Higher Education, Technology, and A Growing Social Anxiety

The Era We Are In

We are living in a neoliberal/libertarian era filled with technological change, emotional and behavioral change, and social change. An era resulting in alienation (disconnection/isolation) for the working class and anomie (lawlessness) among elites and those who serve them. We are simultaneously moving forward with technology and backward with human values and principles. Elites are reestablishing a more brutal world, hearkening back to previous centuries--a world the Higher Education Inquirer has been observing and documenting since 2016. No wonder folks of the working class and middle class are anxious. 

Manufactured College Mania

For years, authorities such as the New York Federal Reserve expressed the notion (or perhaps myth) that higher education was an imperative for young folks. They said that the wealth premium for college graduates was a million dollars over the course of a lifetime--ignoring the fact that a large percentage of people who started college never graduated--and that tens of millions of consumers and their families were drowning in student loan debt. 

2U, Guild Education, and a number of online robocolleges reflected the neoliberal promise of higher education and online technology to improve social mobility.  The mainstream media were largely complicit with these higher ed schemes. 

2U brought advanced degrees and certificates to the masses, using brand names such as Harvard, MIT, Yale, USC, University of North Carolina, and the University of Texas to promote the expensive credentials that did not work for many consumers. 

Guild Education brought educational opportunities to folks at Walmart, Target, Macy's and other Fortune 500 companies who would be replacing their workers with robotics, AI, and other technologies. But the educational opportunities were for credentials from subprime online schools like Purdue University Global. Few workers took the bait. 

As 2U files for bankruptcy, it leaves a number of debt holders holding the bag, including more than $500M to Wilmington Trust, and $30M to other vendors and clients, including Guild Education, and a number of elite universities. Guild Education is still alive, but like 2U, has had to fire a quarter of its workers, even downsizing its name to Guild, as investor money dries up. It continues to spend money on its image, as a Team USA sponsor.    

The online robocolleges (including Liberty University, Grand Canyon University, University of Phoenix, Purdue University Global, and University of Arizona Global)  brought adult education and hope to the masses, especially those who were underemployed. In many cases, it was false hope, as they also brought insurmountable student debt to American consumers. Billions and billions in debt that cannot be repaid, now considered toxic assets to the US government. 

Along the way there have been important detractors in popular culture, especially on the right. Conservative radio celebrity Dave Ramsey, railed against irresponsible folks carrying lots of debt, including student loan debt. He was not wrong, but he did not implicate those who preyed on student consumers. On the left, the Debt Collective also railed against student loan debt, long before the right, but they were often ignored or marginalized. 

Adapting to a Brutal System

The system  works for elites and some of those who serve them, but not for others, even some of the middle class. Good jobs once at the end of the education pipeline have been replaced by 12-hour shifts, 60 hour work weeks, bullsh*t jobs, and gig work. 

Working-class Americans are living shorter lives, lives in some cases made worse not so much by lack of education, but by the destruction of union jobs, and by social media, and other intended and unintended consequences of technology and neoliberalism. Millions of folks, working class and some middle class, who have invested in higher education and have overwhelming debt and fading job prospects, feel like they have been lied to.

We also have lives made more sedentary and solitary by technology. Lives made more hectic and less tolerable. Inequality making lives too easy for those with privilege and lives too difficult for the working class to manage. Lives managed by having fewer relationships and fewer children. Many smartly choosing not to bring children into this new world. All of this manufactured by technology and human greed.  

The College Dream is Over...for the Working Class

There are two competing messages about higher education: the first that college brings opportunity and wealth and the second, that higher education may bring debt and misery. The truth is, these different messages are meant for two groups: pushing brand name schools and student loans for the most ambitious middle class/working class and a lesser form of education for the struggling working class. 

In 2020, Gary Roth said that the college dream was over. Yet the socially manufactured college mania continues, flooding the internet with ads for college and college loans, as social realities point to a future with fewer good and meaningful jobs even for those with degrees. Higher education will continue to work for some, but should every consumer, especially among the struggling working class, believe the message is for them? 

Related links:

More than half of college grads are stuck in jobs that don't require degrees (msn.com)

AI-ROBOT CAPITALISTS WILL DESTROY THE HUMAN ECONOMY (Randall Collins)

Edtech Meltdown 

Guild Education: Enablers of Anti-Union Corporations and Subprime College Programs

2U Declares Chapter 11 Bankruptcy. Will Anyone Else Name All The Elite Universities That Were Complicit?

College Mania!: An Open Letter to the NY Fed (2019)

"Let's all pretend we couldn't see it coming": The US Working-Class Depression (2020)

The College Dream is Over (Gary Roth, 2020)

Chinese College Meltdown: Credential Inflation and the Crisis in Higher Education Employment

China's higher education system is facing a profound crisis, marked by rampant credential inflation, a saturated academic job market, and growing inequality between domestic and international degree holders. A recent study published in Humanities and Social Sciences Communications provides empirical evidence of these trends, drawing from an extensive dataset of nearly 160,000 faculty resumes across 802 Chinese universities.

The Rise of Credential Inflation

Credential inflation refers to the escalating academic qualifications required for positions that previously demanded less. In China, this phenomenon is particularly pronounced in elite institutions, especially those under the "Project 211" initiative. The study reveals that new faculty hires increasingly possess higher degrees and more publications than their predecessors, a trend driven by intensified competition and institutional prestige.

This inflationary pressure disproportionately affects domestically educated candidates. Despite holding advanced degrees, many find themselves overshadowed by peers with international qualifications, who are often favored for positions at top-tier universities. This preference underscores a systemic devaluation of domestic academic credentials.

Favoring International Degrees

The study highlights a growing bias towards candidates with overseas education. These individuals are not only more likely to secure positions at prestigious institutions but also benefit from a perception of superior academic training. This trend exacerbates existing inequalities and places additional pressure on domestic scholars to seek international credentials, often at significant personal and financial cost.

Broader Economic and Social Implications

The implications of credential inflation extend beyond academia. China's youth unemployment rate has soared above 20%, leaving many graduates underemployed or reliant on parental support . This disconnect between educational attainment and employment opportunities fuels social discontent and challenges the narrative of higher education as a pathway to upward mobility.

Furthermore, the emphasis on international degrees may contribute to a brain drain, as talented individuals seek education and employment opportunities abroad. This trend could undermine China's efforts to cultivate a robust domestic academic and research environment.

Navigating the Crisis

Addressing this multifaceted crisis requires systemic reforms. Policymakers and educational institutions must reevaluate hiring practices, placing greater value on diverse academic experiences and competencies. Investments in domestic graduate programs, coupled with initiatives to enhance the global competitiveness of Chinese degrees, are essential.

Moreover, aligning higher education outcomes with labor market needs can help mitigate unemployment and underemployment among graduates. By fostering partnerships between academia and industry, China can ensure that its educational system produces graduates equipped with relevant skills and experiences.

The phenomenon of credential inflation in Chinese higher education reflects deeper structural challenges within the country's academic and employment landscapes. Without targeted interventions, these trends threaten to erode the value of domestic education, exacerbate social inequalities, and hinder China's aspirations for global academic leadership.

For a comprehensive understanding of this issue, refer to the full study: "Credential inflation and employment of university faculty in China"

Tech Titans, Ideologues, and the Future of American Higher Education

American higher education is under pressure from within and without—squeezed by financial strain, declining enrollment, political hostility, and technological disruption. But the greatest challenge may be coming from a group of powerful outsiders—figures with deep influence in politics, technology, and media—who are actively reshaping how education is perceived, delivered, and valued. Among them: Donald Trump, Elon Musk, Peter Thiel, Sam Altman, Alex Karp, and Charlie Kirk. Each brings a different ideology and strategy, but their combined influence represents an existential threat to traditional colleges and universities.

Donald Trump’s second rise to power has included a full-spectrum attack on elite and public institutions of higher learning. From threats to strip funding from schools that promote diversity, equity, and inclusion, to freezing billions in research grants at elite institutions like Harvard, Trump has positioned universities as enemies in a broader cultural and political war. His proposed education policy emphasizes trade schools and short-term credentials over liberal arts and research, while his administration has floated revoking accreditation from institutions that resist his agenda. Rather than investing in public education, the Trump agenda calls for punishment, privatization, and obedience. And for institutions that don’t comply, there are growing threats of taxation, defunding, and public humiliation.

Elon Musk is undermining higher education in a different way. Musk has openly mocked the need for college degrees, suggesting that “you can learn anything online for free.” While that’s partly rhetoric, it’s also a blueprint for disruption. His experimental school Astra Nova already offers a glimpse into a post-institutional future—one that favors creative, independent thinking over traditional credentialing. Now, with plans to launch the Texas Institute of Technology & Science, Musk is betting that elite training can happen outside the bounds of accreditation and federal oversight. Musk’s future is technocratic and libertarian, with universities seen as bloated, slow-moving, and culturally out of touch.

Peter Thiel’s vision is even more radical. Thiel has compared American higher education to the Catholic Church before the Reformation—rich, corrupt, and intellectually bankrupt. His Thiel Fellowship pays young people to skip college entirely, offering $100,000 to start companies instead of accumulating debt. He argues that universities reward conformity and delay adulthood. For Thiel, colleges don’t just fail to prepare students—they actively mislead them. His endgame is a decentralized, market-driven system in which talent rises through initiative and capital, not credentials.

Sam Altman, CEO of OpenAI, presents yet another threat—this time from artificial intelligence. Altman doesn’t reject learning, but he does question the institutions that monopolize it. With tools like ChatGPT and future AI tutors, Altman envisions personalized, real-time learning for everyone, everywhere. In this model, universities risk becoming obsolete—not because they are wrong, but because they are too slow and too expensive. Altman has also pushed universities to take a more active role in shaping AI policy; if they don’t, the tech industry will do it for them. The message is clear: adapt or be replaced.

Alex Karp, CEO of Palantir, is building a new kind of corporate university. Through programs like the Palantir Meritocracy Fellowship and “Semester at Palantir,” Karp is recruiting students directly out of elite schools—particularly those disillusioned by what he sees as anti-Israel sentiment or campus censorship. These programs offer practical, high-paid experience that bypasses traditional academic pathways. Karp’s vision doesn’t require the elimination of universities—it just renders them unnecessary for the most competitive jobs in tech and intelligence. His model suggests a future in which corporations, not universities, decide who is qualified.

Charlie Kirk, founder of Turning Point USA, has weaponized the culture war to delegitimize higher education entirely. Kirk’s brand of activism portrays universities as corrupt, anti-American indoctrination centers. Through social media campaigns, donor networks, and student chapters, he has built an infrastructure of resistance against academic institutions. His goal isn’t reform—it’s replacement. Through efforts like the Freedom College Alliance, Kirk is helping to build a parallel educational system rooted in conservative Christian values, classical curricula, and ideological purity. In Kirk’s world, higher education isn’t broken—it’s the enemy.

Together, these six men are shaping a new, fragmented future for American education. Some want to burn it down. Some want to replace it. Some want to privatize it or profit from its collapse. What they share is a conviction that traditional universities no longer serve their intended purpose—and that a new model, rooted in tech, politics, or religion, must take its place.

This isn’t a theoretical debate. Universities are already responding—cutting liberal arts programs, racing to implement AI tools, rebranding themselves as career accelerators, and seeking favor with donors who increasingly resemble these disruptive outsiders. For those who resist, the future may include not just funding cuts, but political investigations, lawsuits, and public smear campaigns.

Higher education faces a stark choice. It can double down on its public mission—defending critical thinking, civic engagement, and social mobility—or it can retreat into elite credentialing and survival mode. What it cannot do is ignore the forces gathering at its gates. These forces are rich, powerful, ideologically driven—and they are not waiting for permission to remake the system.

Young Graduates Face Rising Unemployment Amidst Neoliberal Pressures and Elite Narratives

A recent Fortune article by Eleanor Pringle, highlighting the alarming rise in unemployment among recent college graduates, underscores a growing crisis that institutions of higher education can no longer afford to ignore. With the jobless rate for bachelor’s degree holders spiking to 6.1%—and even higher for those with advanced degrees or some college but no degree—this trend is more than a post-pandemic ripple. It’s a signal that the college-to-career pipeline is faltering, especially for Gen Z.

But while the numbers tell one story, the public narrative is increasingly shaped by powerful voices in American business—voices like JPMorgan Chase CEO Jamie Dimon, Home Depot’s Ted Decker, and Walmart U.S. CEO John Furner. These executives have become some of the most visible champions of “skills over degrees,” calling for a shift in focus from academic credentials to job readiness and alternative career paths.

We would do well, however, to approach their arguments with caution.

Elite Narratives in a Neoliberal Economy

Dimon, Decker, and Furner are not wrong to critique a higher education system that too often overpromises and underdelivers. They are correct to point out that the U.S. has neglected non-degree pathways and vocational training. But their critiques also reflect a broader neoliberal ideology—one that places the burden of employability on the individual while absolving employers and policymakers of structural responsibility.

In this framework, it's not the economy that fails young graduates—it's graduates who fail to align themselves with market demands. It's not corporations underinvesting in training or offering substandard wages—it's colleges miseducating and students mischoosing. These narratives, while seductive in their simplicity, risk obscuring deeper systemic issues: wage stagnation, job precarity, labor casualization, and the erosion of worker protections.

Dimon’s call to “measure schools by whether students get jobs” is emblematic of this thinking. It reduces education to a transaction and a worker pipeline—ignoring the broader civic, intellectual, and ethical missions of higher learning. Meanwhile, companies like JPMorgan, Home Depot, and Walmart have long histories of low-wage employment and union resistance. Their newfound concern for youth opportunity must be understood in the context of maintaining control over the terms of labor.

A System Out of Sync

Still, the data is troubling. Young graduates are struggling, and even those who find work are often underemployed—working jobs that do not require their degrees and offer limited upward mobility. The system, as it currently functions, is out of sync with both the labor market and student expectations.

But if college is failing to deliver secure employment, it’s not because education has too many ideals. It’s because the broader economy has too few guarantees. Young workers are increasingly caught in a no-win situation: Take on crushing student debt to chase credentials that may not yield career security—or forgo college and risk being excluded from many white-collar opportunities altogether.

A Different Conversation

The calls from corporate elites to “rethink” college are not entirely misplaced—but they are incomplete and self-serving. We must instead ask: What kind of economy do we want for young people? One where education is a public good and decent work is a right? Or one where economic survival hinges on which company-approved credential a person has managed to obtain?

Policymakers, educators, and advocates must seize this moment to widen the conversation. We need expanded public investment in both college and non-college pathways. We need labor reforms that strengthen worker protections and bargaining power. And we need to challenge the idea that economic justice can be achieved solely through personal skill acquisition.

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Stay with the Higher Education Inquirer for ongoing analysis of higher education, labor, and the evolving American economy.

How Higher Education Has Made America’s Caste System Worse

Higher education in the United States has long been marketed as the great equalizer—a system where hard work and talent supposedly translate into opportunity. But over the last four decades, it has increasingly reinforced and legitimized an American caste system. Through elite gatekeeping, rising tuition, unsustainable student debt, and the erosion of public support, higher education has helped harden economic class divisions, limit social mobility, and deepen inequality across racial and geographic lines.

The backdrop to this shift is a broader trend toward inequality in American society. The U.S. Gini Index—a measure of income inequality where 0 is perfect equality and 1 is maximum inequality—rose from 0.403 in 1980 to 0.494 in 2022, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. This ranks the United States among the most unequal of advanced economies. During this same period, college tuition increased by more than 1,200%—far outpacing both inflation and wage growth. Real wages for most Americans have remained stagnant since the late 1970s, while education has become more expensive and less accessible, especially for low- and middle-income families.

Elite universities have played a critical role in this transformation. Institutions such as Harvard, Princeton, Stanford, and Columbia admit more students from families in the top 1% of the income distribution than from the bottom 60% combined, according to research by economists Raj Chetty and colleagues at Opportunity Insights. Legacy admissions, donor preferences, and access to elite extracurricular activities and expensive test prep services give wealthier applicants clear advantages. Despite growing awareness of these disparities, the gates to elite education remain closed to most Americans. In 2023, the Supreme Court struck down affirmative action policies, further limiting access for underrepresented students of color.

Public colleges and universities, once affordable vehicles for upward mobility, have also become less accessible and more commercialized. State disinvestment in public higher education has been dramatic. Between 1980 and 2020, state funding per student declined by nearly 20% in inflation-adjusted dollars. To make up the shortfall, public universities increased tuition and fees, shifted toward out-of-state and international students who pay more, and invested in revenue-generating activities like athletics, real estate, and research partnerships with private industry. Flagship universities have increasingly mimicked elite privates, while regional public universities—serving the most vulnerable populations—have been neglected, consolidated, or closed.

For-profit colleges, often owned by private equity firms, have targeted low-income, first-generation, and non-traditional students, promising quick credentials and job placement. In reality, many of these institutions deliver poor outcomes, high dropout rates, and outsized debt burdens. According to the U.S. Department of Education, students at for-profit institutions are twice as likely to default on their loans compared to those at public colleges.

The student loan crisis is a defining feature of this caste-like system. Total student loan debt in the U.S. surpassed $1.7 trillion in 2023, with more than 45 million Americans carrying loans. Black borrowers, in particular, face disproportionate burdens. Data from the Brookings Institution show that Black graduates owe an average of $25,000 more than white graduates four years after graduation, due in part to differences in generational wealth and post-college income. Many borrowers spend decades in repayment or fall into default, resulting in ruined credit, wage garnishment, and loss of social mobility.

Meanwhile, the internal labor structure of higher education mirrors the broader erosion of the middle class. Since the 1970s, the percentage of faculty in tenure-track positions has declined from roughly 70% to under 30%. Today, more than 70% of college instructors are contingent workers—adjuncts or lecturers without job security, benefits, or a livable wage. Many earn less than $3,500 per course, forcing them to string together multiple jobs or rely on public assistance. The very institutions that promote education as the path to professional stability are exploiting educated workers at scale.

Credential inflation has also contributed to the caste structure. Jobs that once required a high school diploma now demand a bachelor’s degree, while others that once required a bachelor's now demand a master's or doctorate. This escalation has not always come with higher pay or better conditions but has added years of unpaid or underpaid labor, especially in fields like education, social work, and academia. As employers outsource training responsibilities to colleges, individuals are expected to invest more in credentials—often at their own expense—just to remain competitive.

Cultural narratives of meritocracy continue to legitimize these outcomes. College is still portrayed as a personal investment and a moral obligation—despite clear evidence that structural inequality determines who can afford to attend, who can complete a degree, and who can leverage it into economic stability. The myth that higher education is a universal equalizer serves to obscure how deeply stratified the system has become.

Higher education could be a force for economic justice and democratic renewal. But as it currently functions, it serves as a sorting mechanism that reproduces existing hierarchies. Elite institutions credential the ruling class. Public universities ration opportunity through rising costs. For-profit schools prey on the vulnerable. And the debt system punishes those who try to improve their circumstances through education.

Unless the system is restructured—through robust public funding, tuition-free options, large-scale debt relief, labor protections, and a renewed commitment to equity—higher education will continue to solidify America's caste system rather than dismantle it.

Sources: U.S. Census Bureau (Gini Index), U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics, Opportunity Insights, Brookings Institution, Institute for Higher Education Policy, The Century Foundation, “The Merit Myth” by Anthony Carnevale et al., “The Debt Trap” by Josh Mitchell

From EdTech Darling to Distressed Asset — A Post-Bankruptcy Autopsy

The fall of 2U, once a poster child of education technology innovation, is a cautionary tale for investors, policymakers, and students alike. After riding a wave of optimism in the online education bo-m, the company declared Chapter 11 bankruptcy in mid-2024, emerging weeks later as a privately held firm now controlled by distressed asset investors. While many of the company’s top executives have been replaced or reshuffled, the story is far from over—and the damage done to public trust in university–edtech partnerships remains.

Founded in 2008 and based in Lanham, Maryland, 2U positioned itself as a premier Online Program Manager (OPM), contracting with top-tier universities to run their online degree programs. By 2019, the company was a billion-dollar operation, boasting partnerships with USC, Georgetown, and Yale. But cracks began to show as questions about cost, transparency, student outcomes, and aggressive recruiting practices became harder to ignore.

By 2023, 2U was bleeding cash, facing multiple lawsuits, regulatory scrutiny, and plummeting investor confidence. The final blow came when the company defaulted on over $450 million in debt. In July 2024, 2U entered and quickly exited Chapter 11 bankruptcy through a pre-packaged deal. The result: 2U is now a private company, with ownership largely transferred to distressed debt investors—Mudrick Capital Management, Greenvale Capital, and Bayside Capital (an affiliate of H.I.G. Capital).

These firms are known not for a commitment to education but for expertise in distressed asset recovery and aggressive restructuring. Mudrick Capital, for instance, made headlines for its role in the AMC “meme stock” frenzy. Bayside Capital has long operated in the shadows of high-risk debt markets, favoring fast-moving deals in stressed financial environments. Greenvale Capital, a lesser-known but analytically rigorous hedge fund, rounds out the group.

Following the takeover, 2U appointed Kees Bol as its new CEO and installed Brian Napack—a veteran of the education sector and former CEO of Wiley—as Executive Chairman of the Board. Whether this new leadership can turn 2U around remains unclear. For now, they are signaling a pivot toward non-degree credentials and corporate upskilling markets, away from costly master’s degree programs that saddled students with debt and poor returns.

But 2U’s shift is not merely a business story. Its implosion exposes broader flaws in the higher education–tech ecosystem. OPMs like 2U operated in a legal gray area, exploiting Title IV federal student aid without direct regulatory oversight. Critics, including lawmakers and consumer protection advocates, argue that these firms served more as enrollment mills than academic partners. The Department of Education’s efforts to rein in the industry through “bundled services” guidance and potential Gainful Employment rules came too late to prevent massive financial fallout.

The universities that partnered with 2U are also complicit. Many ceded control of curriculum design, admissions, and marketing to a for-profit company in exchange for a share of the revenue. In doing so, they risked their reputations—and in some cases, knowingly funneled students into programs with dubious value. These relationships, many of which are still active, should now be reexamined in light of 2U’s restructuring.

Students who enrolled in these programs, often with the promise of career advancement and elite credentials, are left with debt and degrees that may not deliver the expected return. As 2U retools its strategy under the control of financial firms, it's unclear whether these students—or future ones—will benefit at all.

Meanwhile, the venture capitalists and financial engineers behind the scenes have already cashed out or secured their positions in the restructured entity. Like so many stories in the for-profit education sector, 2U’s downfall was not just predictable—it was profitable for those who knew how to play the system.

Have you worked with 2U—or been affected by it?

The Higher Education Inquirer is continuing its investigation into 2U and the wider online program management (OPM) industry. If you are a former or current employee of 2U, Trilogy Education, edX, or a related company, a university staff or faculty member who collaborated with 2U, a student or graduate of a 2U-powered program, a marketing contractor, admissions specialist, or vendor affiliated with 2U or its partners, or someone with knowledge of the company's restructuring or operations—we want to hear from you.

We are especially interested in experiences involving enrollment pressure tactics, misleading marketing, internal operations, financial mismanagement, compliance concerns, and revenue-sharing agreements with universities. If 2U’s collapse or restructuring affected your job, finances, or education, your story matters.

You can share information confidentially by contacting us. Anonymity will be protected upon request.

Older (Desperate) Folks Targeted for Online Robocolleges

In recent years, the profile of student loan borrowers in the United States has shifted dramatically. While student debt is often associated with young adults entering the workforce, a rapidly growing number of older Americans—those aged 50 and above—are carrying significant student loan balances, revealing a troubling new dimension of the nation’s student debt crisis.

As of mid-2025, approximately 7.8 million Americans aged 50 and older hold federal student loan debt, representing about 6% of adults in this age group. Many have borrowed not only for their own education but also to finance their children’s or grandchildren’s schooling. Others have returned to college later in life, seeking new skills or credentials to remain competitive. Yet, these borrowers often face unique challenges that have been exacerbated by the rise of so-called “robocolleges.”

Robocolleges are online institutions that aggressively market to older adults, promising flexible schedules and quick credentials that can lead to better job prospects. However, many of these institutions have come under scrutiny for their low graduation rates, high tuition costs, and poor outcomes for students. Unlike traditional colleges, robocolleges often rely heavily on automated systems and minimal personal support, leaving vulnerable older learners with little guidance about loan obligations or realistic career prospects.

These institutions have played a significant role in trapping many older Americans in unsustainable debt. Borrowers are lured by the promise of upward mobility but frequently end up with degrees that hold limited value in the labor market. The high cost of attendance combined with aggressive recruitment tactics has led many to accumulate tens of thousands of dollars in student loan debt with few prospects for repayment.

Among older borrowers—6.2 million between 50 and 61 years old, and 2.8 million aged 62 or older—the average federal student loan balance for the 50–61 cohort is around $47,000, the highest among all age groups. Around 8% are delinquent on their loans, with median delinquent balances near $11,500. For those over 62, approximately 452,000 are in default and face the threat of Social Security benefit garnishment, though recent government actions have temporarily paused such garnishments.

The debt explosion among older Americans has been dramatic: over the past two decades, the number of borrowers aged 60 and above has increased sixfold, with total debt rising nearly twentyfold. Robocolleges, with their predatory recruitment and inadequate educational outcomes, are a central piece of this puzzle, helping to drive up borrowing without delivering commensurate value.

This growing crisis underscores the urgent need for policy reforms tailored to the realities faced by older borrowers. There must be greater transparency and accountability from robocolleges, stronger consumer protections, and expanded debt relief options that reflect the challenges of late-in-life borrowing. Additionally, educational counseling and financial literacy support designed specifically for older students are crucial.

The student debt crisis in America is no longer only about young adults trying to start their careers—it increasingly jeopardizes the financial security and dignity of older generations. As robocolleges continue to trap vulnerable older learners in cycles of debt, the urgency for reform becomes even clearer.

The Higher Education Inquirer will continue to investigate and report on this evolving crisis, amplifying the voices of those caught in the crosshairs of an expanding student debt epidemic.

Robocollege Update

 

Robocolleges are a mix of for-profit and non-profit online colleges, both secular and Christian.  Their focus is on automation and reduced costs, particularly labor costs:

Instruction is delivered through automated Learning Management Systems (LMS) and online platforms, relying less on professors and more on pre-recorded lectures and automated grading. Even support staff are being replaced by chatbots.  

While some qualified individuals might be involved, educational content is often developed by large teams with varying expertise, potentially sacrificing quality for cost-effectiveness.

Marketing and advertising continue to be costly. But targeting marketing (e.g. targeting military service members and veterans, teachers, nurses, and government workers in low-income neighborhoods) can improve cost efficiency. 

Robocolleges offer degrees with a wide range of value to consumers (return on investment versus debt).  For people who need a degree (or an advanced degree) to play the game in government and medicine, these credentials may have value. 

Competency-based education and credits for life experience reduce the number of courses some students need to graduate.  Servicemembers going to Purdue Global, for example, can get an AA with as few as five college courses and a BS with as little as seven additional courses.

Cheating is probably easier for online students who are so inclined and whether these companies care is not really known.  

Southern New Hampshire (SNHU) continues to be the growth and efficiency leader, with the highest enrollment, more than 160,000 students. SNHU is also experimenting with artificial intelligence to reduce labor costs. In addition, SNHU works with Guild (aka Guild Education), which recruits workers from Walmart, Target, Waste Management, and other large employers.  

Grand Canyon (for-profit) and Liberty University (non-profit) target Christians for online credentials.  But oppressive debt is a concern with some of their programs. Social mobility for students is subpar.  

Purdue University Global and University of Arizona, Global Campus are two former for-profit colleges now owned by state universities. Information about their financial status is sketchy. Like SNHU, Purdue Global works with Guild to recruit working folks.  Purdue Global owes its online program manager. Kaplan Education, about $128 million.  Arizona Global has had financial difficulties which have affected the University of Arizona's bottom line.  

The University of Phoenix has returned to profitability by reducing instruction and student services by $100 million a year and legal costs by $50 million a year.  Consumers continue to file fraud complaints by the tens of thousands.  And debt is an enormous problem with former students.  It's not apparent whether Phoenix can maintain such enormous profits, but its future as a non-profit affiliated with the University of Idaho may reduce its tax burden and legal liabilities. 

Here are the most recent numbers from the US Department of Education College Navigator:

American Intercontinental University: 89 full-time instructors for 14,333 students.
American Public University System has 332 F/T instructors for 48,688 students.
Aspen University has 27 F/T instructors for 7,386 students.
Capella University: 180 F/T for 39,727 students.
Colorado State University Global: 40 F/T instructors for 9,565 students.
Colorado Technical University: 55 F/T instructors for 24,808 students.
Devry University online: 61 F/T instructors for 26,384 students.
Grand Canyon University has 550 F/T instructors for 101,816 students.*
Liberty University: 735 F/T for 96,709 students.*
Purdue University Global: 337 F/T instructors for 45,125 students.
South University: 41 F/T instructors for 7,707 students.
Southern New Hampshire University: 130 F/T for 164,091 students.
University of Arizona Global Campus: 122 F/T instructors for 34,190 students.
University of Maryland Global: 177 F/T instructors for 55,838 students.
University of Phoenix: 80 F/T instructors for 88,891 students.
Walden University: 235 F/T for 42,312 students.

*Most F/T faculty serve the ground campuses that profit from the online schools. 

 

Related links:

Robocolleges, Artificial Intelligence, and the Dehumanization of Higher Education (2023)

AI-ROBOT CAPITALISTS WILL DESTROY THE HUMAN ECONOMY (Randall Collins, 2023)

Guild Education: Enablers of Anti-Union Corporations and Subprime College Programs (2021)

The Growth of "RoboColleges" and "Robostudents" (2019)

The Higher Education Assembly Line (2019)

 

 

 

 

Understanding the Challenges of U.S. Higher Education for Canadian Students: Debt, Credentialing, and Cross-Border Policies

Each year, thousands of Canadian students choose to study in the United States, attracted by diverse programs and research opportunities. According to Statistics Canada, nearly 27,000 Canadians were enrolled in U.S. institutions during the 2021–2022 academic year. However, pursuing U.S. education presents distinct financial and regulatory challenges that are often overlooked.

Navigating Student Debt
While Canadian students have access to government-backed loans in Canada, studying in the U.S. means contending with higher tuition fees and limited eligibility for U.S. federal student loans. Canadian borrowers frequently turn to private lenders or Canadian banks offering international education loans, often with higher interest rates and complex repayment terms.

A 2022 report by the Canadian Federation of Students found that Canadian students studying abroad carry an average debt of CAD 35,000 (~$26,000 USD), a significant portion attributable to international tuition and living costs. Currency exchange rate fluctuations can further increase repayment burdens.

Credential Recognition and Employment Barriers
Degrees earned in the U.S. are generally recognized in Canada, but some regulated professions pose barriers. For example, the Canadian Engineering Accreditation Board requires Canadian-specific certification, and healthcare professionals must undergo additional licensing exams. The Canadian Information Centre for International Credentials reports that about 15% of Canadian graduates from U.S. institutions experience delays or difficulties in credential recognition.

This disconnect can impact employment prospects and wage potential. According to a 2023 Statistics Canada survey, roughly 20% of Canadian graduates from foreign universities reported underemployment or working outside their field within two years of graduation.

Impact of Cross-Border Policies
U.S. visa and work authorization policies such as Optional Practical Training (OPT) affect Canadian students’ ability to gain practical experience in the U.S. after graduation. Although Canadians benefit from streamlined visa processes compared to other international students, recent tightening of U.S. immigration policies has created uncertainty.

Moreover, tax treaties and healthcare coverage differences complicate financial planning for Canadian students in the U.S. Understanding these policies is essential for managing both academic and post-graduation transitions.

Why Canadian Students Should Stay Informed
Canadian students and families investing in U.S. education need clear information on financial aid options, credentialing processes, and immigration regulations. HEI’s investigative reporting offers insights into these complexities, helping prospective students make informed decisions and avoid financial pitfalls.

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Sources:

• Statistics Canada, “Canadian Students Enrolled Abroad,” 2022

• Canadian Federation of Students, “Student Debt Report,” 2022

• Canadian Information Centre for International Credentials (CICIC), 2023

• Canadian Engineering Accreditation Board guidelines

• Statistics Canada, “Underemployment Among International Graduates,” 2023

• U.S. Department of State, Visa Policies and OPT Guidelines

Wake Forest and Kaplan: Selling Prestige in a Predatory Credential Market

Wake Forest University, a private institution with a proud 185-year history, has long marketed itself as a place for ethical leadership and elite scholarship. But its recent partnership with Kaplan—an infamous name in for-profit education and test prep—raises serious questions about the erosion of academic integrity and the corporatization of American higher education.

Wake Forest’s online offerings, now delivered in collaboration with Kaplan, are dressed in glowing promotional language. Prospective students are promised access to “a global network of 80,000+ alumni,” “1-on-1 guidance from a dedicated Student Success Manager,” and a curriculum shaped by “a Program Advisory Board of diverse business leaders.” The university assures working professionals that they can “earn a 100% online master’s degree or graduate certificate” on their own terms, with a “streamlined admissions process” and “flexible courses.”

But strip away the buzzwords and what’s left is a degree-granting operation outsourced to a for-profit education company with a controversial legacy. Kaplan, now owned by Graham Holdings (formerly the parent company of The Washington Post), has been at the center of lawsuits, regulatory scrutiny, and allegations of exploitative practices in its higher ed ventures—including its role in managing Purdue Global, formerly Kaplan University. The company has a long history of targeting vulnerable populations—especially working-class adults—with high-cost, low-value credentials that often don’t lead to the promised career outcomes.

So why is Wake Forest—an elite university with a storied reputation—collaborating with Kaplan?

The answer is simple: profit and scale.

In an era when even wealthy private universities are looking to expand their revenue streams, online education has become a lucrative frontier. But building and managing online degree programs in-house requires serious investment, time, and expertise. Enter Kaplan, which provides the infrastructure, marketing, enrollment management, and student support—all in exchange for a share of the revenue.

What does this mean for students?

It means that Wake Forest’s name is now being used to sell online degrees to mid-career professionals under the promise of prestige, convenience, and upward mobility—without the full intellectual, cultural, or communal experience that Wake Forest once symbolized. The degrees may bear the Wake Forest seal, but they are increasingly indistinguishable from the mass-produced credentials churned out by dozens of other universities that have sold access to their brands through partnerships with Online Program Managers (OPMs) like Kaplan, 2U, Wiley, and Coursera.

The “1-on-1 Student Success Manager” may sound supportive, but in practice these positions are often little more than call center roles staffed by Kaplan employees trained to ensure retention and upsell future courses—not to engage in meaningful academic mentorship.

The curriculum may be “developed and led by recognized faculty and industry experts,” but in many cases these are adjunct instructors or contract workers who have limited interaction with students and little say in the structure or pedagogy of the courses. This model contributes to the broader exploitation of contingent academic labor—an issue Wake Forest, like many elite universities, prefers not to discuss.

And the promise of becoming a leader “from anywhere” with a Wake Forest SPS degree? That too should be questioned. These degrees exist in an increasingly saturated credential market where employers are skeptical, return on investment is uncertain, and students often find themselves saddled with debt and disappointment.

If Wake Forest were truly committed to ethical leadership, it would take a hard look at the implications of commodifying its brand through a partnership with a company like Kaplan. Instead, it has chosen to chase market share and tuition revenue at the expense of its academic credibility—and at the risk of misleading students who believe they’re buying into the full Wake Forest experience.

The truth is this: Wake Forest is selling the illusion of prestige, wrapped in a glossy brochure of online convenience and corporate optimism. In reality, it’s another cog in a profit-driven machine that markets higher education as a product rather than a public good. And that’s not transformative change. That’s business as usual in the credential economy.

Guild: From Promise to Precarity — What’s New in 2026

When HEI published “Guild Education: Enablers of Anti‑Union Corporations and Subprime College Programs” in April 2021, the piece raised serious concerns about Guild’s business model, its corporate clients, and the value of its touted “education as a benefit” for working-class employees. That early reporting highlighted the risk that Guild’s platform — while appearing to offer opportunity — might deliver little meaningful upward mobility while embedding workers more deeply in corporate control.

Almost five years later, the unfolding story of Guild reveals a deeper crisis: repeated layoffs, leadership instability, and employee dissatisfaction have compounded internal challenges, creating a disconnect between the company’s outward mission and the lived realities of its workforce.

In 2021, HEI documented Guild’s extensive client network, which included major employers such as Walmart, Lowe's, and Chipotle. Its partnerships with both for-profit and nonprofit education providers raised questions about the quality of credentials and long-term outcomes. HEI noted that only a small percentage of eligible employees at these companies accessed Guild’s tuition benefits, highlighting limits in the platform’s reach. At the time, Guild was framed as part of a broader “robocollege” ecosystem, where corporate-sponsored online programs risked low completion rates and limited returns for learners.

The subsequent years have underscored these concerns. After a reported peak valuation of $4.4 billion in 2022, Guild’s value declined sharply by 2024, with secondary market activity placing it around $1.3 billion. The company experienced multiple rounds of layoffs, including a 25 percent workforce reduction in May 2024, adding to prior cuts and heightening employee insecurity. Under new leadership following the departure of founder CEO Rachel Romer Carlson, Guild pivoted strategically, rebranding itself from “Guild Education” to simply “Guild” and acquiring Nomadic Learning to expand its corporate learning offerings.

While the company reports significant growth metrics — including expanded access to nearly 500,000 new employees and over $1 billion saved in tuition — employee reviews reveal a starkly different internal reality. Former and current staff describe high stress, frequent goal-post shifts, and a demoralizing culture marked by favoritism and inequity. Coaching, once central to Guild’s mission, is now characterized by rigid metrics, performance improvement plans, and limited room for meaningful mentorship. Burnout, extended medical leaves, and frustration with stalled internal mobility are widespread. Many employees report that the company’s original social justice mission has been hollowed out in practice, leaving staff disconnected from the work they once found meaningful.

Guild’s pivot toward corporate learning reflects broader trends in workforce development, skills-based hiring, and talent management. While the shift may offer employers measurable returns in retention and internal mobility, it also signals a departure from the promise of genuine educational uplift. For employees drawn to Guild for its original mission, the change raises questions about whose needs are being prioritized and at what cost.

The story of Guild underscores several pressing concerns. Credibility gaps between marketing and internal realities leave workers vulnerable to exploitation. Corporate priorities have overtaken educational mission, demonstrating how profit motives can override commitments to social equity. The devaluation of coaching and credentials as meaningful education risks normalizing lower-quality programs tied primarily to employer needs. For other corporate-sponsored education and edtech ventures, Guild’s trajectory offers a cautionary tale: scaling and investor demands can quickly erode mission and employee well-being.

Guild’s rise was once seen as a model of opportunity creation for working adults, but the experiences of its employees reveal the fragility of that promise. By 2025, the company is less a beacon of social mobility than a case study in what can happen when education becomes a tool for corporate talent management. For readers committed to equity, accountability, and lifelong learning, Guild’s story serves as a warning: marketing and good intentions are insufficient protections when leadership and corporate priorities fail.

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Sources

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Guild Education: Enablers of Anti‑Union Corporations and Subprime College Programs.” April 2021. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2021/04/guild-education.html

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Guild (Education) No Longer Glitters.” October 2024. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2024/10/guild-education-no-longer-glitters.html

• Wikipedia. “Guild Education.” Accessed November 2025. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guild_Education

• Josh Bersin. “Guild Jumps Headfirst into the Corporate Learning Market.” October 2024. https://joshbersin.com/2024/10/guild-jumps-headfirst-into-the-corporate-learning-market/

• Glassdoor Employee Reviews, Guild, 2023–2025. https://www.glassdoor.com/Reviews/Employee-Review-Guild-Education-RVW76164459.htm

• CNBC. “Guild Education Reaches $3.7 Billion Valuation Amid Labor Shortage.” June 2021. https://www.cnbc.com/2021/06/02/guild-education-reaches-3point7-billion-valuation-amid-labor-shortage.html

Liberty University Targeting Vets for Robocollege Master's Degrees

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

Massive Debt Load: New Federal Data

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

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

From Moral Majority to Mass Marketing

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

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

A For-Profit Model in Nonprofit Clothing

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

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

Robocollege for Warriors

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

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

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

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

Automated, Ideologically Charged Learning

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

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

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

A Dual Identity: Race and Class Divides

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

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

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

Exploiting Faith and Patriotism

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

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

Lack of Oversight, Political Protection

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

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

A Cautionary Tale in Christian Capitalism

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

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

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

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

Trump’s Higher Education Crackdown: Culture War in a Cap and Gown

In a recent flurry of executive orders, former President Donald Trump has escalated his administration’s long-running war on American higher education, targeting college accreditation processes, foreign donations to universities, and elite institutions like Harvard and Columbia. Framed as a campaign for accountability and meritocracy, these actions are in reality part of a broader effort to weaponize public distrust, reinforce ideological purity tests, and strong-arm colleges into political obedience.

But even if Trump's crusade were rooted in good faith—which it clearly is not—his chosen mechanism for “fixing” higher education, the accreditation system, is already deeply flawed. It’s not just that Trump is using a broken tool for political ends—it's that the tool itself has long been part of the problem.

Accreditation: Already a Low Bar

Accreditation in U.S. higher education is often mistaken by the public as a sign of quality. In reality, it’s often a rubber stamp—granted by private agencies funded by the very schools they evaluate. “Yet in practice,” write economists David Deming and David Figlio, “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.”

As a watchdog of America’s subprime colleges and a monitor of the ongoing College Meltdown, the Higher Education Inquirer has long reported that institutional accreditation is no sign of academic quality. Worse, it is frequently used by subprime colleges as a veneer of legitimacy to mask predatory practices, inflated tuition, and low academic standards.

The Higher Learning Commission (HLC), the nation’s largest accreditor, monitors nearly a thousand institutions—ranging from prestigious schools like the University of Chicago and University of Michigan to for-profit, scandal-plagued operations such as Colorado Technical University, DeVry University, University of Phoenix, and Walden University. These subprime colleges receive billions annually in federal student aid—money that flows through an accreditation pipeline that’s barely regulated and heavily compromised.

On the three pillars of accreditation—compliance, quality assurance, and quality improvement—the Higher Learning Commission often fails spectacularly when it comes to subprime institutions. That’s not just a bug in the system; it’s the system working as designed.

Who Watches the Watchers?

Accreditors like the HLC receive dues from member institutions, giving them a vested interest in keeping their customers viable, no matter how exploitative their practices may be. Despite objections from the American Association of University Professors, the HLC has accredited for-profit colleges since 1977 and ethically questionable operations for nearly two decades.

As Mary A. Burgan, then General Secretary of the AAUP, put it bluntly in 2000:

"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..."

[Image: From CHEA: Higher Learning Commission dues for member colleges. Over the last 30 years, HLC has received millions of dollars from subprime schools like the University of Phoenix.]

The Council for Higher Education Accreditation (CHEA), which oversees accreditors, acts more like a trade association than a watchdog. Meanwhile, the U.S. Department of Education—the only federal entity with oversight responsibility—has done little to ensure quality or accountability. Under the Trump-DeVos regime, the Department actively dismantled what little regulatory framework existed, rolling back Obama-era protections that aimed to curb predatory schools and improve transparency.

In 2023, an internal investigation revealed that the Department of Education was failing to properly monitor accreditors—yet Trump’s solution is to hand even more power to this broken apparatus while demanding it serve political ends.

Harvard: Not a Victim, But a Gatekeeper of the Elite

While Trump's attacks on Harvard are rooted in personal and political animus, it's important not to portray the university as a defenseless bastion of the common good. Harvard is already deeply entrenched in elite power structures—economically, socially, and politically.

The university’s admissions policies have long favored legacy applicants, children of donors, and the ultra-wealthy. It has one of the largest endowments in the world—over $50 billion—yet its efforts to serve working-class and marginalized students remain modest in proportion to its vast resources.

Harvard has produced more Wall Street bankers, U.S. presidents, and Supreme Court justices than any other institution. Its graduates populate the upper echelons of the corporate, political, and media elite. In many ways, Harvard is the establishment Trump claims to rail against—even if his own policies often reinforce that very establishment.

Harvard is not leading a revolution in equity or access. Rather, it polishes the credentials of those already destined to lead, reinforcing a hierarchy that leaves most Americans—including working-class and first-generation students—on the outside looking in.

The Silence on Legacy Admissions

While Trump rails against elite universities in the name of “meritocracy,” there is a glaring omission in the conversation: the entrenched unfairness of legacy admissions. These policies—where applicants with familial ties to alumni receive preferential treatment—are among the most blatant violations of meritocratic ideals. Yet neither Trump’s executive orders nor the broader political discourse dare to address them.

Legacy admissions are a quiet but powerful engine of privilege, disproportionately benefiting white, wealthy students and preserving generational inequality. At institutions like Harvard, Yale, and Princeton, legacy applicants are admitted at significantly higher rates than the general pool, even when controlling for academic credentials. This practice rewards lineage over talent and undermines the very idea of equal opportunity that higher education claims to uphold.

Despite bipartisan rhetoric about fairness and access, few politicians—Democratic or Republican—have challenged the legitimacy of legacy preferences. It’s a testament to how deeply intertwined elite institutions are with the political and economic establishment. And it’s a reminder that the war on higher education is not about fixing inequalities—it’s about reshaping the system to serve different masters.

A Hypocritical Power Grab

Trump’s newfound concern with educational “results” is laced with hypocrisy. The former president’s own venture into higher education—Trump University—was a grift that ended in legal disgrace and financial restitution to defrauded students. Now, Trump is posing as the savior of academic merit, while promoting an ideologically-driven overhaul of the very system that allowed scams like his to thrive.

By focusing on elite universities, Trump exploits populist resentment while ignoring the real scandal: that billions in public funds are siphoned off by institutions with poor student outcomes and high loan default rates—many of them protected by the very accrediting agencies he now claims to reform.

Conclusion: Political Theater, Not Policy

Trump's latest actions are not reforms—they're retribution. His executive orders target symbolic elites, not systemic rot. They turn accreditation into a partisan tool while leaving the worst actors untouched—or even empowered.

Meanwhile, elite institutions like Harvard remain complicit in maintaining a class hierarchy that benefits the powerful, even as they protest their innocence in today’s political battles.

Real accountability in higher education would mean cracking down on predatory schools, reforming or replacing failed accreditors, and restoring rigorous federal oversight. But this administration isn't interested in cleaning up the swamp—it’s repurposing the muck for its own ends.

The Higher Education Inquirer remains committed to pulling back the curtain on these abuses—no matter where they come from or how well they are disguised.

The Hidden Crisis of Functional Unemployment in the U.S.: A Wake-Up Call for Higher Education and Policy Leaders

 A recent article by Hugh Cameron in Newsweek brings urgent attention to a labor market crisis that conventional statistics obscure: millions of Americans are “functionally unemployed.” While the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics reports a headline unemployment rate of 4.2 percent, the Ludwig Institute for Shared Economic Prosperity (LISEP) paints a far bleaker picture. 

According to LISEP, 24.3 percent of working-age Americans are either unemployed, underemployed, or trapped in poverty-wage jobs.

True Rate of Unemployment Tells a Different Story

This alternative measurement, known as the True Rate of Unemployment (TRU), includes people who are officially jobless, those seeking full-time work but only finding part-time jobs, and those earning less than a livable income—defined here as $25,000 annually before taxes. Based on that definition, more than 66 million Americans fall under the category of functionally unemployed. These are not edge cases or statistical outliers; they represent a quarter of the working population, living with economic insecurity and eroded opportunities.

The findings challenge the conventional wisdom promoted by policymakers and education leaders, particularly the long-standing belief that higher education is a guaranteed pathway to upward mobility. In reality, the American credential system continues to churn out degrees while failing to deliver economic stability to millions of graduates. Students are told that education is the answer, yet the outcome for many is low-wage or precarious work, often coupled with lifelong debt. The disconnect between academic credentials and actual job quality has become impossible to ignore.

LISEP’s data also reveals significant disparities along racial and gender lines. While 23.6 percent of White Americans are functionally unemployed, that number rises to 26.7 percent for Black Americans and 27.3 percent for Hispanic Americans. The divide is even more striking along gender lines: nearly 30 percent of women fall into this category, compared to 19.3 percent of men. These disparities reflect deep systemic inequities that persist across labor markets and educational access.

Gene Ludwig, chair of LISEP, warned that the stagnation of living-wage employment is pushing working families to the brink. Wages are not keeping pace with inflation, and the jobs being created often don’t pay enough to lift people out of poverty. This is the unspoken backdrop to much of the current political discourse around jobs and education: a structurally flawed economy that leaves millions with few viable options, regardless of their education level or work ethic.

Critics of the TRU metric, including labor economist David Card, argue that the Bureau of Labor Statistics already publishes supplemental indicators that capture underemployment and low wages. But LISEP’s integrated approach offers a broader, more accessible view of economic well-being—one that challenges overly simplistic narratives about a “strong” labor market. Whether or not policymakers embrace the TRU as a primary indicator, the conditions it reveals are real and worsening for many.

Uncomfortable Truths

This data forces higher education to confront uncomfortable truths. If degrees are no longer reliable gateways to decent jobs, what is the purpose of mass credentialing? Why do we continue to promote the college-to-career pipeline when the pipeline increasingly empties into dead-end or unstable work? These are not abstract questions. They strike at the heart of what higher education claims to offer in exchange for rising tuition, student loan debt, and years of sacrifice.

The United States faces a reckoning. LISEP’s report may not change the way official statistics are presented, but it exposes the growing distance between public optimism and private hardship. The challenge now is to ensure that educational institutions, labor advocates, and policymakers move beyond slogans and begin addressing the structural rot beneath the surface of the labor market. That means rethinking the function of education, redefining economic success, and rebuilding an economy where work—and learning—actually pays off.