Springer Nature, Fake Science, and the Deep Rot in Academic Publishing

Springer Nature, one of the world's largest and most prestigious academic publishers, is at the center of a growing storm over scientific credibility and the integrity of scholarly communication. Recent investigations—including a revealing article from the Dutch newspaper Het Financieele Dagblad—have exposed how fraudulent science has infiltrated top academic journals through so-called “paper mills,” where fake research is produced and sold to meet the pressure-cooker demands of the modern academic economy.

With over 9,400 employees and operations in more than 40 countries, Springer Nature is a colossal force in global publishing. Its annual revenue for 2024 was projected to reach as high as €1.85 billion, driven largely by thousands of journals across disciplines—from Nature Neuroscience and Nature Biotechnology to niche journals in pharmacology, machine vision, and business studies. It also owns the venerable Scientific American, one of the most recognizable science magazines in the English-speaking world.

But behind this massive publishing empire is a deeply flawed system—a system in which prestige and profit have become entangled, and where the imperative to “publish or perish” leads scholars to compromise ethical standards, sometimes relying on ghostwritten or entirely fabricated studies. Springer Nature and its peers, including Elsevier and Wiley, have faced mounting challenges in vetting the sheer volume of submissions, many of which are now known to be fraudulent. While publishers claim they are working to correct these issues, critics argue that such efforts are reactive, inadequate, and motivated more by public relations than a commitment to scientific rigor.

This crisis is not occurring in a vacuum. Springer Nature is not just a passive player victimized by bad actors; it is part of a profit-driven system that thrives on volume and prestige. The company has been preparing for a lucrative IPO, which valued its equity at €4.5 billion in late 2024. Its business model, like that of its competitors, relies on a steady flow of academic content—produced, reviewed, and edited largely by unpaid researchers—and then sold back to universities and libraries at exorbitant subscription fees.

This closed-access economy means that publicly funded research is often locked behind paywalls, inaccessible to the public and even to institutions with limited budgets. It’s a double-dip: taxpayers fund the research, then institutions must pay again to access the results. Meanwhile, authors surrender copyright to publishers, losing control of their own work. Academic libraries, especially at public and regional institutions, are left with shrinking access as journal subscription costs rise faster than inflation.

Springer Nature has positioned itself as a leader in open access, pledging that half of its primary research articles will be published open access in 2024. However, the open access model comes with its own set of problems. Author-pays fees can run into the thousands of dollars per article, creating a new kind of inequity where only well-funded researchers or institutions can afford to make their work accessible. This trend has led to the rise of predatory open-access journals, which exploit the model by charging fees without providing legitimate peer review.

The Higher Education Inquirer has previously documented how academic labor is exploited at every stage—from the graduate student submitting their first manuscript to the tenured professor reviewing papers without compensation. The recent revelations of widespread fraud, coupled with Springer Nature’s immense financial growth, should serve as a wake-up call. The academic publishing system is no longer merely a vehicle for knowledge sharing—it is a sprawling commercial enterprise riddled with ethical compromise.

The credibility of academic research is being eroded not just by dishonest authors, but by publishers who have allowed, and in some ways encouraged, the commodification of knowledge. With powerful institutions like Springer Nature at the helm, the scholarly publishing industry is in urgent need of structural reform—reform that prioritizes transparency, accountability, and public access over profit margins and market share.

Until then, the rot will persist beneath the glossy covers of high-impact journals, and the public’s trust in science—and higher education as a whole—will continue to suffer.

The Chronicle of Higher Education and the Knowledge Busine$$

As U.S. higher education faces unprecedented challenges—from shrinking budgets and declining enrollment to mounting public skepticism—the Chronicle of Higher Education (CHE) remains a key player in the academic landscape. Since its founding in 1966, CHE has evolved into more than just a news outlet; it is a complex knowledge business that provides employment to hundreds of journalists, editors, and professionals, while serving as an important information hub for higher education stakeholders.

In an era when many campus newspapers have shuttered and independent reporting has become scarce, CHE offers comprehensive coverage of policy shifts, labor disputes, campus culture, and academic research. Its newsroom employs writers and editors who specialize in the intricacies of higher education, providing analysis that is often essential for faculty, staff, and administrators trying to navigate rapid change.

Beyond journalism, CHE generates jobs in content marketing, event planning, data analytics, and consulting services targeted to university leaders. Through initiatives like Chronicle Intelligence, the organization supplies customized research, white papers, and executive education designed to help institutions manage enrollment, compliance, and strategic planning amid financial strain.

CHE also hosts conferences, webinars, and networking events, creating platforms where university administrators, policymakers, and vendors can exchange ideas and strategies. These gatherings not only generate revenue and jobs but foster a sense of community and shared problem-solving during turbulent times.

However, the Chronicle’s increasing involvement in sponsored content and consulting has raised important questions about its role. While it continues to provide valuable information and insight, it also serves as a marketing channel for vendors and a consultant to the very institutions it covers. This dual role complicates its editorial independence and shifts some focus toward solutions that emphasize branding, compliance, and managerial efficiency.

The promotional emails sent by CHE in mid-2025, for example, encouraged universities to “redesign research infrastructure” and tackle faculty burnout with new tools and processes, often linked to private vendors. These efforts highlight the Chronicle’s role in shaping how institutions respond to their challenges—but also reveal a tendency to prioritize market-friendly fixes over structural reforms.

Nevertheless, in a time of shrinking media coverage and growing complexity in higher education, the Chronicle remains a vital resource. Its ability to employ a dedicated staff of higher ed specialists and provide a steady flow of reporting and analysis is a significant contribution to the sector.

As colleges and universities continue to grapple with financial pressures, political conflicts, and social change, the Chronicle of Higher Education occupies a complex position: both a mirror reflecting higher education’s crises and a business offering pathways to adaptation and survival. Balancing these roles with editorial rigor and independence will be essential if CHE is to serve the broad range of voices and interests within American academia.

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Sources:

Shaulis, Dahn. The College Meltdown series, Higher Education Inquirer
The Chronicle of Higher Education promotional emails, July 2025
Chronicle Intelligence product descriptions, chronicle.com
Bousquet, Marc. How the University Works: Higher Education and the Low-Wage Nation. NYU Press
Newfield, Christopher. The Great Mistake: How We Wrecked Public Universities and How We Can Fix Them
Slaughter, Sheila and Rhoades, Gary. Academic Capitalism and the New Economy. Johns Hopkins University Press

The Functional Poverty of US Higher Education

In 1971, sociologist Herbert J. Gans published The Positive Functions of Poverty, a provocative essay that argued poverty persists not due to a lack of solutions, but because it benefits powerful institutions. Over fifty years later, his thesis haunts U.S. higher education, which does not merely reflect inequality but actively relies on it. The system functions less as an engine of mobility and more as a mechanism for managing and monetizing the poor.

Today, poverty is not an accident of the US higher education system—it is a prerequisite for its operation.

Poverty as Institutional Legitimacy

Colleges and universities frequently promote themselves as pathways out of poverty, showcasing stories of Pell Grant recipients and first-generation students to validate their missions. These narratives help secure federal funding, private donations, and political goodwill. Yet the vast majority of poor students never cross the commencement stage. Instead, their presence serves to bolster institutional credibility while masking the reality of systemic failure.

Programs like TRIO, GEAR UP, and Promise scholarships function not to eliminate poverty, but to manage it. They offer modest hope while ensuring the system continues undisturbed.

Poor Students as a Revenue Stream

The financial foundation of higher education rests heavily on low-income students. For-profit colleges, many of them reincarnated under new branding or partnerships, depend almost entirely on federal aid and student loans tied to impoverished enrollees. These institutions aggressively recruit students with big promises and deliver little in return. Graduation rates remain dismal, while student debt mounts.

Private student lenders have filled the remaining gaps left by federal aid caps and rising tuition. Fintech platforms like SoFi, College Ave, and Earnest offer loans with complex terms and minimal consumer protections, particularly to vulnerable students desperate for access. For many borrowers, this creates a lifetime of indebtedness for a credential that may never yield a return.

The Administrative Industry of Poverty

A burgeoning sector of higher education administration is devoted to managing the symptoms of poverty. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) offices—now under political assault—often oversee food banks, mental health outreach, and “resilience” programming for first-gen students. Meanwhile, a growing HR specialty has emerged to “track and support” the poor.

These staffers may act with sincere intention, but their existence also reveals the transactional nature of institutional concern. Without poor students to manage, their roles—and the bureaucracies behind them—would shrink. Food insecurity and academic struggle have become normalized to the point that colleges maintain food pantries as a permanent feature of campus life.

Exploiting the Educated Underclass

As sociologist Gary Roth has observed, higher education produces a surplus of credentialed workers with no corresponding demand. These graduates, often from poor backgrounds, return to campus as adjunct faculty, graduate assistants, or gig workers—essential but expendable.

Their labor sustains the system at low cost. They teach core courses, staff libraries, and support faculty research while earning poverty wages themselves. The promise of education becomes a loop of unfulfilled mobility.

Poor Students as Research Subjects

Low-income students are not only sources of revenue and labor—they are also the subjects of academic research. Entire disciplines, from sociology to education and public health, have been built upon the study of poverty. Yet few researchers challenge the institutional structures that perpetuate the very inequalities they document.

Faculty careers flourish. Tenure is won. Grants are secured. The students themselves often see no tangible benefit from this knowledge production.

Reinforcing the Myth of Meritocracy

Elite universities use a handful of poor students to validate the myth of meritocracy. These “success stories” are amplified through PR campaigns, donor appeals, and glossy admissions brochures. They function as symbolic proof that the system works—even as the vast majority of poor students are shunted into lower-tier institutions with fewer resources and worse outcomes.

The truth is clear: wealth remains the strongest predictor of educational success in the United States.

Stratification by Design

The U.S. higher education system is structured to reproduce class hierarchy. Community colleges and regional public universities disproportionately enroll poor and working-class students. Flagship publics and elite privates cater to the children of the professional and ruling classes.

This credentialing hierarchy maintains social order while offering just enough upward mobility to justify its existence.

Political Utility: Blame the Poor

When institutions face financial shortfalls or declining enrollment, they often scapegoat the poor. Students are labeled unprepared, unmotivated, or emotionally fragile. Rarely are structural causes—such as rising tuition, defunded public services, or predatory loan systems—acknowledged.

Neoliberal reforms and conservative attacks on “woke” education continue to target vulnerable populations, obscuring the institutional failures that drive inequity.

Private Equity and the Monetization of Student Housing

One of the latest frontiers in the commodification of poverty within higher education is campus-adjacent real estate. Private equity (PE) firms are aggressively acquiring student housing near flagship state universities, turning basic shelter into another site of financial extraction.

Evidence of PE Expansion:
Private equity firms such as Investcorp, Rockpoint, and KKR have amassed significant portfolios of student housing near schools like the University of Florida, University of Texas at Austin, and College of Charleston. These acquisitions are not random—they target institutions with large, stable enrollment and limited new housing supply.

Rents on the Rise:
In cities like Tampa, rents increased by 49% from 2019 to 2023—a jump partly attributed to institutional investors, although the exact role of PE firms in driving this increase is contested. Still, anecdotal reports and advocacy groups point to rising rents, increased fees, and aggressive management practices following PE takeovers.

Housing Scarcity as Leverage:
While it's difficult to isolate private equity's influence from broader housing shortages and enrollment growth, it's clear that PE is exploiting structural constraints—just as for-profit colleges exploit financial aid loopholes. Where public universities fail to build sufficient housing, private investors step in, profiting from desperation.

A System That Needs Poverty

Herbert Gans argued that poverty survives because it serves essential functions for society’s powerful institutions. In American higher education, this dynamic is not theoretical—it is lived reality. Colleges and universities don’t just educate the poor; they extract value from them at every level.

From student loans and real estate speculation to adjunct labor and administrative bloat, the system is built around managing—not eradicating—poverty.

Until higher education confronts its own complicity in perpetuating structural inequality, it will remain what it is today: an industry that feeds on hope, and thrives on hardship.

Sources
Gans, Herbert J. “The Positive Functions of Poverty.” American Journal of Sociology, 1971.
Roth, Gary. The Educated Underclass: Students and the Promise of Social Mobility. Pluto Press, 2019.
National Center for Education Statistics (NCES)
U.S. Department of Education, College Scorecard
Private Equity Stakeholder Project
RealPage Analytics
Advocacy reports on student housing and rent inflation
Higher Education Inquirer FOIA research files

Flirtin' with Disaster: American Higher Education and the Debt Trap

They call it a “path to opportunity,” but for millions of students and their families, American higher education is just Flirtin' with Disaster—a gamble with long odds and staggering costs. Borrowers bet their future on a credential, universities gamble with public trust and private equity, and the system as a whole plays chicken with economic and social collapse. Cue the screeching guitar of Molly Hatchet’s 1979 Southern rock anthem, and you’ve got a fitting soundtrack to the dangerous dance between institutions of higher ed and the consumers they so aggressively court.

The Student as Collateral

For the last three decades, higher education in the United States has increasingly behaved like a high-stakes poker table, only it’s the students who are holding a weak hand. Underfunded public colleges, predatory for-profits, and tuition-hiking private universities all promise upward mobility but deliver it only selectively. The rest? They leave the table with debt, no degree, or both.

Colleges market dreams, but they sell debt. Americans now owe more than $1.7 trillion in student loans. And while some elite schools can claim robust return-on-investment, most institutions below the top tiers produce increasingly shaky value propositions—especially for working-class, first-gen, and BIPOC students. For them, education is often less an elevator to the middle class than a trapdoor into a lifetime of wage garnishment and diminished credit.

Institutional Recklessness

Universities themselves are no saints in this drama. Fueled by financial aid dollars, college leaders have expanded campuses like land barons—building luxury dorms, bloated athletic programs, and administrative empires. Meanwhile, instruction is increasingly outsourced to underpaid adjuncts, and actual student support systems are skeletal at best.

The recklessness isn’t limited to for-profits like Corinthian Colleges, ITT Tech, and the Art Institutes, all of which collapsed under federal scrutiny. Even brand-name nonprofits—think USC, NYU, Columbia—have been exposed for enrolling students into costly, often ineffective online master’s programs in partnership with edtech firms. The real product wasn’t the degree—it was the debt.

A Nation at the Brink

From community colleges to research universities, institutions are now being pushed to their financial and ethical limits. The number of colleges closing or merging has skyrocketed, especially among small private colleges and rural campuses. Layoffs, like those at Southern New Hampshire University and across public systems in Pennsylvania, Oregon, and West Virginia, show that austerity is the new norm.

But the real disaster is systemic. The American college promise—that hard work and higher ed will lead to security—is unraveling in real time. With declining enrollments, aging infrastructure, and increasing political pressure to defund or control curriculum, many schools are shifting from public goods to privatized risk centers. Even state flagship universities now behave more like hedge funds than educational institutions.

Consumers or Victims?

One of the cruelest ironies is that students are still told they are "consumers" who should “shop wisely.” But education is not like buying a toaster. There’s no refund if your college closes. There’s no protection if your degree is devalued. And there's no bankruptcy for most student loan debt. Even federal forgiveness efforts—like Borrower Defense or Public Service Loan Forgiveness—are riddled with bureaucratic landmines and political sabotage.

In this asymmetric market, the house almost always wins. Institutions keep the revenue. Third-party contractors keep their profits. Politicians collect campaign checks. And the borrowers? They’re left flirtin’ with disaster, hoping the system doesn’t collapse before they’ve paid off the last dime.

No Exit Without Accountability

There’s still time to change course—but it will require radical rethinking. That means:

• Holding institutions and executives accountable for false advertising and financial harm.

• Reining in tuition hikes and decoupling higher ed from Wall Street’s expectations.

• Fully funding community colleges and public universities to serve as real social infrastructure.

• Expanding debt cancellation—not just piecemeal forgiveness—for those most harmed by a failed system.

• Ending the exploitation of adjunct labor and restoring the academic mission.

Otherwise, higher education in the U.S. will continue on its reckless path, a broken-down system blasting its anthem of denial as it speeds toward the edge.

As the song goes:
"I'm travelin' down the road and I'm flirtin' with disaster... I got the pedal to the floor, my life is runnin' faster."
So is the American student debt machine—and we’re all strapped in for the ride.

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Sources:

• U.S. Department of Education, Federal Student Aid Portfolio

• “The Trillion Dollar Lie,” Student Borrower Protection Center

• The Century Foundation, “The High Cost of For-Profit Colleges”

• Inside Higher Ed, Chronicle of Higher Education, Higher Ed Dive

• National Center for Education Statistics

• Molly Hatchet, Flirtin’ with Disaster, Epic Records, 1979

“You Don’t Need a Tariff. You Need a Revolution”: A Viral Wake-Up Call—Or CCP Propaganda?

In a clip that’s rapidly gone viral among both left-leaning critics of neoliberalism and right-wing populists, a young Chinese TikTok influencer delivers a searing indictment of American economic decline. Fluent in English and confident in tone, the speaker lays bare what many struggling Americans already feel: that they’ve been conned by their own elites.

“They robbed you blind and you thank them for it. That’s a tragedy. That’s a scam,” the young man declares, addressing the American people directly.

The video, played and discussed on Judging Freedom with Judge Andrew Napolitano and Professor John Mearsheimer, has sparked praise—and suspicion. While the message resonates with a growing number of Americans disillusioned by the bipartisan political establishment, some are asking: Who is behind this message?

 
A Sharp Critique of American Oligarchy

In his 90-second monologue, the influencer claims U.S. oligarchs offshored manufacturing to China for profit—not diplomacy—gutting the middle class, crashing the working class, and leaving Americans with stagnating wages, unaffordable healthcare, mass addiction, and what he calls “flag-waving poverty made in China.” Meanwhile, he says, China reinvested its profits into its people, raising living standards and building infrastructure.

“What did your oligarchs do? They bought yachts, private jets, and mansions… You get stagnated wages, crippling healthcare costs, cheap dopamine, debt, and flag-waving poverty made in China.”

He ends with a provocative call: “You don’t need another tariff. You need to wake up… You need a revolution.”

It’s a blistering populist critique—and one that finds unexpected agreement from Mearsheimer, who said on the show, “I basically agree with him. I think he’s correct.”
A Message That Cuts Across Party Lines

The critique echoes themes found in Donald Trump’s early campaign rhetoric, as well as long-standing leftist arguments about neoliberal betrayal, corporate offshoring, and elite impunity. It’s the kind of message that unites the American underclass in its many forms—service workers, laid-off factory employees, disillusioned veterans, and student debtors alike.

Mearsheimer went on to argue that the U.S. national security establishment itself was compromised—that its consultants and former officials had deep financial ties to China, making them unwilling to confront the geopolitical risks of China’s rise. According to him, elites were more invested in their own gain than in the national interest.

But that raises an even more complicated question.

 
Is This an Authentic Voice—or a CCP Production?

The most provocative—and potentially overlooked—aspect of this story is the medium itself: TikTok, which is owned by ByteDance, a company under heavy scrutiny for its ties to the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). Could this slick, emotionally resonant video be part of a broader soft-power campaign?

The Chinese government has invested heavily in media operations that shape global narratives. While the content of the message may be factually accurate or emotionally true for many Americans, it’s not hard to imagine the CCP welcoming—if not engineering—videos that sow further division and distrust within the United States.

The video’s flawless production, powerful rhetoric, and clever framing—presenting China as the responsible partner and the U.S. as self-destructive—align closely with Beijing’s global messaging. Add to this the timing, with U.S.-China tensions running high over tariffs, Taiwan, and global power shifts, and the question becomes unavoidable:

Is this sincere grassroots criticism… or a polished psychological operation?

The answer may be both. It’s entirely possible that the young man believes everything he’s saying. But it’s also likely that content like this is algorithmically favored—or even quietly encouraged—by a platform closely tied to a government with every incentive to highlight American decline.
Weaponized Truth?

This is not a new tactic. During the Cold War, both the U.S. and the USSR employed truth-tellers and defectors to criticize their adversaries. But in today's digital landscape, the boundaries between propaganda, whistleblowing, and legitimate dissent are more porous than ever.

The Higher Education Inquirer has reported extensively on how American elites—across both political parties—have betrayed working people, including within the halls of higher education. That doesn’t mean we should ignore where a message comes from, or what strategic purpose it might serve.

The danger is not just foreign interference. The greater danger may be that such foreign-origin messages ring so true for so many Americans.
A Closing Thought: Listen Carefully, Then Ask Why

The influencer says:

“You let the oligarchs feed your lies while they made you fat, poor, and addicted… I don’t think you need another tariff. You need to wake up.”

He’s not wrong to say Americans have been exploited. But if the message is being boosted by a rival authoritarian state, it’s worth asking why.

America’s problems are real. Its discontent is justified. But as in all revolutions, the question is not only what we’re overthrowing—but what might take its place.

Sources:

Judging Freedom – Judge Andrew Napolitano and Professor John Mearsheimer

TikTok (ByteDance) ownership and CCP ties – Reuters, The New York Times, Wall Street Journal

The Higher Education Inquirer archives on student debt, adjunct labor, and corporate-academic complicity

Pew Research Center – Views of China, U.S. Public Opinion

Congressional hearings on TikTok and national security, 2023–2024

Chegg: A Critical History of a Disruptor Turned Controversy Machine

Chegg, once hailed as a Silicon Valley disruptor democratizing access to education, has undergone a profound and troubling transformation since its founding in 2005. What began as a textbook rental company evolved into a billion-dollar homework help empire—an empire that, critics argue, has done more to undermine academic integrity than to foster genuine learning. Its business model capitalized on the structural weaknesses of American higher education and, in the process, normalized a shadow system of paid cheating.

Origins: Textbooks, Student Debt, and Disruption

Chegg was born at the intersection of inflated textbook costs and the neoliberal university. Founders Osman Rashid and Aayush Phumbhra sought to bring the efficiencies of the sharing economy to the campus bookstore. In its early years, Chegg attracted investor attention by promising cheaper textbook rentals—a modest but important service in an era of spiraling student debt.

But as textbook rentals became commodified, Chegg pivoted. By the early 2010s, it was building a suite of digital services: step-by-step solutions, tutoring, and subscription-based homework help under its Chegg Study brand. When Chegg went public in 2013, it promoted itself not just as a tech company, but as a partner in “student success.” In reality, it had found a way to turn student desperation into a profitable SaaS model.

Homework Help or Cheating-as-a-Service?

Chegg’s transformation into a homework help platform would eventually earn it a darker moniker: “Cheating-as-a-Service.”

Nowhere is this critique more powerfully detailed than in education journalist Derek Newton’s Cheat Sheet, a Substack project dedicated to exposing the industrial-scale cheating facilitated by platforms like Chegg, Course Hero, and Studypool. Newton, who has tracked the issue since 2019, documented case after case in which students used Chegg not to learn—but to submit answers for graded assignments and exams. Faculty across disciplines and institutions began reporting widespread cheating enabled by Chegg, especially during the remote learning surge triggered by COVID-19.

In one issue of Cheat Sheet, Newton wrote:

“Chegg isn’t an education company. It’s a cheating company. It monetizes academic dishonesty, obfuscates accountability, and deflects responsibility while raking in millions in subscription revenue.”

According to Newton, Chegg’s "ask an expert" function—where students submit specific questions and receive solutions within minutes—became a tool of choice for real-time cheating during online exams. Despite university honor codes, many students saw Chegg as a normalized part of academic life. Meanwhile, Chegg’s refusal to proactively block cheating or cooperate fully with universities left institutions scrambling.

Pandemic Profits and Ethical Collapse

During the COVID-19 pandemic, as universities shifted online, Chegg’s subscriber base soared. Students confined to Zoom classrooms flocked to digital platforms for support—or shortcuts. By 2021, Chegg had nearly 7 million subscribers and posted annual revenues of $776 million. Its stock price peaked above $100 in February 2021.

But that growth came with growing backlash. Professors and academic integrity officers called for investigations. Some universities demanded IP logs and timestamps from Chegg in academic misconduct cases. In response, Chegg adopted a policy of releasing user data only under subpoena—shifting the burden to faculty and administrators.

Chegg, for its part, insisted it was simply offering "study support" and denied facilitating cheating. But the evidence presented in Newton’s Cheat Sheet and other academic publications told a different story.

Collapse, AI Disruption, and Image Repair

In 2023, a new threat emerged: OpenAI’s ChatGPT. Free, flexible, and fast, ChatGPT began to supplant Chegg for the same user base. In a rare moment of corporate honesty, Chegg CEO Dan Rosensweig told investors that ChatGPT was impacting the company’s subscriber growth. Wall Street panicked. Chegg’s stock plummeted, its valuation shrank, and the company began rounds of layoffs—first 4% of its workforce, then 23% in 2024.

Desperate to stay relevant, Chegg pivoted again—this time toward “CheggMate,” its proprietary AI chatbot built in partnership with OpenAI. Yet the damage to its brand, and its future, was already apparent.

By 2025, Chegg was struggling to define its purpose in a rapidly changing education tech landscape. Its subscription model had been undermined by free AI. Its name remained tainted by years of academic dishonesty. And efforts to shift into AI tutoring raised further concerns about data privacy, surveillance, and automation in learning.

A Mirror of Higher Education’s Failures

Chegg’s rise and fall cannot be understood in isolation. It thrived in a system where students are overburdened, instructors are underpaid, and administrators look the other way as long as graduation rates and tuition dollars remain stable. Its gig-based backend—where underpaid "experts" supply answers for a global audience—mirrors the adjunctification of academic labor itself.

Derek Newton’s Cheat Sheet and other critical reporting have exposed how edtech platforms exploit the credibility crisis in higher education. The real scandal isn’t just that Chegg exists—it’s that the ecosystem made it necessary.

Conclusion

Chegg’s legacy may one day be viewed not as a revolution in learning, but as a symptom of higher education’s marketized decline. Like diploma mills and for-profit colleges before it, Chegg served the needs of students abandoned by the system—but did so at the cost of academic trust and intellectual growth.

As the AI era unfolds, and companies like Chegg scramble to reposition themselves, the Higher Education Inquirer will continue to ask: who profits, who pays, and who is left behind?

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Sources

• Derek Newton, Cheat Sheet newsletter: https://cheatsheet.substack.com

• Chegg Inc. 10-K and Investor Calls (2015–2025)

• The Chronicle of Higher Education, “Is Chegg Helping or Hurting?”

• Inside Higher Ed, “Chegg, ChatGPT, and the New Arms Race in EdTech”

• Bloomberg, “Chegg Warns of ChatGPT Threat”

• Reddit threads: r/Professors, r/College, r/AcademicIntegrity

• The Markup, “Chegg’s Gig-Economy Model and Academic Labor”

• The Atlantic, “The Cheating Economy”

• Higher Education Inquirer Archives on EdTech and Academic Integrity

Academic closures, mergers, cuts: a summer 2025 update (Bryan Alexander)

Greetings from early July. I’m back home in northern Virginia where the heat is blazing and the humidity sopping.  Weather.com thinks it “feels like 102° F” and I agree.  The cats also agree, because they retreated elegantly inside to air conditioning after a brief outside stroll.

I wrote “back home” because my wife and I spent last week celebrating our 32nd anniversary in Canada (here’s one snapshot).  Afterwards I was hoping to get back into the swing of things, blogging, Substacking, vlogging various topics already under way, but things have been advancing at such a manic pace that I have to leap in in a hurry.

Case in point: after blogging about campus closures, cuts, and mergers last month more closures and cuts (albeit no mergers) have appeared in just the past few weeks.  In this post you’ll see a list of these, with links to supporting news stories and official documents.  Alas, this has become a tradition on this site.  (From last year: March 1, March 20, March 28, April, May, June, July, September, November. From this year: February, June.) My book on peak higher education is now in the editing process; hopefully by the time it appears the topic won’t be simply historical.

Today we’ll touch on one closure, then focus on cuts, with a few reflections at the end.

1. Closing colleges and universities

In Michigan Siena Heights University (Catholic) will close after the upcoming academic year.  The reasons: “the financial situation, operational challenges, and long-term sustainability,” according to the official statement.  A local account concurs, “citing rising costs and stiffer competition for new students.”

The official website doesn’t reflect this on its front page.

2. Program and staffing cuts

Also in Michigan, Concordia University (Lutheran) is shutting down most of its Ann Arbor campus programs. A much smaller set of offerings is what’s next:

Starting June 2025, the private Lutheran institution will offer just nine programs — all in medical-related fields — on its physical campus. That’s down from 53 campus programs the university currently lists on its website. It will offer another seven online programs, mostly in education fields, which is down from more than 60 currently.

Also nearby, Michigan State University (public, research) announced its intention to cut faculty and staff positions this year.  The drivers: inflation boosting costs, especially in health care; Trump administration research funding cuts; possible state support cuts; potential international student reduction.

Brown University (research; Rhode Island) is planning to cut an unspecified number of staff this summer.  Furthermore, “[a]dditional measures include scaling back capital spending and adjusting graduate admissions levels after limiting budget growth for doctoral programs earlier this year.”  The reasons here are financial, but based on the Trump administration’s cuts to federal research funding, not enrollment problems.

The Indiana Commission for Higher Education announced shutting down a huge sweep of academic programs across that state’s public universities.  More than 400 degrees will end, with 75 ended outright and 333 “merged or consolidated” with other programs.  The whole list is staggering.  There’s a lot of detail in that Indiana plan, from defining student minima to establishing various options for campuses, appealing closures to timelines for revving up new degrees.  It’s unclear how many faculty and/or staff cuts will follow.

Columbia College Chicago (private, arts focused) laid off twenty full-time professors.  The school is facing enrollment declines and financial problems. Nearly all of these faculty member are – were – tenure track, which makes this another example of the queen sacrifice.

University of California-Santa Cruz (public, research) is terminating its German and Persian language programs, laying off their instructors.  This sounds part of a broader effort to cut costs against a deficit, a deficit caused by “rising labor costs and constrained student enrollment growth,” according to officials.

Boston University (private, research) announced it would lay off 120 staff members as part of a budget-cutting strategy. BU will also close 120 open staff positions and “around 20 positions will undergo a change in schedule” (I’m not sure what that means – shift from full time to part?).    The reasons: Trump administration cuts and uncertainty, plus the longstanding issues of “rising inflation, changing demographics, declining graduate enrollment, and the need to adapt to new technologies.”

The president of Temple University (public, research, Pennsylvania) discussed job cuts as part of a 5% budget cut.  Reasons include lower enrollment which led to “a structural deficit [for which] university reserves were used to cover expenses.”

Champlain College (Vermont) is closing some low-enrolling majors. The avowed goal is to
“design a new ‘career-focused’ curriculum for the fall of 2026 ‘that is focused on and driven by employer needs and student interests.'”

The accounting program, for instance, saw its enrollment decline from 60 students in 2015 to 20 in February 2024, according to documents from the school’s Academic Affairs Committee. The law program, similarly, had little student interest, Hernandez said, and had only three students apply in the fall of 2023, while the data analytics program had only two applications.

At the same time the school is facing serious challenges.  Enrollment has sunk from 4,778 students in 2016 to 3,200 last year.  The college ran deficits in some reason years and a federal audit criticized the amount of debt it carries.  This year “the college’s bond rating was lowered, and its outlook downgraded to ‘negative’ by S&P Global Ratings.”

Looking across the lake from Burlington, near Champlain’s campus back in 2017: a cheery image to balance sad stories.

A small but symbolic cut is under way at Albright College (private, liberal arts, Pennsylvania), whose president decided to sell their art college at auction.  “It includes pieces by Karel Appel, Romare Bearden, Robert Colescott, Bridget Riley, Leon Golub, Jasper Johns, Jacob Lawrence, Marisol, Gordon Parks, Jesús Rafael Soto and Frederick Eversley, among others.”

Why do this?  according to the administration, it was a question of relative value:

“We needed to stop the bleeding,” says James Gaddy, vice-president for administration at Albright, noting that over the past two years the college has experienced shortfalls of $20m. Calling himself and the college’s president Debra Townsley, both of whom were hired last year, “turn-around specialists”, Gaddy claimed that Albright’s 2,300-object art collection was “not core to our mission” as an educational institution and was costing the college more than the art is worth.

“The value of the artworks is not extraordinary,” he says, estimating the total value of the pieces consigned to Pook & Pook at $200,000, but claimed that the cost of maintaining the collection was high and that the cost of staffing the art gallery where the objects were displayed and (mostly) stored was “more than half a million dollars” a year.

A screenshot of some of the auction lots.

3 Budget crises, programs cut, not laying off people yet

Cornell University is preparing staff cuts in the wake of Trump administration research funding reductions.

The University of Minnesota’s administration agreed to a 7.5% cut across its units, along with a tuition increase.  The president cited frozen state support and rising costs.

New York University (NYU) announced a 3% budget cut.  So far this is about “emphasizing cuts to such functions as travel, events, meals, and additional other-than-personal-service (OTPS) items.” NYU will keep on not hiring new administrators and is encouraging some administrators and tenured professors to retire.

Yale University paused ten ongoing construction projects because of concerns about cuts to federal monies.

Reflections

Many of these stories reflect trends I’ve been observing for a while.  Declining enrollment is a major problem for most institutions. The strategy of cutting jobs to balance a budget remains one at least some leaders find useful. The humanities tend to suffer more cuts than others (scroll down the Indiana pdf for a sample). Depending on the state, state governments can increase budget problems or alter academic program offerings.

The second Trump administration’s campaign against higher education is drawing blood, as we can see from universities citing the federal research cuts in their budgets and personnel decisions. Note that this is before the One Big Beautiful Bill Act’s provisions take hold, from capping student aid to increasing endowment taxes. And this is also before whatever decrease will appear with international student enrollment this fall. (Here’s my video series on Trump vs higher ed; new episode is in the pipeline.)

Note the number of elite institutions in today’s post.  In the past I’ve been told that the closures, mergers, and cuts primarily hit low-ranked and marginal institutions, which was sometimes true. But now we’re seeing top tier universities enacting budget cuts, thanks to the Trump administration.

Let me close by reminding everyone that these are human stories. Program cuts hurt students’ course of student. Budget cuts impact instructors and staff of all kinds. When we see the statistics pile up we can lose sight of the personal reality.  My heart goes out to everyone injured by these institutional moves.

Finally, I’d like to invite anyone with information on a college or university’s plans to close, merge, or cut to share them with me, either as comments on this post, as notes on social media, or by contacting me privately here.  I write these posts based largely on public, open intelligence (news reports, investigations, roundups) but also through tips, since higher education sometimes has issues with transparency.  We need better information on these events.

(thanks to Will Emerson, Karl Hakkarainen, Kristen Nyht, Cristián Opazo, Peter Shea, Jason Siko, George Station, Nancy Smyth, Ed Webb, and Andrew Zubiri for supplying links and feedback)

This article first appeared at bryanalexander.org

The Truth About Degrees, Debt, and Why You’re Always Chasing the Next Credential (Glen McGhee)

A System Designed to Keep You in Debt

If you're in college right now, you’ve probably heard that getting a degree is the key to success. But have you noticed something strange? Everyone seems to need more and more education just to get the same kinds of jobs. A high school diploma used to be enough. Then it was a bachelor’s degree. Now people need master’s degrees—and still struggle to get hired.

Meanwhile, tuition keeps going up. Student debt in the U.S. has reached over $1.7 trillion, affecting more than 43 million people. Many of us are borrowing tens of thousands of dollars just to get a shot at a decent job. Some never escape this debt, even decades later.

This isn't just bad luck. It's a system, and it works really well—for banks, employers, and universities. But not for you.

Credentials Are the New Chains

A few critical thinkers—like economist Michael Hudson and philosopher Maurizio Lazzarato—have a name for what’s happening: debt peonage. That’s a fancy way of saying people are trapped in endless debt, not because they’re lazy or irresponsible, but because the system is built to keep them there.

They argue that education has been turned into a machine for generating debt. It’s not just about learning anymore—it’s about taking on loans you’ll be paying off for decades, often for jobs that don’t even require the degree you earned.

This debt doesn’t just affect your bank account—it shapes your whole life. It influences the jobs you take, how much you’re paid, whether you can move, start a family, or speak up at work. In other words, debt is a tool of control.

More School, More Debt, Less Power

There’s a name for what's happening with degrees: credential inflation. It means that as more people earn degrees, employers keep raising the bar—asking for more education, even if the job doesn’t really need it.

This works out great for employers. You need the job to pay off your loans. You’re less likely to ask for higher wages or better conditions. You’re easier to control. Think about it. When you owe $38,000 in student loans, can you really afford to quit your job? Or turn down unpaid internships? Or fight back when you’re treated unfairly?

That’s not a bug in the system—it’s the point.

The Rise of the Academic Underclass

It doesn’t stop with students. Many of your professors and TAs are also part of what we might call the academic precariat—people with master’s or even PhDs who are stuck working part-time for low pay, no benefits, and no job security.

These are the folks who teach your classes, grade your papers, and write your recommendation letters—while living paycheck to paycheck and often on government assistance. They’re the most educated people in the country—and many of them can’t afford basic needs.

Why does this happen? Because colleges don’t have to pay them fairly. There are more PhDs than full-time teaching jobs, so universities keep a huge pool of low-paid instructors they can use whenever they want. That’s called a “standing reserve” of labor—and it's incredibly profitable for institutions.

The Internship Trap

And then there are unpaid internships—another form of credential inflation. Now, just having a degree isn’t enough. You also need “experience.” But that experience is often unpaid, meaning students (and their families) cover the cost of working for free.

This second wave of credential inflation hits working-class students hardest. Many can’t afford to work unpaid jobs, pay rent, and take classes at the same time. So the system ends up rewarding privilege and punishing struggle—again.

And here’s the kicker: unpaid interns often don’t even get jobs. Studies show people who never interned sometimes do just as well—or better.

Is There Another Way?

You might be thinking: but aren’t degrees still worth it? Isn’t this just the way things work?

That’s exactly what the system wants you to believe. And while it’s true that some education leads to better job outcomes, it’s also true that the cost is rising faster than the benefit. And the system is rigged to keep you in debt no matter what.

So what can we do? First, question the system, not yourself. If you’re overwhelmed by debt or struggling to find a job, you’re not failing—the system is. Second, recognize that individual solutions—like working harder, studying longer, or networking more—won’t fix a structural problem. What we’re facing is a system that uses debt to control, not to educate.

Final Thought

Degrees should be tools for empowerment, not chains of obligation. But as long as education is tied to debt, exploitation, and ever-escalating credential requirements, it will remain part of a system designed to extract—not uplift.

It’s time to stop asking how can I survive this system and start asking why does this system exist at all?

HBCUs and Alternative Programs Step Up for Students Affected by Job Corps Cuts

As federal budgetary constraints trigger widespread cuts to the Job Corps program, thousands of young Americans—many from low-income and marginalized backgrounds—are left in limbo, uncertain about their educational and career futures. In response, several Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) and nonprofit training organizations have stepped in to provide pathways forward for these displaced students.

Morris Brown College has emerged as a leader in this emergency response, inviting students affected by the Job Corps shutdowns to apply for admission and continue their education. The college is offering federal financial aid options to eligible students, making the transition more accessible. This initiative aligns with Morris Brown’s ongoing efforts to reestablish itself as a vital access point for underserved communities following its reaccreditation.

Jarvis Christian University and Wiley University, both HBCUs in Texas, have similarly opened their doors to Job Corps students. These institutions have long histories of serving first-generation college students and have extended their outreach to ensure that affected youth can find a welcoming academic home.

Winston-Salem State University in North Carolina is taking a more targeted approach. The university has secured a grant through the Job Corps Scholars program to provide tuition assistance and job training to a select group of students. This model blends academic instruction with practical skills development, creating an effective bridge between high school-level education and gainful employment.

Beyond the HBCU community, national service programs and workforce training initiatives are also mobilizing to fill the void. AmeriCorps offers job training, GED preparation, and education awards that can be used toward college tuition. YouthBuild provides at-risk youth with the opportunity to earn a high school diploma or equivalent while learning construction skills and receiving supportive services like housing assistance.

The Workforce Innovation and Opportunity Act (WIOA), a longstanding federal employment program, connects individuals with training and job placement assistance through local workforce boards. These WIOA programs are especially vital now, helping youth access industry-aligned credentialing programs.

For those looking to bypass traditional college pathways, apprenticeships and union-led training programs offer paid, on-the-job learning in skilled trades. These earn-as-you-learn models remain one of the most reliable routes to middle-class employment without taking on student loan debt.

The National Guard Youth ChalleNGe Program offers another alternative, particularly for students aged 16–18 who are seeking structure, discipline, and a chance to build job and life skills in a quasi-military setting.

Several private-sector and nonprofit initiatives are also stepping into the breach. Grow with Google provides free online certificates in tech-related fields such as data analytics and IT support. SkillsUSA supports students preparing for careers in technical and skilled service sectors, often in tandem with high school or community college programs.

Year Up is a standout nonprofit that offers professional training paired with paid internships in IT, software, and finance. It targets young adults who are not enrolled in school or working, providing a powerful pipeline into white-collar careers. Likewise, Urban Alliance provides internships, mentoring, and work readiness training to high school seniors in underserved communities.

The dismantling of Job Corps centers is a major setback for a federal program that has, for decades, helped vulnerable young people achieve educational and economic stability. But in the absence of federal leadership, community institutions—especially HBCUs—are proving their enduring value. They are not only preserving access to education and training but also strengthening the broader social safety net for America’s forgotten youth.

As this transition unfolds, students and families need to remain vigilant in researching legitimate programs while avoiding scams and predatory for-profit institutions. With thoughtful guidance and continued support, the displaced Job Corps students can still find opportunities to thrive, even in uncertain times.

Sources:
U.S. Department of Labor
Morris Brown College
Winston-Salem State University
AmeriCorps.gov
YouthBuild USA
SkillsUSA
Grow with Google
National Guard Youth ChalleNGe Program
Workforce Innovation and Opportunity Act
Year Up
Urban Alliance

Forgetting Henry George

As American colleges and universities spiral deeper into debt, corporatization, and social irrelevance, it is worth asking not just what ideas dominate the landscape—but what ideas have been buried, neglected, or deliberately forgotten. Among the most significant casualties in our intellectual amnesia is Georgist economics, a once-influential school of thought that offered a radical, yet practical, alternative to both capitalism’s excesses and socialism’s centralization. And in today’s extractive academic economy—what Devarian Baldwin calls the “UniverCity”—its insights are more relevant than ever.

The Ghost of Henry George

Henry George, a 19th-century American political economist, is best known for his seminal work Progress and Poverty (1879), in which he argued that while technological and economic progress increased wealth, it also deepened inequality—primarily because the gains were siphoned off by landowners and monopolists. His solution was deceptively simple: tax the unearned income from land and natural monopolies, and use that revenue to fund public goods and social services.

At one time, George’s ideas inspired political movements, policy debates, and even academic curricula. He was considered a serious rival to Karl Marx and a practical philosopher for American reformers, including the early labor movement. Cities like San Francisco saw brief experiments with land value taxation. But today, outside niche think tanks and the occasional urban planning circle, Georgism is a faint echo, barely audible in the halls of economic departments or public policy schools.

The University and the Land

If we look at contemporary higher education through a Georgist lens, what emerges is a sobering picture. Colleges and universities are not merely neutral grounds for the exchange of ideas—they are massive holders of land, beneficiaries of public subsidies, and agents of displacement. Institutions from NYU to the University of Chicago to Arizona State have used their nonprofit status and real estate portfolios to expand into communities, often gentrifying and pricing out working-class and BIPOC residents.

At the same time, these same institutions profit from a credentialing economy built on a foundation of student loan debt. Over 43 million Americans collectively owe more than $1.6 trillion in federal student loans, an economy of indebtedness that props up tuition-driven institutional budgets while shackling generations of graduates. The very students who attend these universities, often in the hope of upward mobility, find themselves trapped in debt servitude—subsidizing administrative bloat, sports franchises, and real estate empires they will never own.

This is where Devarian Baldwin’s work becomes critical. In In the Shadow of the Ivory Tower, Baldwin exposes how universities have become “anchor institutions,” deeply embedded in the urban fabric—not just through education, but through policing, property development, hospital systems, and labor exploitation. These institutions accumulate wealth not by producing new knowledge, but by extracting rents—social, economic, and literal—from their surroundings.

Baldwin and George, though a century apart, are speaking to the same fundamental economic injustice: wealth flowing upwards through property and privilege, at the expense of the many.

Why Georgism Was Forgotten

So why has Georgism disappeared from mainstream education? The answer lies partly in the success of those it sought to regulate. Landowners and financiers, who stood to lose the most from land value taxation, worked diligently to discredit George’s theories. Neoclassical economics, with its abstract models and marginal utility curves, became the dominant language—obscuring the real-world power dynamics of land and labor.

Universities, especially elite ones, adopted this neoclassical framework, increasingly aligning their interests with those of capital. Philanthropic foundations and corporate donors funded economic departments and think tanks that promoted market fundamentalism. Over time, Georgism—radical yet rooted in common sense—was pushed out of the curriculum.

This forgetting wasn’t accidental. It was ideological.

A Forgotten Game with a Forgotten Message

A striking example of Georgism’s cultural erasure lies in the very board game that has taught generations about capitalism: Monopoly. Originally created in the early 20th century by a woman named Elizabeth Magie, the game was first called The Landlord’s Game and was explicitly designed to illustrate Henry George’s ideas. Magie’s intent was pedagogical—she wanted players to see how land monopolies enriched a few while impoverishing others, and to promote George’s remedy of a single land tax.

But over time, the game was appropriated and rebranded by Parker Brothers and later Hasbro, stripped of its Georgist message and recast as a celebration of ruthless accumulation. What began as a cautionary tale about inequality became a glorification of it—a metaphor for how George’s ideas were not just buried but inverted.

In that sense, Monopoly is the perfect symbol for the American university: a system that once had the potential to democratize opportunity but now functions as a machine for privatizing wealth and socializing risk, leaving students and communities to pick up the tab.

What Higher Education Could Learn—and Teach

If the goal of higher education is to educate an informed, critical citizenry, then forgetting Georgist economics is not just an intellectual oversight—it’s a moral failure. Henry George offered a vision of society where value created by the community is returned to the community. In the age of student debt, university land grabs, and deepening inequality, this vision is urgently needed.

Imagine a higher education system where public revenue from land values funds debt-free college. Imagine a world where students no longer mortgage their futures for degrees whose value is increasingly uncertain. Imagine colleges not as engines of gentrification but as stewards of local wealth, investing in community-owned housing and cooperatives. Imagine students learning about economics not just as math problems, but as moral questions about justice, equity, and the public good.

Devarian Baldwin’s scholarship, much like George’s, invites us to interrogate power structures and imagine alternatives. It’s time for a revival of that imagination.

Relearning the Unlearned

Reclaiming Georgist economics in the academy would not be a return to some golden past, but a reckoning with the present. It would mean confronting the rentier logic at the heart of higher education—and the debt-based financing that sustains it—and reorienting our institutions toward justice and common prosperity.

In a moment when so much of American higher ed is collapsing under its own contradictions, perhaps what’s needed is not another billion-dollar endowment or ed-tech unicorn, but an idea long buried: that land—and learning—should belong to the people.

For the Higher Education Inquirer, this is part of an ongoing inquiry into the pasts we forget, the futures we imagine, and the power structures that shape both.