Trump's Department of Education Continues to Drag Feet on Borrower Defense

On June 26th, the US Department of Education was brought to the Ninth District Court (and Judge Alsup) to show how many the Borrower Defense to Repayment cases that have been resolved per court order.  

While we wait for a transcript of the latest episode of Sweet v McMahon, what we can tell you is that the Trump government continues to drag its feet in paying back debtors who have been defrauded.  

According to Theresa Sweet:

“We really need Borrower Defense applicants included in both the full and post class of Sweet to send any denials to the Project on Predatory Student Lending. It’s important for the legal team to be able to track this and make sure there are no patterns of boilerplate denials or mass denials. It’s also really important to remember that if a Sweet class or post class member gets a denial it should include a Revise and Resubmit notice, which *must* be resubmitted on time or the denial becomes final unless the person takes it to court on their own.”

More than 950.000 student loan debtors have filed borrower defense fraud claims.

Harvard, Russia, and the Quiet Complicity of American Higher Education

In the fog of elite diplomacy and global finance, some of the United States' most prestigious universities—chief among them, Harvard—have long had entangled and often opaque relationships with authoritarian regimes. While recent headlines focus on China’s influence in higher education, far less attention has been paid to the role elite U.S. institutions have played in legitimizing, enabling, and profiting from post-Soviet Russia’s slide into oligarchy and repression.

The Harvard-Russia Nexus

Harvard University, through its now-infamous Harvard Institute for International Development (HIID), was a key player in Russia's economic transition following the collapse of the Soviet Union. During the 1990s, HIID, backed by millions of dollars in U.S. government aid through the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), provided advice on privatization and market reforms in Russia. This effort, touted as a cornerstone of democracy promotion, instead helped consolidate power among a small class of oligarchs, fueling the economic inequality and corruption that ultimately laid the foundation for Vladimir Putin's authoritarian rule.

Harvard’s involvement reached scandalous proportions. In 2001, the U.S. Department of Justice sued Harvard, economist Andrei Shleifer (a professor in Harvard's Economics Department), and others for self-dealing and conflict of interest. Shleifer and his associates were found to have used their insider access to enrich themselves and their families through Russian investments, all while supposedly advising the Russian government on behalf of the American taxpayer. Harvard eventually paid $26.5 million to settle the case.

Though the scandal damaged HIID's reputation and led to its closure, the broader complicity of the academic and financial elite in exploiting Russia’s vulnerability during the 1990s has received little sustained scrutiny.

Lawrence Summers and the Russian Connection

At the center of this story sits Lawrence Summers—a former Harvard president, U.S. Treasury Secretary, and one of the most powerful figures in the transatlantic economic order. Summers was both mentor and close associate of Andrei Shleifer. During the critical years of Russian privatization, Summers served as Undersecretary and later Secretary of the Treasury under President Clinton, while Shleifer operated HIID’s Russia project.

Despite the blatant conflict of interest, Summers never publicly disavowed Shleifer's actions. After returning to Harvard, he brought Shleifer back into the university’s good graces, protecting his tenured position and helping him avoid serious institutional consequences. This protection underscored the tight-knit nature of elite networks where accountability is rare and reputations are guarded like intellectual property.

Summers himself has invested in Russia through various vehicles over the years, and has held lucrative advisory roles with financial firms deeply enmeshed in post-Soviet economies. He also played an advisory role for Russian tech giant Yandex and has appeared at events sponsored by firms with deep Russian connections. While Summers has since criticized the Putin regime, his earlier role in enabling the very conditions that empowered it is seldom discussed in polite academic company.

A Broader Pattern of Complicity

Harvard is not alone. Institutions like Stanford, Yale, Georgetown, and the University of Chicago have produced scholars, consultants, and think tanks that helped construct the framework of neoliberal transition in Russia and Eastern Europe. These universities not only trained many of the Russian technocrats who later served in Putin’s government, but also quietly benefited from international partnerships, fellowships, and endowments tied to post-Soviet wealth.

Endowments at elite institutions remain shrouded in secrecy, and it is not always possible to trace the sources of foreign gifts or investments. But it’s clear that Russian oligarchs—many of whom owe their fortunes to the very privatization schemes U.S. economists championed—have made donations to elite Western universities or served on their advisory boards. Some sponsored academic centers and fellowships designed to burnish their reputations or reframe narratives about Russia’s transformation.

The Death of a Dissident

The failure of Western academic institutions to reckon with their role in Russia’s descent into authoritarianism became all the more glaring with the death of Alexei Navalny in February 2024. Navalny, a fierce critic of corruption and Putin’s regime, was imprisoned and ultimately killed for challenging the very system that U.S. advisers like those from Harvard helped engineer. While universities issued public statements condemning his death, few acknowledged the deeper complicity of their faculty, programs, and funders in building the oligarchic structures Navalny spent his life trying to dismantle.

Navalny repeatedly exposed how Russian wealth was funneled into offshore accounts and Western real estate, often aided by a global network of enablers—including lawyers, bankers, and academics in the West. His death is not just a symbol of Putin’s brutality—it is also a damning indictment of the institutions, both in Russia and abroad, that failed to stop it and, in many cases, profited along the way.

Where is the Accountability?

Despite the Shleifer scandal and Russia’s authoritarian consolidation, there has been no independent reckoning from Harvard or its peer institutions about their role in the failures of the 1990s or the long-term consequences of their economic evangelism. The neoliberal ideology that fueled these efforts—steeped in faith in free markets, minimal regulation, and elite technocracy—remains dominant in elite policy circles, even as it faces growing critique from both left and right.

Meanwhile, institutions like Harvard continue to influence global policy through their academic prestige, think tanks, and alumni networks. They remain powerful arbiters of truth—shaping how the public understands foreign policy, democracy, and capitalism—while rarely acknowledging their own entanglement in the darker chapters of globalization.

Elite Academia and Oligarchy

The story of Harvard and Russia is not just a tale of one institution’s failure; it is emblematic of the broader failure of elite American academia to confront its own role in the spread of oligarchy, inequality, and authoritarianism under the banner of liberal democracy. In an age when higher education is under increased scrutiny for its political and financial entanglements, the need for critical journalism and public accountability has never been greater.

The Higher Education Inquirer will continue to investigate these complex relationships—and demand transparency from the institutions that claim to serve the public good, while operating behind a veil of privilege and power. Navalny’s sacrifice deserves more than hollow statements. It requires a full accounting of how the system he died fighting was built—with help from the most powerful university in the world.

DeSantis-Led Coalition Launches New Accreditation Body: Ideology, Outcomes, and a Shift in Higher Ed Oversight

In a bold move that could upend the structure of higher education oversight in the United States, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis announced the creation of the Commission for Public Higher Education (CPHE)—a multi-state effort to challenge what he and his allies call the “activist-controlled accreditation monopoly.” The CPHE includes six Republican-led states: Florida, Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Texas.

Positioned as a new accrediting entity with a focus on “student outcomes, transparency, and ideological independence,” the CPHE represents a growing backlash against traditional regional accreditors like the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools Commission on Colleges (SACSCOC). According to DeSantis and CPHE proponents, these longstanding organizations have prioritized diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) and other perceived progressive mandates over academic quality, workforce readiness, and measurable outcomes.

The Political Context

Governor DeSantis has made higher education a central battleground in his broader cultural agenda, particularly since his administration launched efforts to eliminate DEI offices, weaken tenure protections, and reshape public university boards. The CPHE fits neatly into that larger campaign—what DeSantis calls “reclaiming higher education.”

“We’re breaking the stranglehold of the accreditation cartel,” DeSantis said in Boca Raton. “Florida is leading the way in building an education system based on results, not ideology.”

The effort is being coordinated with support from public university systems across the South, including the University of South Carolina and the University Systems of Georgia and Texas. University of South Carolina Board Chair Thad Westbrook praised the new accreditor’s “outcomes-based” framework, stating it will “benefit students while making accreditation more efficient.”

A Threat to the Federal Gatekeeping System?

Accreditation in the U.S. plays a crucial gatekeeping role: it determines whether institutions are eligible to receive federal student aid, including Pell Grants and federally backed student loans. For CPHE to have any real impact, it must eventually be recognized by the U.S. Department of Education.

That recognition is far from guaranteed. The process requires years of documentation, reviews, and approvals—and federal education officials may view CPHE’s openly political roots as problematic. Critics argue the consortium is more about ideological conformity than educational quality.

Risks and Ramifications

While the CPHE claims to offer a “rigorous” and “transparent” alternative to traditional accreditation, skeptics—including some education policy analysts and faculty advocates—warn that the real motive is political control over higher education institutions. By tying accreditation to a specific ideological framework, opponents fear that academic freedom, faculty governance, and research independence could be undermined.

There are also practical concerns. Should CPHE institutions lose recognition by federal agencies or face lawsuits over inconsistent standards, students could suffer the consequences—especially those relying on financial aid or seeking degrees with recognized accreditation.

Moreover, CPHE's narrow focus on "student outcomes" often means post-graduate earnings or job placement, metrics that oversimplify complex educational goals and ignore broader social and civic benefits of higher education.

A Test of Federalism in Higher Ed

This development marks an escalation in the state-federal tug-of-war over higher education. With the U.S. Supreme Court increasingly supportive of state autonomy, and with Congress gridlocked, states like Florida are testing how far they can go in reshaping public education under a conservative vision.

The CPHE may become a flashpoint in the national debate over what public universities are for—and who gets to decide. Whether this initiative results in meaningful improvement or becomes another chapter in the politicization of higher education remains to be seen.

Murky Waters 2: Ambow Education, Chinese Influence, and US Edtech, 2013-2025

In Chinese culture, there’s an old proverb: “混水摸鱼” — “In murky waters, it is easier to catch fish.” The lesson is clear: confusion and opacity benefit those looking to manipulate outcomes for personal gain. In politics, finance, and international affairs, it is a warning. In the case of Ambow Education Holding Ltd., it may be a roadmap.

On June 26, 2025, Ambow announced a partnership with the tiny University of the West (UWest), a Buddhist college in Rosemead, California, enrolling just 153 students. The deal will implement Ambow’s HybriU platform—a so-called “phygital” learning solution combining digital and physical education delivery—positioning the technology as a tool for expanding U.S. academic access to international students. But a closer look reveals a story less about educational innovation than about power, soft influence, and the financialization of struggling institutions.

Ambow, a Cayman Islands–registered and formerly Beijing-based EdTech firm, has quietly entrenched itself in U.S. higher education. While other sectors of the U.S. economy—especially semiconductors and AI—have become more cautious of Chinese-linked investment due to national security concerns, American higher education remains notably exposed. The Ambow-UWest partnership exemplifies that vulnerability.

This is not Ambow’s first foray into U.S. academia. In 2013, the company was delisted from the New York Stock Exchange and liquidated after accusations of accounting irregularities. Rebranded and restructured offshore, Ambow re-entered the market, acquiring distressed for-profit colleges. In 2017, it bought Bay State College in Boston. Three years later, Massachusetts fined the school $1.1 million for fraudulent advertising, inflated placement rates, and illegal telemarketing. The school shuttered in 2023 after eliminating key services, including its library, and squandering pandemic-era federal aid.

In 2020, Ambow acquired the NewSchool of Architecture and Design in San Diego. Since then, NewSchool has appeared on the U.S. Department of Education’s Heightened Cash Monitoring 2 list, signifying severe financial instability. Lawsuits followed, including one for unpaid rent and another over compensation disputes involving the school’s former president.

Still, Ambow continues to market itself as a leader in “AI-driven” phygital innovation. HybriU, its flagship platform, has been promoted at edtech and investor conferences like CES and ASU-GSV, with lofty promises about immersive education and intelligent classrooms. But the evidence is thin. The platform’s website contains vague marketing language, no peer-reviewed validation, no public client list, and stock images masquerading as real users. Its core technology, OOOK (One-on-One Knowledge), was piloted in China in 2021 but shows no signs of adoption by credible U.S. institutions.

Why, then, would a college like University of the West—or potentially a major public institution like Colorado State University (CSU), reportedly exploring a partnership with Ambow—risk associating with such an entity?

To understand the stakes, we must follow the money and the power behind the brand.

Ambow’s largest shareholder bloc is controlled by Jian-Yue Pan (aka Pan Jianyue), a Chinese executive with deep ties to the country’s tech and investment elite. Pan is general partner of CEIHL Partners I and II, two Cayman Islands entities that control roughly 26.7 percent of Ambow’s publicly floated Class A shares. He also chairs Uphill Investment Co., which is active in the semiconductor and electronics sectors, and holds board positions in tech firms with connections to Tsinghua University—one of China’s premier talent pipelines for its national strategic industries.

Pan’s voting control over Ambow gives him sweeping influence over its corporate decisions, executive appointments, and strategic direction. His role raises critical concerns about the use of U.S. higher education infrastructure as a potential channel for data access, market expansion, and soft geopolitical influence.

To further legitimize its U.S. operations, Ambow recently appointed James Bartholomew as company president. Bartholomew’s resume includes controversial stints at DeVry University and Adtalem Global Education. While at DeVry, the institution was fined $100 million by the FTC for deceptive marketing. At Adtalem, he oversaw operations criticized for offshore medical schools and active resistance to gainful employment regulations.

Even Ambow’s financial underpinnings are suspect. Its R&D spending hovers around $100,000 per quarter—trivial for a firm purporting to lead in AI and immersive tech. Its audits are performed by Prouden CPA, a virtually unknown Chinese firm, not one of the major global accounting networks. These red flags suggest not a dynamic tech company, but a shell operation kept afloat by hype, misdirection, and strategic ambiguity.

That makes its ambitions in U.S. public education all the more dangerous.

Reports that Colorado State University—a land-grant institution managing sensitive federal research—may be considering a partnership with Ambow should prompt urgent scrutiny. Has CSU conducted a full cybersecurity and national security risk assessment? Have university stakeholders—faculty, students, and the public—been involved in the review process? Or is the university racing blindly into an agreement driven by budget pressures and buzzwords?

American higher education has long been susceptible to bad actors promising solutions to enrollment declines and funding shortfalls. But in recent years, the cost of these decisions has grown. With campuses increasingly dependent on international student tuition and digital platforms, the door has opened to exploitative operators and geopolitical influence.

Ambow has already shuttered one U.S. college. Its remaining campus is on shaky footing. Its technology lacks serious vetting. Its leadership is tethered to past scandals. And its largest shareholder has interests far beyond education.

This is not just about Ambow. It is about the structural vulnerabilities in American higher education—an industry ripe for manipulation by financial speculators, tech opportunists, and foreign actors operating with impunity. The murky waters of privatized, digitized education reward those who operate without transparency.

Public universities must remember who they serve: students, faculty, and the public—not offshore shareholders or unproven platforms.

If Colorado State or any other institution moves forward with Ambow, they owe the public clear answers: What protections are in place? What risks are being considered? Who really controls the platforms delivering instruction? And most importantly, why are public institutions turning to unstable, opaque companies for core educational delivery?

As the proverb reminds us, murky waters are fertile ground for hidden agendas. But education, above all, demands clarity, integrity, and public accountability.

---

Sources:

• SEC filings and 20-F reports: sec.gov

• Massachusetts Attorney General settlement with Bay State College, March 2020

• Federal Trade Commission settlement with DeVry University, December 2016

• U.S. Department of Education Heightened Cash Monitoring List

• NYSE delisting notices, 2013

• CES and ASU-GSV conference archives, 2023–2024

• Corporate data from MarketScreener and CEIHL Partners

• Ambow’s 2023 Annual Report and quarterly 6-K filings

Disruption to Power: SoFi’s Ascendance in the Student Loan Industrial Complex

In the shadow of America’s $1.6 trillion student debt crisis, a once-disruptive fintech startup has transformed into a dominant force in the education-finance nexus. SoFi, short for Social Finance, Inc., began in 2011 as a Stanford alumni experiment to refinance student loans for well-off students. Today, it is a publicly traded financial firm with a national bank charter, major marketing campaigns, and increasing influence in Washington, D.C.

SoFi presents itself as a modern financial ally, promising to help borrowers achieve independence and long-term wealth. But beneath its sleek branding lies a business model that benefits most from refinancing the federal student debt of high-earning professionals. This approach has left millions of vulnerable borrowers behind—those who don’t attend elite institutions, who work in low-paying or public-service jobs, or who are first-generation students with higher default risks.

The core of SoFi’s business depends on moving borrowers out of the federal student loan system, where they’re entitled to income-driven repayment plans and possible loan forgiveness. Once these loans are refinanced with SoFi, those protections vanish. Private loans with SoFi offer no forgiveness options, limited hardship forbearance, and terms that shift with the whims of the financial markets. While this may work for doctors and lawyers with stable incomes, it’s a precarious arrangement for most Americans saddled with educational debt.

Over the past few years, SoFi has done more than just expand its loan offerings. It has aggressively stepped into the political arena. In 2023, the company sued the U.S. Department of Education, arguing that the federal student loan payment pause hurt its profits by reducing demand for refinancing. This legal move highlighted SoFi’s priorities and sparked public criticism, especially from borrower advocates who saw the company as putting its bottom line above public relief.

SoFi’s lobbying efforts have expanded alongside its ambitions. As federal policymakers debated student loan forgiveness and payment pause extensions, SoFi worked behind the scenes to influence the outcome in its favor. The company also lobbied to shape regulations around its other financial services, including personal loans, investing products, and even cryptocurrency offerings.

In 2022, SoFi reached a major milestone when it received a national bank charter. This shift allowed the company to operate more like a traditional bank, accepting deposits and issuing loans directly. While this expanded SoFi’s profit potential, it also blurred the lines between the fintech startup it once was and the entrenched financial institutions it claimed to disrupt.

Despite its diversification into broader financial services, student loan refinancing remains a major part of SoFi’s revenue. That core product reflects a broader trend in American higher education: a two-tiered system where financial tools are increasingly tailored to those who are already advantaged. SoFi’s ideal borrower is someone with high credit, high income, and a degree from a prestigious school. Meanwhile, millions of others—disproportionately Black and Latino borrowers, women, first-generation students, and those who left school without graduating—remain stuck in cycles of debt that SoFi has little incentive to address.

While legacy loan servicers like Navient and Nelnet have faced criticism and regulatory scrutiny, newer fintech players like SoFi have largely avoided such attention. With their slick apps, celebrity endorsements, and polished messaging, they appear modern and benevolent. But their growing influence over student lending policy and their efforts to shape federal loan programs raise serious concerns about whose interests they truly serve.

As political debates continue over the future of student debt relief, SoFi is positioning itself to thrive no matter the outcome. Its success tells a larger story about the privatization of higher education finance and the quiet consolidation of power by private firms in what was once seen as a public good.

The Higher Education Inquirer will continue to report on the forces reshaping higher ed finance. In the case of SoFi, the question remains: is this innovation—or exploitation?

House Select Committee Seeks Answers to Chinese Communist Party -Linked Bioagent Smuggling at the University of Michigan

WASHINGTON, D.C. — This week, Chairman Moolenaar of the Select Committee on China, Chairman Walberg of the Committee on Education and the Workforce, and Chairman Babin of the Committee on Science, Space, and Technology sent two letters investigating the potential agroterrorism incident in Michigan earlier this month.

The first urges the National Institute of Health and the National Science Foundation to review grants awarded to two University of Michigan professors whose labs hosted Chinese nationals recently charged by the Department of Justice with smuggling biological materials.

"The Committees found that Jian and Liu conducted research under the supervision of, or in concert with, UM professors funded by the National Institutes of Health (NIH) and the National Science Foundation (NSF). It is our position that Chinese researchers tied to the PRC defense research and industrial base have no business participating in U.S. taxpayer-funded research with clear national security implications—especially those related to dangerous biological materials," says the first letter.

The letter reveals that the Chinese nationals were tied to professors who received approximately $9.6 million in federal research funding.

The second requests information directly from the University of Michigan regarding its oversight, compliance practices, and any internal reviews related to those individuals. It comes after previous research security concerns were raised regarding the university's relationships to the People's Republic of China (PRC).

Earlier this year, the university announced it had closed its joint institute with Shanghai Jiao Tong University following a letter from Chairman Moolenaar that outlined the school's ties to Chinese military modernization efforts.

"We are deeply alarmed about recent reports and related criminal charges involving Chinese nationals with direct ties to the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) allegedly smuggling dangerous biological materials into the United States for use at UM laboratories," the letter writes. "Given the recent criminal charges within the span of a week, the Committees have respectfully urged the NIH and NSF to initiate a full review of any grants related to these incidents. To support this effort, we request that UM produce all documents and records of any due diligence, investigations, or other reviews—conducted by or on behalf of UM—concerning conflicts of interest or commitment involving any UM faculty, researchers, or individuals granted access to UM facilities."

The letters were signed by twenty-five Members of Congress from the three committees.

Read the letter to the National Institute of Health (NIH) and National Science Foundation (NSF) here.

Read the letter to the University of Michigan here.

Tracking the Elusive Truth: The Higher Education Inquirer Seeks Decades of Bankruptcy Loan Forgiveness Data

In a modest but potentially revealing inquiry, the Higher Education Inquirer has submitted a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request to the U.S. Department of Education asking for a count of the number of student loans discharged in bankruptcy from 1965 to 2024. The request, dated June 10, 2025, was acknowledged the same day by the Department’s FOIA Service Center under FOIA Request No. 25-03954-F.

“The Higher Education Inquirer is requesting a count of the number of student loans forgiven in bankruptcy per year from 1965 to 2024.”

It’s a simple request with profound implications. While the nation debates student loan forgiveness through executive action and legislative reforms, the forgotten path of bankruptcy discharge—once a legally viable option for debt relief—has been quietly buried over the past several decades.

A Timeline of Restriction: The Death of Bankruptcy Relief

When the Higher Education Act of 1965 established federal student loans, they were treated like other forms of consumer debt. Borrowers could, in principle, discharge them through bankruptcy just like credit card debt or medical bills.

But that began to change in the late 1970s, as concerns over potential abuse of the system gained traction in Congress. In 1976, a new law prohibited the discharge of federal student loans in bankruptcy within the first five years of repayment unless the borrower could prove “undue hardship”—a vague standard that was rarely met.

From there, the restrictions only grew tighter:

• 1990: The waiting period for dischargeability was extended to seven years.

• 1998: The option to discharge federal student loans in bankruptcy for any reason other than “undue hardship” was eliminated entirely. This meant student loan borrowers had to meet the strict and often inaccessible hardship standard at all times.

• 2005: Under the Bankruptcy Abuse Prevention and Consumer Protection Act (BAPCPA), Congress extended the “undue hardship” requirement to most private student loans as well—effectively removing nearly all forms of bankruptcy relief from the table for student debtors.

These changes did not result from clear evidence of widespread abuse. Rather, they were fueled by myths of “deadbeat graduates” walking away from their obligations and by lobbying from banks, guaranty agencies, and debt collection firms that profited from non-dischargeable debt. Meanwhile, evidence of hardship among borrowers grew, especially for those who attended predatory for-profit colleges or dropped out without a degree.

The Brunner Barrier

The biggest obstacle for borrowers remains the so-called “Brunner test,” a three-prong legal standard established in a 1987 court case, Brunner v. New York State Higher Education Services Corp. It requires borrowers to prove:

1. They cannot maintain a minimal standard of living if forced to repay the loans,

2. Their financial situation is unlikely to improve, and

3. They made a good-faith effort to repay the loans.

Many judges interpreted these criteria narrowly, creating a virtually insurmountable hurdle. Borrowers with severe disabilities, advanced age, or long-term unemployment have been denied relief even when destitute.

What We Still Don’t Know

Despite these legal developments and the hardship they created, data on how many people have succeeded in discharging their student loans through bankruptcy remains remarkably scarce. Advocacy groups and journalists have long questioned why no federal agency tracks this information in a clear, public-facing format.

That’s what prompted the Higher Education Inquirer’s FOIA request—an effort to establish a factual baseline. We asked the Department of Education for an annual count of bankruptcy discharges involving student loans over a 60-year period, from 1965 to 2024.

The Bureaucratic Wall

According to the Department’s FOIA Service Center, the average processing time for such requests is currently 185 business days—about nine months. While the Department did not ask for clarification immediately, it reserves the right to do so within ten business days. Failure to respond to such a request would result in administrative closure of the FOIA—yet another form of delay that keeps the public in the dark.

This bureaucratic stonewalling is part of a larger pattern. While the Department of Education has been quick to announce student loan forgiveness programs under executive orders or settlement agreements, it remains reluctant to shine a light on longstanding failures—especially the erosion of legal remedies like bankruptcy.

A Step Toward Truth and Accountability

The public deserves a clear view of the history and consequences of stripping bankruptcy protections from student borrowers. It’s not just a legal matter—it’s a story of systemic neglect, political pressure, and financial exploitation. Without access to historical data, reform remains a guesswork operation and accountability remains elusive.

We at the Higher Education Inquirer will continue to press for answers. If and when the FOIA request is fulfilled, we will publish the data and conduct a thorough analysis, year by year. We believe that exposing the truth about student loan bankruptcy isn’t just a matter of curiosity—it’s a step toward justice.

If you have experience with student loan bankruptcy, data that could assist our investigation, or simply want to share your story, contact us at gmcghee@aya.yale.edu.

Fintech’s Student Loan Empire in the Age of Trump

As the second Trump administration wages war on the Department of Education, disbands regulatory protections, and openly courts billionaires over borrowers, another machine continues humming in the background—one that rarely makes headlines but stands to profit from the coming deluge of student loan defaults.

Enter Credible, LendKey, Purefy, and Splash Financial—a quartet of fintech firms with shiny websites, soothing interfaces, and predatory precision. Together, they represent a new face of student debt capitalism, where algorithms replace accountability and refinancing replaces relief.

With federal repayment programs in disarray and income-driven repayment options under political attack, these platforms are poised to scoop up disoriented borrowers, offering them lower rates in exchange for their last shred of protection. In this era, fintech isn’t just a workaround to broken federal systems. It’s a weaponized mechanism of privatization, hiding in plain sight.

---

Credible: Fox News Meets Finance

Credible, a loan comparison site launched in 2012 and bought by Fox Corporation for $265 million, exemplifies the corporate convergence of media, politics, and predatory finance. Its business model is simple: steer borrowers to private lenders and collect a fee.

What makes Credible especially dangerous now is its backing by Rupert Murdoch’s empire, giving it privileged placement across conservative media. In the Trump era, where truth and financial ethics are negotiable, Credible becomes part of the machinery: a platform peddling student loan refinancing under the banner of “freedom” and “individual responsibility.”

Its prequalified offers may seem consumer-friendly, but the reality is more sinister: borrowers lose access to Public Service Loan Forgiveness (PSLF), income-driven repayment, and federal deferment rights—often without full disclosure. And there’s no federal watchdog left with the teeth to stop it.

---

LendKey: Privatization via Local Lending

Once hailed as a democratizing force in student lending, LendKey now serves as the gateway for credit unions and small banks to enter the refinancing market. By providing digital infrastructure and loan servicing, LendKey enables even the smallest financial institution to compete in the debt arms race.

But it’s no populist hero. In a Trumpian economy where regulatory oversight is gutted, LendKey helps funnel borrowers from federal protections into private debt with fewer rights and more risk. Its loans are marketed with community-friendly language, but behind the scenes they’re just another piece in a growing puzzle of financialization.

As the default rate ticks up—and it will, with millions unprepared for repayment—LendKey's partner institutions may face waves of delinquency. But LendKey still profits, regardless of whether its borrowers sink.

---

Purefy: Elite Refinancing in an Age of Collapse

Purefy, partnered closely with Pentagon Federal Credit Union (PenFed), continues to focus on white-collar borrowers and high-income households. With its niche offerings—like spousal loan refinancing and Parent PLUS buyouts—Purefy doesn’t hide its demographic targets. It’s a platform for the haves—not the have-nots.

Now, in a Trump-led America where debt relief is dead on arrival, Purefy serves as a lifeboat for select borrowers, mostly those with six-figure incomes and perfect credit. For everyone else, there’s no rescue—just rising interest, frozen wages, and default letters.

What’s worse: Purefy’s slick interface masks its private lending alliances, and borrowers often don’t know whether their servicer is PenFed, ELFI, or someone else entirely. Transparency, once a fintech virtue, has eroded into strategic ambiguity.

---

Splash Financial: A Fintech Platform for the 1%

Initially built to refinance medical school debt, Splash Financial has expanded into a broader fintech infrastructure role, helping banks and credit unions deploy private loan products under white-label brands. Recently acquired by Nymbus, Splash is less about helping borrowers and more about selling digital weaponry to lenders.

Its target demographic—doctors, dentists, tech professionals—is largely insulated from the coming crash. But as student loan interest rates climb and defaults spike, Splash stands to gain by filtering the "creditworthy" from the desperate, feeding clean data to lenders while offloading risk onto consumers.

In the new political regime, where borrowers are told to “pay what they owe” and compassion is framed as weakness, Splash’s business model looks less like innovation and more like extraction by design.

---

The Coming Storm: Defaults and Deregulation

Federal student loan payments have resumed, but millions are behind or confused. The SAVE plan is under legal attack. Forbearance options are shrinking. Servicers are overwhelmed or deliberately opaque. The Biden-era reforms are being dismantled, and debt relief promises are evaporating under Trump’s budget cuts and executive orders.

This is a perfect storm for fintech lenders. As traditional repayment plans implode, desperate borrowers will turn to refinancing offers—many not realizing that by switching to private loans, they’re permanently shutting the door on cancellation, forgiveness, or manageable repayment plans.

In this new default economy, the winners are not educators or students—but platforms like Credible, Purefy, LendKey, and Splash. They won’t bear the burden of broken promises or economic ruin. They’ll take their cut, rinse, and repeat.

---

An Engine of Extraction

This is not innovation. It is not disruption. It is digital debt peonage, dressed in Silicon Valley branding and sold as financial freedom.

In the second Trump administration, student loan fintech is flourishing, not in spite of the chaos—but because of it. These companies are the beneficiaries of policy neglect, privatization, and regulatory retreat. They are the corporate middlemen of misery, accelerating the financial collapse of an entire generation.

If there’s a future reckoning for student debt in America, it won’t begin on a campaign trail or in a press conference. It will begin with the simple question: Who profits when borrowers fail?

The Higher Education Inquirer’s Dramatic Rise in Viewership

The Higher Education Inquirer has experienced a dramatic surge in readership in recent months, defying the odds in a media ecosystem dominated by corporate influence, algorithmic manipulation, and declining public trust. Without the benefit of advertising dollars, search engine optimization tactics, or institutional backing, the Inquirer has built an expanding audience on the strength of its investigative rigor, academic credibility, and fearless confrontation of power in higher education.

The Inquirer’s success lies in its refusal to chase headlines or appease stakeholders. Instead, it examines the underlying systems that have shaped the American higher education crisis—escalating student debt, the exploitation of adjunct faculty, administrative overreach, the encroachment of private equity, and the weakening of regulatory oversight. Its reporting draws directly from primary source documents: internal university records, SEC filings, FOIA requests, and government data from the U.S. Department of Education, Department of Veterans Affairs, and other public institutions. Readers trust the Higher Education Inquirer not simply because it is independent, but because it is evidence-based and relentlessly honest.

This journalistic integrity has attracted a diverse and influential group of contributors whose work amplifies the publication’s reach and credibility. Among them is David Halperin, an attorney, journalist, and watchdog who has long held the for-profit college industry accountable. Halperin’s sharp investigative writing has helped shape federal policy, inform regulatory action, and expose the inner workings of a powerful, often unregulated sector of higher education.

Other essential contributors include Henry Giroux, whose writing connects neoliberalism, authoritarianism, and education policy; Bryan Alexander, who offers foresight into technological and demographic changes shaping the future of academia; and Michael Hainline, who combines investigative rigor with grassroots activism. Together, these voices reflect a commitment to intellectual diversity grounded in a shared mission: to make sense of a higher education system in crisis, and to imagine alternatives.

HEI's timing could not be more significant. As student loan debt hits historic levels, public confidence in higher education erodes, and international students reassess their futures in the United States, people are seeking answers—and not from the usual pundits or PR firms. They’re turning to sources like the Inquirer that offer clarity, accountability, and a refusal to look away from injustice.

With more than 700 articles and videos in its growing archive, the Inquirer has become a vital resource for researchers, journalists, educators, and activists alike. And unlike many mainstream outlets, it remains open-access, free of paywalls and advertising clutter. It encourages participation from readers through anonymous tips, public commentary, and shared research, building a collaborative community that extends beyond the screen.

Last week, more than 30,000 readers visited the site—a significant number for an independent, ad-free platform. But more than numbers, this growth signals a shift in how people consume and value journalism. It shows that there is a real appetite for media that holds power accountable, that prioritizes substance over spectacle, and that dares to tell the truth even when it’s inconvenient.

The Higher Education Inquirer is not chasing influence—it’s earning it. Through fearless reporting, scholarly insight, and a commitment to justice, it has become a trusted voice in the fight to reclaim higher education as a public good. And with its core group of contributors continuing to inform and inspire, the Inquirer is poised to grow even further, serving as a beacon for those who believe that education—and journalism—should serve the people, not the powerful.

Liberty University Targeting Vets for Robocollege Master's Degrees

Liberty University, one of the largest Christian universities in the world, has built an educational empire by promoting conservative values and offering flexible online degree programs to hundreds of thousands of students. But behind the pious branding and patriotic marketing lies a troubling pattern: Liberty University Online has become a master’s degree debt factory, churning out credentials of questionable value while generating billions in student loan debt.

Massive Debt Load: New Federal Data

The Higher Education Inquirer has recently received a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) response (25-01939-F) confirming the staggering financial footprint of Liberty University’s loan-driven model. According to the data, more than 290,000 Liberty University student loan debtors collectively owe over $8 billion in federal student loan debt.

This figure places Liberty among the nation’s top producers of student debt, especially at the graduate level. The data underscores the scale of Liberty’s online operation—and raises serious concerns about the value students are receiving in return for their investment.

From Moral Majority to Mass Marketing

Founded in 1971 by televangelist Jerry Falwell Sr., Liberty University was created to train “Champions for Christ.” In the 2000s, the university reinvented itself through online education, growing from a modest evangelical college into a global mega-university. Today, nearly 95,000 students are enrolled online—most of them nontraditional learners pursuing graduate credentials in fields like education, business, counseling, and theology.

This transformation was powered by digital marketing, religious rhetoric, and direct appeals to working adults and veterans. But what has emerged is a high-volume, low-engagement “robocollege” model that has led to massive student debt and mixed outcomes.

A For-Profit Model in Nonprofit Clothing

Though it operates as a nonprofit, Liberty functions much like a for-profit college. Its online programs generate an estimated $1 billion in annual revenue, mostly through federal student aid and military education benefits.

Students are funneled into fast-tracked, eight-week master’s programs that promise convenience but often fail to deliver quality or post-graduate opportunity. According to U.S. Department of Education data, median graduate student debt at Liberty ranges from $40,000 to $70,000, while returns on investment—measured in earnings and job placement—are questionable at best.

Robocollege for Warriors

Liberty markets itself as a military-friendly institution and has enrolled over 40,000 military-affiliated students in recent years. Through patriotic branding and targeted discounts, the university appeals to service members seeking affordable, faith-based education.

However, Liberty does not extend military tuition discounts to LGBTQ spouses or partners, effectively excluding same-sex families from benefits offered to heterosexual military couples. This discriminatory policy contradicts federal nondiscrimination principles but has gone unchallenged by any federal oversight agency, including the U.S. Department of Education, the Department of Defense, and the Department of Veterans Affairs.

The absence of accountability underscores a broader pattern: religious institutions like Liberty continue to receive billions in public funds while applying selective moral frameworks to exclude marginalized communities.

Liberty’s discriminatory practices add insult to injury for LGBTQ military students and their families, who are asked to sacrifice for their country but denied equal access to educational support.

Automated, Ideologically Charged Learning

Liberty’s academic model is highly automated and often superficial. Online coursework typically consists of textbook readings, quizzes, and templated discussion posts—with little direct instruction or feedback from faculty. Many students report that religious ideology is embedded in even technical fields, from business to engineering.

“They put scripture in every assignment—sometimes where it makes no sense,” said one former student.
“It’s more like an indoctrination pipeline than a graduate school,” added a military spouse who withdrew from the program.

Liberty’s online aviation program came under fire in 2023 when the VA suspended GI Bill payments due to quality concerns. Veterans were left stranded mid-program, forced to pause their education or self-fund tuition after losing federal support.

A Dual Identity: Race and Class Divides

Liberty’s racial and socioeconomic divides are stark. Its residential campus in Lynchburg, Virginia, is 74% white, with just 4% of students identifying as Black, 5% Latino, and 2% Asian or Pacific Islander. The number of African American students on campus has declined in recent years, even as national college demographics diversify.

This imbalance reflects Liberty’s historical roots: founder Jerry Falwell Sr. publicly defended racial segregation and opposed civil rights legislation in the 1960s. While Liberty has distanced itself from these positions rhetorically, the legacy remains visible in the composition and culture of the on-campus student body.

In contrast, Liberty University Online (LUO) is much more diverse. In 2017, only 51% of LUO undergraduates were white, and 15.4% identified as Black. Many LUO students are older, work full-time, and represent the multiracial, working-class America that Liberty’s campus culture does not reflect or represent.

Exploiting Faith and Patriotism

Liberty’s marketing presents education as a spiritual and patriotic calling—especially appealing to military families and first-generation students seeking purpose and stability. But behind the inspirational messaging lies a hard financial truth: many students are left with heavy debt and degrees that may not align with licensure standards or employer expectations.

Liberty pours resources into advertising and retention but spends comparatively little on faculty pay, student advising, or academic support. Complaints about misleading information, difficulty transferring credits, and job placement struggles are common.

Lack of Oversight, Political Protection

Despite numerous scandals—including leadership resignations, sexual misconduct coverups, and allegations of financial mismanagement—Liberty continues to operate with limited regulatory scrutiny. Its nonprofit status and political influence, particularly within conservative circles, shield it from the kind of oversight faced by for-profit colleges.

During the Trump administration, higher education accountability was dramatically weakened, giving Liberty and similar institutions near-total freedom to expand unchecked. That permissive environment remains largely intact.

A Cautionary Tale in Christian Capitalism

Liberty University’s rise reveals a troubling convergence of religion, profit, and political power. What’s marketed as moral education is often little more than credential inflation funded by public debt. And for students of color, LGBTQ families, and military veterans, the promises of upward mobility too often end in disappointment—and financial ruin.

With more than 290,000 Liberty student loan debtors owing over $8 billion, the scale of Liberty’s impact on the nation’s student debt crisis is undeniable. Yet its discriminatory practices, especially against LGBTQ military families, go unanswered by federal authorities.

For an institution claiming to train "Champions for Christ," Liberty’s actions tell a different story—one where profit is paramount, and equity is an afterthought.

---

The Higher Education Inquirer will continue investigating Liberty University and similar institutions, particularly those profiting from vulnerable populations under the banners of faith, freedom, and flag.

A Growing Wall: International Students from Dozens of Nations Face Potential U.S. Entry Ban

Under President Donald Trump’s second term, U.S. immigration policy has taken another dramatic and punitive turn—this time targeting international students not only from historically marginalized nations but also from America’s largest educational partners. A leaked State Department memo dated June 14 warns that 36 additional countries, most of them in Africa, face imminent visa restrictions unless they meet stringent new compliance standards within 60 days. The consequences could be devastating—not just for prospective students, but for those already here, many of whom have been detained, deported, or left the country in fear.

While the list in the memo includes countries such as Nigeria, Egypt, Ghana, Ethiopia, and Cameroon—nations that send thousands of students to the United States—what is already unfolding extends beyond the African continent. Students from China and India, the top two sources of international enrollment in the U.S., have also found themselves caught in an increasingly hostile environment.

Hundreds of students from China and India have already been detained, interrogated, and in some cases deported at airports across the U.S., even when holding valid visas. Customs and Border Protection agents have reportedly cited vague “national security concerns” or accused students of being affiliated with banned organizations, including universities linked to Chinese military or surveillance activity. In some instances, students have been denied entry without access to legal representation, held overnight, and put on planes home.

In April, multiple Indian graduate students—some with full scholarships—were refused entry at U.S. airports and summarily deported. Others have chosen to abandon their programs altogether, fearing further harassment or immigration complications. The same pattern is playing out among Chinese students, especially those in STEM fields, who are now seen by some U.S. officials as potential security threats.

Meanwhile, the State Department’s June 14 memo sets its sights on a broad new swath of countries. If restrictions go into effect, they will impact not only future student visa applicants but also those currently enrolled in the U.S. who may soon find themselves unable to renew visas, travel for family emergencies, or continue their studies without disruption.

The original June 4 proclamation—Proclamation 10949—already banned entry from countries including Afghanistan, Iran, Libya, Sudan, and Yemen. But the new, expanded list includes 36 additional countries such as Angola, Benin, Cambodia, Cameroon, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Liberia, Malawi, Niger, Syria, Uganda, and Zimbabwe. Many of these nations have only a modest number of students in the U.S., but several—like Nigeria, Ghana, Egypt, and Ethiopia—have longstanding educational ties and large student populations.

Even institutions such as the University of Pennsylvania have acknowledged disruptions. More than 200 of their international students and scholars are reportedly affected by the current travel bans. Administrators have warned students from targeted countries not to leave the U.S. for fear they won't be allowed to return. Legal clinics and international offices are overwhelmed, and some campuses are quietly reassessing how much they can rely on foreign enrollment moving forward.

For many universities, the timing couldn’t be worse. Shrinking domestic enrollment, financial shortfalls, and growing political hostility toward diversity, equity, and global engagement have already strained budgets and missions. International students, who often pay full tuition, have long been seen as a financial lifeline for underfunded institutions. Now, that lifeline is fraying—if not being intentionally cut.

The Trump administration’s framing of these changes centers on alleged concerns over visa overstays, document fraud, and national security. But critics argue the administration is using fear to further a nationalist agenda—one that openly targets Black and brown-majority nations, and casts suspicion on even the most vetted international applicants.

The damage to the reputation of American higher education may be incalculable. Canada, Australia, Germany, and the UK have already begun to benefit from the perception that the U.S. is hostile to foreign students. University partnerships, research initiatives, and global talent recruitment are all at risk. So too is the decades-long project of soft diplomacy that American education once represented.

And the fear is real. Stories of students being detained or deported without warning are now common in diaspora communities. International student applications to U.S. universities are dropping. Families abroad are beginning to steer their children away from what once was the gold standard of global education.

The Higher Education Inquirer will continue to track these developments. With the stroke of a pen, thousands of academic journeys could be disrupted or ended altogether. For now, uncertainty hangs over a system that once claimed to be open to the world—and now looks increasingly closed off.

Ambow Education's Latest Move Raises Red Flags—A Second Warning to Colorado State University

On June 11, Ambow Education Holding Ltd. (NYSE American: AMBO) announced the appointment of James Bartholomew as its new president, emphasizing his leadership experience at DeVry University and Adtalem Global Education. While this move is being framed as part of a bold pivot toward global expansion through its hybrid learning platform, HybriU, the deeper reality of Ambow’s operations suggests that institutions like Colorado State University (CSU) should proceed with extreme caution.

Ambow Education is no stranger to controversy. In May 2022, The Higher Education Inquirer began investigating the company after credible tips about its mismanagement of Bay State College in Boston. The Massachusetts Attorney General had already fined the school in 2020 for misleading students. By August 2023, Bay State College closed abruptly, leaving behind a mess for students and staff. Throughout this time, Ambow operated with an alarming level of opacity, raising concerns among journalists, regulators, and public officials—including Senator Elizabeth Warren and Representative Ayanna Pressley.

Ambow’s financial practices and leadership structure have remained elusive, with lingering ties to the People’s Republic of China (PRC). The company sold its PRC-based assets in 2022 and relocated to a small office in Cupertino, California, but its auditor remains based in China, and it has expressed interest in projects in Morocco and Tunisia involving Chinese-affiliated partners. The proverb about fishing in murky waters aptly describes how Ambow has operated in both Chinese and American markets.

Now, Ambow is promoting HybriU, a “phygital” platform it claims is revolutionizing education and corporate communication. Marketed heavily at events like CES and ASU-GSV, HybriU has been linked to a $1.3 million contract with a small firm in Singapore, but no major U.S. clients have been named. Visuals from the company’s website include stock images, and there’s no publicly available evidence that HybriU is delivering measurable results in any real-world education setting. The platform’s “OOOK” (One-on-One Knowledge) technology was first introduced in China in 2021, but it has yet to prove itself in American classrooms.

James Bartholomew’s appointment appears to be aimed at lending credibility to the HybriU initiative. However, his background warrants a closer look. DeVry University, where Bartholomew previously served as CEO, was embroiled in a long list of scandals, including a $100 million settlement with the Federal Trade Commission in 2016 for deceptive advertising practices. These included inflated job placement claims and misleading earnings expectations for graduates. The Department of Education also scrutinized DeVry for poor student loan repayment metrics and aggressive recruiting tactics.

At Adtalem Global Education—DeVry’s former parent company—similar concerns persisted. Offshore medical schools under Adtalem’s umbrella, such as Ross University and American University of the Caribbean, were criticized for high tuition, student debt, and low U.S. residency placement rates. The company spent years lobbying against federal gainful employment regulations that were designed to protect students from predatory institutions. While Bartholomew may not have initiated these practices, he held leadership roles during a time when the institutions were navigating declining trust, financial turbulence, and increasing regulatory scrutiny.

Against this backdrop, reports have emerged that Colorado State University is considering a partnership with Ambow to implement the HybriU platform. On the surface, this might seem like a step toward innovation and flexibility in digital learning. But such a partnership could expose CSU to national security and data privacy risks, regulatory backlash, reputational damage, and questionable academic outcomes.

Given Ambow’s historical ties to the PRC, questions have been raised about the possibility of exposing sensitive university data to foreign surveillance or influence. CSU is a major research university with partnerships across science, defense, and technology. Even the perception that its digital infrastructure could be compromised could undermine public trust and jeopardize government grants and contracts.

The regulatory landscape is also increasingly cautious when it comes to foreign influence, particularly from China, in American higher education. Federal agencies have warned about the risks of partnerships that could compromise institutional independence or data integrity. Entering into a relationship with a firm like Ambow could place CSU under increased scrutiny or spark political backlash.

From a pedagogical perspective, HybriU is unproven. It has yet to demonstrate any significant results in U.S. education settings, and its claims are not substantiated by independent data. Adopting a platform without a strong record could endanger CSU’s teaching mission and student learning experiences at a time when the credibility of online education remains fragile.

Historically, investors and institutions have backed away from Ambow. The company was delisted from the NYSE in 2014 following accounting fraud allegations and shareholder lawsuits. It has struggled to maintain financial health and transparency. Its last remaining U.S. college, NewSchool of Architecture and Design in San Diego, has just 280 students and is currently under Heightened Cash Monitoring (HCM2) by the U.S. Department of Education. Lawsuits in San Diego allege non-payment of rent and unpaid compensation to the school’s former president. 

Meanwhile, Ambow has commissioned favorable research reports—like one from Argus Research—even though its spending on research and development remains remarkably low, at only $100,000 per quarter. Its current auditor, Prouden CPA, is new to the company’s books and based in China. Whether Ambow’s next annual report will bring clarity or further confusion remains to be seen.

For these reasons, The Higher Education Inquirer urges the leadership of Colorado State University to approach Ambow with skepticism and perform exhaustive due diligence. The CSU community deserves full transparency regarding Ambow’s ownership, financial practices, and data handling policies. Decisions should be made in consultation with cybersecurity experts, faculty, IT professionals, and government advisors. Alternative domestic edtech providers should be considered—especially those that are accountable, proven, and aligned with CSU’s mission.

At a time when public trust in higher education is strained and geopolitical tensions are high, it is not enough to adopt flashy technology for the sake of appearance. Colorado State University—and the taxpayers who support it—deserve better than an experiment based on unproven claims and a troubling history. CSU should reconsider any move forward with Ambow, before it finds itself entangled in another education debacle disguised as innovation.

Gaining Early Awareness and Readiness for Undergraduate Programs (Department of Education Partnership Grants)

 

Documents from Education Department

Matching Documents Education Department Notices Applications for New Awards: Gaining Early Awareness and Readiness for Undergraduate Programs (Partnership Grants); Correction FR Document: 2025-10649 Citation: 90 FR 24601 PDF Pages 24601-24603 (3 pages) Permalink Abstract: On November 20, 2024, the Department of Education (Department) published in the Federal Register a notice inviting applications (NIA) for fiscal year (FY) 2025 for the Gaining Early Awareness and Readiness for Undergraduate Programs (GEAR UP) Partnership Grants competition. The NIA established a deadline date of February 3, 2025, for the transmittal of applications. The Department is correcting the NIA by removing the competitive preference priorities. This notice also reopens the competition... Gaining Early Awareness and Readiness for Undergraduate Programs (State Grants); Correction FR Document: 2025-10537 Citation: 90 FR 24598 PDF Pages 24598-24601 (4 pages) Permalink Abstract: On November 20, 2024, the Department of Education (Department) published in the Federal Register a notice inviting applications (NIA) for fiscal year (FY) 2025 for the Gaining Early Awareness and Readiness for Undergraduate Programs (GEAR UP) State Grants competition. The NIA established a deadline date of February 3, 2025, for the transmittal of applications. The Department is correcting the NIA by removing some of the competitive preference priorities. This notice also reopens the...

What do the University of Phoenix and Risepoint have in common? The answer is a compelling story of greed and politics.

In the increasingly commodified world of higher education, the University of Phoenix and Risepoint (formerly Academic Partnerships) represent parallel tales of how private equity, political influence, and deceptive practices have shaped the online college landscape. While their paths have diverged in branding and institutional affiliation, the underlying motives and outcomes share disturbing similarities.

---

The University of Phoenix: A Legacy of Legal and Ethical Trouble

The University of Phoenix (UOP) has been a central player in the for-profit college boom, particularly during and after the 2000s. Under the ownership of Apollo Education Group, and later the Vistria Group, UOP has faced a relentless stream of lawsuits, regulatory scrutiny, and public outrage.

In 2019, the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) reached a $191 million settlement with UOP over allegations of deceptive advertising. UOP falsely claimed partnerships with major corporations like Microsoft, AT&T, and Twitter to entice students. The result was $50 million in restitution and $141 million in student debt relief.

But the legal troubles didn’t stop there. In 2022 and 2023, the U.S. Department of Education included UOP in a broader class action that granted $37 million in borrower defense discharges. These claims stemmed from deceptive marketing and predatory recruitment practices.

Meanwhile, in 2024, the California Attorney General settled with UOP for $4.5 million over allegations of illegally targeting military service members between 2012 and 2015. The university’s controversial relationship with the military community also led to a temporary VA suspension of GI Bill enrollments in 2020.

The legal history includes False Claims Act suits brought by whistleblowers, including former employees alleging falsified records, incentive-based recruiter pay, and exaggerated graduation and job placement statistics. In 2019, Apollo Education settled a securities fraud lawsuit for $7.4 million.

More recently, UOP has been embroiled in political controversy in Idaho. In 2023 and 2024, the Idaho Attorney General challenged the state's attempt to acquire UOP, citing Open Meetings Act violations and lack of transparency. Though a federal judge initially dismissed the suit, Idaho’s Supreme Court allowed an appeal to proceed.

Through all of this, Vistria Group—UOP’s private equity owner since 2017—has reaped massive profits. Vistria was co-founded by Marty Nesbitt, a close confidant of Barack Obama, underscoring the bipartisan political protection that shields for-profit education from lasting accountability.

---

Risepoint and the Online Program Management Model

Risepoint, formerly Academic Partnerships (AP), tells a similarly troubling story, albeit from the Online Program Manager (OPM) side of the education-industrial complex. Founded in 2007 by Randy Best, a well-connected Republican donor with ties to Jeb Bush, AP helped universities build online degree programs in exchange for a significant cut of tuition—sometimes up to 50%.

This tuition-share model, though legal, has raised ethical red flags. Critics argue it diverts millions in public education dollars into private hands, inflates student debt, and incentivizes aggressive, misleading recruitment. The most infamous case was the University of Texas-Arlington, which paid AP more than $178 million over five years. President Vistasp Karbhari resigned in 2020 after it was revealed he had taken international trips funded by AP.

Risepoint was acquired by Vistria Group in 2019, placing it in the same portfolio as the University of Phoenix and other education businesses. The firm’s growing influence in higher education—fueled by Democratic-aligned private equity—reflects a deeper entanglement of politics, policy, and profiteering.

In 2024, Minnesota became the first state to ban new tuition-share agreements with OPMs like Risepoint. This legislative action followed backlash from a controversial deal between Risepoint and St. Cloud State University, where critics accused the firm of extracting excessive revenue while offering questionable value.

Further pressure came from the federal level. In 2024, Senators Elizabeth Warren, Sherrod Brown, and Tina Smith issued letters to major OPMs demanding transparency about recruitment tactics and tuition-share models. The Department of Education followed in January 2025 with new guidance restricting misleading marketing by OPMs, including impersonation of university staff.

Despite this, Risepoint continued expanding. In late 2023, the company purchased Wiley’s online program business for $150 million, signaling consolidation in a turbulent industry. Yet a 2024 report showed 147 OPM-university contracts had been terminated in 2023, and new contracts fell by over 50%.

---

What Ties Them Together: Vistria Group

Vistria Group sits at the center of both sagas. The Chicago-based private equity firm has made education—especially online and for-profit education—a core pillar of its investment strategy. With connections to both Democratic and Republican power brokers, Vistria has deftly navigated the regulatory landscape while profiting from public education dollars.

Its ownership of the University of Phoenix and Risepoint demonstrates a clear strategy: acquire distressed or controversial education companies, clean up their public image, and extract revenue while avoiding deep reforms. Through Vistria, private equity gains access to billions in federal student aid with minimal oversight and a bipartisan shield.

The result is a higher education ecosystem where political influence, corporate profit, and public exploitation collide. And whether through online degrees from the University of Phoenix or public-private partnerships with Risepoint, students are often the ones left bearing the cost.

---

As scrutiny intensifies and state and federal lawmakers demand reform, the futures of Risepoint and the University of Phoenix remain uncertain. But one thing is clear: their shared story reveals how higher education has become a battleground of greed, power, and politics.