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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Street Psychology: Working-Class Wisdom in the Age of Neoliberalism and Trump

In the United States of 2025—where neoliberal capitalism and creeping authoritarianism grind down the human spirit—there’s an urgent need for a way of thinking, surviving, and resisting that doesn’t come from think tanks or corporate wellness plans. Street Psychology is that way.

This idea isn't new. It’s an outbreak from earlier projects like Street Sociologist (2009–2012) and American Injustice (2009–2013), digital spaces that chronicled working-class survival under austerity, war, mass incarceration, student loan predation, and the Great Recession. Those projects documented both despair and resistance—voices from the margins that understood the system was not broken but operating as designed. Street Psychology is the next step in that lineage. It names the psychic toll of exploitation and dares to offer tools for survival drawn not from institutions, but from the people themselves.

Street Psychology isn’t a licensed profession or clinical method. It’s a bottom-up philosophy. A way of being that honors grit, grief, memory, and movement. It draws from Black Psychology, Radical Social Work, and the unspoken survival strategies passed down through generations—especially those of the poor, the working class, the dispossessed.

It tells us: you’re not crazy. You’re living in a society that has normalized cruelty.

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Life Under Pressure

In today's America, working people face a perfect storm. Medicaid cuts, climate shocks, unpayable debt, and housing crises are daily facts of life. The Trump regime, emboldened by a Supreme Court that erodes checks and balances, offers little more than political theater and corporate tax breaks. "Law and order" is back—but so are vigilante violence and state repression. In this environment, working-class people are expected to carry on as if nothing is wrong—grinding away at gig jobs, navigating broken transit systems, shouldering invisible pain.

Street Psychology offers no false comfort. It teaches that burnout, anxiety, and despair are not personal failures—they are rational reactions to a system that exploits and isolates. It offers a politics of honesty.

It reminds us that mental health cannot be separated from rent, food, dignity, and debt.

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Lessons from Horror and Triumph

Street Psychology is grounded in history—not the history of presidents and generals, but the people’s history of how folks made it through.

During the Great Depression, when one in four Americans was unemployed, it was mutual aid, union organizing, and government pressure from below that helped form the New Deal—not just FDR’s goodwill. Neighbors shared food. Workers seized factories. Families survived on ingenuity and grit. Street Psychology carries that memory.

During World War II, ordinary people faced rations, displacement, and death on an unprecedented scale. But they also built community resilience. Black Americans moved north and west in the Great Migration, seeking both work and dignity. Women entered the workforce by the millions—not for empowerment branding, but to survive. Trauma was everywhere, but so was collective purpose. Street Psychology remembers that duality.

And in the COVID-19 pandemic, we saw the brutal convergence of economic inequality, medical neglect, and state failure. But we also saw mutual aid networks rise overnight. Grocery workers, nurses, delivery drivers, and custodians became the front line—not billionaires or generals. People created community fridges, distributed masks, and organized rent strikes. Even amid mass death and disinformation, something deeply human survived. Street Psychology draws its oxygen from these moments.

It says: we’ve been through hell before—and we’ve learned how to survive together.

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Radical Roots and Collective Healing

Street Psychology stands on the shoulders of Black radical thinkers like Dr. Na’im Akbar and Dr. Wade Nobles, who taught that psychological liberation requires historical truth and cultural self-determination. It borrows from the Radical Social Worker tradition that insists depression and addiction often emerge from exploitation, not deficiency.

It echoes the voices of those doing hard, dirty, “bullshit jobs,” as David Graeber called them—people whose work is exhausting, precarious, and spiritually deadening. It respects those whose minds and bodies are tired because they’ve been used up. And it says plainly: this is not your fault.

Healing begins with naming the madness.

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A People's Practice

Street Psychology thrives outside institutions. It happens in union halls, kitchens, church basements, food pantries, WhatsApp threads. It takes the form of eye contact, a ride to work, a bag of groceries, a story told without shame. It asks us not to fix ourselves to fit a broken world—but to remember we are not alone in our pain or our power.

It teaches that even in a world of distraction and despair, we can practice presence and solidarity. We can re-learn how to listen, how to mourn, how to laugh in defiance.

This psychology is not neutral. It does not pretend to be apolitical. It stands with those being crushed—by the debt collectors, the landlords, the ICE raids, the fascists in suits. It says: you matter. Your struggle matters. And you're not the only one carrying this weight.

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A Call to Reclaim Our Minds

Street Psychology is not a cure. It is not a self-help manual. It is a collective reckoning. A refusal to be shamed into silence or fragmented into diagnosis. It is the unlicensed, unpolished wisdom of people who’ve lived through hell and still show up for each other.

In the age of Trump, AI surveillance, climate breakdown, and economic betrayal, this might be our best chance: to recover the human, to restore the political, and to reclaim the psychological as a shared terrain.

Let’s build a new commons—not just of resources, but of understanding. Let’s build a psychology that is street-smart, justice-rooted, and history-aware.

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Sources & Influences:

• Akbar, Na’im. Breaking the Chains of Psychological Slavery

• Nobles, Wade. Seeking the Sakhu

• Graeber, David. Bullshit Jobs

• Paulo Freire. Pedagogy of the Oppressed

• Radical Social Worker Collective

• Mutual Aid Disaster Relief

• American Injustice (2009–2013) and Street Sociologist (2009–2012) blog archives

• Historical memory from the Great Depression, WWII home front, and COVID-19 mutual aid networks

• People’s CDC, APA, KFF data on structural causes of psychological distress

Street Psychology lives in those who refuse to forget—and who refuse to give up. If you or your community are practicing this in any form, we want to hear from you.

Forgetting Henry George

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

The Ghost of Henry George

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

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

The University and the Land

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

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

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

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

Why Georgism Was Forgotten

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

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

This forgetting wasn’t accidental. It was ideological.

A Forgotten Game with a Forgotten Message

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

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

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

What Higher Education Could Learn—and Teach

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

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

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

Relearning the Unlearned

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

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

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

The Real Downgrade: America’s Bond Rating Is Falling—But Our Quality of Life Is Falling Faster

In July 2025, the United States was dealt another blow to its financial credibility: a downgrade of its sovereign bond rating by Fitch Ratings, with warnings from Moody’s and S&P that further cuts may be imminent. The downgrade reflects ballooning federal deficits, unsustainable debt servicing costs, and chronic political dysfunction. Meanwhile, the Congressional Budget Office has lowered GDP projections for the remainder of the decade, citing long-term productivity declines, labor instability, and extreme climate disruption.

Yet behind these headline-grabbing financial developments lies a much more dangerous, and far more insidious, crisis: the downgrade of American quality of life. This is not measured in basis points or stock indices, but in rising mortality rates, falling life expectancy, crumbling infrastructure, unaffordable housing, and the widespread erosion of trust in national institutions. No credit agency can fully quantify it, but Americans are living through it every day.

Add to this grim picture the looming risk of a crypto-fueled financial collapse—an entirely preventable disaster that Congress now seems intent on accelerating.

The U.S. Congress is on the brink of passing a sweeping cryptocurrency bill that, under the banner of “fostering innovation,” may be setting the stage for the next major financial crisis. While crypto lobbyists and venture capitalists celebrate the bill as long-overdue regulatory clarity, critics argue it guts consumer protections, legalizes financial opacity, and drastically weakens federal oversight.

The bill, pushed forward by a bipartisan coalition flush with campaign donations from the crypto industry, transfers much of the regulatory authority over digital assets from the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) to the more industry-friendly Commodity Futures Trading Commission (CFTC). In doing so, it reclassifies most cryptocurrencies as commodities, effectively shielding them from the stricter standards that govern securities and financial disclosures.

Loopholes in the bill allow for weakened Know-Your-Customer (KYC) and Anti-Money Laundering (AML) requirements. It legalizes many decentralized finance (DeFi) platforms that operate without any institutional accountability. Oversight of stablecoins—whose volatility helped crash markets in 2022—is minimal. The bill even offers tax exemptions for certain crypto gains, encouraging high-risk speculation under the guise of "financial inclusion."

This legislation arrives not in a vacuum but after multiple crypto meltdowns that wiped out more than $2 trillion in market value between 2021 and 2022. Companies like FTX, Celsius, and Voyager Digital collapsed in spectacular fashion, leaving millions of retail investors with empty wallets while insiders escaped with fortunes. Despite this history, Congress appears ready to invite a repeat—only on a much larger, more systemically dangerous scale.

A full-blown crypto crash under this new legal framework could trigger a financial chain reaction through pension funds, university endowments, small banks, and public finance institutions already dabbling in digital assets. Lacking meaningful regulatory authority, the federal government would be left unable to respond effectively—much like in the early days of the 2008 mortgage crisis.

The real casualties of this will not be Silicon Valley billionaires or hedge fund managers. It will be working Americans, already burdened by stagnant wages, crushing student loan debt, and unaffordable housing. Desperate for financial relief or upward mobility, many are being drawn into crypto speculation. When the crash comes, they’ll be the ones holding the bag—again.

Young people, especially recent college graduates, are particularly vulnerable. Burdened with degrees that offer little job security, forced into gig work or unpaid internships, and priced out of housing and healthcare, they now face a new threat: the destruction of their meager savings and long-term stability in yet another engineered financial disaster. As the Higher Education Inquirer has reported, this educated underclass is not a fluke of the labor market—it is a design of an extractive economic system that prioritizes capital over community, and deregulation over accountability.

This crypto bill is just the latest chapter in a broader crisis of governance. America is no longer investing in the basics that make life livable—healthcare, housing, education, climate infrastructure—but it continues to write blank checks for speculative markets and corporate interests. The national obsession with GDP and innovation has created an economy that generates record profits but widespread misery. We’ve become a nation of downward mobility, hidden under the veneer of “growth.”

As public services are hollowed out, life expectancy is falling. Maternal and infant mortality are rising. Suicide and drug overdoses have become common causes of death. Public schools and universities are under attack from all sides—defunded, corporatized, and politicized. Millions go without healthcare, adequate food, or secure housing. And amid it all, Congress is preparing to deregulate one of the most volatile sectors of the global economy.

The U.S. bond rating matters—but it does not capture the full truth of our national decline. GDP growth means little when it’s accompanied by hunger, burnout, sickness, and despair. The real downgrade isn’t in our financial paper—it’s in our national soul.

If this crypto bill passes, we may look back on it as the moment when lawmakers abandoned even the pretense of protecting the public in favor of appeasing tech lobbyists and private equity donors. A financial crash is not just likely—it is all but inevitable. And when it happens, it will further degrade the quality of life for a population already stretched to the breaking point.

The Higher Education Inquirer calls on journalists, educators, student activists, and policymakers to treat this crisis with the seriousness it demands. Our future should not be mortgaged to crypto speculators and congressional opportunists.

The credit downgrade is a symptom. The GDP slump is a warning. But the real emergency is human: a population losing faith in its institutions, its economy, and its future.

And unless we change course, that’s a downgrade no rating agency can reverse.

Sources:

Fitch Ratings Downgrade Report, July 2025
Congressional Budget Office Economic Outlook, 2025–2030
Redfin Housing Market Insights, Q2 2025
CDC Life Expectancy and Mortality Data, 2024
Brookings Institution: “Crypto and Systemic Risk” (2024)
Senate Financial Services Committee Testimony, May 2025
National Bureau of Economic Research: “GDP vs. Wellbeing” (2023)

University of Phoenix Uses “Sandwich Moms” to Sell a Debt Trap

In a recent blog post republished on LinkedIn, the University of Phoenix casts itself as a champion for the “sandwich generation” of working mothers—those who are simultaneously raising children and caring for aging parents. The post, co-branded with the lifestyle platform Motherly, portrays the for-profit university as a source of hope for exhausted, career-stalled caregivers. It offers empathy, statistics, and stories about resilience. But what it doesn’t offer is transparency about the financial harm the University of Phoenix has caused to hundreds of thousands of women just like them.

Behind the compassionate messaging is a decades-long record of exploitation, debt, and broken promises. According to data obtained through Freedom of Information Act requests and analyzed by the Higher Education Inquirer, nearly one million former University of Phoenix students owe a combined $21.6 billion in student loan debt. That includes many single mothers and caregivers who were targeted by Phoenix recruiters with promises of flexible degrees and life-changing job opportunities.

The average borrower carries more than $22,000 in federal student debt, and many have seen little to no return on that investment. Worse, tens of thousands of former students have filed Borrower Defense claims with the U.S. Department of Education, asserting that they were defrauded by the university. At least 19,000 of these claims have already been approved as part of the Sweet v. Cardona class action settlement. Phoenix was one of dozens of schools whose practices were deemed harmful enough to merit loan cancellation.

Despite this troubling history, the University of Phoenix continues to market itself as a solution to the very problems it helps perpetuate. The blog post in question focuses on how caregiving responsibilities are limiting women’s careers and how many moms are afraid to speak openly about their dual roles at work. These are serious and well-documented social issues. But the proposed solution—enrolling in a Phoenix program—too often leads to more financial pressure rather than less.

The Higher Education Inquirer has filed multiple FOIA requests related to the University of Phoenix and its pending acquisition by the University of Idaho through Apollo Global Management and the Vistria Group. These include documents related to the total student debt associated with the university, the volume and status of fraud claims, and protective provisions tied to federal liabilities. Taxpayers in Idaho may soon be responsible for this debt legacy, should the controversial acquisition proceed.

None of this is disclosed in Phoenix’s marketing materials. There is no mention of the $191 million settlement with the Federal Trade Commission for deceptive advertising. There is no reference to the school's declining enrollment, cratering reputation, or the tens of thousands of students who left without a degree. Instead, sandwich generation moms are offered inspiration and vague promises of career advancement through convenient online programs.

But convenience is no substitute for credibility. What mothers need are real systemic supports: paid family leave, affordable childcare and eldercare, union protections, and public investment in affordable education. They don’t need another layer of student loan debt imposed by a university with a well-documented record of exploiting their aspirations.

Phoenix’s message may resonate emotionally, but it is ultimately a predatory sales pitch disguised as empowerment. Until for-profit schools like Phoenix are held fully accountable—and until working families have access to genuine public alternatives—we must remain critical of marketing campaigns that prey on the vulnerable.

Sources
Higher Education Inquirer. “New Data Show Nearly a Million University of Phoenix Debtors Owe $21.6 Billion.” July 2024. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2024/07/new-data-show-nearly-million-university.html
Higher Education Inquirer. “Pending FOIAs Regarding the University of Phoenix.” December 2024. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2024/12/pending-foias-regarding-university-of.html
Federal Trade Commission. “University of Phoenix and Parent Company to Pay $191 Million to Settle FTC Charges.” December 2019. https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2019/12/university-phoenix-parent-company-pay-191-million-settle-ftc-charges-they-deceived-prospective-students
U.S. Department of Education. College Scorecard. https://collegescorecard.ed.gov/

“Drowning It in the Bathtub”: How the 2025 U.S. Department of Education Reorganization Fulfills Grover Norquist’s Dream (Glen McGhee)

In 2001, conservative activist Grover Norquist declared that his goal was to shrink government “to the size where I can drag it into the bathroom and drown it in the bathtub.” More than two decades later, under the leadership of Secretary Linda McMahon, the U.S. Department of Education’s March 2025 reorganization delivers on that radical vision—not with fire and fury, but with vacancies, ambiguity, and quiet institutional collapse.

Vacant Seats, Hollow Power

With dozens of senior leadership roles left vacant, enforcement functions gutted, and policymaking handed over to political allies and industry insiders, the Department no longer resembles a federal agency tasked with protecting students and public investment. Instead, it has become a hollowed-out vessel primed for deregulation, privatization, and corporate exploitation.

The new organizational chart is littered with the word “VACANT.” From Chiefs of Staff and Deputy Assistant Secretaries to senior advisors in enforcement, civil rights, and postsecondary education, entire divisions have been effectively immobilized. The Office of Civil Rights is barely staffed at the top. The Rehabilitation Services Administration is leaderless. The General Counsel’s office lacks oversight in key regulatory areas. This is not streamlining—it is strategic self-sabotage.

Federal Student Aid (FSA), overseeing over $1.5 trillion in loans, is run by an acting chief. Critical offices such as the Office of Postsecondary Education (OPE) are fragmented, missing key leadership across multiple branches—especially those charged with accreditation, innovation, and borrower protections.

The Kent Controversy: A Symptom of Systemic Rot

The collapse of federal oversight is not only evident in the vacancies—it is also embodied in controversial political appointments. As education policy watchdog David Halperin has reported, the Trump administration’s nominee for Under Secretary of Education, Nicholas Kent, epitomizes the revolving door between the Department of Education and the for-profit college industry.

Kent’s career includes roles at Education Affiliates, which in 2015 paid $13 million to settle a Department of Justice case involving false claims for federal student aid, and later at Career Education Colleges and Universities (CECU), the lobbying group for the for-profit college sector. Under Kent’s policy leadership at CECU, the organization actively fought against borrower defense rules, gainful employment regulations, and other safeguards meant to protect students from exploitative educational institutions.

Despite this record, the Senate Health, Education, Labor and Pensions (HELP) Committee advanced Kent’s nomination on May 22, 2025, in a party-line 12–11 vote—without a hearing. HELP Ranking Member Bernie Sanders objected, saying, “In my view, we should not be confirming the former lobbyist that represented for-profit colleges.” Advocates, including Halperin and six education justice organizations, sent a letter to Chairman Bill Cassidy calling for public scrutiny of Kent’s background and the Trump administration’s destructive higher education agenda.

Among their concerns are the elimination of key enforcement staff and research arms at the Department, the cancellation of ongoing research contracts, the rollback of borrower defense and gainful employment protections, the $37 million fine reversal against Grand Canyon University for deceptive practices, and the Department’s silence on accreditation reform and oversight of predatory schools. These developments, the letter argued, mark a decisive return to the era of unchecked corporate education—where taxpayer dollars are funneled to dubious institutions and students are left with mountains of debt and worthless credentials.

“Mission Accomplished” for the Privatization Movement

This version of the Department of Education, stripped of its regulatory muscle and stocked with industry sympathizers, is not an accident. It’s the culmination of decades of libertarian, neoliberal, and religious-right agitation to disempower public education. The policy pipeline now flows directly from organizations like the Heritage Foundation and ALEC to appointed officials with deep ties to the industries they were once charged with policing.

Rather than serving the public, the department’s primary role now appears to be facilitating the private sector’s conquest of higher education—through deregulation, outsourcing, and the erosion of civil rights protections.

A Shrinking Federal Presence, an Expanding Crisis

The consequences are far-reaching. Marginalized students—Black, brown, low-income, first-generation, disabled—depend disproportionately on federal guarantees, oversight, and funding. As these protections recede, so too does their access to meaningful educational opportunity. Instead, they are increasingly funneled into high-debt, low-return programs or shut out entirely.

Meanwhile, the political vacuum left by this strategic dismantling is being filled by corporate actors, right-wing religious institutions, and profit-seeking "ed-tech" startups. The dream of public education as a democratic equalizer is being replaced by a market of extraction and exploitation.

The Dream Realized

Grover Norquist’s fantasy of drowning the government has now been partially fulfilled in the U.S. Department of Education. What remains is an agency in name only—a shell that no longer enforces its core mission. In the name of efficiency and deregulation, the department has abandoned millions of students and ceded its authority to those who view education as a commodity rather than a public right.

The danger now is not only what’s been lost, but what is being built in its place. The Higher Education Inquirer will continue to monitor the ongoing capture of education policy and fight for a system that serves students, not shareholders.

Sources:

U.S. Department of Education, Organizational Chart, March 17, 2025
David Halperin, Republic Report, “The Senate Shouldn’t Vote on Trump Higher Education Pick without a Hearing”
U.S. Department of Justice press releases on Education Affiliates
Politico Pro Education updates, May 2025
Senate HELP Committee voting record, May 22, 2025
Heritage Foundation and CECU policy recommendations

Share your stories about life and debt

Student loan debt in the United States has ballooned into a $1.7 trillion crisis, affecting over 43 million borrowers. Beyond the staggering figures, this debt exacts a profound human cost, influencing personal relationships, family dynamics, and long-term financial stability.

The Burden Beyond Graduation

For many, student loans are not just a financial obligation but a lifelong burden. A report by Demos indicates that an education debt of $53,000 can lead to a $208,000 lifetime loss of wealth. This financial strain often delays or derails significant life milestones. According to the Education Data Initiative, 51% of renting student borrowers have postponed homeownership due to their debt, while 22% have delayed starting a business.

Strained Relationships and Delayed Families

The weight of student debt extends into personal relationships. A study by TIAA and MIT AgeLab found that nearly one-quarter of borrowers reported that student loans have led to conflict within their families. Furthermore, the greater the student loan debt, the more likely borrowers are to delay key life events such as marriage and having children.

Multigenerational Impact

Student debt doesn't just affect individual borrowers; it reverberates across generations. Parents and grandparents often co-sign loans or take on debt themselves to support their children's education. The TIAA and MIT AgeLab study revealed that 43% of parents and grandparents who took out loans for their children or grandchildren plan to increase retirement savings once the student loan is paid off. This shift in financial priorities underscores the long-term impact of educational debt on family financial planning.

Mental Health and Emotional Well-being

Beyond financial implications, student debt significantly affects mental health. A study from Harvard Law School's Center on the Legal Profession found that 65% of borrowers reported that their total student loan debt or monthly loan obligation caused them to feel anxious or stressed. Over 70% of those with debts between $100,000 and $200,000 reported high or overwhelming stress levels.

Policy Shifts and Economic Consequences

Recent policy changes have further complicated the landscape for borrowers. The resumption of student loan collections, including wage garnishments and tax refund seizures, has placed millions at risk. As of early 2025, nearly one in four borrowers are behind on their payments, with over 90 days delinquent . This financial strain not only affects individual borrowers but also poses a threat to overall economic growth, as decreased consumer spending impacts broader economic stability.

Shredding the Fabric of Society 

The student loan crisis is more than a financial issue; it's a pervasive force affecting the fabric of American life. From delayed life milestones and strained family relationships to mental health challenges and economic repercussions, the impact is profound and far-reaching. Addressing this crisis requires comprehensive policy reforms that consider the human stories behind the debt figures. Only then can we hope to alleviate the burden and restore financial freedom to millions of Americans.

Share Your Story

The student loan crisis is more than a financial issue; it's a pervasive force affecting the fabric of American life. From delayed life milestones and strained family relationships to mental health challenges and economic repercussions, the impact is profound and far-reaching.

We want to hear from you. If you or someone you know is grappling with the weight of student debt, please consider sharing your story. Your experiences can shed light on the real-world implications of this crisis and help others understand they're not alone.

To share your story, please email us at gmcghee@aya.yale.edu with the subject line "Student Debt Story." Include your name, location, and a brief summary of your experience. We may feature your story in an upcoming article to highlight the human toll of student debt.

Together, we can bring attention to this pressing issue and advocate for meaningful change.

Future Scenarios: A Post-College America (Glen McGhee)

By 2035, the traditional American college system may be a relic of the past. A variety of forces—economic, technological, demographic, and cultural—are converging to transform the landscape of higher learning. Grounded in Papenhausen's cyclical model of institutional change, current data and trends suggest a plausible future in which college campuses no longer serve as the central hubs of postsecondary education. Instead, a more fragmented, skills-based, and economically integrated system may rise in its place.

Since 2010, college enrollment in the U.S. has declined by 8.5%, with more than a million fewer students than before the COVID-19 pandemic. Over 80 colleges have closed or merged since 2020, and many experts forecast a sharp acceleration in closures, especially as the so-called “demographic cliff” reduces the pool of traditional-age college students. The Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia projects a potential 142% increase in annual college closures by the end of the decade.

This institutional unraveling is not solely demographic. Federal disinvestment in research and financial aid, rising tuition (up more than 1,500% since the late 1970s), and increasing underemployment among recent graduates are undermining the perceived and actual value of a college degree. Emerging technologies, particularly AI, are rapidly changing the ways people learn and the skills employers seek. Meanwhile, the proliferation of fake degrees and credential fraud further erodes trust in conventional academic institutions.

In response to these destabilizing trends, four future scenarios offer possible replacements for the traditional college system. Each reflects different combinations of technological advancement, labor market shifts, and institutional evolution.

The Corporate Academy Landscape envisions a future in which large companies like Google, Amazon, and IBM take the lead in educating the workforce. Building on existing certificate programs, these corporations establish their own academies, offering industry-aligned training and credentials. Apprenticeships and on-the-job learning become the primary paths to employment, with digital badges and blockchain-secured micro-credentials replacing degrees. Corporate campuses cluster in major urban centers, while rural areas develop niche training programs related to local industries such as agriculture and renewable energy.

In The Distributed Learning Networks scenario, education becomes fully decentralized. Instead of enrolling in a single institution, learners access personalized instruction through AI-powered platforms, community-based workshops, and online mentorships. Local libraries, maker spaces, and co-working hubs evolve into core educational environments. Learning is assessed through portfolios and real-world projects rather than grades or standardized exams. Regional expertise clusters develop organically, especially in smaller cities and towns with existing community infrastructure.

The Guild Renaissance looks to the past to shape the future. Modeled on pre-industrial apprenticeship systems, professional guilds re-emerge as gatekeepers of career development. These organizations handle training, credentialing, and job placement in sectors such as healthcare, construction, technology, and the arts. Hierarchical systems guide individuals from novice to expert, and regional economies specialize around guild-supported industries. Employment becomes tightly integrated with ongoing learning, minimizing the traditional gap between school and work.

Finally, The Hybrid Workplace University scenario grows out of the shift to remote and hybrid work. With more than one-third of workers expected to remain partially remote, workplaces themselves become learning environments. Education is embedded in professional workflows through VR training, modular courses, and flexible scheduling. As access to learning becomes geographically unrestricted, rural and underpopulated areas may see renewed vitality as remote workers seek lower-cost, higher-quality living environments.

Despite their differences, these scenarios share several transformational themes. Economically, resources formerly directed toward campus infrastructure are redirected toward skills training, research hubs, and community development. Culturally, the notion of lifelong learning becomes normalized, and credentials become more transparent, practical, and verifiable. Socially, traditional notions of campus life give way to professional and civic identity tied to industry specialization or community engagement.

The evolution of quality assurance is also noteworthy. Traditional accreditation may give way to employer-driven standards, market-based performance indicators, and digital verification technologies. Blockchain and competency-based evaluations offer more direct and trustworthy assessments of ability and readiness for employment.

Geographically, these changes will reshape communities in different ways. Former college towns must navigate economic transitions, potentially reinventing themselves as hubs for innovation or remote work. Urban areas may thrive as centers of corporate education and research. Rural regions may find new purpose through specialized training programs aligned with local resources and culture.

If these trends continue, the benefits could be substantial: reduced student debt, more direct paths to employment, faster innovation, and greater regional economic diversity. But challenges remain. The loss of traditional university research infrastructure may hinder long-term scientific progress. Access to elite training may increasingly depend on corporate affiliation, potentially limiting social mobility and excluding those without early access to professional networks. The liberal arts and humanities—once central to American higher education—may struggle to find footing in this new paradigm.

In the broad view, these emerging models reflect a shift away from institutional prestige and toward demonstrable competence. The change is not only educational but societal, redefining what it means to learn, to work, and to belong. Whether this transformation leads to a more inclusive and efficient system or deepens existing inequities will depend on how these new models are regulated, supported, and adapted to public needs.

By 2035, the American educational system may no longer be anchored to age-segregated campuses and debt-financed degrees. Instead, it may revolve around pragmatic, lifelong pathways—deeply integrated with the labor market, shaped by regional strengths, and responsive to continuous technological change.

Sources:

1. National Student Clearinghouse Research Center

2. U.S. Department of Education

3. Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia
   4–5. National Center for Education Statistics
   6–9. Bureau of Labor Statistics, Consumer Price Index
   10–11. Federal Reserve Bank of New York
   12–13. McKinsey & Co., World Economic Forum
   14–16. U.S. Department of Justice, Accrediting Agencies
   17–19. Company Reports (Google, IBM, Amazon, Apple)
   20–21. U.S. Department of Labor
   22–24. Credential Engine, World Bank, Blockchain in Education Conference

4. Burning Glass Institute
   26–29. EdTech Reports, OECD, Pew Research Center
   30–31. National Apprenticeship Survey
   32–34. Gallup, Stanford Remote Work Project

5. UNESCO Blockchain for Education Report

Graduate Education is Broken

Graduate education in the United States—especially doctoral education—is fundamentally broken. Sold as a noble pursuit of truth and a gateway to the ivory tower, the Ph.D. has become, for many, a pipeline into debt, precarious employment, and psychological distress. Despite the lofty ideals marketed by universities and celebrated in faculty speeches, the numbers and lived experiences of graduates tell a darker, more sobering story.

According to Leaving Academia by Christopher L. Caterine, only 7 percent of all doctoral students will become tenure-track professors. That statistic, quietly acknowledged in graduate lounges and whispered among disillusioned postdocs, is not an anomaly. It is the grim baseline. The academic system continues to lure thousands into graduate programs every year, fully aware that 93 percent of them will not land the career they were explicitly or implicitly promised.

In his 2015 book The Graduate School Mess, Columbia University professor Leonard Cassuto calls out the structural failures of the Ph.D. pipeline—citing inadequate career preparation, mentorship dysfunction, and the willful neglect of graduate outcomes. Graduate programs serve the needs of faculty and institutions far more than they serve the students themselves. The labor of graduate students powers undergraduate education and research output, but their futures are sacrificed to the prestige economy of the university.

Karen Kelsky, in her influential guide The Professor Is In, goes even further. Drawing on years of advising graduate students and job seekers, she pulls no punches: the academic job market is brutal, and the culture within graduate school is often toxic—especially for women, people of color, and those without financial safety nets. Kelsky's consulting business exists because so many Ph.D.s are desperate to claw their way out of a system that promised them intellectual fulfillment and delivered exploitation instead.

Making matters worse is the massive oversupply of labor, which has been quietly sustained by an influx of international students. Many of the remaining full-time academic positions—not to mention a growing number of graduate student slots—are held by international labor. These students and scholars often enter the system under the false assumption that hard work and merit will lead to a stable career in academia. In reality, their presence—exploited under the banner of "global academic exchange"—exacerbates the labor surplus, keeping wages low and competition high. It’s not their fault—it’s the system’s design.

Enter Cheeky Scientist, a consulting service built to help Ph.D.s pivot into industry. What was once called "alt-ac" (alternative academic) is now, for most, the main road out. If academia won’t hire you, the logic goes, rebrand yourself for tech, pharma, or finance. Entire cottage industries now exist to rescue doctoral graduates from the wreckage of their academic dreams.

Beyond job prospects lies another ignored reality: financial instability. Emily Roberts, through her platform Personal Finance for Ph.D.s, has helped shine a light on the dire economic situation many doctoral students face. Stipends often fail to meet basic living expenses, especially in cities like New York, Boston, or San Francisco. Few programs offer retirement contributions or basic financial literacy. The result? Many Ph.D.s graduate not just without a job, but with significant debt—especially those who funded earlier education with loans or had to self-finance part of their graduate training.

Roberts’ work underscores that financial precarity begins in the first year of grad school. Her interviews with graduate students reveal the systemic neglect: many rely on food pantries, delay medical care, or take on secret gig work to survive—while their advisors remain oblivious or indifferent.

What we have, then, is a system that overproduces credentials, underprepares people for life outside the academy, and clings to a 20th-century fantasy of academic meritocracy. Doctoral education is not just out of step with the job market—it is actively harmful in many cases.

Meanwhile, universities continue to benefit. The intellectual labor of graduate students and international scholars props up research labs, lecture halls, and college rankings. They are essential, yet disposable. Institutions show little incentive to reduce Ph.D. admissions or offer honest appraisals of job prospects. Why would they? The system works—for them.

Graduate education isn’t merely broken. It’s functioning exactly as designed—for the benefit of the few, at the expense of the many.

It is time for a reckoning.

Fiction: The Pines Still Whisper

Cass McBride pulled into the parking lot of Atlantic Cape Community College just as the morning fog was lifting. The campus was quieter than she remembered—fewer cars, fewer conversations, fewer reasons to linger. The culinary arts building stood at the edge, windows clouded with dust, the café shuttered and dark.

Javi Sandoval sat beside her, scrolling through an email on his cracked phone screen. The college had just announced what everyone already knew: Atlantic Cape’s culinary program would be consolidated with Rowan College at Burlington County by the fall. The words were clean and administrative—“efficiency,” “realignment,” “cost savings”—but everyone understood the message. This place was being downsized, absorbed, and eventually erased.

“They’re moving all the classes to Mt. Holly,” Javi said. “That’s over an hour away. No shuttle, no support. Just go if you can. Or don’t.”

Cass nodded, her hands resting on a worn-out canvas bag filled with cookbooks and a half-used chef’s coat. “They say it’s about opportunity. But it feels like they’re just trimming away everything that made this place ours.”

Inside the student center, the old café was locked, its chalkboard menu still faintly showing specials from months ago—creamy risotto, grilled seasonal vegetables, apple tart. Meals once made by students, for staff and faculty, as part of their hands-on learning.

They walked around to the back hallway near the faculty offices, hoping to find someone who could give them real answers. That’s where they found Professor Reilly, sitting on a bench with a cardboard box beside him—books, a stained apron, and a union button that read: EDUCATION IS NOT A BUSINESS.

Reilly had taught part-time in the culinary program for over a decade—early morning sections, night classes, summer workshops. He was known for lecturing about labor history in the middle of baking demonstrations, quoting Eugene V. Debs while folding dough.

“They gave me fifteen minutes,” he said when Cass asked what had happened. “No severance. Just a letter. Said my ‘contract wasn’t renewed due to program restructuring.’ They didn’t even spell my name right.”

Javi sat down next to him. “I thought you were protected. Weren’t you in the union?”

Reilly chuckled. “We tried. We organized. But it’s hard when most of us are part-time and disposable. Admin smiles during bargaining, then turns around and guts your job through ‘curricular updates.’ They always find a way.”

Cass asked him if he’d stay in the area.

“I’ll stay,” he said. “Because this is where the students are. Because someone needs to remind them they’re not crazy for wanting more than just job training and debt. They deserve an education that feeds the soul, not just the economy.”

That night, Cass and Javi drove out past Pleasantville, where empty storefronts now stood beside a few remaining restaurants, barbershops, and bodegas. They passed through Margate and Ventnor, where beach homes glowed in early evening light, and the golf courses were still lush and quiet. In Somers Point, they saw the “Help Wanted” signs outside the waterfront restaurants—jobs with no benefits and long hours, perfect for students who no longer had classes to attend.

The casinos in Atlantic City still blinked and buzzed, but the crowds were thinner, and most of the profits came from online betting now—clicks from phones, not chips on tables.

They camped that evening just off Route 542, in a small clearing where the Pines bent gently in the wind. The stars came out slowly.

“I miss the kitchen,” Javi said. “The way Reilly used to talk about food—like it was a kind of justice.”

Cass pulled out her copy of The Grapes of Wrath, the one Reilly had recommended. She turned to a page he had dog-eared for her. “‘And the little screaming fact that sounds through all history: repression works only to strengthen and knit the repressed.’”

Javi looked up at the trees. “I keep thinking about people like Bernie Sanders and AOC. The way they talk about socialism, unions, public schools—for them, it’s not just politics. It’s survival. Dignity. Like what Reilly was trying to teach.”

Cass smiled, the firelight flickering on her face. “Yeah. It makes you think maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe it’s the start of something different.”

The wind moved through the Pines, steady and low, like an old voice telling stories to those who still cared to listen.

And for now, that was enough.

Robocolleges vs. Public Universities: Debt, Dropouts, and a Fraying Future

As the landscape of American higher education continues to shift, the divide between public universities and tech-heavy “robocolleges” has grown increasingly apparent. Once promoted as affordable and innovative, robocolleges are now under scrutiny for fostering high student debt and low graduation rates.

These institutions prioritize automation, outsourcing, and marketing over traditional teaching models, often sidelining academic integrity in favor of scalability.

Comparing Outcomes: Public Universities vs. Robocolleges

Feature	Public Universities	Robocolleges (e.g., for-profit/online-heavy)
Average Student Debt	~$18,350 at graduation	~$29,000 or higher
Graduation Rates	~60% for full-time students	Often below 30%
Support Services	Academic advising, tutoring, career centers	Often outsourced or minimal
Faculty Interaction	In-person, tenured professors	Automated systems or adjuncts
Cost Efficiency	Lower tuition, especially in-state	Higher cost per credit hour
Outcomes	Better job placement and earnings potential	Mixed results, often lower ROI

Sources: National Center for Education Statistics; Higher Education Inquirer research

Who Are the Robocolleges?

The following institutions have been identified by the Higher Education Inquirer as leading examples of the robocollege model:

• Liberty University Online: A nonprofit institution with massive online enrollment and over $8 billion in federal student loan debt, especially at the graduate level.

• Southern New Hampshire University (SNHU): With more than 160,000 online students, SNHU has become a leader in automation and AI-driven instruction.

• University of Phoenix: Once the largest for-profit college, now operating as a nonprofit affiliate of the University of Idaho. It has reduced instruction and services by $100 million annually while maintaining high profits.

• Colorado Technical University (CTU): Known for its use of machine learning and data analytics to manage student advising and engagement.

• Purdue University Global: A public university operating a former for-profit model, with deep ties to Kaplan Education and significant outsourcing.

• University of Arizona Global Campus (UAGC): Formerly Ashford University, now part of the University of Arizona system. It offers accelerated online degrees with limited faculty interaction.

The Robocollege Model

These schools rely on automated learning platforms, outsourced services, and aggressive marketing to attract students—often working adults, veterans, and low-income learners. While they promise flexibility and access, critics argue they deliver shallow curricula, minimal support, and poor job placement.

The Consequences

Many students leave robocolleges with significant debt and no degree to show for it. Partnerships with Online Program Managers (OPMs) like 2U and EducationDynamics have drawn criticism for deceptive recruitment practices and inflated costs. Public confidence in higher ed is eroding, and students are increasingly seeking alternative routes to meaningful work.

What’s Next?

As tuition costs rise and outcomes falter, the Higher Education Inquirer will continue investigating whether robocolleges represent a legitimate future for learning—or a cautionary tale of commercialized education gone awry.

U‑6 Unemployment Rate Inching Up: A Broader Look at Labor Market Strain

The U‑6 unemployment rate, the broadest measure of labor underutilization reported by the Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS), is showing signs of upward pressure. Unlike the headline U‑3 rate, which only includes those actively seeking work, the U‑6 figure captures a more complete picture of employment. It includes discouraged workers, marginally attached individuals, and those working part-time for economic reasons.

According to the most recent data from the BLS and the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis, the U‑6 rate inched up from 7.7 percent in June 2024 to a recent peak of 8.0 percent in February 2025. Since then, it has remained elevated, recording 7.9 percent in March and 7.8 percent in both April and May. The June 2025 figure dropped slightly to 7.7 percent but remains among the highest levels seen since 2023.

The U‑6 rate tends to rise when more people are involuntarily working part-time or when marginally attached workers reenter the job search but fail to secure full-time employment. These dynamics suggest that while headline unemployment may appear stable—hovering around 4.1 percent in June—the underlying labor market may be more fragile than it seems.

This persistence in underemployment raises concerns about the quality of jobs available, wage stagnation, and economic resilience, particularly for lower-income workers and those in precarious positions. A growing number of Americans want full-time employment but are unable to find it. Others are technically outside the labor force but remain discouraged or marginally attached to it.

In the broader context, the U‑6 rate serves as a counterbalance to optimistic economic narratives. The apparent stability in the U‑3 rate masks lingering vulnerabilities, especially as sectors like retail, hospitality, and education continue to rely heavily on part-time labor or are facing budgetary constraints. For those watching the post-pandemic economy, particularly in relation to student debt, workforce readiness, and higher education policy, these indicators suggest a structural weakness in job creation and labor absorption.

The gradual rise of U‑6 is not just a statistical footnote. It signals that the labor market is not fully healed and that a portion of the population remains economically sidelined. It is a metric worth monitoring as debates around economic recovery, fiscal policy, and employment strategies continue.

For readers of the Higher Education Inquirer, this trend reinforces the need to consider broader employment conditions when evaluating the health of the U.S. economy, particularly for recent graduates, contingent faculty, and other workers navigating a precarious job landscape.

Sources
Bureau of Labor Statistics, Table A-15. Alternative measures of labor underutilization: https://www.bls.gov/news.release/empsit.t15.htm
Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis (FRED), U‑6 Unemployment Rate: https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/U6RATE
TradingEconomics, U‑6 Unemployment Rate: https://tradingeconomics.com/united-states/u6-unemployment-rate

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.

Caring for the Planet: Walk More, Buy Less

In a world of climate crisis, student debt, and endless consumption, there’s a quiet revolution available to young people: walk more, buy less. It sounds simple—because it is—but the impact can be profound.

Most college students and recent grads don’t need to be reminded about environmental collapse. You've grown up amid wildfires, extreme weather, and warnings about rising seas. But while corporations and billionaires pump out pollution and plastic, you’re often told that the burden to fix things falls on your shoulders. You recycle. You switch off lights. You carry a tote bag. Still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

That’s because systemic change is slow and hard. But two actions—walking and not shopping—have the power to disrupt entire systems of waste and exploitation.

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Walking Is a Radical Act

In car-dominated societies like the U.S., walking is often dismissed as inconvenient or inefficient. But for those who can safely walk, it is an act of environmental resistance. Cars consume fossil fuels, require destructive mining for materials, and spew emissions into the air. Even electric vehicles rely on rare earth metals, large batteries, and energy grids that still burn coal and gas.

Every mile you walk instead of drive avoids carbon pollution. Every pair of shoes worn out instead of tires is a win. Walking also builds local awareness. You notice what’s happening on your streets—who’s struggling, who’s thriving, which spaces are neglected, and where nature is still hanging on. You become part of your community rather than just passing through it.

Walking saves money, improves health, and takes power away from oil companies and car-dependent infrastructure. That’s not just healthy—it’s revolutionary.

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Buying Less: Anti-Consumerism as Climate Action

You’ve probably heard the phrase “vote with your wallet.” But what if not spending is the more powerful vote?

Our entire economy is built around constant consumption. Fast fashion, tech upgrades, cheap furniture, endless online shopping—this isn’t just bad for your bank account. It’s bad for the planet. Every product you buy took raw materials, labor (often exploited), and energy to produce, ship, and store. The less we consume, the less destruction we support.

Here’s the thing: corporations want you to feel like you’re missing out if you don’t buy the newest thing. Social media and marketing are built to trigger that FOMO. But refusing to participate—living simply, creatively, and consciously—is one of the boldest stands you can take.

You don’t have to live like a monk. But delaying gratification, fixing what you already own, swapping clothes with friends, using the library, and just sitting with your discomfort instead of numbing it with shopping—these are environmental acts. They’re also acts of freedom.

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Why This Matters for Students and Grads

As a young person, you’re probably juggling rent, school loans, gig jobs, and anxiety about the future. You may feel powerless. But walking and cutting back on shopping are low-cost, high-impact moves. They don’t require wealth. They don’t require perfection. They’re daily choices that build awareness and build community.

By walking and refusing overconsumption, you model an alternative future—one not built on endless growth, but on balance, care, and intentional living.

These small acts won’t fix everything. But they will help you live in closer alignment with your values. And they send a clear message: We’re not buying the lies anymore.

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Final Thought

Caring for the environment isn’t about being perfect. It’s about shifting culture. It’s about resisting a system that treats the Earth—and our lives—as disposable.

So walk when you can. Buy less than you think you need. Look around. Notice what matters. And know that in these small acts, you’re part of something bigger.

Your steps count. Your refusal counts. Your care counts.

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Higher Education Inquirer is committed to radical truth-telling and student advocacy in an era of climate chaos and corporate capture.