States, Suing Trump Over Gutting of Education Dept., Cite Threat of Predatory College Abuses (David Halperin)

Twenty-one Democratic state attorneys general sued President Trump and Secretary of Education Linda McMahon today, 48 hours after the Department of Education announced it was firing more than 1,300 employees, which, combined with previously Trump-Musk efforts to cull the staff, reduced the employee roster to less than half of the 4000+ person team that was working as of January.

The 53-page complaint, filed in federal court in Massachusetts, alleges that the staff reductions are illegal and unconstitutional, because they are “equivalent to incapacitating key, statutorily-mandated functions of the Department.” The AGs say that although McMahon has authority from Congress to restructure the Department, she is “not permitted to eliminate or disrupt functions required by statute, nor can she transfer the department’s responsibilities to another agency outside of its statutory authorization.”

Among the federal statutes that the state AGs contend will be undermined by this week’s staff cuts are those covering higher education, including the Department’s obligations to ensure that federal student grants and loans may be used only at colleges and universities that provide quality educations and comply with the law. The complaint notes that the Department is charged with ensuring that colleges receiving federal aid are financially responsible, that they submit to financial audits, and that they provide adequate counseling to students concerning debt management.

The AGs also note that the Department is required to review and approve private college accrediting agencies, because under the law only schools approved by Department-recognized accreditors are eligible for federal student aid. Without that process, the AGs warn, “institutions of higher education may engage in profit-seeking behaviors without relating any educational benefits to students.”

The AGs might have added that the cuts will undermine the capacity of the Department to directly investigate colleges that engage in predatory and deceptive behavior. Data released by the Department shows the largest number of layoffs — 326 people — were at the Office of Federal Student Aid (FSA), which oversees student lending and school compliance with legal obligations not to mislead and abuse students.

The Department of Education’s higher education accountability efforts over decades have often been half-hearted and ineffectual; despite the scores of staff assigned to overseeing colleges, many students, and hundreds of billions in taxpayer dollars, have been directed to deceptive, poor-quality schools that have left many students worse off than when they started. But gutting these efforts to the degree suggested by this week’s staff reductions would make matters much worse. And the first-term higher education record of President Trump, guided by Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos and her aide Diane Auer Jones, was heavily skewed in favor of slashing accountability rules and enforcement, providing no reason to be optimistic that an aim of slashing the staff this year is to improve accountability.

The cuts would also undermine core Department responsibilities in K-12 education, civil rights, disability rights, privacy rights, campus safety, and the student loan portfolio.

Secretary McMahon is publicly insisting that everything will be fine and more efficient with the reduced and reorganized staff. But, as the new lawsuit from the attorneys general notes, McMahon said on Tuesday that the firing are the “first step” on the road to a “total shutdown” of the Department.

The attorneys general who filed the complaint are from Arizona, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Hawaii, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Nevada, New Jersey, New York, Oregon, Rhode Island, Washington, Wisconsin, Vermont and the District of Columbia.

Former Department officials and education advocates plan to rally Friday morning at 8 am outside Department of Education headquarters in Washington to protest the mass firings and plans to shut down the agency.

[Editor's note: This article originally appeared on Republic Report.]  

Higher Learning Commission Passes the Buck on Ambow-CSU Deal

The Higher Learning Commission (HLC), the regional accreditor for Colorado State University (CSU), has refused to comment on whether it is investigating or overseeing any partnership between CSU and Ambow Education, a Chinese-American education technology company with a record of volatility, opacity, and questionable business practices.

In an email to the Higher Education Inquirer on July 28, HLC Public Information Officer Laura Janota wrote, “You would need to check with the institution regarding any specifics about its agreement with Ambow Education.” While acknowledging that HLC evaluates an institution’s offerings and operations as part of its ongoing accreditation relationship, Janota pointed to generic contractual guidance on the HLC website rather than offering any assurance that the accreditor is scrutinizing a deal involving Ambow—a company that has raised alarms due to its foray into the U.S. higher ed sector via its HybriU platform.

This type of response is not unusual for HLC, which has come under criticism for its lack of accountability and its longstanding pattern of accrediting both elite universities and subprime colleges.

As previously reported by the Higher Education Inquirer:

"Institutional accreditation is no sign of quality. Worse yet, accreditation by organizations such as the Middle States Association, Western Association of Schools and Colleges, and the Higher Learning Commission is used by subprime colleges to lend legitimacy to their predatory, low-standard operations."

According to the U.S. Department of Education, HLC currently accredits 946 Title IV-eligible institutions, opening the doors for them to collectively receive nearly $40 billion in federal student aid annually—along with billions more from the Department of Defense and Department of Veterans Affairs.

HLC accredits prestigious institutions such as the University of Chicago, University of Michigan, and Notre Dame. But it also accredits notorious subprime schools including Colorado Technical University, DeVry University, University of Phoenix, Walden University, National American University, and Purdue University Global. On the three pillars of regional accreditation—compliance, quality assurance, and quality improvement—HLC has consistently failed when it comes to oversight of predatory institutions.

Even as far back as 2000, critics within academia called out the ethical rot. The American Association of University Professors protested HLC’s support of for-profit schools. That same year, then-AAUP General Secretary Mary A. Burgan remarked:

"I really worry about the intrusion of the profit motive in the accreditation system. Some of them, as I have said, will accredit a ham sandwich."

HLC’s financial structure reinforces this compromised position: it is funded by the institutions it accredits. Over the last 30 years, HLC has collected millions of dollars in dues from some of the nation’s most predatory schools. This funding model mirrors the conflicts of interest that plagued credit rating agencies during the 2008 financial crisis—a comparison made explicitly by economists David Deming and David Figlio in a 2016 report:

“Accreditors—who are paid by the institutions themselves—appear to be ineffectual at best, much like the role of credit rating agencies during the recent financial crisis.”

Despite public attention, federal oversight of accreditors remains weak. Under the Trump-DeVos administration, regulatory protections were rolled back significantly. A 2023 internal investigation revealed that the U.S. Department of Education was not adequately monitoring accreditors, confirming what many higher education watchdogs already knew: that no one is truly watching the accreditors.

The Ambow-CSU situation underscores this systemic failure. Rather than acting as an independent reviewer, HLC has chosen to defer responsibility to the very institution it is tasked with overseeing. This is not just a case of passing the buck; it's another example of accreditors shielding themselves from accountability while public institutions are left to make private deals with for-profit entities—unchecked, unregulated, and largely unreported.

Sources:

• Email correspondence from Laura Janota, Higher Learning Commission, July 28, 2025

• https://www.hlcommission.org/institution/1046/

• Higher Education Inquirer, September 24, 2018: Higher Learning Commission: Accreditation Is No Sign of Quality

• David Deming and David Figlio, Accountability in US Education: Applying Lessons from K–12 Experience to Higher Education (2016)

• U.S. Department of Education accreditation database

• Public statements from AAUP and archived remarks by Mary A. Burgan

Campus Cops, A Critical History

Campus policing in the United States has a long and complicated history, one that cannot be understood apart from the larger culture of violence in the nation. Colleges and universities, far from being sanctuaries of peace, have mirrored the broader society’s struggles with crime, inequality, and abuse of power. The development of campus police forces is both a symptom of these realities and a contributor to them.

From Watchmen to Armed Police

In the early 20th century, many colleges relied on night watchmen or unarmed security guards to keep order. Their duties were limited: locking buildings, checking IDs, and responding to minor incidents. But as campuses expanded in size and complexity—particularly after the GI Bill opened higher education to millions—colleges began to formalize security forces. By the 1960s and 1970s, during an era of political unrest and rising crime rates, many institutions established their own sworn police departments with full arrest powers.

The rationale was simple: the surrounding society was becoming more violent, and colleges were not immune. Campus shootings, from the University of Texas tower massacre in 1966 to Virginia Tech in 2007, underscored the vulnerability of universities to extreme violence. Administrators and legislators justified campus policing as a necessary protection against a culture of guns, crime, and fear.

The Expansion of Campus Policing

Today, more than 90 percent of U.S. colleges and universities with 2,500 or more students have some form of armed campus police. Many operate as fully accredited police departments, indistinguishable from municipal counterparts. They are tasked with preventing theft, responding to assaults, and increasingly, preparing for mass shootings. This expansion reflects the broader American decision to deal with social breakdown through policing and incarceration rather than through prevention, education, or healthcare.

Yet the rise of campus police also brings deep contradictions. If colleges are supposed to be places of learning and community, what does it mean that they are patrolled by officers trained in the same punitive logics as city police? What does it say about the United States that students—especially students of color—often feel surveilled rather than protected?

Campus Coverups and the Protection of Institutions

Beyond concerns about over-policing, there is another side to the story: under-policing and coverups. Colleges have long been criticized for minimizing reports of sexual assault, hazing, hate crimes, and other misconduct in order to protect their reputations. Title IX litigation, Department of Education investigations, and journalism have revealed systemic patterns of universities failing to report crimes or discouraging survivors from coming forward.

Campus police departments have sometimes been complicit in these coverups. Because they report to university administrations rather than independent city governments, their accountability is compromised. The incentive to “keep the numbers down” and maintain the appearance of a safe, prestigious campus can lead to the suppression of reports. Survivors of sexual violence often describe being dismissed, ignored, or retraumatized by campus police who appeared more concerned about institutional liability than student well-being.

The Contradictions of Campus Safety

The dual role of campus police—protecting students from external dangers while shielding institutions from internal accountability—illustrates the contradictions of higher education in a violent society. Universities are expected to provide safety in a nation awash with firearms, misogyny, racism, and economic desperation. But instead of challenging these conditions, many campuses rely on armed policing, surveillance technologies, and public relations strategies.

The result is a paradox: campuses are policed as if they are dangerous cities, yet when crimes happen within their walls, especially those involving sexual violence or elite fraternities and athletes, those same crimes are often hidden from public view.

Toward a Different Model of Safety

Critics argue that true campus safety requires moving beyond reliance on police alone. Investments in mental health services, consent education, community accountability processes, and structural reforms to address gender violence and racial inequities are essential. Some advocates push for independent oversight of campus police, ensuring they are accountable not just to administrators but to students, staff, and the broader public.

If campus policing has grown because America has normalized violence, then reimagining campus safety requires confronting the roots of that violence. As long as universities remain more committed to protecting their brands than their students, campus cops will embody the contradictions of American higher education—part shield, part coverup, and part reflection of a society unable to address its deeper wounds.

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Sources

• Sloan, John J. and Fisher, Bonnie S. The Dark Side of the Ivory Tower: Campus Crime as a Social Problem. Cambridge University Press, 2011.

• Karjane, Heather M., Fisher, Bonnie S., and Cullen, Francis T. Campus Sexual Assault: How America’s Institutions of Higher Education Respond. National Institute of Justice, 2002.

• U.S. Department of Education, Clery Act Reports.

• Armstrong, Elizabeth A. and Hamilton, Laura. Paying for the Party: How College Maintains Inequality. Harvard University Press, 2013.

A Moral Imperative: Universities Should Release All Epstein-Related Files

Universities have a responsibility to act. Harvard, MIT, and other elite institutions that accepted donations from Jeffrey Epstein — even after his 2008 conviction — must release all files related to his gifts, internal reviews, communications, and institutional interactions. Transparency is not optional; it is the first step in holding powerful actors accountable and restoring public trust. By disclosing these materials, universities can confront the full extent of institutional complicity and set a precedent for ethical leadership.

The Epstein scandal revealed more than the crimes of a single man. It exposed networks of wealth, influence, and institutional failure that allowed abuse to flourish. Epstein’s financial power bought him credibility, and universities, in return, offered him prestige, office space, and public recognition. This relationship was not incidental; it reflected structural norms that protect the privileged and silence victims. By releasing their files, universities can transform secrecy into accountability, turning knowledge and transparency into a powerful nonviolent tool for justice.

Scholarship plays a critical role in this process. Academics documenting Epstein’s networks, the decisions of institutional leaders, and systemic failures provide the evidence necessary to guide meaningful reform. Higher Education Inquirer’s reporting connects Epstein to influential figures such as Alan Dershowitz and Larry Summers, showing how institutional authority was leveraged to shield elite actors. Knowledge, in this context, functions as a form of nonviolent power — a way to demand change grounded in facts rather than force.

Educational institutions can also shape culture through ethical education. By integrating discussions of institutional complicity, philanthropy, and moral responsibility into curricula, universities prepare future leaders to recognize abuses of power and resist systems that protect the privileged. This is not simply about preventing future abuse; it is about cultivating leaders attuned to ethics, justice, and accountability across all sectors of society.

Nonviolent pressure is amplified when students, faculty, and alumni mobilize to demand transparency. Public forums, petitions, and advocacy campaigns compel boards and administrators to act. Universities cannot ignore the moral and reputational stakes when their communities insist on disclosure. Truth-and-reconciliation initiatives, such as survivor-led review boards, offer an additional path. These bodies confront past abuses, acknowledge harm, and recommend systemic reforms, creating space for healing while promoting institutional integrity.

Public engagement strengthens these efforts further. Independent media outlets and academic reporting extend the university’s moral authority into society, informing public debate and influencing policy. By releasing all Epstein-related files, universities participate directly in this process, setting a standard for transparency, accountability, and ethical leadership.

The Epstein revelations, as framed by Higher Education Inquirer, offer a historic opportunity. By releasing all relevant files, supporting rigorous research, fostering ethical education, and empowering communities to hold institutions accountable, higher education can wield its moral authority as a nonviolent force for justice. Universities reclaim public trust, demonstrate integrity, and show that knowledge and transparency remain among the most powerful tools for transformative social change.

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Sources

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Elite Higher Education and the Epstein Files.” July 14, 2025. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/07/elite-higher-education-and-epstein-files.html

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Release All the Epstein Files.” July 24, 2025. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/07/release-all-epstein-files.html

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Epstein, Dershowitz, Summers, and the Long Arc of Elite Impunity.” Nov 16, 2025. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/11/epstein-dershowitz-summers-and-long-arc.html

• Higher Education Inquirer. “The Dirty World of Billionaire Leon Black and Jeffrey Epstein: Profits Over People.” Aug 16, 2025. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/08/the-dirty-world-of-billionaire-leon.html

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Are the Epstein Files the Watergate of Our Time?” July 23, 2025. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/07/are-the-epstein-files-the-watergate-of-our-time.html

How Educated Neoliberals Built the Homelessness Crisis—and Why HUD’s New Cuts Will Make It Worse

The US Department of Housing and Urban Development has quietly announced one of the most drastic federal rollbacks in homelessness policy in decades: a massive cut to permanent housing under the Continuum of Care (CoC) program, with more than half of its 2026 funding diverted to transitional housing and compliance-based services. HUD’s own internal estimates warn that up to 170,000 people could lose housing as a result of the shift. For millions of Americans, especially those on the margins, this is not a policy adjustment; it is the beginning of a humanitarian disaster.

To understand how we arrived here, it is not enough to point at the Trump administration, the ideological crusade against “Housing First,” or the White House Faith Office now shaping federal grantmaking. One must also examine the educated neoliberals who built and normalized the system that made this possible.

HUD’s policy change overturns decades of federal commitment to permanent supportive housing, an evidence-backed model that dramatically reduces chronic homelessness. The new Notice of Funding Opportunity caps permanent housing at just 30 percent of CoC dollars, down from 87 percent in prior years, while the remainder is funneled toward transitional housing, work or service requirements, mandatory treatment, and faith-based compliance programs. The total funding for 2026 is roughly $3.9 billion across 7,000 grants. That amount, spread across hundreds of thousands of people experiencing homelessness, is barely sufficient to provide minimal assistance, let alone stable housing or the comprehensive services this population needs. One-third of existing programs will run out of funds before the new awards are issued in May, leaving vulnerable individuals exposed to eviction during the harshest months of winter. Ann Oliva, CEO of the National Alliance to End Homelessness and a former HUD official, described the rollout as deeply irresponsible, warning that the administration is setting communities up for failure.

For decades, U.S. policy has been shaped not just by conservatives but also by a sprawling class of highly educated managers: MBAs, MPPs, JDs, think-tank fellows, foundation executives, nonprofit administrators, and “innovation” consultants. They came from America’s elite universities, fluent in market logic, managerialism, and austerity politics. They preached efficiency, accountability, metrics, and self-sufficiency. Many also personally accumulated wealth, often owning multiple homes, benefiting from investment income, and exploiting loopholes to minimize or avoid taxes. Meanwhile, the programs they manage shrink support for the poor and vulnerable.

Through their influence, housing became a program, not a public good. Public housing construction largely disappeared, replaced by a grant-driven, nonprofit marketplace controlled by elite professionals. Even the funding allocated for CoC programs, though nominally in the billions, is deliberately minimal. This scarcity forces competition, instability, and suffering among poor people. Nonprofit executives, most of whom depend on federal contracts and foundation dollars, rarely challenge the economic and political structures that produce homelessness. Accountability rhetoric replaced structural change, reframing homelessness as an issue of individual behavior rather than a systemic failure. The academy normalized the idea that poor people should suffer, teaching a generation of managers to prioritize markets, metrics, and “innovation” over human need. This bipartisan, university-trained professional class laid the foundation for the HUD cuts now threatening hundreds of thousands of lives.

HUD argues that the new model “restores accountability” and reduces the purported waste of Housing First, but decades of research contradict that claim. Permanent supportive housing reduces chronic homelessness, lowers emergency and policing costs, stabilizes people with disabilities, and is cheaper than institutionalization or shelters. Transitional housing with mandatory compliance, on the other hand, repeatedly pushes people back to the streets, disproportionately harms people with disabilities, increases mortality, inflates administrative costs, and creates churn rather than stability. The policy is not a mistake; it reflects the calculated priorities of an elite managerial class whose worldview demands austerity for the poor while allowing them to flourish materially.

The response in Washington has been striking. Forty-two Senate Democrats warned HUD that the shift violates the McKinney-Vento Act, undermines local decision-making, and rejects decades of federally funded research. Even twenty House Republicans urged careful implementation to avoid destabilizing services for seniors and disabled people. Yet decades of neoliberal policymaking—funded and legitimized by universities, foundations, and think tanks—have already created a system in which poverty and suffering are baked into federal policy. This latest HUD action simply codifies that worldview.

The crisis unfolding now is not just the product of Trump’s ideological war on Housing First. It is the logical endpoint of decades of privatization, the erosion of public housing, elite consensus around austerity, credentialed managerialism, the nonprofit-industrial complex, the foundation-university revolving door, and the belief—deeply embedded in higher education—that markets and metrics should govern everything. Many of these policymakers and nonprofit executives own multiple homes, refuse to pay taxes, and structure federal policy to ensure the poor remain dependent, unstable, and suffering. The people most directly harmed are those with the least political power: disabled people, elderly tenants, veterans, people with serious mental illness, women fleeing violence, and families trying to survive an economy that no longer works for them. Behind them stands a class of educated neoliberals who built the systems that made this outcome possible, often congratulating themselves for “innovation” while allowing misery to proliferate. This is not failure. This is design.

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Sources:

• Politico, “HUD to Cut Permanent Housing Funding for Homeless Programs,” 2025.

• National Alliance to End Homelessness, internal HUD funding documents, 2025.

• Ann Oliva, National Alliance to End Homelessness, statements to POLITICO, 2025.

• McKinney-Vento Homeless Assistance Act, 1987.

• HUD Notice of Funding Opportunity, 2026 Continuum of Care Program.

• Executive Order: “Ending Crime and Disorder on America’s Streets,” White House, 2025.

K-12 Virtual Education: A Broken Pipeline to College and Jobs

K12 Inc., now rebranded as Stride, is a Wall Street darling—but for students, it’s a nightmare. Critics call it “one of the worst charter schools in America,” with dropout rates soaring above 50% and graduation rates below 30%. Behind the glossy marketing and investor pitches, Stride operates as a pipeline not to opportunity, but to debt, dead-end jobs, and corporate profit.

Stride presents itself as an innovative online education platform, but the numbers tell a different story. Full-time virtual schools nationally graduate just 54.6% of students, compared to 85% in traditional public schools. K12/Stride’s virtual offerings hover around 56.3%, with blended programs faring slightly better at 80.9%. In some districts, however, the picture is grim: Kansas K12 charters reported graduation rates as low as 26.3%, while local brick-and-mortar schools achieved nearly 90%.

High student churn compounds the problem. Stride-powered schools report turnover of 50–57%, highlighting systemic disengagement and academic instability. Student-teacher ratios are extreme, sometimes exceeding 40:1, more than double the national average. Only a third of K12 schools met Adequate Yearly Progress under No Child Left Behind, illustrating a chronic failure to deliver even basic accountability.

K-12 education is meant to be a pipeline—leading students into college, skilled careers, and financial stability. For students leaving Stride underprepared or without diplomas, that pipeline is broken. Many are pushed into low-wage work, forced into remedial college courses, or trapped in a credential system designed to extract debt rather than confer opportunity. In this way, Stride acts less as an educational institution and more as a conveyor belt funneling vulnerable youth into economic precarity.

Stride is backed by investors and private equity interests that profit from this dysfunction. Its glossy “Graduation Guarantee,” introduced in 2021, promises remediation for students who age out without graduating. But these measures are reactive, not systemic; they don’t address the structural incentives that prioritize profit over learning. Every public dollar flowing into Stride’s coffers is money extracted from communities, while many students exit the system with weak credentials and limited prospects.

The broader story is clear: billionaire-backed for-profit virtual schools like Stride are part of a national effort to privatize public education, monetize student debt, and commodify learning. They transform education from a public good into a profit center, leaving students and families to bear the real cost. Without accountability, oversight, and a renewed commitment to equitable public education, this pipeline—supposed to carry students toward opportunity—will continue to deliver them into debt, underemployment, and economic marginalization.

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Sources

• National Education Policy Center (2021). Virtual Schools in the U.S. nepc.colorado.edu

• Network for Public Education (2019). Are Online Charter Schools Good Options for Families? networkforpubliceducation.org

• SourceWatch. K12 Inc. sourcewatch.org

• Public Schools First NC. Online Charter Schools. publicschoolsfirstnc.org

• Education Week. 15 Months in Virtual Charter Hell. edweek.org

• Houston Chronicle (2025). Texas Expands Virtual School Enrollment Amid Accountability Concerns. houstonchronicle.com

• Stride Inc. (2021). Graduation Guarantee. investors.stridelearning.com

• Diane Ravitch Blog (2021). Teacher Reflects on Working for K12 Inc. dianeravitch.net

• Wikipedia. Stride, Inc. en.wikipedia.org

Stephen Ashley’s Gift and the Reputational Laundering of Elite Wealth

In December 2025, Cornell University announced a $55 million gift from alumnus Stephen B. Ashley to endow the newly named Ashley School of Global Development and the Environment. The university presented the donation as a transformative investment in sustainability, global development, and interdisciplinary research. Yet behind the headlines of generosity lies a pattern that has come to define elite higher education: the use of philanthropy to launder reputations and sanitize wealth accumulated through systems that produce widespread harm.

Ashley’s career exemplifies this dynamic. As a longtime real estate investor and head of The Ashley Companies, he amassed significant wealth. His tenure on the board of Fannie Mae, including as chairman in the mid-2000s, coincided with periods of accounting irregularities, risky mortgage practices, and systemic failures in governance. Fannie Mae’s collapse during the 2008 financial crisis devastated millions of Americans, particularly low-income and minority households, yet board members and executives largely escaped personal consequences. Ashley’s wealth, in part derived from this environment, is now being funneled into a university named for him — transforming historical responsibility into a narrative of generosity.

The pattern extends beyond domestic finance. Ashley also serves on the Founders Council of the Middle East Investment Initiative (MEII), a nonprofit focused on private-sector development in the Middle East. While MEII frames itself as a promoter of economic growth and development, critics argue that such organizations operate within a global financial ecosystem that prioritizes investor stability and elite networks over democratic accountability or local economic agency. Participation in these initiatives may be legal, even philanthropic, but they reinforce Ashley’s image as a global benefactor without confronting the broader systemic power he wields.

Cornell, like many elite institutions, accepts such gifts with minimal scrutiny, emphasizing the moral and intellectual good the donation enables while obscuring the histories of harm that made the wealth possible. Naming a school dedicated to equity, sustainability, and global development after a figure linked to financial crisis and speculative practices exemplifies the reputational laundering function universities serve for wealthy donors. The institution converts fortunes built in high-stakes, opaque, or socially harmful arenas into lasting prestige, moral capital, and scholarly legitimacy — all while reinforcing its own image as an engine of public good.

This is not a question of legality. Ashley’s wealth is largely untarnished in the courts. It is a question of accountability, ethics, and institutional values. By turning wealth into permanent naming rights, universities like Cornell signal that elite power can be absolved through philanthropy, creating a structural dynamic where generosity replaces responsibility, and reputation is more durable than accountability.

For students, faculty, and the public interested in environmental justice, social equity, and global development, the contradiction is stark. The same systems that generate inequality now fund the study and critique of inequality itself. Elite institutions benefit materially and symbolically from the work of those who profited from structural harm, even as the original consequences fade from public memory. Until universities confront this tension, higher education will continue to function as a reputational laundromat for elite wealth, transforming past systemic damage into present prestige.

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Sources

Cornell University, “Historic Gift Endows New CALS School,” Cornell News
Cornell Sun, coverage of the Ashley School announcement
Federal Housing Finance Agency, Special Examination Reports on Fannie Mae (2005–2008)
Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission materials on Fannie Mae governance
Reuters, coverage of post-crisis shareholder litigation involving Fannie Mae board leadership
Middle East Investment Initiative, Board and Founders Council listings
Aspen Institute, background on MEII origins

Are Elite Neoliberals and Trump Singing from the Same Sheet of Music?

The silence of America’s elite is deafening. Jeffrey Sonnenfeld, Yale professor and corporate leadership expert, does not hesitate to call it out. In a recent email, he warned that the nation’s corporate, academic, and religious leaders—once the backbone of moral and civic accountability—are now “smugly, safely, silently on the sidelines,” while authoritarian forces surge.

“Nope,” Sonnenfeld wrote, “but it’s high time for the neo whiners to get off their lazy, cowardly butts and follow the courageous path of activists across sectors and fields from the 1960s and 1970s. It took nine years to get the No Kings rallies going. Shameful.”

He recalls an era when activism cut across sectors: interfaith clergy, college presidents—from elite universities to small faith-based institutions and HBCUs—trade union leaders, professional associations, environmentalists, and human rights advocates all marched together. Blue state treasurers and attorneys general held corporations accountable; red state officials sometimes applied pressure from the opposite side. CEOs, Sonnenfeld reminds us, are mostly “hired hands, stewards of other people’s money” who respond to engaged stakeholders. Without pressure, they retreat into inaction.

Today, the chorus of accountability is eerily silent. Clergy barely speak out. University presidents remain cautious. Activists blog while the nation teeters. Sonnenfeld’s indictment is clear: where once there was collective courage, there is now passivity—an effective alignment with the very forces undermining democracy.

In practical terms, elite inaction has consequences. Trump and his allies wield influence not only through electoral politics but by exploiting institutional inertia. By failing to mobilize, elites—through default inaction—allow a political agenda that often mirrors their own neoliberal priorities to advance unchecked: deregulation, tax favoritism, corporate consolidation, and a shrinking social safety net.

Sonnenfeld’s challenge is urgent: Will today’s corporate boards, clergy, and academic leaders rise to the occasion, reclaim the moral authority they once wielded, and demand accountability from those they employ and fund? Or will the next generation of Americans grow up seeing democracy as a performance, not a lived responsibility?

The 1960s and 1970s were not perfect, but they demonstrated what cross-sectoral solidarity could achieve. Today, silence is complicity. In a nation at moral and political crossroads, elites cannot afford to play it safe. History is watching—and so is the rest of the world.

Muckraking and the Modern University

From the Gilded Age to the digital era, muckraking has served as a check on concentrated power. It has exposed exploitation in factories, corruption in government, racial terror, and corporate deceit. Today, that same spirit is urgently needed in higher education—an industry that has become both immensely wealthy and profoundly unequal.

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Ida B. Wells and the Moral Foundation of Muckraking (1890s)

Modern investigative reporting begins with Ida B. Wells, who in the late 19th century documented the horrors of lynching and the complicity of institutions in perpetuating racial terror. In Southern Horrors (1892) and The Red Record (1895), Wells used data, testimony, and moral clarity to challenge both white supremacy and institutional silence.

Her courage established muckraking not just as journalism but as moral resistance—a template for confronting systemic injustice, whether in government, business, or education.

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Thorstein Veblen and the Rise of the Business University (1918)

By the early 20th century, universities themselves had become powerful institutions. Thorstein Veblen, in The Higher Learning in America (1918), described how trustees, presidents, and donors increasingly treated scholarship as a commodity. The pursuit of truth was subordinated to the pursuit of prestige and profit. Veblen’s critique presaged the administrative bloat, branding culture, and market-driven priorities now standard in higher education.

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Upton Sinclair and The Goosestep (1923)

Upton Sinclair, in The Goosestep: A Study of American Education (1923), argued that elite universities were “factories for the ruling class.” Trustees dictated policy, suppressed dissenting faculty, and produced graduates conditioned to serve wealth and power. Sinclair’s critique resonates a century later, as universities remain highly responsive to donors and financial interests rather than the public good.

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Jessica Mitford and Corporate Exploitation (1960s)

Jessica Mitford, best known for The American Way of Death (1963), brought investigative rigor to industries that relied on secrecy, public trust, and consumer inattention. Her work exposed how profit motives could exploit vulnerability and regulatory gaps. Mitford’s methodology—meticulous documentation, ethical outrage, and clear writing—provides a model for exposing modern higher education practices that prioritize revenue over students’ welfare.

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Digital Muckraking: OPMs and 2U (21st Century)

In the 21st century, online program managers (OPMs) like 2U, Inc. have commercialized education in new ways. Chip Paucek, co-founder and longtime CEO of 2U, built partnerships with elite universities offering certificates and degrees that were sometimes of questionable value, while profiting from revenue-sharing agreements.

When independent journalists examined these arrangements and their implications for students and adjunct labor, they sometimes faced threats of litigation. The ongoing Paucek v. Shaulis case (filed 2024, and still pending) illustrates the modern challenge: exposing systemic issues in higher education can trigger lawsuits designed to intimidate or silence critics.

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The Chilling Effect of Legal Retaliation

Even unfounded lawsuits can suppress critical reporting. Independent journalists, adjuncts, and whistleblowers often lack the resources to defend themselves against legal pressure. This modern form of censorship echoes the intimidation faced by Wells, Sinclair, and Mitford in their respective eras.

Higher education, increasingly operated like a business, has become vulnerable to this kind of silencing. Public interest and accountability require journalists who are willing to persist despite the risks.

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The Enduring Importance of Muckraking

From Wells’ moral courage, to Veblen’s economic critique, Sinclair’s exposé of elite conformity, and Mitford’s corporate investigations, muckrakers have shaped public understanding and accountability. Today, independent journalism is one of the few mechanisms capable of exposing predatory practices, financial manipulation, and labor exploitation in higher education.

As Wells wrote, “The way to right wrongs is to turn the light of truth upon them.” That light has always been costly—but without it, universities risk becoming oligarchies rather than public institutions.

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Reclaiming the Public Good (If That's Possible) 

Muckraking is civic duty. It insists that higher education be judged not by prestige or endowment size, but by service to students and society. Independent journalists must continue the Wells–Veblen–Sinclair–Mitford tradition, confronting power, exposing exploitation, and demanding accountability.

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Sources

• Ida B. Wells, Southern Horrors (1892); The Red Record (1895)

• Thorstein Veblen, The Higher Learning in America (1918)

• Upton Sinclair, The Goosestep: A Study of American Education (1923)

• Jessica Mitford, The American Way of Death (1963)

• Harriet A. Washington, Medical Apartheid (2006)

• Elisabeth Rosenthal, An American Sickness (2017)

• Higher Education Inquirer archives, 2014–2025

• Paucek v. Shaulis (filed October 2024, pending 2025)

The Data We Can Still Trust: Holding Colleges Accountable When Transparency Declines

In an age where facts are contested and data manipulated, the question "Can we trust the numbers?" has become not just philosophical but political—and deeply consequential. Nowhere is this more evident than in higher education policy, where recent moves by the federal government have drastically undermined transparency, oversight, and public trust.

The dismantling of truth has reached new heights in 2025. Under the second Trump administration, the U.S. Department of Education has seen unprecedented budget cuts, including the near-evisceration of offices responsible for data collection and analysis. Key functions of the National Center for Education Statistics (NCES) have been gutted or quietly privatized, leaving researchers, journalists, and the public in the dark about the state of America's colleges and universities.

While much of the media has focused on the culture wars roiling campuses, the real war—against accountability—has played out more quietly through bureaucratic defunding and the removal of inconvenient truth-tellers.

In a stunning move this summer, President Trump fired the head of the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS), reportedly over the refusal to manipulate job figures and educational attainment data to suit administration talking points. The firing came just days after the BLS declined to revise downward the number of unemployed college graduates—a number that contradicted public claims of an “education-fueled economic boom.”

The Department of Labor's statistical integrity had been under increasing pressure in recent months. Sources within the agency described an atmosphere of intimidation and growing self-censorship. Internal memos revealed efforts to suppress long-term wage stagnation data and the underemployment rates among recent college grads.

Meanwhile, the Department of Education—once tasked with producing detailed reports on student outcomes, loan default rates, and institutional effectiveness—has abandoned major longitudinal studies. The College Scorecard website, once a marginal tool for transparency, now offers cherry-picked metrics and lacks any independent oversight. Public datasets are incomplete or years out of date. Critical tools like the Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System (IPEDS) are being quietly dismantled under the guise of "streamlining."

These changes don’t just affect policy wonks and higher ed insiders. They directly impact students, families, and communities trying to navigate a rapidly shifting and often predatory education marketplace. Without reliable data on debt loads, job placement, or graduation rates, how can anyone make informed decisions about college?

The answer, increasingly, is: they can’t. And perhaps that’s the point.

For an administration and its allies pushing voucher-style education reforms, expanded online programs, and reduced regulatory scrutiny, ignorance is a strategic asset. In a data vacuum, ideology prevails. Numbers become whatever those in power say they are.

This erosion of statistical integrity is part of a broader trend of de-democratizing knowledge. When facts become partisan tools and empirical research is defunded or delegitimized, the public loses its capacity to make informed decisions—not just about higher education, but about the future of the country itself.

The Higher Education Inquirer has long reported on the College Meltdown—the slow-motion unraveling of a bloated, debt-fueled, and increasingly corporatized higher ed system. But what happens when the meltdown is obscured by manipulated metrics and silenced dissent?

We are entering a phase where the collapse is not just structural or economic, but epistemological. Without reliable data, accountability vanishes. And when accountability dies, so does democracy.

The Numbers We Can Still Trust

Despite the chaos at the federal level, not all is lost. Gary Stocker, founder of College Viability and a long-time analyst of college financial health, emphasizes that historical data from IPEDS, audited financial statements, and IRS 990s remain largely intact—and still extremely valuable.

“There might be some risk for future numbers,” Stocker explains, “but I contend there is little risk for historical numbers from IPEDS, financial statements, and IRS 990s. Those numbers are baked in and would be very difficult to alter.”

This long-view perspective is critical in a time when many colleges and universities are trying to spin short-term narratives of recovery.

“If the enrollment trend is down over the past 8–10 years, that is the indicator of a college in trouble,” Stocker says. “Any college that tries to spin a 1-year, full enrollment recovery story will face extensive doubt and disbelief—especially from me.”

These longitudinal patterns—whether in enrollment, tuition discounting, administrative bloat, or student outcomes—are more important than ever. And while IPEDS may be on the chopping block, Stocker reminds us that nonprofit institutions are still legally obligated to submit audited financials and IRS 990 forms.

“Those two resources alone will be a tool with which to identify and expose those colleges willing to risk taking poetic license with their data.”

At The Higher Education Inquirer, we agree—and we thank Gary Stocker for his clarity and persistence. Transparency doesn’t depend solely on the federal government. It depends on those willing to dig, analyze, and expose the truth—even when that truth is buried in spreadsheets and footnotes.

We urge journalists, researchers, students, and faculty to continue examining the data that remains. The numbers don’t lie. But silence, distortion, and disappearance are forms of policy. And right now, those policies are accelerating.

Sources:

– U.S. Department of Education Budget Summary, FY2025
– Internal whistleblower reports from the Bureau of Labor Statistics
– “Bureau Head Fired Over Data Dispute,” Washington Post, June 2025
– American Council on Education analysis of NCES defunding, July 2025
– U.S. Department of Education, Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System (IPEDS): https://nces.ed.gov/ipeds/
– IRS Form 990 Search: https://apps.irs.gov/app/eos/
– Gary Stocker, College Viability – https://collegeviability.com/
– Gary Stocker, Personal communication with The Higher Education Inquirer, August 2025
– Chronicle of Higher Education, “Enrollment Trends and Institutional Closures,” accessed 2025
– National Association of College and University Business Officers (NACUBO), “Tuition Discounting Study,” various years
– Higher Education Inquirer archives on data transparency and College Scorecard manipulation

Bari Weiss, UATX, and the Corporate Rewriting of “Free Speech”

Bari Weiss has built a powerful public identity as a defender of free speech against institutional conformity. From elite universities to legacy newsrooms, she presents herself as a principled dissenter confronting ideological capture. Yet her expanding influence across higher education and corporate media suggests something deeper than individual controversy. It reveals how elite institutions are increasingly repackaging control, consolidation, and risk management as rebellion.

Weiss’s involvement in the University of Austin and her editorial authority at CBS News illustrate how the language of free inquiry has been absorbed into a broader project of institutional realignment rather than democratization.

The University of Austin was launched in 2021 as a highly publicized response to what its founders described as illiberal conditions in American higher education. Weiss, as a co-founder and public face of the project, helped frame UATX as a refuge for intellectual risk-taking and heterodox thought. Yet the institution was not built from the margins of academia. It emerged through the backing of wealthy donors, venture capitalists, tech executives, and high-profile media figures who already occupy powerful positions within American public life.

UATX’s critique of higher education centers almost entirely on cultural politics, presenting universities as hostile to dissent while leaving largely untouched the material structures that govern academic freedom. The casualization of academic labor, the erosion of tenure, donor influence over research agendas, student debt as a disciplinary force, and retaliation against labor organizers and whistleblowers rarely figure into the narrative. In this way, UATX offers not a systemic challenge to elite education but an exit strategy for those with the resources to opt out of public accountability.

The same logic appears in Weiss’s role within legacy media. In late 2025, CBS News pulled a completed investigative segment from 60 Minutes examining the Trump administration’s deportation of Venezuelan migrants to a notoriously brutal prison in El Salvador. The segment had reportedly passed legal and editorial review. The decision to shelve it, attributed to a demand for additional on-the-record administration comment, sparked internal outrage. Veteran journalists described the move as political interference rather than standard editorial caution, with some staff reportedly threatening to resign.

The episode carried a deep irony. One of the most prominent self-described defenders of free speech now presided over the suppression of investigative journalism within one of the country’s most storied news programs. Whether temporary or permanent, the delay signaled a shift in institutional priorities, where political sensitivity and corporate risk appeared to outweigh journalistic autonomy.

This controversy unfolded amid broader upheaval at CBS News. Longtime anchors departed the CBS Evening News in emotional farewells as management reshuffled talent and redefined the network’s public posture. Inside the newsroom, morale reportedly declined as staff faced uncertainty about editorial direction, layoffs, and ideological repositioning. Weiss reportedly questioned journalists about public perceptions of bias, reinforcing a top-down effort to rebrand the organization rather than engage in collective editorial deliberation.

These developments cannot be separated from the corporate transformation of CBS’s parent company. Paramount Global has undergone a sweeping restructuring shaped by its merger with Skydance Media, led by David Ellison, the son of Oracle founder Larry Ellison. Under this new ownership structure, CBS News has been encouraged to restore “balance” and credibility, language that often accompanies efforts to reduce investigative risk and align journalism more closely with corporate and political interests.

At the same time, Paramount’s deal-making has intersected with elite political networks. Jared Kushner’s private equity firm was involved in related media acquisition efforts before withdrawing, highlighting the increasingly blurred lines between media ownership, political influence, and capital consolidation. In this environment, editorial independence is not abolished outright but carefully managed, constrained by the priorities of ownership and the sensitivities of power.

What connects UATX and CBS News under Weiss’s influence is not ideology so much as structure. In both cases, authority flows upward while dissent is curated. Free inquiry is framed as a moral value but detached from democratic governance, labor protections, or accountability to those most vulnerable to institutional retaliation. Meanwhile, individuals and groups who experience genuine silencing in academia and media—adjunct faculty, student activists, labor organizers, whistleblowers, and critics of militarism or donor power—remain largely absent from this version of the free speech debate.

This pattern is familiar within higher education. When institutions face crises of legitimacy, elites rarely pursue democratization. Instead, they create alternatives that preserve control under new branding: private institutes, donor-led centers, honors colleges, and parallel universities. Legacy media has followed a similar path, repackaging dissent while narrowing the scope of accountability.

Bari Weiss is not an anomaly within this landscape. She is emblematic of it. Her influence reflects how “free speech” has become an aesthetic rather than a structural commitment, invoked loudly while practiced selectively.

The danger is not that Weiss holds strong opinions. It is that her framework for free speech travels so easily across institutions precisely because it leaves their economic and power relations intact. The University of Austin does not confront the forces hollowing out higher education. CBS News, under corporate consolidation, risks muting the investigative journalism that once defined it. In both cases, freedom becomes a branding strategy rather than a democratic practice.

For those concerned with truly independent journalism and genuinely democratic education, the lesson is clear. Speech is never just about speech. It is about ownership, power, and who bears the consequences when truth becomes inconvenient.

The University of California Meltdown: Trump’s Extortion Meets Years of Student Suppression

University of California (UC) President James Milliken has sounded an alarm over what he calls one of the “gravest threats” in the institution’s 157-year history. In testimony before state lawmakers, Milliken outlined a looming financial crisis sparked by sweeping federal funding cuts and unprecedented political demands from the Trump administration.

The UC system — spanning 10 campuses, five medical centers, and serving hundreds of thousands of students and patients — receives more than $17 billion in federal funds annually. That includes $9.9 billion in Medicare and Medicaid reimbursements, $5.7 billion in research dollars, and $1.9 billion in student financial aid. According to Milliken, much of this funding is now at risk.

Already, UCLA alone has seen more than $500 million in research grants cut. On top of that, the administration has levied a $1.2 billion penalty against the system, alleging that UCLA and other campuses failed to adequately address antisemitism.

“These shortfalls, combined with the administration’s punitive demands, could devastate our university and cause enormous harm to our students, our patients, and all Californians,” Milliken warned. He has requested at least $4 to $5 billion annually in state aid to blunt the impact of federal cuts.

More Than a Budget Fight

The Trump administration has tied federal funding to sweeping political conditions, including:

• Release of detailed admissions data.

• Restrictions on protests.

• Elimination of race-related scholarships and diversity hiring.

• A ban on gender-affirming care for minors at UCLA health centers.

Critics argue that these conditions amount to political blackmail, undermining both academic freedom and healthcare access.

California Governor Gavin Newsom denounced the federal measures as “extortion” and “a page out of the authoritarian playbook.” Thirty-three state legislators urged UC leaders “not to back down in the face of this political shakedown.”

Protesters in the Crossfire

Yet while UC leaders frame themselves as defenders of free inquiry, many students and faculty who have protested war, racism, and inequality have found themselves silenced by the very system that now claims victimhood.

• 2011 UC Davis Occupy Protest: Images of police casually pepper-spraying seated students went viral, symbolizing the university’s harsh response to peaceful dissent.

• 2019 UC Santa Cruz Graduate Worker Strike: Graduate students demanding a cost-of-living adjustment were fired, evicted, or disciplined rather than heard.

• 2022 UC Irvine Labor Strikes: Workers organizing for fair pay and job security faced heavy-handed tactics from administrators.

• 2023–24 Gaza Encampments: UC campuses, including UCLA and UC Berkeley, called in police to dismantle student encampments protesting U.S. and UC complicity in Israel’s war in Gaza. Dozens of students were arrested, suspended, or disciplined for their participation.

These incidents show a pattern: UC celebrates academic freedom in official statements, but clamps down when protests threaten its ties to corporate donors, political interests, or foreign governments.

As one Berkeley student put it during the Gaza protests: “The university claims it’s under attack from Trump’s censorship — but it censors us every single day.”

UC’s Own Accountability Problem

Beyond silencing dissent, UC has been unresponsive to many Californians on broader issues: rising tuition, limited in-state enrollment, reliance on low-paid adjuncts, and partnerships with corporations that profit from student debt and labor precarity. For many working families, UC feels less like a public institution and more like an elite research enterprise serving industry and politics.

This contradiction makes the current crisis double-edged. UC is indeed being targeted by the Trump administration, but it also faces a legitimacy crisis at home.

Looking Ahead

Milliken, who took office as UC President on August 1, is lobbying state lawmakers to commit billions annually to offset federal cuts. But UC’s survival may hinge not only on political deals in Sacramento, but also on whether it can rebuild trust with the Californians it has too often sidelined — including the protesters and whistleblowers who have been warning for years about its drift away from public accountability.

The larger struggle, then, is not just UC versus Washington. It is about whether a public university system can still live up to its mission of serving the people — not corporations, not politicians, and not the wealthy few who hold the purse strings.

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Sources:

• University of California Office of the President

• California State Legislature records

• Statements from Gov. Gavin Newsom

• U.S. Department of Justice communications

• Higher Education Inquirer archives on UC protest suppression and public accountability

• Coverage of UC Davis pepper-spray incident (2011), UC Santa Cruz COLA strike (2019), UC Irvine labor strikes (2022), Gaza encampment crackdowns (2023–24)

A New Era of Accountability: The Case for Taxing Universities with Legacy Admissions.

As debates around the fairness of college admissions continue to dominate headlines, a growing number of voices are calling for a fundamental change in how universities operate—especially when it comes to legacy admissions. Legacy admissions, a practice where children of alumni are given preferential treatment in the admissions process, have long been a controversial issue. Critics argue that these policies disproportionately benefit wealthy, predominantly white families, perpetuating cycles of privilege and inequality in higher education.

However, a new idea has emerged: what if universities that maintain legacy admissions policies were taxed? This radical proposal seeks to directly address the social and economic disparities that legacy admissions exacerbate. Let’s break down how this concept could work and why it may be an essential step toward greater fairness in higher education.

Legacy Admissions and Their Impact

Legacy admissions are widely seen as a way for universities to maintain strong alumni relations and secure large financial donations. While this may have practical advantages for universities, the social consequences are more troubling. Studies have shown that legacy students tend to come from wealthier backgrounds and are often already overrepresented in the student body of elite institutions.

For example, at Ivy League schools like Harvard and Yale, legacy students make up a disproportionately high percentage of the accepted class, despite often having lower academic performance metrics compared to their non-legacy peers. The practice has sparked outrage from students, parents, and activists who argue that it locks out deserving candidates from underrepresented communities, particularly students of color and first-generation college applicants.

The Taxation Proposal

The core of the proposed policy is simple: universities that admit a significant number of legacy students—say, 20% or more of the incoming class—would be required to pay a tax based on the proportion of legacy students admitted. This tax could be structured progressively, with higher taxes imposed on universities with a greater percentage of legacy admits. The funds raised could be earmarked for initiatives aimed at increasing diversity, providing scholarships for underrepresented students, or supporting public universities that offer accessible, low-cost education.

The argument for this approach is rooted in the idea that universities benefiting from preferential admissions policies should be held financially accountable for the social inequality they perpetuate. By taxing legacy admissions, we create an economic incentive for universities to reconsider these outdated practices and move toward a more equitable admissions process.

Economic and Social Benefits

1. Encouraging Diversity: Universities that rely on legacy admissions often argue that they are fostering long-term relationships with alumni and maintaining their traditions. However, the proposed tax would encourage schools to focus more on diversity and accessibility. With the additional tax burden, institutions would likely seek alternative ways to boost their endowments or attract alumni donations, potentially pushing them toward more inclusive, merit-based admissions policies.

2. Supporting Public Institutions: The revenue generated from taxing legacy admissions could be reinvested into public universities, which often face funding shortages and higher tuition rates. These schools serve a larger proportion of low-income and first-generation students, and additional funding could help close the equity gap between public and private universities.

3. Public Accountability: The tax system would provide an additional layer of public accountability for how universities operate, ensuring that schools with large endowments and large alumni bases do not perpetuate systems of privilege at the expense of broader societal equality.

Addressing Concerns

Opponents of this idea will likely argue that taxing universities could have unintended consequences, such as limiting the resources available for financial aid or academic programs. Some may also claim that legacy admissions serve a legitimate purpose in fostering strong alumni networks and ensuring continued donations.

However, these concerns fail to address the larger moral issue at stake: the perpetuation of privilege in higher education. Universities, especially those with large endowments, can afford to innovate and adapt. Many already provide substantial financial aid packages, and the taxes levied on legacy admissions would provide a direct opportunity to reinvest those resources into a more equitable future.

The Path Forward

In many ways, taxing legacy admissions is just one piece of the puzzle. A comprehensive reform agenda would also include revisiting standardized testing practices, increasing transparency in the admissions process, and offering more substantial financial aid packages to students from underrepresented backgrounds. However, the idea of using tax policy to address the inequities embedded in legacy admissions provides a concrete, measurable step forward.

It’s time for universities to evolve and embrace a future where access to higher education is based on merit, not on family connections or wealth. By taxing schools that perpetuate legacy admissions, we can push institutions to confront their role in social inequality and work toward a more inclusive and accessible system for all students.