[Editor's note: This article first appeared in the Robert Kelchen Blog.]
Examining the Debt and Earnings of “Professional” Programs
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[Editor's note: This article first appeared in the Robert Kelchen Blog.]
Examining the Debt and Earnings of “Professional” Programs
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K12 Inc., now rebranded as Stride, is a Wall Street darling—but for students, it’s a nightmare. Critics call it “one of the worst charter schools in America,” with dropout rates soaring above 50% and graduation rates below 30%. Behind the glossy marketing and investor pitches, Stride operates as a pipeline not to opportunity, but to debt, dead-end jobs, and corporate profit.
Stride presents itself as an innovative online education platform, but the numbers tell a different story. Full-time virtual schools nationally graduate just 54.6% of students, compared to 85% in traditional public schools. K12/Stride’s virtual offerings hover around 56.3%, with blended programs faring slightly better at 80.9%. In some districts, however, the picture is grim: Kansas K12 charters reported graduation rates as low as 26.3%, while local brick-and-mortar schools achieved nearly 90%.
High student churn compounds the problem. Stride-powered schools report turnover of 50–57%, highlighting systemic disengagement and academic instability. Student-teacher ratios are extreme, sometimes exceeding 40:1, more than double the national average. Only a third of K12 schools met Adequate Yearly Progress under No Child Left Behind, illustrating a chronic failure to deliver even basic accountability.
K-12 education is meant to be a pipeline—leading students into college, skilled careers, and financial stability. For students leaving Stride underprepared or without diplomas, that pipeline is broken. Many are pushed into low-wage work, forced into remedial college courses, or trapped in a credential system designed to extract debt rather than confer opportunity. In this way, Stride acts less as an educational institution and more as a conveyor belt funneling vulnerable youth into economic precarity.
Stride is backed by investors and private equity interests that profit from this dysfunction. Its glossy “Graduation Guarantee,” introduced in 2021, promises remediation for students who age out without graduating. But these measures are reactive, not systemic; they don’t address the structural incentives that prioritize profit over learning. Every public dollar flowing into Stride’s coffers is money extracted from communities, while many students exit the system with weak credentials and limited prospects.
The broader story is clear: billionaire-backed for-profit virtual schools like Stride are part of a national effort to privatize public education, monetize student debt, and commodify learning. They transform education from a public good into a profit center, leaving students and families to bear the real cost. Without accountability, oversight, and a renewed commitment to equitable public education, this pipeline—supposed to carry students toward opportunity—will continue to deliver them into debt, underemployment, and economic marginalization.
National Education Policy Center (2021). Virtual Schools in the U.S. nepc.colorado.edu
Network for Public Education (2019). Are Online Charter Schools Good Options for Families? networkforpubliceducation.org
SourceWatch. K12 Inc. sourcewatch.org
Public Schools First NC. Online Charter Schools. publicschoolsfirstnc.org
Education Week. 15 Months in Virtual Charter Hell. edweek.org
Houston Chronicle (2025). Texas Expands Virtual School Enrollment Amid Accountability Concerns. houstonchronicle.com
Stride Inc. (2021). Graduation Guarantee. investors.stridelearning.com
Diane Ravitch Blog (2021). Teacher Reflects on Working for K12 Inc. dianeravitch.net
Wikipedia. Stride, Inc. en.wikipedia.org
The term authoritarian plutocracy captures how higher education is being reshaped: rather than overt state control in classic fascist style, what we are witnessing is the systematic hollowing of regulatory protections, the transfer of public funding into private profit, and the disciplining of institutions and individuals by political fiat. In the most recent year, several policy shifts make this trajectory unmistakably visible.
Since assuming (his current) office, Trump’s administration has embarked on sweeping reforms and legislative changes that illustrate how deregulation and elite enrichment are prioritized over the welfare of students, lenders, and institutions. Legislative changes embodied in the Reconciliation Law (signed July 4, 2025) carry radical higher-education implications: it overhauls the federal student aid system; imposes limits on borrowing for graduate and professional students and for parent borrowers; reduces the number and generosity of income-based repayment plans; rolls back accountability measures aimed at protecting students from fraud; delays or reverts protections for those wronged by their institutions; and makes cuts that affect affordability and access. TICAS
One prominent change under the new law is the elimination of the Graduate PLUS loan program, replaced with new annual and lifetime borrowing caps for graduate and professional students. Parent PLUS loans likewise face severe new restrictions. Borrowers in many categories will lose access to multiple repayment plans now in use (e.g. ICR, PAYE, REPAYE, SAVE) and effectively be pushed into just two new repayment pathways: a standard plan and a new “Repayment Assistance Plan.” These reforms will kick in for new borrowers after July 1, 2026, and for current borrowers by 2028 in many cases. TICAS
Another significant shift involves interest and repayment policy for millions of borrowers. The Department of Education has restarted interest accrual on federal student loans under the SAVE plan as of August 1, 2025, following court rulings that blocked parts of the plan. This means those enrolled will begin seeing their loan balances grow again, while being urged to move to other repayment regimes that conform to legal constraints. U.S. Department of Education
Regulatory changes in other areas also reflect the same pattern. Final regulations published in early 2025 address Return to Title IV Funds (R2T4) and rules for distance education and TRIO programs, scheduled to take effect in mid-2026 unless otherwise noted. These rules both tighten and loosen oversight in ways that can benefit institutional actors at the expense of students—by giving schools more flexibility on refunds, changing how module-based courses are treated, and slowing implementation of reporting requirements. NACUBO Meanwhile, some proposed regulatory changes—in cash management (how institutions manage and use financial aid dollars), state authorization, accreditation—were withdrawn by December 2024, signaling a retreat from tighter controls. SPARC+1
Perhaps most emblematic is the ongoing effort to reduce or even dismantle parts of the federal oversight apparatus. In March 2025, Trump signed an executive order directing the Secretary of Education to “facilitate the closure of the Department of Education and return authority over education to the States and local communities.” Simultaneously, a major workforce reduction was announced in the Department. Roughly half of its employees were targeted in layoffs or reassignments as part of a broader reorganization affecting Federal Student Aid and the Office for Civil Rights. A federal court blocked part of the mass layoff effort in May, but the direction is clear: less oversight, fewer protections, more discretion for institutions and private actors. Wikipedia
The cumulative effect of these changes is consistent with what authoritarian plutocracy demands. Borrowers now face fewer repayment options, steeper obligations, and less protection from predatory behavior. Institutions, freed from some regulatory strictures, may gain flexibility—and private firms (including lenders, servicers, edtech providers, OPMs) stand to benefit. The regulatory wind has shifted to favor profit and power; public accountability, student welfare, and equity are increasingly secondary.
In higher education, as elsewhere, what matters isn't only what laws are passed but what and who those laws empower—and what they disable. For students, faculty, and institutions without deep political connections or financial buffers, the risk is that higher education becomes less a public good and more a venture to be leveraged by the powerful.
Recent Sources & Reporting
“Provisions Affecting Higher Education in the Reconciliation Law,” TICAS, July 15, 2025 TICAS
U.S. Department of Education press release on SAVE plan interest accrual policy, July 9, 2025 U.S. Department of Education
“ED Finalizes Rules on Return to Title IV and Distance Education,” NACUBO, Jan. 2025 NACUBO
“2024 U.S. Department of Education Negotiated Rulemaking,” SPARC Open SPARC
“ED Finalizes Biden-Era Regulations, Withdraws Proposals Amid Transition,” ACE, Jan. 13, 2025 American Council on Education
Reporting on proposed closure / layoff / reorg in the Department of Education
Anosognosia is the inability to recognize one’s own illness or disability. In higher education, it describes the chronic denial of a system in crisis—one that refuses to admit its own collapse.
For decades, U.S. higher education has been sold as the great equalizer. The story was simple: borrow, study, graduate, succeed. But the data show the opposite. What we are witnessing is a long college meltdown, masked by denial at the highest levels of government, university administrations, and Wall Street.
Outstanding student loan debt now exceeds $1.77 trillion, burdening more than 43 million Americans.
Nearly 20 percent of borrowers are in default or serious delinquency.
Black borrowers, especially Black women, carry the heaviest burdens and are least likely to see upward mobility from their degrees.
Many in income-driven repayment programs will never pay off principal, living in a permanent state of debt peonage.
Universities and policymakers insist debt is an “investment.” But for millions, it is a generational shackle.
More than 70 percent of college instructors are contingent.
Adjuncts often earn less than $3,500 per course, with no healthcare, no retirement, and no security.
Roughly one in four adjuncts relies on public assistance.
Universities still market themselves as communities of scholars. In reality, they operate on the same exploitative labor practices as Uber or Amazon.
Four in ten recent grads work in jobs that don’t require a degree.
One-third of graduates say their work is unrelated to their major.
Median real wages for college graduates have been flat for 25 years.
Still, higher ed pushes “lifelong learning” credentials, turning underemployment into a new revenue stream.
At Ivy League universities, 40 percent of students come from the top 5 percent of households.
Fewer than 5 percent come from the bottom fifth.
Endowments soar—Harvard’s sits at $50 billion—but tuition relief and faculty wages barely budge.
This is not mobility. It is a hereditary elite cloaked in the language of meritocracy.
Universities promote sustainability but invest billions in fossil fuels.
Campus expansion and luxury amenities drive up emissions, water use, and labor exploitation.
Even here, anosognosia reigns: branding over reality.
The college meltdown has been unfolding for more than a decade:
Small liberal arts colleges shuttering.
Regional publics bleeding enrollments.
For-profits morphing into “nonprofits” while still funneling money to investors.
State funding eroded, shifting the cost to students and families.
But instead of confronting the collapse, higher ed leaders rely on rhetoric: “innovation,” “resilience,” “access.” Like anosognosia, denial itself becomes survival.
The denial is not harmless. It is measured in:
The indebted graduate delaying family formation and homeownership.
The adjunct commuting across counties to string together courses while living below the poverty line.
The working-class family betting their savings on a degree that will not deliver mobility.
The meltdown is here. Higher education’s inability—or refusal—to admit it ensures the damage will deepen.
Anosognosia prevents healing because it prevents recognition of the problem. U.S. higher education cannot admit its own disease, so it cannot begin recovery. Until it does, students, families, and workers will bear the costs of a system in denial.
Federal Reserve Bank of New York, Quarterly Report on Household Debt and Credit (2025)
National Center for Education Statistics (NCES), Digest of Education Statistics (2023)
American Association of University Professors (AAUP), Annual Report on the Economic Status of the Profession (2024)
Pew Research Center, The Rising Cost of Not Going to College (2023 update)
The Century Foundation, Adjunct Project (2022)
Chetty et al., Mobility Report Cards: The Role of Colleges in Intergenerational Mobility (2017, with updates)
IPEDS (Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System), U.S. Department of Education
Harvard Management Company, Endowment Report (2024)
Higher Education Inquirer, College Meltdown archive (2018–2025)
Higher education in the United States has become its own high-stakes game, where students—particularly those from working-class backgrounds—risk their futures on degrees that may never deliver the promised payoff. Like Las Vegas, the system thrives on speculation, scams, and extraction, creating a casino economy in which the house almost always wins.
The dynamics at play in universities mirror those of Las Vegas. Tuition fees have tripled over the last two decades, and in 2025, outstanding student loan debt in the U.S. exceeds $1.9 trillion, carried by over 45 million borrowers. For many graduates, the return on investment is uncertain: nearly 40% of college-educated workers report being in jobs they do not enjoy or that do not require a degree.
Las Vegas itself provides a cautionary tale. The city’s economy depends on high-risk speculation, from manipulated gaming odds to predatory pricing and real estate bubbles. Hospitality and gaming workers are trapped in precarious jobs, and tourists are increasingly voicing dissatisfaction with hidden fees and scams. The parallels with higher education are striking: both systems rely on extracting value from participants while minimizing risk for those in control.
Labor unrest in both arenas highlights the human cost. University adjuncts, graduate assistants, and service staff face low pay, unpredictable schedules, and limited benefits—even as administrators and shareholders reap the gains. Similarly, culinary and hospitality workers in Vegas struggle under similar dynamics, a reminder that exploitation scales across sectors.
Casino capitalism—the U.S. default—demonstrates that short-term profits often trump long-term stability. In higher education, the consequences include credential inflation, student debt crises, and a growing divide between those who can gamble successfully and those for whom the system is rigged. Just as Vegas may eventually face a tourist backlash, higher education risks a reckoning if working-class students continue to shoulder the losses of a speculative system.
In this economy, whether the stakes are on the strip or in the classroom, the house may always win—but only until the players refuse to play.
Higher Education Inquirer. “The Student Debt Crisis and For-Profit Colleges.” HEI, 2024. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2024/02/the-student
Higher Education Inquirer. “Elite Universities on Lockdown: Labor, Debt, and Exploitation.” HEI, 2024. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2024/09/elite-universities-on-lockdown.html
Higher Education Inquirer. “Elite University Presidents: Most Hated and Least Trusted.” HEI, 2025. https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/02/elite-university-presidents-most-hated.html
Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis. “Student Loans and Household Debt Statistics.” 2025. https://fred.stlouisfed.org
Pew Research Center. “Job Satisfaction and College Graduates in the U.S.” 2025. https://www.pewresearch.org
The rollback of remote work policies across industries is reshaping labor markets, household economics, and ultimately, higher education. At the heart of this shift are competing forces: employers eager to reassert control over the workplace, families struggling with the cost of childcare, and an economy that risks losing productivity and talent when workers are forced into rigid arrangements.
For higher education, these developments are not distant trends—they directly affect students, employees, and the value of degrees in a labor market already strained by inequality.
One of the most pressing issues is the cost of childcare. In many parts of the United States, childcare now exceeds the cost of tuition at public universities. The rollback of flexible work means more parents—particularly mothers—face impossible choices between income and caregiving. Gender economists warn that this will have long-term consequences for workforce participation, with ripple effects on GDP.
When high performers, especially women in mid-career, exit the workforce due to a lack of flexibility, the loss is not only personal but systemic. Research has shown that reduced female participation translates into billions of dollars in lost GDP. For colleges and universities, this contraction weakens alumni networks, shrinks the pipeline of potential graduate students, and destabilizes family incomes that support tuition payments.
Higher education institutions are also employers. As universities push staff and faculty back into offices while offering minimal support for caregiving, they risk alienating the very professionals who sustain research and teaching. This compounds the long-standing crisis of adjunct labor and the broader erosion of academic working conditions. Many contingent faculty members already juggle multiple jobs while managing caregiving responsibilities—conditions made worse by rigid scheduling and the absence of benefits like paid leave or childcare subsidies.
The student debt crisis, too, is inseparable from these dynamics. Families already strained by high tuition and predatory lending practices cannot absorb the additional shock of rising care costs. For many working parents, pursuing higher education has become nearly impossible without flexible employment. In this way, the rollback of remote work further narrows access to education and entrenches inequality.
The rollback has been framed by some employers as a way to restore collaboration and productivity. But the evidence suggests the opposite may occur if flexibility is stripped away without accounting for the realities of modern family life. Gender economists argue that the choice is not simply between home and office but between an inclusive economy and one that sidelines caregivers.
For universities, the lesson is clear. If higher education is to prepare students for the future of work, it must also examine how it treats its own employees, how it supports student-parents, and how it positions itself in debates about labor, family, and equity. Ignoring the economics of care will only deepen inequality and accelerate the ongoing college meltdown.
Higher Education Inquirer. "The College Meltdown."
Higher Education Inquirer. "Adjunct Labor and Inequality."
Higher Education Inquirer. "Student Debt and Working Families."
Blau, Francine D., and Lawrence M. Kahn. The Gendered Impact of Child Care Costs on Labor Market Participation.
Goldin, Claudia. Career and Family: Women’s Century-Long Journey toward Equity.
Across American higher education, labor rights have been under sustained pressure for decades. Adjunct faculty and contingent academic workers face precarious employment conditions, stagnant pay, and eroding protections. Yet when systemic critiques are raised, elite university presidents often reframe the discussion, narrowing structural problems into manageable, apolitical talking points.
Presidents frequently recast labor issues in neutral managerial terms:
Union suppression = “workforce modernization”
Adjunct exploitation = “budgetary flexibility”
Student debt peonage = “innovative financing”
By reducing structural injustices to administrative concerns, they strip these issues of political and historical significance, making them easier to manage and harder to challenge.
When confronted with inequities, presidents often insist:
“Declining appropriations leave us no choice.”
“Our boards demand fiscal responsibility.”
“Market forces shape our decisions.”
This logic frames systemic oppression as inevitable, technical, and apolitical — a narrative that protects institutional power while masking the long-term consequences for faculty and students.
Elite leaders control the conversation through language:
Critics say “union suppression”; presidents say “workforce modernization.”
Activists say “racial exclusion”; presidents invoke “mission fit.”
Students call it “robocolleges” or corporatization; presidents speak of “scaling access.”
By changing the words, they change the battlefield, making systemic critique appear radical, ill-informed, or irrelevant.
Historical context is often sidelined:
Universities rarely acknowledge their role in breaking faculty strikes or adopting corporate governance models.
They deflect from the impact of elite endowments and funding structures in deepening inequality.
Decisions that shape labor, access, and academic priorities are rarely recognized as part of a decades-long neoliberal project.
1. Columbia University's $221 Million Settlement
In a notable instance, Columbia University agreed to a $221 million settlement with the Trump administration, restoring previously cut federal research funding. While the university emphasized its continued autonomy in admissions and hiring decisions, the settlement included oversight on issues such as merit-based hiring and campus free speech. This move sparked backlash from faculty who viewed it as political interference in academic governance .
2. Harvard University's Response to Federal Pressure
Harvard University faced scrutiny from the Trump administration over alleged failure to combat antisemitism. In response, Harvard President Alan Garber pledged cooperation with federal demands but faced criticism for lacking a strong defense of academic independence. Administrative actions, including suspensions of pro-Palestinian programs, heightened faculty unease and raised concerns about potential political interference in academic institutions .
3. The 2023 Rutgers University Strike
At Rutgers University, faculty and graduate student workers participated in a strike demanding increased salaries, job security, and equal pay for equal work. The strike, involving over 9,000 staff members and 67,000 students, was suspended after a tentative agreement for across-the-board salary increases was reached. This action highlighted the growing mobilization of contingent faculty and the challenges they face in advocating for better working conditions .
Elite institutions claim Veritas — truth — but their leaders practice selective blindness. They respond to criticism in managerial jargon, policing language, and rendering systemic injustices invisible within the institution.
Across campuses nationwide, the strategy is consistent: narrow the conversation, maintain the appearance of neutrality, and protect the interests of trustees, donors, and corporate partners — all while structural crises of labor, debt, and inequality continue unchecked.
Sources:
"Columbia agrees $221mn settlement with Trump administration" – Financial Times, August 2025
"Harvard faculty organize amid anxiety university will capitulate to Trump" – The Guardian, April 2025
"2023 Rutgers University strike" – Wikipedia, June 2023
Since its founding in 1944, the United Negro College Fund (UNCF) has been a cornerstone of educational equity in the United States. Created to support historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs), UNCF has helped hundreds of thousands of students access higher education and achieve their dreams.
Public Service Announcement for the United Negro College Fund from 1977 features Ray Charles.
UNCF’s mission is simple yet powerful: to increase the number of African American college graduates by providing scholarships, supporting HBCUs, and advocating for minority education. Each year, the organization awards more than 10,000 scholarships through over 400 programs, helping students overcome financial barriers and persist through college.
The impact is measurable. UNCF scholarship recipients graduate at rates significantly higher than the national average for African American students. Its member institutions—37 HBCUs across the country—continue to produce leaders in every field, from science and medicine to the arts and public service.
Beyond financial aid, UNCF has played a vital role in shaping public discourse around education. Its iconic slogan, “A mind is a terrible thing to waste,” introduced in 1972, remains one of the most recognized and enduring messages in nonprofit history. The phrase encapsulates the organization’s belief in the transformative power of education and the urgency of investing in young minds.
Under the leadership of Dr. Michael L. Lomax, UNCF continues to evolve, expanding its reach through partnerships, fellowships, and policy advocacy. In an era of rising tuition and persistent inequality, UNCF remains a vital force—empowering students, strengthening institutions, and reminding the nation that talent is universal, but opportunity is not.
Sources:
United Negro College Fund official website
UNCF Annual Reports and Impact Data
“A Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Waste” campaign history, Ad Council
Interview with Dr. Michael L. Lomax, The Chronicle of Higher Education
University of California (UC) President James Milliken has sounded an alarm over what he calls one of the “gravest threats” in the institution’s 157-year history. In testimony before state lawmakers, Milliken outlined a looming financial crisis sparked by sweeping federal funding cuts and unprecedented political demands from the Trump administration.
The UC system — spanning 10 campuses, five medical centers, and serving hundreds of thousands of students and patients — receives more than $17 billion in federal funds annually. That includes $9.9 billion in Medicare and Medicaid reimbursements, $5.7 billion in research dollars, and $1.9 billion in student financial aid. According to Milliken, much of this funding is now at risk.
Already, UCLA alone has seen more than $500 million in research grants cut. On top of that, the administration has levied a $1.2 billion penalty against the system, alleging that UCLA and other campuses failed to adequately address antisemitism.
“These shortfalls, combined with the administration’s punitive demands, could devastate our university and cause enormous harm to our students, our patients, and all Californians,” Milliken warned. He has requested at least $4 to $5 billion annually in state aid to blunt the impact of federal cuts.
The Trump administration has tied federal funding to sweeping political conditions, including:
Release of detailed admissions data.
Restrictions on protests.
Elimination of race-related scholarships and diversity hiring.
A ban on gender-affirming care for minors at UCLA health centers.
Critics argue that these conditions amount to political blackmail, undermining both academic freedom and healthcare access.
California Governor Gavin Newsom denounced the federal measures as “extortion” and “a page out of the authoritarian playbook.” Thirty-three state legislators urged UC leaders “not to back down in the face of this political shakedown.”
Yet while UC leaders frame themselves as defenders of free inquiry, many students and faculty who have protested war, racism, and inequality have found themselves silenced by the very system that now claims victimhood.
2011 UC Davis Occupy Protest: Images of police casually pepper-spraying seated students went viral, symbolizing the university’s harsh response to peaceful dissent.
2019 UC Santa Cruz Graduate Worker Strike: Graduate students demanding a cost-of-living adjustment were fired, evicted, or disciplined rather than heard.
2022 UC Irvine Labor Strikes: Workers organizing for fair pay and job security faced heavy-handed tactics from administrators.
2023–24 Gaza Encampments: UC campuses, including UCLA and UC Berkeley, called in police to dismantle student encampments protesting U.S. and UC complicity in Israel’s war in Gaza. Dozens of students were arrested, suspended, or disciplined for their participation.
These incidents show a pattern: UC celebrates academic freedom in official statements, but clamps down when protests threaten its ties to corporate donors, political interests, or foreign governments.
As one Berkeley student put it during the Gaza protests: “The university claims it’s under attack from Trump’s censorship — but it censors us every single day.”
Beyond silencing dissent, UC has been unresponsive to many Californians on broader issues: rising tuition, limited in-state enrollment, reliance on low-paid adjuncts, and partnerships with corporations that profit from student debt and labor precarity. For many working families, UC feels less like a public institution and more like an elite research enterprise serving industry and politics.
This contradiction makes the current crisis double-edged. UC is indeed being targeted by the Trump administration, but it also faces a legitimacy crisis at home.
Milliken, who took office as UC President on August 1, is lobbying state lawmakers to commit billions annually to offset federal cuts. But UC’s survival may hinge not only on political deals in Sacramento, but also on whether it can rebuild trust with the Californians it has too often sidelined — including the protesters and whistleblowers who have been warning for years about its drift away from public accountability.
The larger struggle, then, is not just UC versus Washington. It is about whether a public university system can still live up to its mission of serving the people — not corporations, not politicians, and not the wealthy few who hold the purse strings.
Sources:
University of California Office of the President
California State Legislature records
Statements from Gov. Gavin Newsom
U.S. Department of Justice communications
Higher Education Inquirer archives on UC protest suppression and public accountability
Coverage of UC Davis pepper-spray incident (2011), UC Santa Cruz COLA strike (2019), UC Irvine labor strikes (2022), Gaza encampment crackdowns (2023–24)