose leadership in 1951 helped set in motion events that would culminate in Brown v. Board of Education and the formal end of legalized school segregation.

In the spring of 1951, Johns was a junior at Robert Russa Moton High School in Farmville, Virginia. The school, designated for Black students under Jim Crow law, was overcrowded and severely underfunded. Students were taught in makeshift tar-paper shacks without adequate heat. Textbooks and supplies were outdated, and facilities bore little resemblance to those at the nearby white high school. For years, parents and community leaders had petitioned local officials for improvements, but their appeals were ignored.

Johns concluded that waiting for adults or authorities to act was futile. Acting largely on her own initiative, she secretly organized a student strike. On April 23, 1951, more than 450 students walked out of their classrooms. Johns had planned an assembly in advance, arranging for a speaker and framing the protest not as a request for cosmetic improvements but as a challenge to the underlying injustice of segregation itself. At just 16 years old, she demonstrated a sophisticated understanding of how institutional inequality operated and how public action could force change.

The strike quickly attracted attention beyond Prince Edward County. It led to involvement from the NAACP, including attorneys Spottswood Robinson and Oliver Hill, and later Thurgood Marshall. What began as a protest against unsafe and unequal facilities evolved into a direct legal challenge to segregated schooling. The resulting case, Davis v. County School Board of Prince Edward County, became one of the five cases consolidated into the Supreme Court’s 1954 decision in Brown v. Board of Education, which declared that “separate educational facilities are inherently unequal.”

The personal consequences for Johns were severe. She and her family faced threats and intimidation, and she was sent to live with relatives outside Virginia for her safety. For decades, her role received relatively little public recognition, even as the Brown decision became one of the most celebrated rulings in American history. Yet without her initiative, one of the central cases behind Brown might never have existed.

Barbara Johns’ story underscores a broader truth about social change: teenagers are not merely passive recipients of policy decisions, especially in education. They experience institutional inequality firsthand, and when they organize, they often articulate moral truths that adults have learned to tolerate or rationalize. From desegregation to contemporary student movements challenging unequal funding, surveillance, gun violence, and climate inaction, youth activism has repeatedly forced institutions to confront contradictions between democratic ideals and lived reality.

More than seventy years after the Moton High School strike, American education remains deeply unequal. Schools are still segregated by race and income, facilities vary dramatically by zip code, and access to opportunity is uneven. Johns’ legacy remains relevant precisely because the conditions that provoked her action have not fully disappeared. Her story challenges educators, policymakers, and communities to ask why it so often falls to young people to demand justice—and why their leadership is so frequently overlooked.

Barbara Rose Johns did not wait for permission to make history. She organized, resisted, and changed the trajectory of American education while still a teenager. In remembering her, we are reminded that meaningful change often begins not in boardrooms or legislatures, but in classrooms where students decide that injustice is no longer acceptable.

Sources

Barbara Rose Johns, Wikipedia.
Smithsonian National Museum of American History, “The Moton School Strike, 1951.”
Library of Congress, Civil Rights History Project, Prince Edward County and Davis v. County School Board.
National Park Service, Robert Russa Moton High School National Historic Landmark.
Kluger, Richard. Simple Justice: The History of Brown v. Board of Education and Black America’s Struggle for Equality.

The Brown University Killing, the Educated Underclass, and the Politics of Control

When a killing becomes associated with an elite institution such as Brown University, the public narrative hardens quickly. The event is framed as an unforeseeable rupture—either the product of individual pathology or evidence that universities have failed to control dangerous people in their midst. Missing from both accounts is a deeper examination of how elite higher education produces an educated underclass, how mental illness is managed rather than treated, how international students are uniquely exposed to risk, and how mass surveillance and reporting regimes increasingly substitute for care.

Elite universities project an image of abundance: intellectual freedom, global opportunity, and moral seriousness. Yet beneath that image lies a population living with chronic insecurity. Graduate students, adjuncts, postdoctoral researchers, and international students occupy a paradoxical position—highly educated, institutionally dependent, and structurally disposable. They are central to the university’s labor model and global prestige, yet peripheral to its safety nets and decision-making structures.

Mental illness must be addressed directly, but not in the reductive way it is often invoked after violence occurs. Campus mental health systems are overwhelmed, under-resourced, and shaped by liability concerns rather than therapeutic commitments. Students in severe psychological distress frequently encounter long waitlists, fragmented care, or administrative responses that blur the line between support and discipline. Crisis is managed, not resolved.

For international students, these failures are magnified. Visa status is typically contingent on continuous enrollment and academic performance. A mental health crisis can threaten not only a student’s education but their legal right to remain in the country. Seeking help may carry perceived—or real—risks: loss of funding, forced leaves of absence, housing instability, or immigration consequences. Cultural stigma, racism, language barriers, and social isolation further discourage engagement with already inadequate systems.

Rather than expanding care, universities have increasingly expanded surveillance. Elite campuses now operate dense ecosystems of monitoring: security cameras, access controls, data analytics, behavioral intervention teams, and anonymous “concerned citizen” tip lines. These systems are justified as preventative safety measures, but they often function as tools of social control. “Concerning behavior” is deliberately undefined, allowing subjective judgments to trigger institutional scrutiny.

Such systems disproportionately affect those who already stand out—students who are foreign, mentally ill, socially isolated, or racially marginalized. For international students in particular, being flagged by a tip or threat assessment process can escalate rapidly, drawing in campus police, local law enforcement, or federal immigration authorities. Surveillance does not replace care; it displaces it.

In the aftermath of violence, political responses tend to reinforce this displacement. Donald Trump’s reactions to campus-related violence and crime have followed a consistent pattern: emphasis on “law and order,” denunciations of universities as irresponsible or ideologically corrupt, and calls for stronger policing, harsher penalties, and increased monitoring. Mental illness is often invoked rhetorically, but rarely accompanied by proposals for expanded treatment, housing stability, or protections for vulnerable students—especially non-citizens.

This framing matters. When elite campus violence is interpreted through a punitive lens, it legitimizes further surveillance, broader reporting mandates, and closer coordination between universities and law enforcement. It shifts responsibility away from institutional structures and onto individuals deemed dangerous or deviant. For foreign students and members of the educated underclass, this environment deepens fear and discourages help-seeking, even as pressure intensifies.

The concept of the educated underclass helps explain why these dynamics are so volatile. Contemporary higher education produces vast numbers of highly trained individuals for a shrinking set of secure positions. International students are recruited aggressively, charged high tuition, and celebrated as evidence of global prestige, yet offered limited pathways to stable employment or belonging. Universities benefit enormously from this arrangement while externalizing its human costs.

None of this excuses violence. Accountability is essential, and the suffering of victims must remain central. But focusing exclusively on individual blame—or on punitive political responses—allows institutions to preserve comforting myths about themselves. It obscures how structural precarity, untreated mental illness, immigration vulnerability, and surveillance-based governance interact in predictable ways.

What incidents connected to elite universities ultimately reveal is not merely individual failure, but institutional contradiction. Universities claim to value diversity while subjecting foreign students to heightened scrutiny. They speak the language of wellness while expanding systems of monitoring and reporting. Political leaders denounce campuses while endorsing the very control mechanisms that exacerbate isolation and distress.

Until universities invest seriously in mental health care, protect international students from cascading penalties, and confront the harms of surveillance-first approaches—and until political leaders move beyond carceral reflexes—elite campuses will remain places where suffering is managed rather than addressed. When that management fails, the consequences can be catastrophic.

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Sources

American Psychiatric Association. Mental Health in College Students.
https://www.psychiatry.org/patients-families/college-students/mental-health-in-college

Eisenberg, D., et al. “Mental Health and Academic Success in College.” The B.E. Journal of Economic Analysis & Policy, 2009.

Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Vintage Books.

Institute of International Education. Open Doors Report on International Educational Exchange.
https://opendoorsdata.org

Lipson, S. K., & Eisenberg, D. “Mental Health and Academic Attitudes and Expectations in University Populations.” Journal of Adolescent Health, 2018.

Monahan, Torin. Surveillance in the Time of Insecurity. Rutgers University Press.

Newfield, Christopher. The Great Mistake: How We Wrecked Public Universities and How We Can Fix Them. Johns Hopkins University Press.

U.S. Department of Homeland Security. SEVP Guidance for International Students.
https://www.ice.gov/sevis

Trump, Donald J. Public statements and campaign remarks on crime, universities, and law enforcement, 2016–2024.

Zuboff, Shoshana. The Age of Surveillance Capitalism. PublicAffairs.

AmericaFest After Charlie Kirk: Conservative Youth Mobilization and the Long Shadow Over U.S. Campuses

PHOENIX — Turning Point USA’s AmericaFest returned to Phoenix this December as both a spectacle and a reckoning. The annual conference, one of the most influential gatherings in conservative youth politics, unfolded for the first time without its founder, Charlie Kirk, who was assassinated earlier this year. His death transformed what is typically a triumphalist rally into a memorialized assertion of continuity, as speakers, organizers, and attendees sought to project strength, unity, and purpose amid uncertainty about the movement’s future.

AmericaFest 2025 featured a familiar lineup of conservative politicians, media figures, donors, and student activists. Speakers framed the event as proof that the movement Kirk helped build would not only survive but expand. The rhetoric emphasized free speech, opposition to what participants described as ideological capture of higher education, and preparation for the 2026 midterm elections. Yet outside the convention hall, and within higher education itself, Turning Point USA’s presence remains deeply contested.

For almost a decade, Higher Education Inquirer has documented Turning Point USA’s activities on college campuses, tracing a pattern that extends well beyond conventional student organizing. While the group presents itself as a champion of intellectual diversity, its methods have repeatedly generated controversy, fear, and institutional strain. Central to those concerns is TPUSA’s use of public targeting tools, including its Professor Watchlist, which names faculty members accused of promoting so-called leftist ideology. Critics argue that such lists chill academic freedom, invite harassment, and undermine the basic principles of scholarly inquiry. Faculty across the country have reported intimidation, threats, and reputational harm after being singled out.

In August 2025, Higher Education Inquirer published a campus warning urging students to avoid contact with Turning Point USA. That advisory was grounded in years of investigative reporting, campus testimony, and analysis of the organization’s tactics. The warning cited confrontational recruitment practices, opaque funding relationships, and a political strategy that often prioritizes provocation over dialogue. It also highlighted TPUSA’s expansion beyond higher education into school boards and K–12 education, raising alarms among educators about the normalization of partisan activism within public education systems.

AmericaFest took place against this backdrop of sustained scrutiny. While speakers inside the convention center invoked Kirk as a martyr for free speech, HEI’s reporting has consistently shown that TPUSA’s operational model frequently relies on pressure campaigns rather than open debate. The organization’s portrayal of campuses as hostile territory has, in practice, fostered a siege mentality that rewards conflict and amplifies polarization. University administrators are often left navigating legal obligations to recognize student groups while absorbing the consequences of protests, security costs, and fractured campus climates.

The aftermath of Kirk’s death has further intensified these dynamics. TPUSA leaders report a surge in student interest in forming new chapters, developments that have already reignited recognition battles at colleges and universities nationwide. Some institutions have approved chapters over strong objections from faculty and students, citing free-speech obligations. Others have resisted, pointing to TPUSA’s documented history of harassment and disruption. These disputes expose the growing tension between constitutional protections and institutional responsibility for student safety and academic integrity.

AmericaFest also underscored TPUSA’s evolution into a well-funded national political operation with deep donor networks and significant influence over educational discourse. What began as a student-focused nonprofit now operates as a coordinated political apparatus embedded within academic spaces. This shift raises fundamental questions about whether TPUSA should still be treated as an ordinary student organization or recognized as a strategic political entity operating on campus terrain.

For supporters, AmericaFest was a declaration that conservative youth politics will advance undeterred by tragedy or criticism. For higher-education observers, it was a reminder that the struggle over campuses is not merely ideological but structural. The question is no longer whether conservative voices belong in higher education; they do. The question is whether organizations built on surveillance, targeting, and intimidation can coexist with universities’ core mission as spaces for inquiry rather than instruments of ideological warfare.

As Turning Point USA charts its post-Kirk future, colleges and universities face a parallel challenge. They must defend free expression without surrendering academic freedom, protect student participation without enabling political exploitation, and ensure that campuses remain places of learning rather than permanent battlegrounds. AmericaFest may celebrate momentum, but the consequences of that momentum will continue to unfold far beyond the convention floor, in classrooms, faculty offices, and student communities across the country.

Sources

Associated Press. “Turning Point youth conference begins in Phoenix without founder Charlie Kirk.” December 2025.
https://apnews.com/article/turning-point-charlie-kirk-americafest-c1ef8d3535191e58ce2aa731d242be

Higher Education Inquirer. “Campus Warning: Avoid Contact with Turning Point USA.” August 2025.
https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/08/campus-warning-avoid-contact-with.html

Higher Education Inquirer. Turning Point USA coverage archive.
https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/search?q=TPUSA

Violence, Safety, and the Limits of Campus Security: From MIT to Brown and Beyond

The Monday killing of MIT professor Nuno F.G. Loureiro at his home in Brookline, Massachusetts has shaken the academic community and reinforced a troubling reality already examined in Higher Education Inquirer’s recent reporting on campus safety and mental health: violence affecting higher education in the United States is neither isolated nor confined to campus boundaries.

Loureiro, a Portuguese-born physicist and internationally respected scholar in plasma science and fusion research, was a senior leader at MIT and director of its Plasma Science and Fusion Center. His death occurred off campus, yet it reverberated powerfully within higher education because it underscores how scholars, students, and staff exist within a broader national environment shaped by widespread gun violence, strained mental-health systems, and limited preventive safeguards.

Authorities have confirmed the incident as a homicide. At the time of writing, no suspect has been publicly identified, and investigators have released few details about motive. The uncertainty has compounded the shock felt by colleagues, students, and international collaborators who viewed Loureiro as both a scientific leader and a deeply committed mentor.

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A Pattern, Not an Anomaly

Loureiro’s killing followed a series of violent incidents tied to U.S. college campuses throughout 2025, reinforcing that these events are not aberrations but part of a broader pattern.

Just days earlier, a deadly shooting at Brown University left two students dead and several others wounded when a gunman opened fire in an academic building during final exams. The attack disrupted campus life, forced lockdowns, and exposed vulnerabilities in building access and emergency response procedures.

Earlier in the year, Florida State University experienced a mass shooting in a heavily trafficked campus area, resulting in multiple fatalities and injuries. The suspect, a student, was taken into custody, but the psychological impact on students and faculty persisted long after classes resumed.

At Kentucky State University, a shooting inside a residence hall claimed the life of a student and critically injured another. The alleged shooter was not a student but a parent, underscoring how campus violence increasingly involves individuals with indirect or external connections to institutions.

In September 2025, violence took an explicitly political turn when Charlie Kirk, founder of Turning Point USA, was assassinated during a public speaking event at Utah Valley University. Kirk was shot during a large outdoor gathering attended by thousands. The killing, widely described as a political assassination, was unprecedented in recent U.S. campus history and raised urgent questions about security at high-profile events, free expression, and political polarization within academic spaces.

Together, these incidents — spanning elite private universities, public flagship institutions, regional campuses, and HBCUs — illustrate how violence in higher education now crosses institutional type, geography, and purpose, from classrooms and residence halls to public forums and nearby neighborhoods.

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The Limits of Traditional Campus Safety Models

HEI’s recent analysis of U.S. campus safety emphasized a central tension: colleges and universities rely heavily on reactive security measures — armed campus police, surveillance infrastructure, emergency alerts — while underinvesting in prevention, mental-health care, and community-based risk reduction.

The events of 2025 highlight the limitations of these approaches. Even well-resourced institutions cannot fully secure campus perimeters or prevent violence originating beyond institutional control. Nor can security infrastructure alone address the social isolation, untreated mental illness, ideological extremism, and easy access to firearms that underlie many of these incidents.

Federal compliance frameworks such as the Clery Act prioritize disclosure and reporting rather than prevention. Meanwhile, the expansion of campus policing has often mirrored broader trends in U.S. law enforcement, raising concerns about militarization without clear evidence of improved safety outcomes.

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Violence Beyond Active Shooters

While mass shootings and assassinations draw national attention, they represent only one part of a wider landscape of harm in higher education. HEI has documented other persistent threats, including hazing deaths, sexual violence, domestic abuse, stalking, false threats that provoke armed responses, and institutional failures to protect vulnerable populations.

Mental health remains a critical and often neglected dimension. Many acts of campus-related violence intersect with untreated mental illness, financial stress, academic pressure, and inadequate access to care — conditions exacerbated by rising tuition, housing insecurity, and uneven campus support systems.

For international students in particular, exposure to U.S. gun violence and emergency lockdowns can be deeply destabilizing, challenging assumptions about safety that differ sharply from conditions in other countries.

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An Urgent Moment for Higher Education

The deaths of individuals such as Professor Loureiro and Charlie Kirk, alongside students at Brown, Florida State, and Kentucky State, underscore a central truth: American campuses do not exist apart from the society around them. No amount of prestige, branding, or technology can fully insulate higher education from national patterns of violence.

For administrators and policymakers, the lesson is not simply to harden security, but to rethink safety holistically — integrating physical protection with mental-health infrastructure, transparent accountability, community engagement, and policies that address deeper cultural and structural drivers of violence.

As Higher Education Inquirer has argued, campus safety is inseparable from broader questions of public health, social policy, and institutional responsibility. Without sustained attention to these connections, tragedies across U.S. campuses will continue to be framed as shocking exceptions rather than symptoms of a deeper and ongoing crisis.

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Sources

Associated Press reporting on the MIT professor killing
Reuters coverage of campus shootings in 2025
Reporting on the Brown University shooting
Coverage of the Florida State University shooting
Reporting on the Kentucky State University residence hall shooting
PBS NewsHour and national reporting on the Charlie Kirk assassination at Utah Valley University
Higher Education Inquirer – Understanding U.S. Campus Safety and Mental Health: Guidance for International Students

Understanding U.S. Campus Safety and Mental Health: Guidance for International Students

The tragic shooting at Brown University in December 2025, which claimed two lives and left nine students wounded, is a stark reminder that even elite U.S. campuses are not immune to violence. For international students, understanding this incident requires placing it in the broader context of the United States’ history of social dangers, treatment of mental illness, and policies affecting foreigners.

The United States has historically had higher rates of violent crime, including gun-related incidents, than many other developed nations. While campus shootings remain statistically rare, they reflect deeper societal issues: widespread gun access, social inequality, and a culture that often prioritizes armed self-protection over preventative public safety measures. Universities, traditionally viewed as open spaces for learning and discussion, are increasingly sites of surveillance and armed response, reshaping the student experience.

Foreign students and immigrants may face additional vulnerabilities. Throughout U.S. history, immigrants have often been subject to discrimination, harassment, or violence based on nationality, race, or religion. Universities are not insulated from these pressures, and international students can be particularly susceptible to microaggressions, exclusion, or even targeted hostility. These risks were heightened under the Trump administration, when rhetoric and policies frequently cast foreigners as suspicious or undesirable. Visa restrictions, heightened scrutiny of foreign scholars, and public statements fostering distrust created an environment in which international students might feel unsafe or isolated.

Mental illness plays a critical role in understanding campus violence, but its treatment in the United States is inconsistent. While many universities provide counseling centers, therapy services, and crisis hotlines, the broader mental health system in the U.S. remains fragmented and under-resourced. Access often depends on insurance coverage, ability to pay, and proximity to care, leaving some individuals untreated or inadequately supported. Cultural stigmas and underdiagnosis can exacerbate the problem, particularly among minority and immigrant populations. International students, unfamiliar with local mental health norms or hesitant to seek care due to cost or cultural barriers, may be less likely to access help until crises arise.

U.S. universities deploy extensive surveillance systems, emergency protocols, and campus police to respond to threats. These measures aim to mitigate harm once an incident occurs but focus less on prevention of violence or addressing underlying causes, including untreated mental illness. Students are required to participate in drills and safety training, creating a reactive rather than preventative model.

Compared to other countries, the U.S. approach is distinct. Canadian universities emphasize mental health support and unarmed security. European campuses often maintain open environments with minimal surveillance and preventive intervention strategies. Many Asian universities operate in low-crime contexts with community-based safety measures rather than extensive surveillance. The U.S. approach emphasizes rapid law enforcement response and monitoring, reflecting a society with higher firearm prevalence and less coordinated mental health infrastructure.

The Brown University tragedy underscores a sobering reality for international students: while the U.S. offers world-class education, it is a nation with elevated risks of violent crime, inconsistent mental health care, and historical and ongoing challenges for foreigners. Awareness, preparedness, community engagement, and proactive mental health support are essential tools for international students navigating higher education in this environment.

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Sources

The Guardian: Brown University shooting: police release more videos of person of interest as FBI offers reward
Reuters: Manhunt for Brown University shooter stretches into fourth day
Washington Post: Hunt for Brown University gunman starts anew as tension rises
AP News: Brown University shooting victims identified
People: Brown University shooting victim Kendall Turner
WUSF: Brown University shooting victims update
Wikipedia: 2025 Brown University shooting
Pew Research Center: International Students in the United States
Brookings Institution: Immigrant Vulnerability and Safety in the U.S.
National Alliance on Mental Illness: Mental Health in Higher Education
Journal of American College Health: Mental Health Services Utilization Among College Students

Pyrrhic Defeat and the Student Loan Portfolio: How a Managed Meltdown Enables Unauthorized Asset Sales

In classical history, a Pyrrhic victory refers to a win so costly that it undermines the very cause it was meant to advance. Less discussed, but increasingly relevant to modern governance, is the inverse strategy: the Pyrrhic defeat. In this model, short-term failure is tolerated—or even cultivated—because it enables outcomes that would otherwise be politically, legally, or institutionally impossible. When applied to public finance, pyrrhic defeat theory helps explain how the apparent collapse of a system can be leveraged to justify radical restructuring, privatization, or liquidation of public assets.

Nowhere is this framework more relevant than in the management of the federal student loan portfolio.

The federal student loan portfolio, totaling roughly $1.6 to $1.7 trillion, is not merely an accounting entry. It is one of the largest consumer credit systems in the world and functions simultaneously as a public policy tool, a long-term revenue stream, a data infrastructure, and a political liability. It shapes who can access higher education, how risk is distributed across generations, and how the federal government exerts leverage over the postsecondary sector. Precisely because of its scale and visibility, the portfolio is uniquely vulnerable to narrative reframing.

That vulnerability was not accidental. It was constructed over decades through a series of policy decisions that stripped borrowers of normal consumer protections while preserving the financial attractiveness of student debt as an asset. Chief among these decisions was the gradual removal of bankruptcy protections for student loans. By rendering student debt effectively nondischargeable except under the narrow and punitive “undue hardship” standard, lawmakers transformed education loans into a uniquely durable financial instrument. Unlike mortgages, credit cards, or medical debt, student loans could follow borrowers for life, enforced through wage garnishment, tax refund seizure, and Social Security offsets.

This transformation made student loans exceptionally attractive for securitization. Student Loan Asset-Backed Securities, or SLABS, flourished precisely because the underlying loans were shielded from traditional credit risk. Investors could rely not on educational outcomes or borrower prosperity, but on the legal certainty that the debt would remain collectible. Even during economic downturns, SLABS were marketed as relatively stable instruments, insulated from the discharge risks that plagued other forms of consumer credit.

Private banks once dominated this market. Sallie Mae, originally a government-sponsored enterprise, became a central player in both originating and securitizing student loans, while Navient emerged as a major servicer and asset manager. Yet as Higher Education Inquirer documented in early 2025, banks ultimately lost control of student lending. Rising defaults, public outrage, state enforcement actions, and mounting evidence of predatory practices made the sector politically radioactive. The federal government stepped in not as a reformer, but as a backstop, absorbing the portfolio and stabilizing a system private finance could no longer manage without reputational and regulatory risk.

That history reveals a recurring pattern. When student lending fails in private hands, it becomes public. When the public system is allowed to fail, it becomes ripe for re-privatization.

A portfolio does not need to collapse to be declared unmanageable. It only needs to appear dysfunctional enough to justify extraordinary intervention.

The post-pandemic repayment restart, persistent servicing failures, legal challenges to income-driven repayment plans, and widespread borrower confusion have all contributed to a growing narrative of systemic breakdown. Servicers such as Maximus, operating under the Aidvantage brand, MOHELA, and others have struggled to process payments accurately, manage forgiveness programs, and provide reliable customer service. These failures are often framed as bureaucratic incompetence rather than as predictable consequences of outsourcing public functions to private contractors whose incentives are misaligned with borrower welfare.

Navient’s exit from federal servicing did not mark a retreat from the student loan ecosystem so much as a repositioning, as it continued to benefit from private loan portfolios and legacy SLABS exposure. Sallie Mae, rebranded and fully privatized, remains deeply embedded in the private student loan market, which continues to rely on the same nondischargeability framework that props up federal lending.

Crucially, these servicing failures cannot be separated from the earlier elimination of bankruptcy as a safety valve. In normal credit markets, distress is resolved through restructuring or discharge. In student lending, distress accumulates. Borrowers remain trapped, servicers remain paid, and policymakers are confronted with a swelling mass of unresolved debt that can be labeled a crisis at any politically convenient moment.

Under pyrrhic defeat theory, such a crisis is not merely tolerated. It is useful.

Once the federal portfolio is framed as broken beyond repair, the range of acceptable solutions expands. What would be politically impossible in a stable system becomes plausible in an emergency. Asset transfers, securitization of federal loans, expansion of SLABS-like instruments backed by government guarantees, or long-term conveyance of servicing and collection rights can be presented as pragmatic fixes rather than ideological choices.

A Trump administration would be particularly well positioned to exploit this dynamic. Skeptical of debt relief, hostile to administrative governance, and ideologically aligned with privatization, such an administration could recast the portfolio as a failed public experiment inherited from predecessors. In that framing, selling or offloading the portfolio is not an abdication of responsibility but an act of fiscal discipline.

Importantly, this need not take the form of an explicit, congressionally authorized sale. Risk can be shifted through securitization. Revenue streams can be monetized. Servicing authority can be extended indefinitely to private firms. Data control can migrate outside public oversight. Over time, these steps amount to de facto privatization, even if the loans remain nominally federal. The infrastructure, incentives, and profits move outward, while the political blame remains with the state.

This is where earlier McKinsey & Company studies reenter the conversation. Long before the current turmoil, McKinsey analyses identified high servicing costs, fragmented contractor oversight, weak borrower segmentation, and low political returns on administrative complexity. While framed as efficiency critiques, these studies implicitly favored market-oriented restructuring. In a crisis environment, such recommendations become blueprints for divestment.

The danger of a pyrrhic defeat strategy is that it delivers a short-term political win at the cost of long-term public capacity. Selling or functionally privatizing the student loan portfolio may improve fiscal optics, but it permanently weakens democratic control over higher education finance. Borrowers, already stripped of bankruptcy protections, lose what remains of public accountability. Policymakers lose leverage over tuition inflation and institutional behavior. The federal government relinquishes a powerful counter-cyclical tool. What remains is a debt regime optimized for extraction, enforced by servicers, securitized for investors, and detached from educational outcomes.

The defeat is real. It is borne by students, families, and future generations. The victory belongs to those who acquire distressed public assets and those who benefit ideologically from shrinking the public sphere.

Pyrrhic defeat theory reminds us that collapse is not always accidental. In the case of the federal student loan portfolio, what appears to be dysfunction or incompetence may instead be strategic surrender: a willingness to let a public system deteriorate so that it can be sold off, securitized, or outsourced under the banner of necessity. If that happens, it will not be remembered as a policy error, but as a deliberate transfer of public wealth and power—made possible by decades of legal engineering that began when bankruptcy protection was taken away and ended with student debt transformed into a permanent financial asset.

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Sources

Higher Education Inquirer. “When Banks Lost Control of Student Loan Lending.” January 2025.
https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/01/when-banks-lost-control-of-student-loan.html

U.S. Department of Education, Federal Student Aid. FY 2024 Annual Agency Performance Report. January 13, 2025.

U.S. Department of Education, Federal Student Aid. Federal Student Loan Portfolio Data and Statistics, various years.

Government Accountability Office. Student Loans: Key Weaknesses in Servicing and Oversight, multiple reports.

Congressional Budget Office. The Federal Student Loan Portfolio: Budgetary Costs and Policy Options.

U.S. Congress. Bankruptcy Abuse Prevention and Consumer Protection Act of 2005 and prior amendments affecting student loan dischargeability.

Pardo, Rafael I., and Michelle R. Lacey. “The Real Student-Loan Scandal: Undue Hardship Discharge Litigation.” American Bankruptcy Law Journal.

Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission materials on asset-backed securities and consumer credit markets.

McKinsey & Company. Student Loan Servicing, Portfolio Optimization, and Risk Management Analyses, prepared for federal agencies and financial institutions, 2010s–early 2020s.

Higher Education Inquirer archives on SLABS, servicers, privatization, deregulation, and student loan policy.

The Decline of “Happily Ever After”: Teen Girls, Marriage, and Social Inequality

A profound shift is taking place in the aspirations of American teenagers. In a Pew Research analysis of 2023 University of Michigan survey data, only 61 percent of 12th-grade girls expected to marry someday, down sharply from 83 percent in 1993. Boys, in contrast, reported a stable 74 percent, surpassing girls for the first time. Alongside this, fewer teens anticipated having children or staying married for life. Only 48 percent of 12th-graders said they were “very likely” to want children, and belief in lifelong marriage dropped from 59 percent to 51 percent over three decades.

These figures are more than statistical curiosities; they reflect structural changes in the lives of young women and reveal how cultural, economic, and social inequality shape personal expectations. Access to education and professional opportunity has expanded dramatically for women, allowing them to envision futures independent of traditional marriage and family structures. Yet these gains exist alongside persistent barriers: economic instability, student debt, and unequal labor markets make long-term commitments like marriage and homeownership fraught and uncertain. For many girls, the choice to delay or reject marriage is not merely personal—it is pragmatic.

Cultural shifts amplify this trend. For decades, mainstream media promoted the narrative of “happily ever after,” equating personal fulfillment with marriage and motherhood. Today, stories about self-discovery, financial independence, and flexibility dominate the imagination of young women. In this context, marriage is no longer the default marker of adulthood or success; it is one of many possible pathways, often weighed against educational ambitions, career goals, and economic realities.

This evolution of expectations is deeply intertwined with inequality. Historically, marriage has often reinforced gendered hierarchies, particularly among working-class and minority women, for whom early marriage frequently constrained educational and career opportunities. Delaying marriage, or choosing to forgo it altogether, can represent a form of empowerment—but it also exposes young women to the structural vulnerabilities of a society where social support and economic stability are unevenly distributed. For those without family wealth or safety nets, the decision to prioritize education or autonomy over marriage is often a negotiation with risk rather than pure choice.

The broader social implications are significant. Declining enthusiasm for marriage may influence fertility patterns, reshape household structures, and challenge institutions built around traditional family models. For policymakers, educators, and social institutions, the question becomes whether systems will adapt to support diverse life paths or continue to privilege outdated models that assume early marriage and childbearing. For young women navigating these choices, the cultural shift represents both liberation and uncertainty, an opportunity to define adulthood on their own terms amid economic and social pressures.

As these teenagers mature, their choices may redefine what adulthood looks like in the United States. The decline in the “happily ever after” fantasy signals not a rejection of commitment, but a recalibration of priorities under the weight of opportunity, constraint, and inequality. It is a moment that reveals how deeply personal aspirations—love, marriage, family—are shaped by the structures, inequities, and possibilities of the world they inherit.

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Sources:
Ms. Magazine. “Actually It’s Good That Fewer High Schoolers Want to Get Married.” 2025. https://msmagazine.com/2025/11/20/high-school-girls-marriage

New York Post. “High school girls are shifting away from marriage and 'happily ever after,' expert says.” 2025. https://nypost.com/2025/11/25/media/high-school-girls-are-shifting-away-from-marriage-and-happily-ever-after-expert-says

The Times. “Jobs, porn and manfluencers: the real reasons girls don't want to get married.” 2025. https://www.thetimes.com/us/news-today/article/why-dont-girls-plan-to-get-married-f7hr8jgp0

Nonprofits and Nothingness: Follow the Money

In the world of higher education and its orbiting industries—veteran-serving nonprofits, student-debt advocacy groups, educational charities, “policy” organizations, and campus-focused foundations—there is a great deal of motion but not always much movement. Press releases bloom, awards are distributed, partnerships are announced, and donors beam from stages and annual reports. Yet too often, the people who most need substantive support—servicemembers, student-loan borrowers, contingent faculty, low-income students, and other working-class communities—receive only fragments of what the glossy brochures promise.

To understand why, you need only follow the money.

  

The Neoliberal Philanthropy Trap

Over the last four decades, American nonprofit culture has been reshaped and disciplined by neoliberal capital. So-called “impact philanthropy” and “venture philanthropy” introduced a corporate mindset: donors expect brand alignment, flattering metrics, and ideological safety. The result is a nonprofit sector that frequently mimics the institutions it claims to critique.

Organizations become risk-averse. They avoid structural analysis. They sidestep direct confrontation with the powerful. They produce white papers instead of organizing. They praise the very elite funders who limit their scope.

The most severe problems facing servicemembers and veterans—predatory for-profit schools, Pentagon-to-college corruption pipelines, GI Bill waste, chronic under-support—rarely get the oxygen they deserve. Advocacy groups that rely on neoliberal donors often focus on “financial literacy” workshops rather than taking on the multi-billion-dollar scams that actually trap servicemembers in debt.

Student-debt nonprofits, similarly, lean into “awareness campaigns” and technocratic fixes that avoid challenging lenders, profiteering institutions, or federal policy failures. Many will deliver testimonials and infographics, but few will call out the philanthropic class whose own investments are entangled in servicing and securitizing student debt.

And when it comes to helping working-class people more broadly—those navigating food insecurity, unstable housing, wage stagnation, and the crushing costs of education—the nonprofit sector too often does what neoliberal donors prefer: it performs compassion rather than redistributing power. It focuses on individual resilience rather than collective remedy.
Appearance Over Impact

This creates a strange ecosystem in which organizations are rewarded for looking productive rather than for being productive.

• Events over empowerment.
• Reports over results.
• Branding over coalition-building.
• Strategy sessions over structural change.

The donor’s name gets its plaque, its press release, its tax receipt. The nonprofit gets to survive another cycle. But the problems—deep, persistent, systemic—remain unchallenged.

Nonprofits that speak too directly about exploitation in higher education risk alienating the very people who write the checks. Some are nudged away from naming predatory universities. Others are steered toward “innovation,” “entrepreneurship,” or “student success” frameworks that sanitize the underlying issues. Many are encouraged to “partner” with the same institutions harming the people they were formed to help.

In the end, we get a sector filled with earnest staff but hollowed-out missions—organizations doing just enough to appear active but rarely enough to threaten the arrangement that keeps donors comfortable and inequality intact.

 
What Could Be—If Nonprofits Were Free

Imagine a nonprofit sector liberated from neoliberal constraints:
Organizations could openly challenge predatory colleges instead of courting them as sponsors.
Veteran-serving groups could expose fraud rather than “collaborate” with federal contractors.
Debt-advocacy groups could organize mass borrower actions rather than hold polite policy forums.
Working-class students could find allies who fight for public investment, not piecemeal philanthropy.

We could have watchdogs instead of window dressing.
We could have mobilization instead of marketing.
We could have justice instead of jargon.

But as long as donor-driven nonprofits prioritize appearance over impact, we’re left with what might be called “nonprofits and nothingness”: organizations whose glossy public-facing work obscures the emptiness underneath.

 
The Way Forward: Independent, Ground-Up Power

Real change in higher education—on affordability, accountability, labor rights, and fairness—will not come from donor-managed nonprofits. It will come from independent journalism, grassroots organizing, debt-resistance movements, student-worker coalitions, and communities willing to challenge elite decision-makers directly.

Those efforts don’t fit neatly into annual reports. They don’t flatter philanthropists. They don’t offer easy wins. But they build the kind of power that higher education, and the country, desperately needs.

Until more nonprofits break free from the neoliberal donor leash, we should continue to follow the money—and then look beyond it, to the people whose work actually changes lives.

Sources
— Eikenberry, Angela. The Nonprofit Sector in an Age of Marketization.
— Giridharadas, Anand. Winners Take All.
— Reich, Rob. Just Giving: Why Philanthropy Is Failing Democracy.

The Working-Class Recession: How the Educated Underclass is Already in Crisis

For millions of Americans with college degrees, the headlines about a “possible recession” feel like a cruel joke. While official statistics lag, the lived reality for the educated underclass—those with bachelor’s or advanced degrees who are struggling to maintain stability—is nothing short of an economic depression. Rising costs of living, stagnating wages, and dwindling job security have already reshaped daily life, and many are barely hanging on.

Unemployment figures tell only part of the story. College graduates now make up a record 25% of the unemployed, with white-collar layoffs in tech, finance, and even healthcare rising. Those who are employed are often underemployed, working multiple part-time jobs or in positions that barely require a degree. The promise that a college credential ensures upward mobility is eroding rapidly, leaving a generation of highly educated Americans questioning the value of the very investment that was supposed to secure their future.

Housing costs are skyrocketing, especially in urban centers where jobs are concentrated. Even modest apartments demand incomes far above what many professional graduates earn. Student loan debt compounds the pressure, forcing difficult trade-offs between basic living expenses and debt repayment. For many, “making it” now means moving back in with parents or sharing crowded apartments with friends—situations reminiscent of a pre-adult adolescence prolonged indefinitely.

Meanwhile, inflation eats away at savings. Food prices, healthcare, and transportation costs continue to climb, leaving little room for discretionary spending or emergency funds. The safety net that the previous generation relied on—a stable job, homeownership, a modest retirement plan—is increasingly inaccessible. For the educated underclass, financial precarity has become normalized, even invisible to those who still enjoy some buffer in the broader economy.

The psychological toll is real. Anxiety, depression, and burnout are rampant among highly educated professionals facing underemployment or precarious work conditions. The “American Dream” has shifted from upward mobility to merely surviving, with little room for long-term planning or security.

Policymakers continue to debate whether a recession is coming, but for many, the recession has already arrived. It’s not marked by dramatic market crashes or bold headlines—it is quiet, slow, and insidious, felt in empty savings accounts, missed rent payments, and jobs that fail to match education and ambition. Recognizing this reality is the first step toward meaningful change. Until then, the educated underclass is living through an economic depression, one degree at a time.

From Classroom Crisis to System Change: How One Educator Turned Her Son’s Story Into a Lifeline for Schools

Jessica Werner, Ph.D., CEO and Founder of Northshore Learning, has spent more than 20 years as an educator, specialist, and advocate for students with complex needs. But the turning point in her work didn’t come in a classroom or at a conference. It came the day her own son was asked to leave preschool.

Her son, who has a behavior disorder, was struggling in a setting that wasn’t prepared to support him. Eventually, the preschool told Jessica that his needs were too complex and that he could no longer attend.

In an instant, the roles shifted. Jessica, who had spent years helping schools strengthen their systems and better support students, suddenly found herself on the other side of the table — as a parent being told that her child didn’t fit.

“He won’t be the last child you see like this,” Werner told the preschool administration. “While I understand that you can’t support him now, just know, there will be more coming.”

She was right.

A Full-Circle Moment

Several years later, the same school reached back out to Jessica.

They were now seeing more students like her son. They saw children with higher needs, complex behaviors, and significant regulation and emotional challenges. Their teachers were overwhelmed. Their existing tools, training, and systems weren’t enough.

They needed help.

Jessica agreed without hesitation. Today, she partners with that school to train and mentor its teachers. The same system that once had to ask her son to leave is now working with her to build capacity, compassion, and practical tools for the next generation of students.

What was once a personal heartbreak has become a catalyst for change.

“The Hardest Part of Teaching Wasn’t the Teaching”

Jessica’s journey started like that of so many teachers: with passion, heart, and a deep belief that she could make a difference.

She did not expect what she experienced in her first year.

“The hardest part of teaching wasn’t the teaching,” she recalls. “It was the behavior, regulation, and emotional needs of my students, and I wasn’t prepared.”

Like many new educators, she had strong content knowledge and a solid academic foundation. But she quickly realized that her students needed more than lessons. They needed support with self-regulation, behavior, and emotional safety. And she needed a different kind of training to meet those needs.

Determined not to leave the profession, Jessica made a decision that would shape the rest of her career. She spent an entire summer interviewing experts, seeking out mentors, attending trainings, and rebuilding her approach from the ground up.

She returned to the classroom as, in her words, “a completely new teacher.”

A Story Playing Out in Schools Everywhere

Jessica’s experience is no longer an exception; it is increasingly the norm.

Schools across the country and around the world are grappling with a similar reality:

• Teachers are overwhelmed by rising student behavior and mental-health needs.
  
  

• Parents are navigating systems that are stretched thin and often not designed for the level of complexity they now face.
  
  

• Administrators are struggling to support staff and maintain stability in a post-COVID landscape.
  
  

• Schools are searching desperately for tools, training, and models that actually work in today’s classrooms.
  

The gap between what students need and what schools are prepared to provide has grown too large to ignore. Teachers report burnout at record levels. Classrooms are more complex than ever. And children like Jessica’s son are often the first to fall through the cracks when systems can’t keep up.

Bridging the Gap

Jessica’s work now sits directly in that gap.

Drawing on her experience as a teacher, specialist, and mother of a child with a behavior disorder, she partners with schools worldwide to:

• Train and mentor educators in behavior and regulation support
  
  

• Help schools build systems that are proactive rather than reactive

• Equip staff with practical tools for de-escalation, connection, and co-regulation

• Support administrators in creating sustainable, teacher-friendly frameworks

Her mission is simple, but profound: support teachers, understand students, and prepare schools for today’s classrooms.

That mission is rooted in both research and lived experience. Jessica knows the strain educators are under. She knows the heartbreak parents feel when systems can’t support their children. And she knows that with the right training and structures, schools can become places where both kids and adults are more regulated, supported, and successful.

Preparing for the Students Already Walking Through the Door

When Jessica told her son’s preschool, “There will be more coming,” she wasn’t issuing a threat. She was naming a truth that many schools are only now beginning to fully confront.

The students are already here: children with trauma histories, behavior disorders, anxiety, depression, autism, ADHD, and complex emotional needs. Post-pandemic, their numbers and needs have only intensified.

What began as a painful personal experience, having her own child turned away, has become a full-circle story of partnership and possibility. The same school that once said, “We can’t do this,” now says, “Help us learn how.”

For Jessica Werner, the work is deeply professional and personal. And for the schools she serves, it’s essential.