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Tuesday, July 29, 2025

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GAZA, GENOCIDE, AND THE GLOBAL MEDICAL RESPONSE (Saint Cecilia Parish, Boston)


WEDNESDAY, JULY 30 | 6:30PM | PARISH HALL (Boston)

Join us for a special presentation by Dr. Kuemmerle, a neurologist at Children's Hospital and the co-founder of Doctors Against Genocide. Founded in 2023, Doctors Against Genocide is a coalition of healthcare professionals who seek to unite their voices in uproar against the genocide in Gaza. This presentation will be livestreamed on our Youtube channel

Doctors Against Genocide is currently raising $737,000 to fund the construction of a 140-bed field hospital with 4 operating rooms on the grounds of Al-Shifa hosptial. Gaza's largest hospital has been bombed, burned, and pushed past its limits. After the forced shutdown of the Indonesian, Al-Awda, and Kamal Adwan hospitals, Al-Shifa is the last major hospital left standing in North Gaza. 

Right now, occupancy is at 200–300%. Patients are being treated on floors, in hallways, and tents. There are no more beds. No more space. But there is a way forward with your help. If you would like donate, please visit: https://doctorsagainstgenocide.org/donate.

The New York City Midtown Shooting, CTE, and the Cult of Football

On Monday evening, violence erupted at 345 Park Avenue in Midtown Manhattan, a sleek tower that houses the offices of private equity giant Blackstone and the National Football League. Just before 6:30 p.m., a 27-year-old man named Shane Devon Tamura walked into the building’s lobby carrying an M4-style assault rifle. Within minutes, he had killed four people and injured a fifth before taking his own life. Among the victims was NYPD officer Didarul Islam, who had been working a private security detail, and Wesley LePatner, a senior Blackstone executive. The shock of the event was compounded by what Tamura left behind—a three-page note referencing the NFL, the dangers of brain injury, and an eerie final request: “Study my brain. I’m sorry.”

Tamura, who had driven from Las Vegas across the country, appeared obsessed with chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), a degenerative brain disease associated with repeated head trauma. Whether Tamura actually played football, or merely saw himself as part of the broader culture shaped by it, his writings expressed a sense of betrayal. He accused the NFL of hiding the truth about brain injuries and framed his act of violence, disturbingly, as a kind of vengeance or warning.

This incident would be troubling in any context, but its location—inside a building that symbolizes the merger of capital and American sports mythology—demands closer scrutiny. It touches the raw nerve of a national cult that HEI has investigated before.

In October 2024, we published The Cult of NCAA Football and the Destruction of Young Men, an examination of how Division I college football programs systematically exploit young athletes. These programs market dreams of glory, mobility, and masculinity, only to discard players whose bodies or minds no longer serve the machine. We reported on the toll this system takes—not just in physical injuries, but in suicides, depression, substance abuse, and post-collegiate disillusionment. The culture around football demands pain and silence, while the profits flow to coaches, administrators, and television executives.

That investigation built on earlier work, including The Tragedy of NCAA Athletes Who Died Young, which chronicled the stories of former college athletes who died early—some by suicide, others from heart conditions, overdoses, or unexplained circumstances. These deaths were not random. They were systemic, the result of intense physical demands, inadequate medical oversight, and emotional isolation within a culture that worships toughness and punishes vulnerability.

The broader evidence around CTE has grown increasingly clear. As of 2023, researchers at Boston University had identified CTE in 345 of 376 former NFL players studied after death—an astonishing 91.8 percent. A 2024 study by Mass General Brigham found that one in three former NFL players surveyed—approximately 35 percent—believed they were experiencing symptoms of CTE, such as memory loss, depression, or emotional instability. Even among those who had never been officially diagnosed with a concussion, symptoms were common. Scientists now argue that it is not concussions alone, but repetitive sub-concussive impacts—those hits that don’t cause symptoms but still jostle the brain—that pose the greatest long-term threat.

The crisis starts early. A study funded by the CDC found that youth tackle football players aged 6 to 14 sustained 15 times more high-magnitude head impacts than flag football players. Despite the NFL’s public safety campaigns and rule modifications, many of these reforms have not trickled down to college, high school, or youth programs. Guardian Caps—foam covers placed over helmets to reduce head impacts—are now standard in NFL practices but remain optional or absent in amateur leagues.

Tamura’s final request to have his brain studied postmortem mirrors the last acts of former football players like Junior Seau, Tyler Hilinski, and Phillip Adams, who took their own lives and were later confirmed to have suffered from CTE. The difference here is that Tamura reportedly had no known football career. His identification with CTE suggests something darker—a cultural proximity to violence and despair reinforced by football’s influence on masculinity, toughness, and worth.

Football is not just a sport in the United States; it is an institution that binds masculinity to sacrifice and identity to violence. It teaches boys to ignore pain, suppress fear, and prove their value through physical domination. For those who succeed, there are scholarships and contracts. For those who don’t, there are broken bodies and forgotten names. And for a growing number, there are stories ending in suicide, addiction, or in this case, public violence.

The NFL has the resources to protect its players. Universities have the responsibility to care for their students. But what remains in question is whether either institution has the will to do so. HEI has chronicled the recurring patterns—of exploitation, denial, and silence—in both sports and education. We have seen young athletes discarded after injury, whistleblowers ignored, and mental health support offered only when it serves branding or liability defense.

Monday’s shooting was not simply a tragedy—it was a mirror held up to a society that profits from physical destruction while ignoring psychological harm. It reminded us that the myth of football’s nobility has a human cost. And that silence, whether in locker rooms or corporate boardrooms, is not safety. It is complicity.


Sources
Higher Education Inquirer. "The Tragedy of NCAA Athletes Who Died Young." April 2025. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/04/the-tragedy-of-ncaa-athletes-who-died.html
Higher Education Inquirer. "The Cult of NCAA Football and the Destruction of Young Men." October 2024. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2024/10/the-cult-of-ncaa-football-and.html
Boston University CTE Center. "BU CTE Diagnoses in NFL Players." Updated 2023. https://www.bu.edu/cte/
Mass General Brigham. “One in Three Former NFL Players Believe They Have CTE.” 2024. https://www.massgeneralbrigham.org/en/about/newsroom/press-releases/study-finds-1-in-3-former-nfl-players-believe-they-have-cte
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. “Comparing Head Impacts in Youth Football.” 2024. https://www.cdc.gov/traumatic-brain-injury/data-research/comparing-head-impacts
ABC News. “Shooter’s Note Referenced NFL, CTE.” July 29, 2025. https://abcnews.go.com/US/midtown-shooting-suspect-left-note-mentioning-nfl-cte/story?id=124163966
People. “Blackstone Executive Killed in NYC Shooting.” July 29, 2025. https://people.com/blackstone-executive-wesley-lepatner-new-york-city-mass-shooting-victim-11780775

The Hiroshima Remake: Clayton Christensen, AI, and the Educational Apocalypse (Glen McGhee)

In 2013, Harvard Business School professor Clayton Christensen made a dramatic prediction: “In 10 to 15 years, 50 percent of colleges and universities will be bankrupt.” Grounded in his celebrated theory of disruptive innovation, Christensen imagined a future where online learning would gradually displace traditional institutions. Supported by co-author Michael Horn and the Clayton Christensen Institute, this vision rested on a core belief that technological innovation would creep in from the margins, slowly forcing the higher education sector to adapt or die.

But 2025 has not brought the slow-motion disruption Christensen foresaw. It has delivered something far more devastating: a collapse so rapid and total that it renders the theory itself obsolete. What we are witnessing is not disruptive innovation—it is educational annihilation. It is, in effect, a Hiroshima moment for higher education, where the landscape has been scorched so thoroughly by artificial intelligence that there is no longer a recognizable battlefield.

Christensen’s model depended on institutions surviving long enough to be gradually disrupted. But AI has bypassed that timeline and obliterated the very foundations of traditional education. Instead of online learning rising up through the ranks, we now have a student body increasingly dependent on generative AI for every aspect of their academic experience. One student recently summed it up by saying, “College is just how well I can use ChatGPT at this point.” That statement isn’t an exaggeration—it’s the new norm.

Universities aren’t being challenged in slow increments. They are being wiped out. Since 2020, at least 80 nonprofit or public colleges have closed, merged, or announced closures. The Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia forecasts as many as 80 more colleges could collapse in 2025 alone. Even flagship institutions like the University of Arizona are reporting deficits in the hundreds of millions, while West Virginia University has undertaken massive cuts to academic programs and faculty. DePaul University is projecting a $56 million shortfall. The collapse is system-wide, not isolated to struggling outliers.

The impact extends beyond institutional budgets. It touches the core of what education is supposed to be. The widespread use of AI by students to complete their coursework has created an invisible yet devastating consequence: cultural debt. This is not simply a matter of plagiarism or cheating. It’s a loss of intellectual development, critical thinking, and meaningful engagement. We are producing graduates who may hold credentials, but lack the capacity for independent analysis. We are entering a world where degrees are increasingly decoupled from knowledge, and where assessment is rapidly losing all credibility.

Christensen never accounted for the possibility that a technology would be so powerful, so universally adopted, that it would destroy the institutional context his theory depended on. His disruption model assumed time—time for adaptation, time for hybrid models to form, time for competition to play out in a recognizable marketplace. But AI has left no time. It has created a moonscape, a terrain so decimated that rebuilding on it seems nearly impossible. There is no “University 2.0” waiting in the wings. There is only confusion, cost-cutting, and chaos.

The metaphor of Hiroshima is not used lightly. Just as nuclear weapons rendered conventional military strategy irrelevant, AI has rendered conventional education strategy meaningless. This isn’t Schumpeterian creative destruction—it’s creative annihilation. Christensen and Horn imagined a reformed and responsive university sector. What we have instead is a hollowed-out system where students learn to game the machine, faculty burn out trying to preserve integrity, and administrators chase tech partnerships while gutting their academic cores.

The movie is already being made. It isn’t a Hollywood fantasy. It’s the lived reality of students wondering why they’re still paying five figures for an education they can automate. It’s the story of adjuncts discarded in cost-cutting purges. It’s the grim resignation of faculty who know their lectures are being fed into the same machine that replaces them. And it’s the slow recognition among lawmakers and funders that the 200-year-old institution of American higher education may not survive the decade.

Christensen’s theory pointed a loaded gun at higher education. AI pulled the trigger. What comes next is unclear, but it won’t be disruption in the old sense. It will be a reckoning with what happens when the ground beneath you no longer exists. The educational Hiroshima has already happened. Now we must decide whether to rebuild—or retreat into the ruins.

Sources

Clayton Christensen and Henry Eyring, The Innovative University: Changing the DNA of Higher Education from the Inside Out, Jossey-Bass, 2011
Christensen Institute: https://www.christenseninstitute.org/theory/disruptive-innovation/
Michael B. Horn, “Bringing Disruptive Innovations to Education,” 2024 — https://michaelbhorn.com
Business Insider, “Half of US Colleges Will Be Bankrupt,” 2013 — https://www.businessinsider.com/clay-christensen-higher-education-on-the-edge-2013-2
Inside Higher Ed, “University of Arizona's $240 Million Deficit,” 2024 — https://www.insidehighered.com
Inside Higher Ed, “WVU Academic Cuts,” 2023 — https://www.insidehighered.com/news/2023/09/19/wvu-begins-largest-academic-purge-its-history
Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia, Higher Education Risk Index, 2024
BestColleges, “Major College Closures Since 2020” — https://www.bestcolleges.com/research/closed-colleges-list-statistics-major-closures/
AACU Research on AI in Higher Ed — https://www.aacu.org/research/leading-through-disruption
Marketing AI Institute, “AI Cheating in Higher Ed” — https://www.marketingaiinstitute.com/blog/ai-cheating-schools-universities
CNBC, “College Closures Could Jump Amid Financial Challenges,” 2024 — https://www.cnbc.com/2024/12/11/college-closures-could-jump-amid-financial-challenges-fed-research.html
SR.ITHAKA.org, “Making AI Generative for Higher Education” — https://sr.ithaka.org/publications/making-ai-generative-for-higher-education/
The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, “Today’s AI Threat More Like Nuclear Winter Than Nuclear War,” 2024 — https://thebulletin.org/2024/02/todays-ai-threat-more-like-nuclear-winter-than-nuclear-war/
Hackeducation.com, “The Education Apocalypse,” 2013 — http://hackeducation.com/2013/11/07/the-education-apocalypse
NBER Working Paper No. 33867, “Generative AI and Labor Market Impact,” 2024 — https://www.nber.org/papers/w33867

Gini Index: Higher Education and the US Line of Inequality

Over the past century, the United States has undergone enormous changes in how wealth and income are distributed. From the opulence of the Roaring Twenties to the postwar rise of the middle class, from the tech booms of the 1990s to the pandemic economy of the 2020s, the line of inequality has rarely been flat—and never fair.

To track these shifts, economists use the Gini Index, a number between 0 and 1 (or 0 and 100 in percentage terms), where 0 represents perfect equality and 1 represents perfect inequality. The U.S. Gini Index has changed dramatically over time, reflecting wars, economic crises, policy decisions, and structural changes in education, taxes, and immigration.

In the 1920s, the United States experienced a high level of income inequality. The economy was booming for the wealthy, but the benefits of that growth were concentrated at the top. This period, often referred to as the first Gilded Age, was marked by weak labor protections, minimal taxation on the rich, and limited social safety nets. At the same time, immigration was heavily restricted, which limited labor competition but also reinforced the racial and ethnic hierarchies that shaped income and opportunity.

The Great Depression and World War II marked a dramatic shift. As the economy collapsed in the 1930s, public pressure mounted for systemic reform. New Deal policies expanded labor rights, created Social Security, and introduced public works programs. These efforts, along with wartime wage controls and steep taxes on the wealthy, helped reduce inequality. The federal income tax reached top rates over 90 percent. Education expanded as the GI Bill sent millions of returning veterans—mostly white men—to college and into homeownership. However, the benefits of this postwar expansion were unequally distributed, with Black Americans and other minorities largely excluded through redlining, school segregation, and discriminatory lending.

From the 1950s to the 1970s, the U.S. experienced what some call the Great Compression. Income gaps between rich and poor narrowed. Manufacturing jobs were abundant, union membership was high, and wages grew alongside productivity. Federal and state investments in education opened doors for many, although property taxes, which fund most local public schools, reinforced disparities between wealthier suburbs and poorer cities or rural communities. Immigration remained limited during these decades, and federal tax policy remained progressive. The Gini Index stayed relatively stable, reflecting broad-based growth and a more equal distribution of income.

The 1980s brought a reversal. The Reagan administration cut top income tax rates dramatically, weakened labor unions, and deregulated many industries. The economy became more financialized, and capital gains were increasingly favored over wages. Globalization and the offshoring of manufacturing jobs weakened the bargaining power of American workers. At the same time, immigration increased, often filling low-wage and precarious jobs in agriculture, construction, and service industries. While immigration boosted overall economic output, it also contributed to greater income stratification within certain sectors.

The Gini Index rose steadily through the 1980s and 1990s. The tech boom created vast wealth for a small segment of the population, while wages for most workers stagnated. Public universities saw declining state support, leading to tuition hikes and the explosion of student loan debt. Property taxes continued to shape educational inequality, with affluent districts able to fund advanced programs and facilities while lower-income schools struggled. Tax policy changes in the 2000s, including further reductions in capital gains and estate taxes, widened the gap between those who earn their income from investments and those who rely on wages.

The 2008 financial crisis deepened existing divides. While wealthy households recovered quickly due to stock market gains and low interest rates, working-class families faced job losses, home foreclosures, and long-term economic insecurity. Federal stimulus programs helped avert total collapse, but they did little to reverse decades of rising inequality. By the 2010s, the U.S. Gini Index was among the highest in the developed world.

In the early 2020s, the COVID-19 pandemic once again exposed the structural weaknesses in the American economy. Emergency relief programs and expanded unemployment benefits briefly reduced poverty in 2020, but these were temporary fixes. Billionaires saw massive increases in wealth, while millions of essential workers faced health risks, layoffs, and housing instability. Public schools and universities adapted to online learning, but the digital divide left many students behind. Property taxes remained the primary source of school funding, preserving long-standing inequalities in education. Immigrants continued to perform essential but undervalued labor, often without access to healthcare or legal protections.

Federal tax policy remains tilted toward the wealthy. Income from stocks and real estate is taxed at lower rates than income from work. Loopholes and deductions allow corporations and the ultra-rich to minimize their tax bills. At the same time, working families face regressive payroll taxes and growing out-of-pocket costs for healthcare, education, and housing.

Higher education, once seen as a pathway to mobility, increasingly reflects the same patterns of inequality seen in the broader economy. Elite universities with billion-dollar endowments serve a small, privileged student population. Public colleges and community colleges—where most students from working-class and minority backgrounds enroll—operate on tight budgets and often rely on underpaid adjunct faculty. Rising tuition, administrative bloat, and student debt have turned education into both a product and a burden.

The Gini Index provides a simple way to measure inequality, but it does not capture all of the structural forces behind it. To understand why inequality remains so persistent, we must look at the systems that shape opportunity from birth: local property taxes, unequal schools, debt-financed higher education, regressive tax codes, and immigration policies that create a stratified labor market.

The line of inequality in the United States is not just a chart—it’s a reflection of who holds power, who gets access, and who pays the price. Changing that line will require more than numbers. It will take bold public action, political courage, and a serious rethinking of how we fund education, how we tax wealth, and how we value labor in an age of digital capitalism.

The Higher Education Inquirer will continue to trace the contours of inequality—across classrooms, campuses, and communities—because understanding the line is the first step to redrawing it. 

Sources

Piketty, Thomas, Saez, Emmanuel, and Zucman, Gabriel. Distributional National Accounts: Methods and Estimates for the United States. Quarterly Journal of Economics, 2018.

Congressional Budget Office. The Distribution of Household Income, 2019. Published November 2022.
https://www.cbo.gov/publication/58528

U.S. Census Bureau. Income and Poverty in the United States: 2022.
https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2023/demo/p60-280.html

Economic Policy Institute. State of Working America: Wages.
https://www.epi.org/data/#?subject=wages

Goldin, Claudia and Katz, Lawrence F. The Race Between Education and Technology. Harvard University Press, 2008.

Chetty, Raj et al. The Fading American Dream: Trends in Absolute Income Mobility Since 1940. Science, 2017.

Desmond, Matthew. Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City. Crown Publishing, 2016.

Kuznets, Simon. Economic Growth and Income Inequality. American Economic Review, 1955.

Saez, Emmanuel and Zucman, Gabriel. The Triumph of Injustice: How the Rich Dodge Taxes and How to Make Them Pay. W.W. Norton & Company, 2019.

OECD. Income Inequality (Gini Coefficient).
https://data.oecd.org/inequality/income-inequality.htm

National Center for Education Statistics. Revenues and Expenditures for Public Elementary and Secondary Education.
https://nces.ed.gov/programs/coe/indicator/cma

Urban Institute. The Unequal Distribution of State and Local Revenues.
https://www.urban.org/sites/default/files/publication/98725/the-unequal-distribution-of-state-and-local-revenues_1.pdf

Institute on Taxation and Economic Policy (ITEP). Who Pays? A Distributional Analysis of the Tax Systems in All 50 States.
https://itep.org/whopays/

Migration Policy Institute. Immigrant Workers: Vital to the U.S. COVID-19 Response, Disproportionately Vulnerable.
https://www.migrationpolicy.org/research/immigrant-workers-us-covid-19-response

National Bureau of Economic Research. Education and Inequality Across the American States.
https://www.nber.org/papers/w31455

Monday, July 28, 2025

Forgetting Neil Postman

[For my good friend, a higher education executive who has seen it all, and suggested that all of us pause, take a look back, and think.]

Neil Postman first gained national attention in 1969 with Teaching as a Subversive Activity, co-authored with Charles Weingartner. In a period marked by war, civil unrest, and cultural transformation, Postman offered a bold challenge to the status quo of American education. Schools, he argued, were failing not because they lacked resources or rigor, but because they had lost sight of their deeper purpose. Instead of fostering critical thinking and civic engagement, they were manufacturing conformity through standardized tests, textbooks, and passive learning. Postman envisioned classrooms without fixed curricula, where teachers would become co-learners and facilitators, helping students develop the tools of inquiry and what he memorably called “crap detection.” It was a radical vision: education as an act of democratic resistance.

By the early 1980s, Postman had turned his attention to how media was shaping society—and deforming education. In The Disappearance of Childhood (1982), he claimed that television was dissolving the cultural boundaries between children and adults. Television, unlike print, made no distinction in content delivery; it treated all viewers as equal consumers of images and sensation. The consequences, he warned, were profound: children were becoming prematurely cynical while adults increasingly behaved like children. The medium, he believed, flattened developmental distinctions and eroded the cultural function of school as a place for guided maturation and ethical formation.

Then came Amusing Ourselves to Death in 1985, Postman’s most widely read and enduring work. Written during the ascendancy of television and Reagan-era consumer culture, the book argued that television had transformed public discourse into entertainment. It was not merely the content of television that disturbed him, but its form—its bias toward speed, simplification, and emotional stimulation. In such a media environment, serious discussion of politics, education, science, or religion could not survive. News became performance, candidates became celebrities, and education was increasingly judged by its entertainment value. Postman lamented the way Sesame Street, often hailed as educational television, conditioned children to love television itself—not learning, not schools, not the slow, difficult process of study.

As the decade progressed, Postman began articulating a broader cultural critique that culminated in Technopoly: The Surrender of Culture to Technology (1992). In this work, he defined technopoly as a society that not only uses technology but is dominated by it—a culture that believes technology is the solution to all problems, and that all values should be reshaped in its image. Postman acknowledged that tools and machines had always altered human life, but in a technopoly, technology becomes self-justifying. It no longer asks what human purpose it serves. Postman noted that schools were being wired with computers, not because it improved learning—there was no solid evidence of that—but because it seemed modern, inevitable, and profitable. His question—“What is the problem to which this is the solution?”—was a challenge not just to education reformers, but to an entire ideology of progress.

In The End of Education (1995), Postman returned to the question that haunted all his work: what is school for? He argued that American education had lost its narrative. Without compelling guiding stories—what he called “gods”—schools could not inspire loyalty, discipline, or moral development. In place of narratives about democracy, stewardship, public participation, and truth-seeking, schools now told the story of market utility. They trained students for jobs, not for life. They emphasized performance metrics over philosophical inquiry, and they treated students as customers in a credential economy. Education, he warned, was becoming just another mass medium, modeled increasingly after television and later the internet, with predictable results: shallowness, fragmentation, and disengagement.

By the time Postman died in 2003, the world he had warned about was rapidly taking shape. Facebook had not yet launched. Smartphones had not yet arrived. Generative AI was decades from the mainstream. But already, education was being reshaped by branding, performance metrics, digital delivery, and venture capital. The university was becoming a platform. The classroom was being converted into content. Students were treated not as citizens in formation, but as users to be optimized. The language of education—once rooted in moral philosophy and civic purpose—had begun to sound more like business strategy. Postman would have heard the rise of terms like “learning outcomes,” “human capital development,” and “scalable solutions” as evidence of a culture that had surrendered judgment to systems, wisdom to code, and meaning to metrics.

Postman’s refusal to embrace digital culture made him easy to ignore in the years that followed. He never gave a TED Talk. He didn’t blog. He didn’t build a brand. He never even used a typewriter. He wrote every word by hand. In a world of media influencers, LinkedIn thought leaders, and edtech evangelists, Postman’s ideas didn’t fit. But the deeper reason we forgot him is more unsettling. 

Remembering Postman would require a painful reckoning with how far higher education has drifted from its public mission and democratic roots. It would mean admitting that education has been refashioned not as a sacred civic institution but as a delivery mechanism for marketable credentials. It would mean asking questions we’ve tried hard to bury.

What is higher education for? What kind of people does it produce? Who decides its purpose? What stories do our schools still tell—and whose interests do those stories serve?

Postman would not call for banning screens or abolishing online learning. He was not nostalgic for chalkboards or print for their own sake. But he would demand that we pause, reflect, and resist. He would ask us to think about what kind of citizens our institutions are shaping, and whether the systems we’ve built still serve a human purpose. He would remind us that information is not wisdom, and that no innovation can substitute for meaning.

As the Higher Education Inquirer continues its investigations into the commercialization of academia, the credentialing economy, and the collapse of higher ed’s public trust, we find Postman’s voice echoing—uninvited but indispensable. His critiques were not popular in his time, and they are even less welcome now. But they are truer than ever.

We may have forgotten him. But we are living in the world he tried to warn us about.


Sources
Neil Postman and Charles Weingartner, Teaching as a Subversive Activity (1969)
Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death (1985)
Neil Postman, Technopoly: The Surrender of Culture to Technology (1992)
Neil Postman, The End of Education: Redefining the Value of School (1995)
Postman’s archived writings: https://web.archive.org/web/20051102091154/http://www.bigbrother.net/~mugwump/Postman/

HELU's Wall-to-Wall and Coast-to-Coast Report – July 2025



Higher Ed Labor United Banner

July 2025 HELU Chair’s Message

From Levin Kim, HELU Chair and member of UAW 4121, student workers, researchers and postdocs at the University of Washington

Over the first six months in office, the Trump Administration attempted to gut funding for crucial research, attack immigrant and non-citizen workers, curtail academic freedom and freedom of speech, and more. These attacks on higher ed workers and institutions have been the centerpiece of the right wing's political agenda to expand control and power over public-serving institutions in service of the interests of the ultra-wealthy few. 
Read more.

Read HELU's July 2025 Chair's Message
HELU's July 2025 newsletter contains items about movements in large systems. Some are national (the EWOC conference, the NEA organizing grants, May Day Strong, the DSA Convention). Others are state-level (Michigan and New York). Some are system-level (Arizona and California university systems). Some are about collaborations (the LA Federation of Labor, the SUNY/CUNY MADCs). This movement reflects the reality of where the higher ed labor movement is going. 
– Helena Worthen, Co-Chair, HELU Media & Communications Committee
 

From the HELU Blog:

EWOC and Higher Ed: First Conference at Labor@Wayne

EWOC, the Emergency Workplace Organizing Committee, held its first conference at Wayne State University with co-hosts Labor@Wayne on June 28 and 29. Read more.
 

The University of California System: Labor Actions Loom in 2025-2026

The longer the UC system maintains a hard line against unions at the bargaining table, the more likely it is that a majority of UC’s unionized workforce will be out of contract by the end of the 2025-26 school year. Read more.
 

NEA Offers Grants to Help Local Affiliates Pay HELU Solidarity Pledges

The National Education Association (NEA) has offered grants to local affiliates to enable them to join HELU by paying half of their solidarity pledge for one year. Read more.


Contingent Labor at the University of Arizona: One Damn Thing After Another

If it weren’t so devastating, it would be comic timing. Every year, contingent faculty, specifically lecturers with academic year appointments, at the University of Arizona are laid off in May. Then, in the fall, some are hired back in even more precarious positions as adjunct instructor. Read more.
 

Joint Union-Senate Mutual Academic Defense Compacts in SUNY and CUNY Systems

Hours before the signing of the federal budget reconciliation megabill, ten current and former leaders of SUNY’s and CUNY’s governance bodies issued a July 4 declaration. Candice Vacin, President of the SUNY Faculty Council of Community Colleges (FCCC), described it as “a solemn call to defend foundational principles of American higher education" ... Read more.
 

Michigan HELU Coalition: Organizing and Action

HELU activists in Michigan have banded together to form a state coalition to take on several existential threats to our students, universities and colleges, and our jobs. So far, the coalition has hosted several online and in-person events, actions, and meetings, each bigger than the previous one. Read more.
 

What is HELU Doing at the DSA Convention in August?

On August 9th, representatives from Higher Education Labor United will be attending the Democratic Socialists of American biennial convention in Chicago to take part in their first ever Cross-Organizational Political Exchange. Read more.
 

HELU at May Day Strong in Chicago

On July 17 and 18, Levin Kim and Executive Director Ian Gavigan traveled to Chicago for the second national May Day Strong convening hosted by the Chicago Teachers Union (CTU). Read more.
 

Mass Non-Violent Resistance Trainings in Los Angeles: Labor Leads with Power and Discipline

On July 10, 2025, 1,443 people gathered at the Los Angeles Convention Center for the largest nonviolence training in the history of the city, and perhaps the country. Read more.

 

Upcoming Events: 

Building Campus Solidarity Across Job Categories: Lessons from Recent Strikes & Adjunct Struggles
Weds., July 30 at 6pm ET/5pm CT/4pm MT/3pm PT

Join the Contingency Taskforce (CTF) of Higher Ed Labor United (HELU) for an urgent strategy discussion of how we can build campus solidarity among faculty and other higher ed workers, across job ranks, in light of the severe threats we now face. How can we organize broadly to defend the most vulnerable members of our communities? How can we help people overcome isolation and fear, discovering new courage and power by connecting with others? How can we raise up the voices and needs of historically marginalized workers and students within the broader fight to defend higher ed? Register here.

International Campus Worker & Student Organizing Meeting
Monday, August 4 at 2pm ET/1pm CT/12pm MT/11am PT

Attacks from the Trump administration are putting international students and workers in our campuses at risk. Mass SEVIS terminations, cancellations of Visa appointments, targeted attacks against Chinese nationals, ICE detentions and threats of raids in our campuses are making our jobs, our livelihoods, and the mission of our institutions unsafe. These actions follow the same pattern: attacking those who are in the most vulnerable positions to create a chilling effect on the rest of us. We demand action from colleges and universities now! Join us on Zoom August 4th at 2pm ET/1pm CT/12pm MT/11am PT to plan next steps and organizing strategies. Register here.
 

HELU Open House 
Thursday, August 14 at 6 pm ET/5 pm CT/4 pm MT/3 pm PT

HELU has been organizing since 2021 and is growing. On Thursday, August 14, at 6pm ET/5pm CT/4pm MT/3pm PT we will be hosting another HELU Open House, designed to welcome folks into the national higher ed organizing space and help everyone find a way to plug in. Join HELU on Thursday, August 14th, at 6pm ET/5pm CT/4pm MT/3pm PT. Register here
 

Library Workers Organizing Meeting & Strategy Session
Weds., August 20 at 7pm ET/6pm CT/5pm MT/4pm PT

On August 20, 2025, HELU is bringing together higher ed library workers across the country to strategize against threats to our livelihoods and profession. We will come together to meet and set our agenda, then we will break into small groups to discuss crises in academic freedom, disparities between library staff categorizations, labor organizing, austerity, and more. Our goal is to develop a platform for library worker protections to advocate for and implement across the country. Register here

Higher Ed Labor in the News

The link to Scott Douglas’ presentation on the California community college load cap, included in HELU's June 2025 newsletter, has changed. You can now access it here.

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We invite you to support HELU's work by making a direct financial contribution. While HELU's main source of income is solidarity pledges from member organizations, these funds from individuals help us to grow capacity as we work to align the higher ed labor movement.
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Who Really Rules Higher Education in Texas?

Texas has long held a paradoxical position in American higher education—home to elite research universities like the University of Texas at Austin and Rice University, sprawling community colleges, aggressive for-profit colleges, and some of the nation’s most ideological legislative battles over curriculum and control. But beneath this multifaceted system lies a sharper question: Who really rules higher education in Texas?

The answer, as in William Domhoff's Who Rules America?, lies not in the democratic ideal of a neutral, public-serving education system, but in a network of wealth, political power, and corporate interests that increasingly determine who gets educated, what they learn, and who profits.

Oil, Oligarchs, and the Board of Regents

Texas higher education has always been intertwined with fossil fuel wealth. The University of Texas and Texas A&M systems benefit from the Permanent University Fund (PUF), built from vast West Texas oil and gas revenues. This financial cushion has helped build world-class infrastructure—but it has also made these institutions vulnerable to elite capture.

Regents appointed by Republican governors—often wealthy businesspeople, energy executives, and political donors—wield enormous influence. These appointments are less about educational expertise than loyalty to political and economic interests. The Board of Regents has functioned as a tool for ideological enforcement and donor-class control, rather than a steward of academic integrity.

The Shadow Power of Elite Private Schools

Elite private institutions such as Rice University, Southern Methodist University (SMU), and Baylor University play a quieter but equally significant role in shaping Texas’s academic and cultural landscape. Heavily endowed, often legacy-driven, and historically exclusionary, these schools serve as pipelines to elite law firms, corporate boards, and government agencies.

Though less exposed to direct political interference than public schools, these institutions remain tethered to the same economic power centers—big oil, finance, and real estate. Their boards are dominated by billionaires, their research often subsidized by corporate contracts, and their prestige protected by carefully curated admissions policies. The myth of meritocracy is preserved through glossy brochures and selective philanthropy, but access remains restricted by legacy, wealth, and social capital.

The University of Austin: A Privatized Culture War Experiment

The recently launched University of Austin (UATX) has emerged as the most explicit expression of Texas’s ideological drift. Founded by anti-woke entrepreneurs and libertarian-leaning academics, UATX markets itself as a haven for free speech and anti-orthodoxy—but it is, in essence, a venture capital-funded think tank with a university label.

With backing from Silicon Valley moguls and conservative influencers, UATX represents the privatized, boutique model of ideological education: elite, exclusionary, and built from the top down. It doesn’t serve the broader public so much as it serves a political narrative. It is less about offering a robust education than cultivating a new cadre of culture warriors with academic credentials.

The Rise of Christian Nationalists and Culture War Education

In parallel, Texas’s right-wing legislature has increasingly politicized public higher education. DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) offices have been defunded. Critical race theory has been demonized. Professors face mounting surveillance and restrictions on academic content.

Senate Bill 17, sponsored by State Senator Brandon Creighton, banned DEI offices across public institutions. Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick has explicitly called for the dismissal of faculty deemed too liberal. These moves are not isolated—they reflect a growing campaign to remake public education as a conservative ideological apparatus.

Privatization and the Businessification of Education

Corporate power, meanwhile, has reshaped the educational infrastructure behind the scenes. Think tanks like the Texas Public Policy Foundation (TPPF)—funded by Koch money and fossil fuel magnates—push privatization, deregulation, and the businessification of public services.

Online program managers (OPMs), ed-tech startups, and private equity-funded providers offer turnkey degrees and credentialing schemes that promise efficiency but often deliver subpar instruction, student surveillance, and high attrition. The revolving door between university administrators and the for-profit education sector ensures that public education serves private goals.

Who’s Left Out?

Working-class Texans—especially Black, Hispanic, and rural students—remain sidelined. Community colleges, where the majority of first-generation and low-income students begin, are perennially underfunded and politically neglected. Four-year public institutions are increasingly unaffordable. Debt is rising. Admissions remain stratified by zip code, standardized tests, and legacy connections.

Undocumented students and DACA recipients, once supported by early DREAM Act-style policies, now face mounting barriers. The ideal of universal access is being eroded by systemic inequality—racial, economic, and political.

Resistance and Hope

Yet Texas is not entirely lost to reaction. Faculty groups, student organizers, and investigative journalists are pushing back. Community colleges are innovating against austerity. Alternative models of education—democratic, inclusive, publicly accountable—persist, even if they are under threat.

But to truly reclaim higher education for the people, we must see through the spectacle. Texas doesn’t just have a higher ed system—it has a ruling class that uses education to reproduce its power. Until we confront that reality, the state’s students, workers, and communities will continue to bear the cost.


In Texas, who rules higher education? Not students. Not teachers. Not communities. The answer is: oil barons, hedge funders, ideologues, and empire builders. Until that changes, higher education will remain a tool of exclusion—not liberation.


Sources:

  • Domhoff, William. Who Rules America? McGraw-Hill Education, multiple editions.

  • Texas Tribune. “Gov. Abbott's Higher Ed Appointees Have Deep Industry Ties.” Texas Tribune

  • University of Texas System. “The Permanent University Fund (PUF).” utsystem.edu

  • Inside Higher Ed. “Texas Bans DEI in Higher Education.” (2023)

  • Chronicle of Higher Education. “Dan Patrick’s Culture War Against Texas Professors.”

  • Texas Public Policy Foundation. tppf.org

  • The University of Austin. “Why We're Founding a New University.” uaustin.org

  • Hechinger Report. “Who Gets Left Behind at Texas Community Colleges?”

  • Education Trust. “Racial Disparities in Texas Higher Education Outcomes.”

  • The Century Foundation. “The Problem with Online Program Managers.”

  • The Intercept. “Billionaires and Anti-Woke Crusaders Launch a University in Texas.”

Tips, leaks, or story ideas? Contact the Higher Education Inquirer.

The Nation of Everything but Happiness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not without a reckoning.

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


Sources:

  • Anonymous quote from higher education executive, 2025

  • National Center for Education Statistics: Literacy and Outcomes

  • American College Health Association: Student Mental Health Trends

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

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

A Broken Promise: Why the GI Bill Demands Major Reform

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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