The stock market is up. Politicians beam on cable news about “economic resilience.” But on the ground, the picture looks very different. Jobs are scarce or unstable, rents keep rising, and food insecurity is back to 1980s levels. The government shutdown has hit federal workers, SNAP recipients, and service programs for the poor and disabled. And what does Washington offer the hungry? Cheese—literally and metaphorically.
Government cheese once symbolized a broken welfare system—a processed product handed out to the desperate while politicians preached self-reliance. Today’s version is digital and disembodied: food banks filled with castoffs, online portals for benefits that don’t come, “relief” programs that require a master’s degree to navigate. People are told to be grateful while they wait in line for what little is left.
Meanwhile, the headlines celebrate record-breaking stock prices and defense contracts. Billions flow abroad to Argentina, Ukraine, and Israel—especially Israel, where U.S. aid underwrites weapons used in what many describe as genocide in Palestine. Corporate media downplay it, politicians justify it, and dissenters are told they’re unpatriotic.
In the U.S., the old cry of “personal responsibility” masks the reality of neoliberal economics—a system that privatizes profit and socializes pain. When the government shuts down, it’s the poor who feel it first. The “educated underclass”—graduates burdened by debt, adjuncts working without benefits, laid-off professionals—are just a few missed paychecks away from standing in the same line for government cheese.
Yet many Americans don’t see who the real enemy is. They turn on one another—Democrats versus Republicans, urban versus rural, native-born versus immigrant—while the architects of austerity watch from gated communities. The spectacle distracts from the structural theft: trillions transferred upward, democracy traded for debt, justice sold to the highest bidder.
“Let them eat cheese” is no longer a historical joke. It’s the bipartisan message of a political class that rewards Wall Street while abandoning Main Street. And as long as the public stays divided, hungry, and distracted, the pantry of power remains locked.
Sources
U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA). “Household Food Insecurity in the United States in 2024.”
Gary Roth. "The Educated Underclass."
Congressional Budget Office (CBO). “Economic Effects of a Government Shutdown.”
Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis. “Wealth Inequality and Stock Market Concentration.”
The Intercept. “How U.S. Weapons and Aid Fuel the Assault on Gaza.”
Associated Press. “Food Banks Report Record Demand Amid Inflation.”
Jacobin Magazine. “Neoliberalism and the Return of American Austerity.”
Reuters. “U.S. Sends Billions in Loans and Aid to Argentina.”
Economic Policy Institute (EPI). “Wage Stagnation and the Cost of Living Crisis.”
The recent MSN article “I Regret Having Children — It Has Stripped My Life of Meaning” is not just a private confession. It is a mirror reflecting a collapsing social order — one where parenting, education, and labor are all defined by debt, exhaustion, and disillusionment.
In today’s America, the family, the school, and the workplace no longer promise progress; they reproduce precarity. The personal regret of parents becomes a collective symptom of a society that demands self-sacrifice but offers little reciprocity.
The Privatization of Care and the Myth of the “Good Parent”
Since the Reagan era, neoliberal ideology has reduced social problems to personal failures. Families are told to work harder, plan better, and be grateful — while the state retreats from childcare, healthcare, and education.
Parenting, once understood as a shared civic project, is now a private ordeal. The “good parent” myth demands endless self-denial while ignoring the structural forces that make family life unsustainable: stagnant wages, unaffordable housing, unaffordable education, and the erosion of community networks.
The parent who whispers, “I regret having children,” isn’t rejecting love — they are acknowledging betrayal. They were promised fulfillment through family, but abandoned by a system that commodifies care and isolates suffering.
The Dobbs Decision and the Politics of Coerced Parenthood
The 2022 Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization ruling — which overturned Roe v. Wade — deepened this betrayal. By stripping away the constitutional right to abortion, the Supreme Court forced millions into unwanted pregnancies under conditions of economic and emotional strain.
This was no accident of jurisprudence. It was the political offspring of neoliberal neglect and Trump-era authoritarianism — a regime that exalts “family values” while defunding the social infrastructure that makes family life possible.
Dobbs represents coerced parenthood in a nation without paid leave, affordable childcare, or universal healthcare. It is the culmination of a system that insists on reproduction but refuses responsibility — transforming bodily autonomy into a political battleground while leaving families to fend for themselves.
Trumpism, Despair, and Manufactured Nostalgia
Trumpism feeds on the despair that neoliberalism creates. It promises to restore “traditional America” — stable jobs, strong families, obedient children — but it offers only resentment as consolation.
When exhausted parents or debt-ridden graduates look for meaning, Trumpian populism channels their frustration toward scapegoats: immigrants, educators, feminists, the poor. It converts structural despair into cultural war.
Trump’s America is a paradox: it glorifies the family while destroying the material base that sustains it. It preaches “Make America Great Again” while keeping its base desperate, indebted, and emotionally dependent on rage.
The Rise of the Educated Underclass
Nowhere is this contradiction clearer than in the making of the educated underclass — the millions of Americans who did everything “right” but found the social contract shredded beneath them.
They earned degrees, followed career advice, and invested in the myth of meritocracy. Yet decades of wage stagnation, precarious employment, and student debt have left them economically fragile and politically disoriented.
Many are parents who believed education would secure their children’s futures. Instead, they see their own children inheriting instability — locked out of homeownership, burdened with loans, and facing a world where credentials no longer guarantee dignity.
This educated underclass, spanning teachers, social workers, adjunct professors, nurses, and mid-level professionals, represents the human fallout of the neoliberal university and the marketized economy it feeds. Their disillusionment — like parental regret — is both personal and systemic.
Higher Education as a Debt Factory
Colleges once promised upward mobility; now they manufacture anxiety and debt. The family that sacrifices for tuition does so on faith that a degree still matters. But as corporate consolidation and automation erode stable work, that faith collapses.
Parents, particularly those from the working and lower-middle class, internalize this collapse as failure — not recognizing that the problem lies in a system that sells hope on credit. Their children, emerging into a gig economy with record debt, form the next generation of the educated underclass: credentialed, precarious, and politically volatile.
Regret as a Rational Response
In this context, parental regret is not deviance — it is rational. It reflects the exhaustion of trying to raise children, pay loans, and sustain meaning in a society where everything, including love, has been commodified.
It reflects the psychic cost of neoliberalism’s lie: that education, work, and family can still deliver self-realization without collective solidarity or public investment.
And it warns of what happens when a nation loses faith not only in its institutions but in the very act of reproduction itself.
Toward a Politics of Care and Repair
To break this cycle, we must confront the intertwined crises of reproduction, education, and inequality. A humane alternative would demand:
Universal reproductive freedom — protecting the right not to bear children, and the resources to raise them with dignity.
Tuition-free higher education and student debt relief — dismantling the educated underclass.
Guaranteed childcare, healthcare, and paid leave — treating parenting as collective labor, not private suffering.
Living wages and housing justice — reestablishing the economic base of real family life.
Democratized higher education — ending the capture of universities by finance and corporate boards.
Only by restoring care as a public good — not a private burden — can we move beyond regret toward renewal.
From Regret to Resistance
The parent who says, “I regret having children,” and the graduate who says, “My degree ruined my life,” are not failures. They are witnesses. Their grief exposes the moral bankruptcy of a system that exploits care, education, and aspiration for profit.
Trumpism thrives on that despair, offering nostalgia instead of justice. Neoliberalism rationalizes it, calling it “personal responsibility.”
But the truth is collective: meaning cannot survive where solidarity has been destroyed. The antidote to regret is not silence — it is organizing. It is rebuilding a society where care, education, and dignity are shared, not sold.
Sources
MSN News, “I Regret Having Children — It Has Stripped My Life of Meaning,” 2025.
Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, 597 U.S. ___ (2022).
Donath, Orna. Regretting Motherhood: A Sociopolitical Analysis. North Atlantic Books, 2017.
Fraser, Nancy. Cannibal Capitalism. Verso, 2022.
Brown, Wendy. Undoing the Demos. Zone Books, 2015.
Giroux, Henry. Neoliberalism’s War on Higher Education. Haymarket, 2014.
Hochschild, Arlie. Strangers in Their Own Land. The New Press, 2016.
Shaulis, Dahn. The College Meltdown (Higher Education Inquirer archives).
Ambow Education, once linked to the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), is aggressively exporting its AI-driven education platform, HybriU™, to global markets—even as its footprint in the United States remains small and opaque. The company’s international ambitions raise questions about transparency, governance, and potential political influence.
Ambow’s recent partnership with Bamboo System Technology aims to scale HybriU’s AI-education ecosystem across Southeast Asia, touting a deeper technology stack and expanded distribution. Yet outside China, Ambow’s record is spotty, and critics warn that the firm’s rapid expansion may outpace oversight or educational rigor.
In the U.S., Ambow reportedly explored a partnership with Colorado State University (CSU), though details remain murky. Engagements like these, combined with its involvement with specialized institutions such as the NewSchool of Architecture and Design, suggest a strategy of targeting schools where oversight may be limited and innovation promises can be oversold.
That strategy has already seen major fallout. Bay State College, which Ambow once owned, officially closed its doors in 2024 after years of financial instability, regulatory scrutiny, and declining enrollment. The college’s demise, following Ambow’s acquisition and subsequent divestment, underscores the risks faced by institutions entangled with opaque foreign education firms that promise modernization but deliver financial collapse.
Despite these global ambitions, Ambow’s American presence is modest: a small office tucked in Cupertino, California, suggesting the company may be testing the waters in the U.S. market rather than committing to a major operational footprint.
Recent corporate moves add to the uncertainty. In October 2025, Ambow filed a stock offering for up to $80 million, a move that could significantly dilute existing shareholders and raise questions about its capital needs, liquidity, and long-term strategy. While the offering may be designed to fund global expansion of HybriU™, analysts have noted the lack of clear financial disclosures and the company’s history of volatile performance.
Promotional efforts also raise eyebrows. Former Adtalem executive James Bartholomew has been enlisted to boost Ambow’s profile, but whether his role is purely marketing or part of a broader legitimacy campaign remains unclear.
For U.S. institutions, Ambow’s history—including prior CCP ties, the collapse of Bay State College, and its aggressive share issuance—presents a cautionary tale: a company that combines ambitious AI promises with a murky past and minimal transparency. Ambow’s expansion illustrates a growing challenge in higher education—navigating partnerships with foreign edtech firms while safeguarding institutional integrity, regulatory compliance, and academic quality.
Sources: Ambow Education press releases, SEC filings, Bamboo System Technology announcements, Higher Education Inquirer reporting, and U.S. Department of Education data.
Senators Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.), Edward Markey (D-Mass.), Jeff Merkley (D-Ore.), Chris Murphy (D-Conn.), Tina Smith (D-Minn.), Elizabeth Warren (D-Mass.), Peter Welch (D-Vt.) and Chris Van Hollen (D-Md.) will hold a press conference to "discuss the Trump administration’s refusal to use a $5 billion emergency Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) fund."
Please consider joining us November 12, 2025, for the next of our bi-monthly "Global Capitalism" presentations. Our friends at Women Building Up in Brooklyn will be hosting us in their wonderful new building. We will also be sending you reminders next week together with ways you can also access the presentation on YouTube. You can register for this event by using the code on the flyer below or here is an alternative way to register: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/global-capitalism-live-with-professor-richard-wolff-tickets-1803681121789?aff=oddtdtcreator. Please feel free to circulate this further.
[Editor's Note: Readers can sign up for the event at BORROWERS AGAINST APOLLO. Ensure that you click on "Switch account" to submit the form from your Google account.]
Higher Ed Unions, Student Unions, and For-Profit College Borrowers Unite Against Trump’s “Higher Education Compact”
Several higher education unions, student unions, and former students of for-profit colleges are organizing in opposition to the Trump administration’s proposed “higher education compact”—a plan heavily shaped and promoted by private-equity billionaire Marc Rowan.
Rowan, the CEO of Apollo Global Management, has played a central role in advancing this proposal. Apollo owns several predatory for-profit institutions, including the University of Phoenix, one of the most notorious offenders in the industry.
In a recentNew York Times op-ed, Rowan took public credit for the compact, writing:
“The evidence is overwhelming: outrageous costs and prolonged indebtedness for students; poor outcomes, with too many students left unable to find meaningful work after graduating…”
Yet, under Rowan’s leadership, the University of Phoenix has become the largest source of Borrower Defense claims of any for-profit school, with more than 100,000 pending applications as of July 2025. Borrower Defense is a federal protection that allows students to seek loan forgiveness if their school misled them or violated state or federal law.
The University of Phoenix has faced multiple law enforcement investigations for deceptive recruiting tactics that targeted veterans, service members, and working adults nationwide. The school’s misconduct led to a $191 million settlement with the Federal Trade Commission for falsely claiming partnerships with major employers. More recently, the university attempted to portray itself as a public institution while seeking to sell to two states—both of which ultimately rejected the deal after public backlash.
While Rowan’s personal fortune exceeds $7 billion, borrowers continue to shoulder crushing debt from degrees that delivered little to no value. His leadership has fueled a system that profits from student harm—and now, through this compact, he is setting his sights on reshaping major public universities.
We refuse to stay silent. Borrowers, students, and educators are standing together to demand accountability and defend higher education from predatory perpetrators.
JOIN THE FIGHT AGAINST FOR-PROFIT COLLEGE GREED – NOVEMBER 7
The for-profit college industry has harmed countless students — and it’s time they hear directly from us. Join us outside Apollo Global Management Headquarters on Friday, November 7 at 11:00 a.m. to make your voice heard and demand accountability.
We’re calling on borrowers from for-profit schools who were misled or left in debt by this predatory system. Travel support may be available for anyone within train distance of New York City. We’ll provide shirts, posters, and everything you need to show up strong. (Apollo’s offices are about 20 minutes from Penn Station by subway.)
We’re also looking for University of Phoenix borrowers willing to speak publicly or to the press about their experiences. Additional travel assistance can be arranged for those coming from outside the NYC area.
If you’re ready to share your story and take a stand, reach out today. Together, we can show Apollo — and the entire for-profit college industry — that borrowers are not backing down.
CAN’T MAKE IT BUT WANT TO GET INVOLVED?
We’re always looking to connect with borrowers and allies. There are many ways to take part in this fight — from sharing your story and supporting organizing efforts to helping spread the word. Reach out to learn how you can get involved and join the movement for justice in higher education.
Detectives believe multiple shooters were involved in a mass shooting that occurred during Lincoln University's homecoming that left a 20-year-old Wilmington, Delaware man dead and six others injured.
[In 2017, we collaborated with Crush the Street on a video describing the College Meltdown.]
“Education is not merely a credentialing system; it is a humanizing act that fosters connection, purpose, and community.”
Origins
The College Meltdown began in the mid-2010s as a blog chronicling the slow collapse of U.S. higher education. Rising tuition, mounting student debt, and corporatization were visible signs, but the deeper crisis was structural: the erosion of public accountability and mission.
By 2015, the warning signs were unmistakable to us. On some campuses, student spaces were closed to host corporate “best practices” conferences. At many schools, adjunct instructors carried the bulk of teaching responsibilities, often without benefits, while administrators celebrated innovation. Higher education was quietly being reshaped to benefit corporations over students and communities — a true meltdown.
Patterns of the Meltdown
Enrollment in U.S. colleges began declining as early as 2011, reflecting broader demographic shifts: fewer children entering the system and a growing population of older adults. Small colleges, community colleges, and regional public universities were hardest hit, while flagship institutions consolidated wealth and prestige.
Corporate intermediaries known as Online Program Managers (OPMs) managed recruitment, marketing, and course design, taking large portions of tuition while universities retained risk. Fully automated robocolleges emerged, relying on AI-driven templates, predictive analytics, and outsourced grading. While efficient, these systems dehumanized education: students became data points, faculty became monitors, and mentorship disappeared.
“Robocolleges and AI-driven systems reduce humans to data points — an education stripped of connection is no education at all.”
Feeding the AI Beast
As part of our effort to reclaim knowledge and influence public discourse, we actively contributed to Wikipedia. Over the years, we made more than 12,000 edits on higher education topics, ensuring accurate documentation of predatory practices, adjunct labor, OPMs, and corporatization. These edits both informed the public and, inadvertently, fed the AI beast — large language models and AI systems that scrape Wikipedia for training data now reflect our work, amplifying it in ways we could never have predicted.
“By documenting higher education rigorously, we shaped both public knowledge and the datasets powering AI systems — turning transparency into a tool of influence.”
Anxiety, Anomie, and Alienation
The College Meltdown documented the mental health toll of these transformations. Rising anxiety, feelings of anomie, and widespread alienation were linked to AI reliance, dehumanized classrooms, insecure faculty labor, and societal pressures. Students felt like credential seekers; faculty suffered burnout.
“Addressing the psychological and social effects of dehumanized education is essential for ethical recovery.”
Trump, Anti-Intellectualism, and Fear in the Era of Neoliberalism
The project also addressed the broader political and social climate. The Trump era brought rising anti-intellectualism, skepticism toward expertise, and a celebration of market logic over civic and moral education. For many, it was an era of fear: fear of surveillance, fear of litigation, fear of being marginalized in a rapidly corporatized, AI-driven educational system. Neoliberal policies exacerbated these pressures, emphasizing privatization, metrics, and competition over community and care.
“Living under Trump-era neoliberalism, with AI monitoring, corporate oversight, and mass surveillance, education became a space of anxiety as much as learning.”
Quality of Life and the Call for Rehumanization
Education should serve human well-being, not just revenue. The blog emphasized Quality of Life and advocated for Rehumanization — restoring mentorship, personal connection, and ethical engagement.
“Rehumanization is not a luxury; it is the foundation of meaningful learning.”
FOIA Requests and Whistleblowers
From the start, The College Meltdown relied on evidence-based reporting. FOIA (Freedom of Information Act) requests were used to obtain internal communications, budgets, and regulatory filings, shining light on opaque practices. Whistleblowers, including adjunct faculty and staff at universities and OPMs, provided firsthand testimony of misconduct, financial malfeasance, and educational dehumanization. Their courage was central to the project’s mission of transparency and accountability.
“Insider testimony and public records revealed the hidden forces reshaping higher education, from corporate influence to predatory practices.”
Historical Sociology: Understanding the Systemic Collapse
The importance of historical sociology cannot be overstated in analyzing the decline of higher education. By examining the evolution of educational systems, we can identify patterns of inequality, the concentration of power, and the commodification of knowledge. Historical sociology provides the tools to understand how past decisions and structures have led to the current crisis.
“Historical sociology reveals, defines, and formulates patterns of social development, helping us understand the systemic forces at play in education.”
Naming Bad Actors: Accountability and Reform
A critical aspect of The College Meltdown was the emphasis on naming bad actors — identifying and holding accountable those responsible for the exploitation and degradation of higher education. This included:
University Administrators: Prioritizing profit over pedagogy.
Corporate Entities: Robocolleges and OPMs profiting at the expense of educational quality.
Political Figures and Ultraconservatives: Promoting policies that undermined public education and anti-intellectualism.
“Holding bad actors accountable is essential for meaningful reform and the restoration of education's ethical purpose.”
[In 2016, we called out several bad actors in for-profit higher education, including CEOs Jack Massimino, Kevin Modany, and Todd Nelson.]
Existential Aspects of Climate Change
The blog also examined the existential dimensions of climate change. Students and faculty face a dual challenge: preparing for uncertain futures while witnessing environmental degradation accelerate. Higher education itself is implicated, both as a contributor through consumption and as a forum for solutions. The looming climate crisis intensifies anxiety, alienation, and the urgency for ethical, human-centered education.
“Climate change makes the stakes of education existential: our survival, our knowledge, and our moral responsibility are intertwined.”
Mass Speculation and Financialization
Another critical theme explored was mass speculation and financialization. The expansion of student debt markets, tuition-backed bonds, and corporate investments in higher education transformed students into financial instruments. These speculative dynamics mirrored broader economic instability, creating both a moral and systemic crisis for the educational sector.
“When education becomes a commodity for speculation, learning, mentorship, and ethical development are subordinated to profit and risk metrics.”
Coverage of Protests and Nonviolent Resistance
The College Meltdown documented student and faculty resistance: tuition protests, adjunct labor actions, and campaigns against predatory OPM arrangements. Nonviolent action was central: teach-ins, sit-ins, and organized campaigns demonstrated moral authority and communal solidarity in the face of systemic pressures, litigation, and corporate intimidation.
Collaboration and Resistance
Glen McGhee provided exceptional guidance, connecting insights on systemic collapse, inequality, and credential inflation. Guest authors contributed across disciplines and movements, making the blog a living archive of accountability and solidarity:
Guest Contributors:
Bryan Alexander, Ann Bowers, James Michael Brodie, Randall Collins, Garrett Fitzgerald, Erica Gallagher, Henry Giroux, David Halperin, Bill Harrington, Phil Hill, Robert Jensen, Hank Kalet, Neil Kraus, the LACCD Whistleblower, Wendy Lynne Lee, Annelise Orleck, Robert Kelchen, Debbi Potts, Jack Metzger, Derek Newton, Gary Roth, Mark Salisbury, Gary Stocker, Harry Targ, Heidi Weber, Richard Wolff, and Helena Worthen.
Lessons from the Meltdown
The crisis was systemic. Technology amplified inequality. Corporate higher education rebranded rather than reformed. Adjunctification and labor precarity became normalized. Communities of color and working-class students suffered disproportionately.
Dehumanization emerged as a central theme. AI, automation, and robocolleges prioritized efficiency over mentorship, data over dialogue, and systems over human relationships. Rising anxiety, anomie, and alienation reflected the human toll.
“Rehumanization, mentorship, community, transparency, ethical accountability, and ecological awareness are essential to restore meaningful higher education.”
Looking Forward
As higher education entered the Trump era, its future remained uncertain. Students, faculty, and communities faced fear under neoliberal policies, AI-driven monitoring, mass surveillance, litigation pressures, ultraconservative influence, climate crises, and financial speculation. Will universities reclaim their role as public goods, or continue as commodified services? The College Meltdown stands as a testament to those who resisted dehumanization and anti-intellectualism. It also calls for Quality of Life, ethical practice, mental well-being, environmental responsibility, and Rehumanization, ensuring education serves the whole person, not just the bottom line.
Sources and References
Washington, Harriet A. Medical Apartheid. Doubleday, 2006.
Rosenthal, Elisabeth. An American Sickness. Penguin, 2017.
Skloot, Rebecca. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Crown, 2010.
Nelson, Alondra. Body and Soul. University of Minnesota Press, 2011.
Paucek, Chip. “2U and the Growth of OPMs.” EdSurge, 2021. link
Ravitch, Diane. The Death and Life of the Great American School System. Basic Books, 2010.
Alexander, Bryan. Academia Next. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2020.
U.S. Department of Education. “Closed School Information.” 2016–2020. link
Federal Reserve Bank of New York. Student Debt Statistics, 2024. link
Wayback Machine Archive of College Meltdown Blog: link
Borrowers just secured a MAJOR victory!InAFT v. U.S. Department of Education (ED), the Trump Administration agreed toprotect borrowers enrolled in Income-Driven Repayment (IDR) plans and deliver student debt relief to borrowers making payments under those plans for decades.
This is a huge milestone. At the time AFT originally filed the lawsuit in March 2025—represented by Protect Borrowers and Berger Montague—the Trump Administration had removed the application to enroll in IDR from government websites and had issued a secret order to student loan contractors to halt all IDR enrollment and processing. After we filed, the government quickly resumed accepting applications and, months later, began processing those applications again. ED’s recent agreement is the first time the Trump Administration has publicly committed its intent tofollow the law, after representations it made that it wouldn’t cancel debt under certain—and at times, any—IDR plan.
The Administration has now agreed to:
Cancel student debt for all eligible borrowers enrolled in Income-Based Repayment (IBR), Income-Contingent Repayment, and Pay As You Earn payment plans and the Public Service Loan Forgiveness (PSLF) program;
Refund any borrower who makes additional payments beyond the date of eligibility for IDR cancellation;
Process IDR applications and PSLF Buyback applications—including applications for the IBR plan from borrowers without a partial financial hardship.
Recognize the date a borrower becomes eligible for cancellation as the effective date of discharge and not issue IRS forms suggesting that cancelled debt is taxable for borrowers whose effective date is on or before December 31, 2025; and
File six monthly status reports with the court on the status of its IDR and PSLF application and loan cancellation processing—increasing transparency and accountability.
This relief will extend to all borrowers.
Borrowers urgently needed this agreement. Prior to it, borrowers eligible to have their loans cancelled in 2025 were at risk of getting stuck with a large tax bill due to the Administration’s processing delays. This is because Trump and Congressional Republicans’ “One Big Beautiful Bill Act” (OBBBA) permanently extended Congress’s 2018 action to exclude cancelled debts for death or disability from federal taxable income—but not all cancelled student loan debt. As a result, millions of borrowers who earn debt relief under an IDR plan after January 1, 2026, could see their taxes skyrocket. Working families can’t shoulder thousands of dollars in additional taxes—they’re already stretched thin by rising costs of living, a weak job market, mounting levels of debt, and OBBBA’s historic cuts to public benefits.
Students Rise Up (Project Rise Up) is a plan to organize millions of students to disrupt business as usual and force our schools and our political system to finally work for us.
Right now, billionaires and fascists are attacking our schools because they know that student protest could bring them down. Our power is that we outnumber them. If working people and students unite to use our power of disruption and non-cooperation, we can crack the foundations of their power.
It all starts on November 7th, 2025 with walkouts and protests at hundreds of schools around the country. Join us.
This month, The Higher Education Inquirer has surpassed 300,000 views, the highest in our history. That milestone is not just a number — it represents the growing community of readers who care about uncovering the truth behind higher education’s power structures.
And yet, we must also be candid: we are considering ceasing operations at the very moment our popularity is peaking. Some may find this paradox hard to understand. Why step back now, when the audience has never been larger?
The reality is that investigative journalism is most vulnerable when it is most effective. Our work has never been about clicks or page views; it has been about holding powerful institutions and the bad actors behind them accountable. With that mission has come heightened scrutiny and retaliation. The lawsuit we currently face is just one example of the legal and financial pressures designed to silence independent voices. Even when such cases are ultimately thrown out or defeated, the process is exhausting and expensive, diverting energy away from reporting and into survival.
Beyond the lawsuit, the sustainability of this project has always been tenuous. Unlike large media corporations, we have no shield of corporate lawyers, no deep-pocketed donors, and no guarantee of steady funding. Every article is the product of labor that is often invisible — research, fact-checking, and the personal toll of constant resistance to disinformation and intimidation.
In this environment, popularity does not equate to stability. If anything, it makes us more of a target. The more people read, the more those exposed by our work have an incentive to retaliate.
If The Higher Education Inquirer does close, it will not be because the audience wasn’t there. It will be because the system in which independent journalism struggles to survive has failed to protect those doing the work.
We remain deeply grateful to our readers. Whether this is a pause, a transition, or an end, we want you to understand why we are considering this step. The paradox of our situation speaks volumes about the fragility of truth-telling in America — and the lengths to which power will go to keep it contained.
University-related health care has become a sprawling and increasingly unsustainable enterprise. What began as a mission to train doctors, nurses, and medical researchers in service of the public good has morphed into a vast, profit-driven complex. Tied to the branding of universities, the financial imperatives of Big Medicine, and the precarious economics of higher education, this “Medugrift” reflects many of the same dysfunctions we see across American higher ed.
The University as Health Care Conglomerate Major research universities often operate sprawling medical centers that rival Fortune 500 corporations in both revenue and expenses. Academic health systems like those at Johns Hopkins, Duke, Michigan, or USC bring in billions annually. Yet despite this scale, their finances are increasingly fragile. They rely heavily on a combination of government reimbursements, philanthropy, and sky-high tuition from medical students—many of whom graduate with debt loads exceeding $200,000.
For universities, medical schools and hospitals serve as prestige engines and revenue streams, but they also drain resources, saddle institutions with debt, and expose them to scandals involving fraud, patient neglect, or mismanagement.
The Student and Worker Burden The workforce supporting university health systems—residents, nurses, adjunct faculty, contract staff—often face long hours, low pay relative to the work demanded, and little job security. Meanwhile, students in health care disciplines are treated less as apprentices of the healing profession and more as revenue sources for both the university and affiliated corporations.
Many young doctors-in-training are funneled into a system where their debt and exhaustion make them more compliant with the corporatization of medicine. Universities profit from this cycle, while students and patients carry the costs.
Ballooning Costs and Broken Promises Despite claims of providing cutting-edge care and serving communities, university health systems often contribute to the nation’s crisis of affordability. Hospital charges at university facilities are often higher than at non-teaching hospitals, reflecting not only the real costs of research and training but also the administrative bloat, marketing budgets, and executive compensation packages that mirror the rest of higher ed.
Patients face sticker shock, insurers pass costs to the public, and communities are left to wonder whether these “nonprofit” institutions are truly accountable.
Medugrift and the Future The term Medugrift captures the contradictions: universities use the prestige of medical schools and hospitals to attract funding and political clout, but the system feeds on debt, underpaid labor, and inflated costs. It is not financially or ethically sustainable.
As university debt rises and student loan defaults grow, the Medugrift may become a central fault line in the higher education crisis. Already, some universities have been forced to sell or spin off their hospitals. Others double down, betting on health care revenue streams to subsidize declining undergraduate enrollments.
But this path cannot hold indefinitely. Like the broader higher education bubble, the university health care complex rests on fragile assumptions: endless student demand, limitless patient reimbursements, and unquestioned public trust. If those foundations crack, the consequences for both higher education and health care will be profound.
Nursing has long been romanticized as both a “calling” and a profession—an occupation where devotion to patients is assumed to be limitless. Nursing schools, hospitals, and media narratives often reinforce this ideal, framing the nurse as a tireless caregiver who sacrifices for the greater good. But behind the cultural image is a system that normalizes exhaustion, accepts overwork, and relies on the quiet suffering of an increasingly strained workforce.
The cultural expectation that nurses should sacrifice their own well-being has deep historical roots. Florence Nightingale’s legacy in the mid-19th century portrayed nursing as a noble vocation, tied as much to moral virtue as to medical skill. During World War I and World War II, nurses were celebrated as patriotic servants, enduring brutal conditions without complaint. By the late 20th century, popular culture reinforced the idea of the nurse as both saintly and stoic—expected to carry on through fatigue, trauma, and loss. This framing has carried into the 21st century. During the COVID-19 pandemic, nurses were lauded as “heroes” in speeches, advertisements, and nightly news coverage. But the rhetoric of heroism masked a harsher reality: nurses were sent into hospitals without adequate protective equipment, with overwhelming patient loads, and with little institutional support. The language of devotion was used as a shield against criticism, even as nurses themselves broke down from exhaustion.
The problem begins in nursing education. Students are taught the technical skills of patient care, but they are also socialized into a culture that emphasizes resilience, self-sacrifice, and “doing whatever it takes.” Clinical rotations often expose nursing students to chronic understaffing and unsafe patient loads, but instead of treating this as structural failure, students are told it is simply “the reality of nursing.” In effect, they are trained to adapt to dysfunction rather than challenge it.
Once in the workforce, the pressures intensify. Hospitals and clinics operate under tight staffing budgets, pushing nurses to manage far more patients than recommended. Shifts stretch from 12 to 16 hours, and mandatory overtime is not uncommon. Documentation demands, electronic medical record systems, and administrative oversight add layers of clerical work that take time away from direct patient care. The emotional toll of constantly navigating life-and-death decisions, combined with lack of rest, creates a perfect storm of burnout. The grand irony is that the profession celebrates devotion while neglecting the well-being of the devoted. Nurses are praised as “heroes” during crises, but when they ask for better staffing ratios, safer conditions, or mental health support, they are often dismissed as “not team players.” In non-unionized hospitals, the risks are magnified: nurses have little leverage to negotiate schedules, resist unsafe assignments, or push back against retaliation. Instead, they are expected to remain loyal, even as stress erodes their health and shortens their careers.
Recent years have shown that nurses are increasingly unwilling to accept this reality. In Oregon in 2025, nearly 5,000 unionized nurses, physicians, and midwives staged the largest health care worker strike in the state’s history, demanding higher wages, better staffing levels, and workload adjustments that reflect patient severity rather than just patient numbers. After six weeks, they secured a contract with substantial pay raises, penalty pay for missed breaks, and staffing reforms. In New Orleans, nurses at University Medical Center have launched repeated strikes as negotiations stall, citing unsafe staffing that puts both their health and their patients at risk. These actions are not isolated. In 2022, approximately 15,000 Minnesota nurses launched the largest private-sector nurses’ strike in U.S. history, and since 2020 the number of nurse strikes nationwide has more than tripled.
Alongside strikes, nurses are pushing for legislative solutions. At the federal level, the Nurse Staffing Standards for Hospital Patient Safety and Quality Care Act has been introduced, which would mandate minimum nurse-to-patient ratios and provide whistleblower protections. In New York, the Safe Staffing for Hospital Care Act seeks to set legally enforceable staffing levels and ban most mandatory overtime. Even California, long considered a leader in nurse staffing ratios, has faced crises in psychiatric hospitals so severe that Governor Gavin Newsom introduced emergency rules to address chronic understaffing linked to patient harm. Enforcement remains uneven, however. At Albany Medical Center in New York, chronic understaffing violations led to hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines, a reminder that without strong oversight, even well-crafted laws can be ignored.
The United States’ piecemeal and adversarial approach contrasts sharply with other countries. In Canada, provinces like British Columbia have legislated nurse-to-patient ratios similar to those in California, and in Quebec, unions won agreements that legally cap workloads for certain units. In the United Kingdom, the National Health Service has long recognized safe staffing as a matter of public accountability, and while austerity policies have strained the system, England, Wales, and Scotland all employ government-set nurse-to-patient standards to protect both patients and staff. Nordic countries go further, with Sweden and Norway integrating nurse well-being into health policy; short shifts, strong union protections, and publicly funded healthcare systems reduce the risk of burnout by design. While no system is perfect, these models show that burnout is not inevitable—it is a political and policy choice.
Union presence consistently makes a difference. Studies show that unionized nurses are more successful at securing safe staffing ratios, resisting exploitative scheduling, and advocating for patient safety. But unionization rates in nursing remain uneven, and in many states nurses are discouraged or even legally restricted from organizing. Without collective power, individual nurses are forced to rely on personal endurance, which is precisely what the system counts on.
The outcome is devastating not only for nurses but for patients. Burnout leads to higher turnover, staffing shortages, and medical errors—all while nursing schools continue to churn out new graduates to replace those driven from the profession. It is a cycle sustained by institutional denial and the myth of infinite devotion.
If U.S. higher education is serious about preparing nurses for the future, nursing programs must move beyond the rhetoric of sacrifice. They need to teach students not only how to care for patients but also how to advocate for themselves and their colleagues. They need to expose the structural causes of burnout and prepare nurses to demand better conditions, not simply endure them. Until then, the irony remains: a profession that celebrates care while sacrificing its caregivers.
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As colleges and universities strategize around recruitment, retention, and preparing students for success, understanding what happens “upstream” in K–12 education is increasingly vital. Recent polling on parental attitudes, reporting on educational inequality, and analysis of AI-powered test prep all point to a pipeline shaped not just by skills and readiness, but also by resources, technology, and social stratification.
Only a minority of U.S. adults, roughly 35 percent, report satisfaction with K–12 education overall. Among parents, satisfaction is much higher when asked about their own child’s schooling, with approximately 74 percent expressing approval. Nonetheless, when parents consider whether schools are adequately preparing students for life after high school—whether for college or careers—only about 30 percent feel the system is doing enough. This gap between local satisfaction and systemic concern is widening, reflecting growing anxiety about the broader preparedness of students entering higher education.
Reporting in “The Ghosts Are Real: Savage Inequalities” (Higher Education Inquirer, August 2025) emphasizes that many K–12 students face systemic disparities based on socioeconomic status, geography, school funding, and access to advanced courses. These inequalities do not just affect student satisfaction; they shape readiness and opportunity. Students from under-resourced schools often lack the foundational knowledge, coursework, and support structures that wealthier peers take for granted. In “AI‑Driven SAT Prep and the System That Creates It: Savage Inequalities and the Gatekeeping of Opportunity” (HEI, July 2025), the influence of AI-powered test prep platforms is highlighted as a further layer of stratification. While these tools provide personalized study plans, analytics, and large question banks, their cost places them out of reach for many students, giving further advantage to those who are already privileged and widening the gap in college admissions.
Historical dispossession and structural inequality further shape the pipeline. The HEI article “Wealth and Want Part 3: Dispossession, Inequality, Underfunding, and Debt” (September 2024) documents how underfunding and marginalization of certain communities begins long before college. Under-resourced K–12 schools, coupled with systemic underfunding of higher education institutions serving marginalized populations, including HBCUs, Tribal Colleges and Universities, and community colleges, perpetuate cycles of disadvantage. Students from these schools often arrive at college less prepared academically and socially, facing limited counseling, fewer advanced courses, and persistent achievement gaps.
These dynamics carry profound implications for Higher Education Institutions. Many incoming students, particularly those from under-resourced schools, will arrive with gaps in content knowledge, test preparation, academic strategies, and the informal cultural capital necessary to navigate higher education successfully. Institutions must carefully consider admissions practices, potentially placing less weight on standardized test scores and more emphasis on potential, context, and growth. Academic support must extend beyond the classroom to include mentorship, advising, financial aid counseling, test preparation assistance, and orientation programs that teach self-management and the implicit norms of college success.
AI-powered prep tools present both opportunities and ethical challenges. While they can enhance learning for some, HEIs must be mindful of inequities in access, offering partnerships, affordable alternatives, or institutional support to prevent further entrenchment of privilege. Investments upstream, including partnerships with K–12 districts, teacher professional development, curriculum alignment, and advocacy for equitable school funding, are essential to improve readiness and outcomes.
Transparency is equally important. Institutions can build trust with families by publishing outcomes disaggregated by background, including test scores, graduation rates, retention, and success relative to socioeconomic status, first-generation status, and K–12 school resources.
The K–12 pipeline is no longer solely about academic preparation. It is shaped by perceptions, resource inequality, technological gatekeeping, and historical disparities. Parents may believe their own children are doing well, but systemic challenges persist, with many students arriving at college without equal preparation. AI-driven tools may accentuate rather than mitigate these inequities. For Higher Education Institutions, the responsibility extends beyond admission: they must act as active agents of change, addressing inequities through support, advocacy, and upstream partnerships to ensure the pipeline is equitable and opportunity is genuinely accessible to all students.
Sources
The Hill. Parents’ views on K–12 education show satisfaction with child’s school but concern about broader system (2025).
Higher Education Inquirer. “The Ghosts Are Real: Savage Inequalities” (August 2025).
Higher Education Inquirer. “AI‑Driven SAT Prep and the System That Creates It: Savage Inequalities and the Gatekeeping of Opportunity” (July 2025).
Higher Education Inquirer. “Wealth and Want Part 3: Dispossession, Inequality, Underfunding, and Debt” (September 2024).
Higher Education Inquirer. “A People’s History of Higher Education in the U.S.” (June 2023).
Additional polling and public opinion reports (Gallup, EdChoice, etc.)
