NAVI's standing is even worse than the trading suggests, in large part because the company still finances itself with the type of asset-backed security ("ABS") deals that birthed and prolonged the 2008 financial crisis. Big Picture: Navient valuations of its student loan ABS deal are exceptionally generous (and that assessment is itself exceptionally generous). The most fantastical valuations are those of the many Navient ABS deals with long-dated maturities as far in the future as 2080, as well as the deals with embedded flip-clause-swap-contracts. Navient’s complete reliance on crisis-causing finance is a governance failure with real dollars-and-cents credit costs — costs that Navient vendors such as auditors, counsel, and credit rating companies ignore.
I’ve forwarded the critique of Moody’s ESG proposal to regulatory entities such as the SEC Office of Credit Ratings and the Office of Credit Rating Agency Supervision at the European Securities and Markets Association that should be holding Moody’s (and DBRS, Fitch Ratings, and S&P Global Ratings) feet to the fire.
Likewise, I’ve forwarded my critique of Moody’s methodology to law enforcement, including the attorneys general of New Jersey and New York. Both have acknowledged receipt and review of my critique. Finally, I’ve let Moody’s know that I’ve alerted the regulators, law enforcement, and many others. Moody’s knows that a lot of eyes are watching how it finalizes the ESG proposal. If Moody’s improves the ESG methodology even a little, that could be a BIG problem for Navient. Here’s hoping.
*Bill Harrington is a Senior Fellow at Croatan Institute, “an independent, nonprofit research institute whose mission is to harness the power of investment for social good and ecological resilience by working at the critical nexus where sustainability, finance, and economic development intersect.”
Calls for divestment from exploitative industries have long been part of movements for social and economic justice—whether opposing apartheid, fossil fuels, or private prisons. Today, another sector demands moral scrutiny: the network of for-profit education corporations and student loan servicers that have turned higher learning into a site of mass indebtedness and despair. From predatory colleges to the companies that profit from collecting on student debt, the system functions as a pipeline of extraction. For those who believe education should serve the public good, the issue is not merely financial—it is moral.
The Human Cost of Predatory Education
For decades, for-profit college chains such as Corinthian Colleges, ITT Tech, the University of Phoenix, DeVry, and Capella targeted low-income students, veterans, single parents, and people of color with high-pressure marketing and promises of career advancement. These institutions, funded primarily through federal student aid, often charged premium tuition for substandard programs that left graduates worse off than when they began.
When Corinthian and ITT Tech collapsed, they left hundreds of thousands of students with worthless credits and mountains of debt. But the collapse did not end the exploitation—it simply shifted it. The business model has re-emerged in online form through education technology and “online program management” (OPM) firms such as 2U, Coursera, and Academic Partnerships. These firms, in partnership with elite universities like Harvard, Yale, and USC, replicate the same dynamics of inflated costs, opaque contracts, and limited accountability.
The Servicing of Debt as a Business Model
Beyond the schools themselves, student loan servicers and collectors—Maximus, Sallie Mae, and Navient among them—have built immense profits from managing and pursuing student debt. Sallie Mae, once a government-sponsored enterprise, was privatized in the 2000s and evolved into a powerful lender and loan securitizer. Navient, its spinoff, became notorious for deceptive practices and aggressive collections that trapped borrowers in cycles of delinquency.
Maximus, a major federal contractor, now services defaulted student loans on behalf of the U.S. Department of Education. These companies profit directly from the misery of borrowers—many of whom are victims of predatory schools or structural inequality. Their incentive is not to liberate students from debt, but to sustain and expand it.
The Role of Institutional Investors
The complicity of institutional investors cannot be ignored. Pension funds, endowments, and major asset managers have consistently financed both for-profit colleges and loan servicers, even after repeated scandals and lawsuits. Public sector pension funds—ironically funded by educators—have held stock in Navient, Maximus, and large for-profit college operators. Endowments that pride themselves on ethical or ESG investing have too often overlooked education profiteering.
Investment firms like BlackRock, Vanguard, and State Street collectively hold billions of dollars in these companies, stabilizing an industry that thrives on the financial vulnerability of students. To profit from predatory education is to participate, however indirectly, in the commodification of aspiration.
Divestment as a Moral and Educational Act
Divesting from predatory education companies and loan servicers is not just an act of conscience—it is an educational statement in itself. It affirms that learning should be a vehicle for liberation, not a mechanism of debt servitude. When universities, pension boards, and faith-based investors divest from corporations like Maximus, Navient, and 2U, they are reclaiming education’s moral purpose.
The divestment movement offers a broader civic lesson: that profit and progress are not synonymous, and that investment must align with justice. Faith communities, student debt activists, and labor unions have made similar stands before—against apartheid, tobacco, and fossil fuels. The same principle applies here. An enterprise that depends on deception, coercion, and financial harm has no place in a socially responsible portfolio.
A Call to Action
Transparency is essential. Pension boards, university endowments, and foundations must disclose their holdings in for-profit education and student loan servicing companies. Independent investigations should assess the human consequences of these investments, particularly their disproportionate impact on women, veterans, and people of color.
The next step is moral divestment. Educational institutions, public pension systems, and religious organizations should commit to withdrawing investments from predatory education stocks and debt servicers. Funds should be redirected to debt relief, community college programs, and initiatives that restore trust in education as a public good.
The corporate education complex—spanning recruitment, instruction, lending, and collection—has monetized both hope and hardship. The time has come to sever public and institutional complicity in this cycle. Education should empower, not impoverish. Divestment is not merely symbolic—it is a declaration of values, a demand for accountability, and a reaffirmation of education’s original promise: to serve humanity rather than exploit it.
Sources:
U.S. Department of Education, Borrower Defense to Repayment Reports
Senate HELP Committee, For Profit Higher Education: The Failure to Safeguard the Federal Investment and Ensure Student Success (2012)
Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB) enforcement actions against Navient and Sallie Mae
The Century Foundation, Online Program Managers and the Public Interest
Student Borrower Protection Center, Profiting from Pain: The Financialization of the Student Debt Crisis
The Higher Education Inquirer is taking a close look at who's invested in Maximus, the enormous social welfare profiteer. Maximus has been servicing student loan defaulters for years and has now taken over Navient's federal student loan business, branding it Aidvantage.
Since 1995, Maximus (MMS) has grown from $50 million in annual revenues to more than $4 billion in 2021.
Maximus (MMS) Share Price 1995-2022
(Source: Seeking Alpha)
With an army of more than 35,000 workers, Maximus' clients include 28 US agencies: the Internal Revenue Service, Department of Commerce, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, Bureau of the Census, Patent and Trademark Office, Federal Student Aid, Department of Defense and US Army, Department of Veterans Affairs, Homeland Security, Health and Human Services, Medicare and Medicaid, Department of Labor, Office of Personnel Management, Securities and Exchange Commission and many more.
While CEO Bruce Caswell made more than $6 million in total compensation last year, Maximus' customer service representatives, the people who have to make the calls to the growing number of student loan defaulters, make less money than workers at Walmart.
Maximus has recently posted federally contracted jobs on Indeed for $13.15 an hour in Texas and South Carolina, even though the federal minimum wage has been raised to $15 an hour. Wages for Maximus workers in other states are reportedly even lower, as little as $10 an hour in Kentucky and other states with regressive economies.
Maximus' largest institutional investors include BlackRock, Vanguard Group, and State Street Corp--three financial behemoths. BlackRock has $10 trillion in Assets Under Management (AUM), Vanguard Group has about $7 Trillion in Assets Under Management, and State Street has almost $4 Trillion in AUM.
Bank of New York Mellon, Wells Fargo, and Bank of America each own 900,000 shares or more.
Public retirement funds, including public school teachers retirement funds (see table below), are directly and indirectly invested in the Poverty Industrial Complex and the student loan mess through Maximus and other large corporations.
Social justice advocates have to wonder, how can the student loan system be fixed if the US establishment has a vested interested in the mess?
Maximus (MMS) Top Institutional Investors
List of Public Funds Directly Invested in Maximus
Alaska Department of Revenue California PERS California State Teachers Retirement System Colorado PERS Florida Retirement System Pennsylvania Public School Retirement System Teachers Retirement System of Kentucky Louisiana State Employees Retirement System Ohio PERS New Mexico Educational Retirement Board New York State Retirement System New York State Teachers Retirement System Ontario Teachers Retirement System Oregon PERS State of Tennessee Treasury Teachers Retirement System of Texas State of Wisconsin Investment Board
In classical history, a Pyrrhic victory refers to a win so costly that it undermines the very cause it was meant to advance. Less discussed, but increasingly relevant to modern governance, is the inverse strategy: the Pyrrhic defeat. In this model, short-term failure is tolerated—or even cultivated—because it enables outcomes that would otherwise be politically, legally, or institutionally impossible. When applied to public finance, pyrrhic defeat theory helps explain how the apparent collapse of a system can be leveraged to justify radical restructuring, privatization, or liquidation of public assets.
Nowhere is this framework more relevant than in the management of the federal student loan portfolio.
The federal student loan portfolio, totaling roughly $1.6 to $1.7 trillion, is not merely an accounting entry. It is one of the largest consumer credit systems in the world and functions simultaneously as a public policy tool, a long-term revenue stream, a data infrastructure, and a political liability. It shapes who can access higher education, how risk is distributed across generations, and how the federal government exerts leverage over the postsecondary sector. Precisely because of its scale and visibility, the portfolio is uniquely vulnerable to narrative reframing.
That vulnerability was not accidental. It was constructed over decades through a series of policy decisions that stripped borrowers of normal consumer protections while preserving the financial attractiveness of student debt as an asset. Chief among these decisions was the gradual removal of bankruptcy protections for student loans. By rendering student debt effectively nondischargeable except under the narrow and punitive “undue hardship” standard, lawmakers transformed education loans into a uniquely durable financial instrument. Unlike mortgages, credit cards, or medical debt, student loans could follow borrowers for life, enforced through wage garnishment, tax refund seizure, and Social Security offsets.
This transformation made student loans exceptionally attractive for securitization. Student Loan Asset-Backed Securities, or SLABS, flourished precisely because the underlying loans were shielded from traditional credit risk. Investors could rely not on educational outcomes or borrower prosperity, but on the legal certainty that the debt would remain collectible. Even during economic downturns, SLABS were marketed as relatively stable instruments, insulated from the discharge risks that plagued other forms of consumer credit.
Private banks once dominated this market. Sallie Mae, originally a government-sponsored enterprise, became a central player in both originating and securitizing student loans, while Navient emerged as a major servicer and asset manager. Yet as Higher Education Inquirer documented in early 2025, banks ultimately lost control of student lending. Rising defaults, public outrage, state enforcement actions, and mounting evidence of predatory practices made the sector politically radioactive. The federal government stepped in not as a reformer, but as a backstop, absorbing the portfolio and stabilizing a system private finance could no longer manage without reputational and regulatory risk.
That history reveals a recurring pattern. When student lending fails in private hands, it becomes public. When the public system is allowed to fail, it becomes ripe for re-privatization.
A portfolio does not need to collapse to be declared unmanageable. It only needs to appear dysfunctional enough to justify extraordinary intervention.
The post-pandemic repayment restart, persistent servicing failures, legal challenges to income-driven repayment plans, and widespread borrower confusion have all contributed to a growing narrative of systemic breakdown. Servicers such as Maximus, operating under the Aidvantage brand, MOHELA, and others have struggled to process payments accurately, manage forgiveness programs, and provide reliable customer service. These failures are often framed as bureaucratic incompetence rather than as predictable consequences of outsourcing public functions to private contractors whose incentives are misaligned with borrower welfare.
Navient’s exit from federal servicing did not mark a retreat from the student loan ecosystem so much as a repositioning, as it continued to benefit from private loan portfolios and legacy SLABS exposure. Sallie Mae, rebranded and fully privatized, remains deeply embedded in the private student loan market, which continues to rely on the same nondischargeability framework that props up federal lending.
Crucially, these servicing failures cannot be separated from the earlier elimination of bankruptcy as a safety valve. In normal credit markets, distress is resolved through restructuring or discharge. In student lending, distress accumulates. Borrowers remain trapped, servicers remain paid, and policymakers are confronted with a swelling mass of unresolved debt that can be labeled a crisis at any politically convenient moment.
Under pyrrhic defeat theory, such a crisis is not merely tolerated. It is useful.
Once the federal portfolio is framed as broken beyond repair, the range of acceptable solutions expands. What would be politically impossible in a stable system becomes plausible in an emergency. Asset transfers, securitization of federal loans, expansion of SLABS-like instruments backed by government guarantees, or long-term conveyance of servicing and collection rights can be presented as pragmatic fixes rather than ideological choices.
A Trump administration would be particularly well positioned to exploit this dynamic. Skeptical of debt relief, hostile to administrative governance, and ideologically aligned with privatization, such an administration could recast the portfolio as a failed public experiment inherited from predecessors. In that framing, selling or offloading the portfolio is not an abdication of responsibility but an act of fiscal discipline.
Importantly, this need not take the form of an explicit, congressionally authorized sale. Risk can be shifted through securitization. Revenue streams can be monetized. Servicing authority can be extended indefinitely to private firms. Data control can migrate outside public oversight. Over time, these steps amount to de facto privatization, even if the loans remain nominally federal. The infrastructure, incentives, and profits move outward, while the political blame remains with the state.
This is where earlier McKinsey & Company studies reenter the conversation. Long before the current turmoil, McKinsey analyses identified high servicing costs, fragmented contractor oversight, weak borrower segmentation, and low political returns on administrative complexity. While framed as efficiency critiques, these studies implicitly favored market-oriented restructuring. In a crisis environment, such recommendations become blueprints for divestment.
The danger of a pyrrhic defeat strategy is that it delivers a short-term political win at the cost of long-term public capacity. Selling or functionally privatizing the student loan portfolio may improve fiscal optics, but it permanently weakens democratic control over higher education finance. Borrowers, already stripped of bankruptcy protections, lose what remains of public accountability. Policymakers lose leverage over tuition inflation and institutional behavior. The federal government relinquishes a powerful counter-cyclical tool. What remains is a debt regime optimized for extraction, enforced by servicers, securitized for investors, and detached from educational outcomes.
The defeat is real. It is borne by students, families, and future generations. The victory belongs to those who acquire distressed public assets and those who benefit ideologically from shrinking the public sphere.
Pyrrhic defeat theory reminds us that collapse is not always accidental. In the case of the federal student loan portfolio, what appears to be dysfunction or incompetence may instead be strategic surrender: a willingness to let a public system deteriorate so that it can be sold off, securitized, or outsourced under the banner of necessity. If that happens, it will not be remembered as a policy error, but as a deliberate transfer of public wealth and power—made possible by decades of legal engineering that began when bankruptcy protection was taken away and ended with student debt transformed into a permanent financial asset.
College Meltdown 2.0 is distinctly different than the College Meltdown that started in 2010.
The first wave of the College Meltdown (2010-2021) resulted in a slow and steady drop in overall US college enrollment, with dramatic losses among for-profit colleges and community colleges. Corinthian Colleges, ITT Educational Services, and Education Management Corporation were three large for-profit chains to close. Small private liberal arts schools and regional universities also experienced losses. More folks were moving into the growing educated underclass.
Elements of College Meltdown 2.0 include publicly held corporations. Click on the image to see the chart (Source: Seeking Alpha)
College Meltdown 2.0 comes as the Coronavirus becomes more manageable. However US fascism continues to advance, student loan debt is slowly approaching $2 trillion, and the 2026 enrollment cliff is just a few years away. This new wave includes remnants of for-profit colleges likeNational American University, Stratford University, South University, the Art Institutes, University of Phoenix (owned by Apollo Global Management), Career Education Corporation (aka Perdoceo), and DeVry University (owned by Cogswell Education) as well as national accreditor ACICS.
The largest element of College Meltdown 2.0 is federal student loan debt, which appears to be rising to an unsustainable level--as it hamstrings the lives of millions of families. When mandatory student loan payments resume (scheduled for May 1), long-term default rates may range from 30 and 50 percent. It also appears that at least $500 billion of the Federal Student Aid (FSA) student loan portfolio will be unrecoverable.
College Meltdown 2.0 also involves online program managers (OPMs) that service elite schools (2U), regional universities (Academic Partnerships), and subprime robocolleges (Zovio-University of Arizona Global and Graham Holdings-Kaplan-Purdue University Global).
Student loan servicers and private student loan companies (Maximus, Navient, Sallie Mae, Nelnet), publishers and other edtech enterprises (EducationDynamics, Chegg, Barnes & Noble Education, Coursera, and Guild Education) are implicated or at least entangled in the mess. Higher education accreditors and student loan asset-backed securities (SLABS) are also worth monitoring.
In March 2025, Studio Enterprise—the online program manager behind South University—published an article titled “A New Era for Higher Education: Embracing Deregulation Amid the DOE’s Transformation.” Written in anticipation of a shifting political landscape, the article framed coming deregulation as an “opportunity” for flexibility and innovation. Studio Enterprise CEO Bryan Newman presented the moment as a chance for institutions and their contractors to do more with fewer federal constraints, implying that regulatory retreat would improve student choice and institutional agility.
What was framed as a strategic easing of oversight has instead arrived as a form of collapse. By late 2025, the U.S. Department of Education has become, in functional terms, a zombie agency—still existing on paper, but stripped of its capacity to regulate, enforce, or even communicate. Consumer protection, accreditation monitoring, program review, financial oversight, and FOIA responses have slowed or stopped entirely. The agency is walking, but no longer awake.
This vacuum has emboldened not only online program managers like Studio Enterprise and giants like 2U, but also a wide array of entities that rely on federal inaction to profit from students. The University of Phoenix—long emblematic of regulatory cat-and-mouse games in the for-profit sector—now faces minimal scrutiny, continuing to recruit aggressively while the federal watchdog sleeps. Elite universities contracting with 2U continue to launch expensive online degrees and certificates whose marketing and outcomes would once have been examined more closely.
Student loan servicers and private lenders have also moved quickly to capitalize on the chaos. Companies like Aidvantage(Maximus), Nelnet, and MOHELA now operate in an environment where enforcement actions, compliance reviews, and borrower complaint investigations have slowed to a near standstill. Servicers once accused of steering borrowers into costly forbearances or mishandling IDR accounts now face fewer barriers and far less public oversight. The dismantling of the Department has also disrupted the small channels borrowers once had for correcting servicing errors or disputing inaccurate records.
Private lenders—including Sallie Mae, Navient, and a growing constellation of fintech-style student loan companies—have seized the opportunity to expand high-interest refinance and private loan products. Without active federal oversight, marketing claims, credit evaluation practices, and default-related consequences have become increasingly opaque. Borrowers with limited financial literacy or unstable incomes are again being targeted with products that resemble the subprime boom of the early 2010s, but with even fewer regulatory guardrails.
Hyper-deregulation has also destabilized the federal loan system itself. Processing backlogs have grown. Borrower defense and closed-school discharge petitions sit in limbo. Decisions are delayed, reversed, or ignored. Automated notices go out while human review has hollowed out entirely. Students struggling with servicer errors find there is no functioning authority to appeal to—not even the already stretched ombudsman’s office, which is now overwhelmed and under-directed.
Across the sector, the same pattern is visible: institutions and corporations functioning without meaningful oversight. OPMs determine academic structures that universities should control. Lead generators push deceptive marketing campaigns with impunity. Universities desperate for enrollment sign long-term revenue-sharing deals without public transparency. Servicers mismanage accounts and communications while borrowers bear the consequences. Private lenders accelerate their expansion into communities least able to withstand financial harm.
Students feel the effect first and most painfully. They face rising costs, misleading claims, aggressive recruitment, and a federal loan system that can no longer assure accuracy or fairness. The collapse of oversight is not theoretical. It manifests in missed payments, lost paperwork, incorrect balances, unresolved appeals, and ballooning debt. For many, there is now no reliable path to recourse.
Studio Enterprise saw deregulation coming. What it left unsaid is that removing federal guardrails does not produce innovation. It produces confusion, predation, and unequal power. Hyper-deregulation rewards those who operate in the shadows—OPMs, for-profit chains, high-fee servicers, and private lenders—while those seeking education and mobility carry the burden.
This moment is not an evolution. It is an abandonment. Higher education is drifting into an environment where profit extraction flourishes while public protection evaporates. Unless new sources of oversight emerge—federal, state, journalistic, or civic—the most vulnerable students will continue to pay the highest price for the disappearance of the referee.
Sources
Studio Enterprise, A New Era for Higher Education: Embracing Deregulation Amid the DOE’s Transformation (March 2025).
HEI archives on OPMs, for-profit colleges, and regulatory capture (2010–2025).
Public reporting and advocacy analyses on student loan servicers, including Navient, MOHELA, Nelnet, Aidvantage/Maximus, and Sallie Mae (2015–2025).
FOIA request logs, non-responses, and stalled borrower relief cases documented by HEI and partner organizations (2024–2025).
Federal higher education enforcement trends, 2023–2025.
The modern EdTech industry is often portrayed as a neutral, innovative force, but its origins are deeply political. Its growth has been fueled by a fusion of neoliberal economics, right-wing techno-utopianism, patriarchy, and classism, reinforced by racialized inequality. One of the key intellectual architects of this vision was George Gilder, a conservative supply-side evangelist whose work glorified technology and markets as liberating forces. His influence helped pave the way for the “Gilder Effect”: a reshaping of education into a market where technology, finance, and ideology collide, often at the expense of marginalized students and workers.
The for-profit college boom provides the clearest demonstration of how the Gilder Effect operates. John Sperling’s University of Phoenix, later run by executives like Todd Nelson, was engineered as a credential factory, funded by federal student aid and Wall Street. Its model was then exported across the sector, including Risepoint (formerly Academic Partnerships), a company that sold universities on revenue-sharing deals for online programs. These ventures disproportionately targeted working-class women, single mothers, military veterans, and Black and Latino students. The model was not accidental—it was designed to exploit populations with the least generational wealth and the most limited alternatives. Here, patriarchy, classism, and racism intersected: students from marginalized backgrounds were marketed promises of upward mobility but instead left with debt, unstable credentials, and limited job prospects.
Clayton Christensen and Michael Horn of Harvard Business School popularized the concept of “disruption,” providing a respectable academic justification for dismantling public higher education. Their theory of disruptive innovation framed traditional universities as outdated and made way for venture-capital-backed intermediaries. Yet this rhetoric concealed a brutal truth: disruption worked not by empowering the disadvantaged but by extracting value from them, often reinforcing existing inequalities of race, gender, and class.
The rise and collapse of 2U shows how this ideology plays out. Founded in 2008, 2U promised to bring elite universities online, selling the dream of access to graduate degrees for working professionals. Its “flywheel effect” growth strategy relied on massive enrollment expansion and unsustainable spending. Despite raising billions, the company never turned a profit. Its high-profile acquisition of edX from Harvard and MIT only deepened its financial instability. When 2U filed for bankruptcy, it was not simply a corporate failure—it was a symptom of an entire system built on hype and dispossession.
2U also became notorious for its workplace practices. In 2015, it faced a pregnancy discrimination lawsuit after firing an enrollment director who disclosed her pregnancy. Women workers, especially mothers, were treated as expendable, a reflection of patriarchal corporate norms. Meanwhile, many front-line employees—disproportionately women and people of color—faced surveillance, low wages, and impossible sales quotas. Here the intersections of race, gender, and class were not incidental but central to the business model. The company extracted labor from marginalized workers while selling an educational dream to marginalized students, creating a cycle of exploitation at both ends of the pipeline.
Financialization extended these dynamics. Lenders like Sallie Mae and Navient, and servicers like Maximus, turned students into streams of revenue, with Student Loan Asset-Backed Securities (SLABS) trading debt obligations on Wall Street. Universities, including Purdue Global and University of Arizona Global, rebranded failing for-profits as “public” ventures, but their revenue-driven practices remained intact. These arrangements consistently offloaded risk onto working-class students, especially women and students of color, while enriching executives and investors.
The Gilder Effect, then, is not just about technology or efficiency. It is about reshaping higher education into a site of extraction, where the burdens of debt and labor fall hardest on those already disadvantaged by patriarchy, classism, and racism. Intersectionality reveals what the industry’s boosters obscure: EdTech has not democratized education but has deepened inequality. The failure of 2U and the persistence of predatory for-profit models are not accidents—they are the logical outcome of an ideological project rooted in conservative economics and systemic oppression.
The failure of University of Phoenix (UoPX) is more than a dark moment in higher education history. It should act as a lesson learned in the higher ed business. Executives at 2U, Guild Education, Coursera, Liberty University, Purdue University Global, University of Arizona Global, Chegg, Academic Partnerships, Pearson PLC, Navient, Maximus and other for-profit and non-profit entities must take heed of the mistakes and the hubris of Phoenix, the wisdom of its cofounder John D. Murphy, and the silencing of important worker voices.
For several decades of the 20th century, hundreds of University of Phoenix campuses dotted the American landscape, conveniently located in cities and growing suburbs, off major highways. Founded in 1973, America's largest university became a for-profit darling of Wall Street in the 1980s and 1990s, and the provider of career education for mid-level managers in corporate America and public service. A Phoenix degree was the ticket to promotions and salary increases.
Phoenix's stock rose for many reasons. It was a leader in educational innovation. It was convenient and affordable for upwardly social mobile workers. Its profits were large, and its labor costs were relatively low because UoPX hired business leaders and experts in the field, not tenured scholars, to teach part-time.
But something went horribly wrong along the way.
In the 2010s, University faced government and media scrutiny for its questionable business practices, its declining graduation rates, and its part in creating billions in student loan debt. And when workers voiced their concerns, they were silenced in a variety of ways, from threats and intimidation to firings.
This enrollment collapse has now lasted a dozen years and counting.
Today, as a miniscule portion of Apollo Global Management's portfolio, UoPX's enrollment numbers are less than 100,000--and few of its physical campuses remain open during the Covid pandemic. It's not known how many campuses, if any, are financially viable.
University of Phoenix enrollment, 2009-2016 (Source: US Department of Education)
There are a several reasons why University of Phoenix is just a shadow of what it was. Businesspeople and lobbyists blame government regulation and oversight; others blame the relentless pursuit of quarterly profits and corrupt Apollo Group CEOs, including Todd Nelson.
Having talked to co-founder John D. Murphy and read his book Mission Forsaken, what I found out was that University of Phoenix began failing three decades earlier, during the Ronald Reagan era, when US companies chose to invest less in their workforces. When this post-Fordist shift happened, US companies reduced benefits for workers, and divested in the education and training of mid-level executives.
US Student Loan Debt by Institution (Source: Brookings, Looney and Yannelis, 2015)
In 2017, Apollo Group sold the company to Apollo Global Management, an investment behemoth, along with Vistria Group and the Najafi Companies. As part of its holdings, the school was a tiny portion of its portfolio. Barak Obama's close friend, Anthony Miller, was paid to be Board president.
In January 2022, as a sign of its continued unraveling, Apollo Education appointed George Burnett, a former executive of three failed or predatory companies, including Alta College and Academic Partnerships, to be Phoenix's newest President.
UoPX's problems are a symptom of an economic system that despite the hype cares little about workers: a system that today looks at labor costs as something to be reduced--rather than an investment. With few exceptions, America's most powerful corporations: Amazon, Walmart, Target, Yum Brands, McDonalds--rely on low-wage labor and automation to make a huge profit. Companies in medicine, finance, and tech have smaller labor numbers--and while work may be lucrative at the moment, it's becoming more precarious.
*In the early 2010s, Apollo Group, Phoenix's former parent company, spent between $376 million and $655 million a year on ads and marketing.
Hundreds of smaller campuses on the verge of failure are likely to close in 2019. For example, National American University is likely to close more than 20 campuses in 2019.
Student loan debt continues to rise. In 2018, there was a
significant number of news articles disclosing the negative effects of
student loan debt on the lives of Millenials and their families. I have
posted several links at College Meltdown.
Student loan servicer Navient continues to promote college for high schoolers who are at higher risk for default and a lifetime of debt peonage.
Long-standing problems like the adjunct crisis and the savage inequalities of the US K-12 pipeline, show few signs of improving.
The College Meltdown continues in 2020. This phenomenon is deeper than the coronavirus, the temporary closing of campuses across the US, and the cancellation of NCAA basketball's March Madness. What we are seeing in the news should be a smaller entry in the History of American Higher Education compared to larger trends and social problems that preceded the pandemic.
College and university enrollment has been declining slowly but constantly since 2011, with for-profit colleges and community colleges taking the largest hits. And it follows larger demographic trends which include a half century of increasing inequality, including "savage inequalities" in the K-12 pipeline, crushing student loan debt, decreasing social mobility and the underemployment of college graduates, smaller families, and the hollowing out of America.
There are many parts to the current Coronavirus crisis and its effects on US higher education. But they all boil down to the Trump mantra (defund, deregulate, and privatize) and the opportunity for the elites to capitalize from the crisis, as they did during and after the Great Recession.
[Image below from Wikipedia. Higher education in the US has increasingly relied on for-profit mechanisms for growth and revenues. This includes privatized housing and services and for-profit Online Program Managers (OPMs).]
Higher education is a small but significant part of the US economy, which includes much larger sectors like Health Care and Finance. While the working class will not get bailed out, these sectors likely will, with the sudden crisis used as a rationalization. The crisis of crushing student loan debt and the much larger problems related to 50 years of growing inequality may be more disruptive in the long run, but these matters continue to be ignored.
Whether the next President is Donald Trump or Joe Biden, things could get worse for working families, unless there is mass resistance--right now I don't see that happening. For the moment, many young people are responding by living with family, not going to college, and delaying child bearing. Those who do get an education are also making economic sacrifices. Some, for example are selling their bodies as Sugar Babies to get through school.
Many state economies also look bleak in the near future. Not enough in revenues and increasing Medicaid costs make investments in education difficult to do without increasing taxes or state-level debt. And it's not likely that the wealthy will be willing to pay their fair share, unless they feel economically threatened. If that happens, rich companies and rich people can just move out of state or out of the country.
Higher Education and the Student Loan Mess
In October 2019, Trump Department of Education official Wayne Johnson resigned, recognizing that student loan debt mess was worse than anyone had imagined. US higher education enrollment is supposed to be countercyclical (improving when the economy drops) , but don't bet on it without government help.
Haven't heard any rumors in months, but it should also be interesting to see if President Trump tries to unload the $1.5T in federal loans to his banking friends using an executive order. McKinsey & Company have been tasked to determine the possibilities of such a maneuver, but there is radio silence on that front.
In the education sector, I'm watching student loan servicers and private lenders Sallie Mae (SLM), Navient (NAVI), and Nelnet (NNI) closely. Student Loan Asset-Backed Securities (also known as SLABS) are also worthy of scrutiny given the low rates of student loan repayment.
