Gini Index: Higher Education and the US Line of Inequality

Over the past century, the United States has undergone enormous changes in how wealth and income are distributed. From the opulence of the Roaring Twenties to the postwar rise of the middle class, from the tech booms of the 1990s to the pandemic economy of the 2020s, the line of inequality has rarely been flat—and never fair.

To track these shifts, economists use the Gini Index, a number between 0 and 1 (or 0 and 100 in percentage terms), where 0 represents perfect equality and 1 represents perfect inequality. The U.S. Gini Index has changed dramatically over time, reflecting wars, economic crises, policy decisions, and structural changes in education, taxes, and immigration.

In the 1920s, the United States experienced a high level of income inequality. The economy was booming for the wealthy, but the benefits of that growth were concentrated at the top. This period, often referred to as the first Gilded Age, was marked by weak labor protections, minimal taxation on the rich, and limited social safety nets. At the same time, immigration was heavily restricted, which limited labor competition but also reinforced the racial and ethnic hierarchies that shaped income and opportunity.

The Great Depression and World War II marked a dramatic shift. As the economy collapsed in the 1930s, public pressure mounted for systemic reform. New Deal policies expanded labor rights, created Social Security, and introduced public works programs. These efforts, along with wartime wage controls and steep taxes on the wealthy, helped reduce inequality. The federal income tax reached top rates over 90 percent. Education expanded as the GI Bill sent millions of returning veterans—mostly white men—to college and into homeownership. However, the benefits of this postwar expansion were unequally distributed, with Black Americans and other minorities largely excluded through redlining, school segregation, and discriminatory lending.

From the 1950s to the 1970s, the U.S. experienced what some call the Great Compression. Income gaps between rich and poor narrowed. Manufacturing jobs were abundant, union membership was high, and wages grew alongside productivity. Federal and state investments in education opened doors for many, although property taxes, which fund most local public schools, reinforced disparities between wealthier suburbs and poorer cities or rural communities. Immigration remained limited during these decades, and federal tax policy remained progressive. The Gini Index stayed relatively stable, reflecting broad-based growth and a more equal distribution of income.

The 1980s brought a reversal. The Reagan administration cut top income tax rates dramatically, weakened labor unions, and deregulated many industries. The economy became more financialized, and capital gains were increasingly favored over wages. Globalization and the offshoring of manufacturing jobs weakened the bargaining power of American workers. At the same time, immigration increased, often filling low-wage and precarious jobs in agriculture, construction, and service industries. While immigration boosted overall economic output, it also contributed to greater income stratification within certain sectors.

The Gini Index rose steadily through the 1980s and 1990s. The tech boom created vast wealth for a small segment of the population, while wages for most workers stagnated. Public universities saw declining state support, leading to tuition hikes and the explosion of student loan debt. Property taxes continued to shape educational inequality, with affluent districts able to fund advanced programs and facilities while lower-income schools struggled. Tax policy changes in the 2000s, including further reductions in capital gains and estate taxes, widened the gap between those who earn their income from investments and those who rely on wages.

The 2008 financial crisis deepened existing divides. While wealthy households recovered quickly due to stock market gains and low interest rates, working-class families faced job losses, home foreclosures, and long-term economic insecurity. Federal stimulus programs helped avert total collapse, but they did little to reverse decades of rising inequality. By the 2010s, the U.S. Gini Index was among the highest in the developed world.

In the early 2020s, the COVID-19 pandemic once again exposed the structural weaknesses in the American economy. Emergency relief programs and expanded unemployment benefits briefly reduced poverty in 2020, but these were temporary fixes. Billionaires saw massive increases in wealth, while millions of essential workers faced health risks, layoffs, and housing instability. Public schools and universities adapted to online learning, but the digital divide left many students behind. Property taxes remained the primary source of school funding, preserving long-standing inequalities in education. Immigrants continued to perform essential but undervalued labor, often without access to healthcare or legal protections.

Federal tax policy remains tilted toward the wealthy. Income from stocks and real estate is taxed at lower rates than income from work. Loopholes and deductions allow corporations and the ultra-rich to minimize their tax bills. At the same time, working families face regressive payroll taxes and growing out-of-pocket costs for healthcare, education, and housing.

Higher education, once seen as a pathway to mobility, increasingly reflects the same patterns of inequality seen in the broader economy. Elite universities with billion-dollar endowments serve a small, privileged student population. Public colleges and community colleges—where most students from working-class and minority backgrounds enroll—operate on tight budgets and often rely on underpaid adjunct faculty. Rising tuition, administrative bloat, and student debt have turned education into both a product and a burden.

The Gini Index provides a simple way to measure inequality, but it does not capture all of the structural forces behind it. To understand why inequality remains so persistent, we must look at the systems that shape opportunity from birth: local property taxes, unequal schools, debt-financed higher education, regressive tax codes, and immigration policies that create a stratified labor market.

The line of inequality in the United States is not just a chart—it’s a reflection of who holds power, who gets access, and who pays the price. Changing that line will require more than numbers. It will take bold public action, political courage, and a serious rethinking of how we fund education, how we tax wealth, and how we value labor in an age of digital capitalism.

The Higher Education Inquirer will continue to trace the contours of inequality—across classrooms, campuses, and communities—because understanding the line is the first step to redrawing it. 

Sources

Piketty, Thomas, Saez, Emmanuel, and Zucman, Gabriel. Distributional National Accounts: Methods and Estimates for the United States. Quarterly Journal of Economics, 2018.

Congressional Budget Office. The Distribution of Household Income, 2019. Published November 2022.
https://www.cbo.gov/publication/58528

U.S. Census Bureau. Income and Poverty in the United States: 2022.
https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2023/demo/p60-280.html

Economic Policy Institute. State of Working America: Wages.
https://www.epi.org/data/#?subject=wages

Goldin, Claudia and Katz, Lawrence F. The Race Between Education and Technology. Harvard University Press, 2008.

Chetty, Raj et al. The Fading American Dream: Trends in Absolute Income Mobility Since 1940. Science, 2017.

Desmond, Matthew. Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City. Crown Publishing, 2016.

Kuznets, Simon. Economic Growth and Income Inequality. American Economic Review, 1955.

Saez, Emmanuel and Zucman, Gabriel. The Triumph of Injustice: How the Rich Dodge Taxes and How to Make Them Pay. W.W. Norton & Company, 2019.

OECD. Income Inequality (Gini Coefficient).
https://data.oecd.org/inequality/income-inequality.htm

National Center for Education Statistics. Revenues and Expenditures for Public Elementary and Secondary Education.
https://nces.ed.gov/programs/coe/indicator/cma

Urban Institute. The Unequal Distribution of State and Local Revenues.
https://www.urban.org/sites/default/files/publication/98725/the-unequal-distribution-of-state-and-local-revenues_1.pdf

Institute on Taxation and Economic Policy (ITEP). Who Pays? A Distributional Analysis of the Tax Systems in All 50 States.
https://itep.org/whopays/

Migration Policy Institute. Immigrant Workers: Vital to the U.S. COVID-19 Response, Disproportionately Vulnerable.
https://www.migrationpolicy.org/research/immigrant-workers-us-covid-19-response

National Bureau of Economic Research. Education and Inequality Across the American States.
https://www.nber.org/papers/w31455

Hidden Cracks in the U.S. Economy: Inequality, Low-Wage Work, and the Robocollege Crisis

Recent analyses indicate that roughly one-third of the U.S. economy is already in recession or at high risk, while another third is stagnating. Certain states, such as Texas, Florida, and North Carolina, appear to be booming, but this growth masks a long-standing depression for the working class—trapped in low-wage, insecure jobs with few benefits or career prospects.

Economic Segmentation: A Divided Landscape

States in recession or at high risk include Wyoming, Montana, Minnesota, Mississippi, Kansas, Massachusetts, Washington, Georgia, New Hampshire, Maryland, Rhode Island, Illinois, Delaware, Virginia, Oregon, Connecticut, South Dakota, New Jersey, Maine, Iowa, West Virginia, and the District of Columbia.

States such as New York, California, and Ohio are stagnating, with flat GDP and weak job creation. Even in expanding states, much of the growth is concentrated in low-quality service-sector work or gig economy positions. These structural disparities highlight the limits of traditional economic indicators like GDP when assessing real well-being.

Inequality and the Gini Index

The United States ranks among the most unequal developed nations according to the Gini Index. Wealth is highly concentrated at the top, while median wages have stagnated for decades. Economic growth in certain states often benefits corporate executives and high-skilled professionals, while the majority of workers face economic insecurity.

This inequality has profound implications for higher education. Students from lower- and middle-income families increasingly enter college burdened by debt, often taking on low-quality, precarious jobs during and after their studies. The result is a widening gap between elite institutions—able to attract wealthy students and expand endowments—and regional or community colleges, which are struggling with declining enrollment and financial instability.

The Rise of Robocolleges

Amid these challenges, a new phenomenon has emerged: the rise of "robocolleges." These institutions often operate primarily online, relying heavily on pre-recorded lectures and automated feedback systems. While they may offer affordable tuition, the quality of education can be questionable. Students may have limited access to faculty members for guidance and support, and the emphasis on technology can raise concerns about the depth of learning.

Robocolleges may contribute to the student debt crisis, as high tuition costs and potential for low job placement rates can leave graduates with significant debt and limited employment prospects. The aggressive marketing tactics employed by some of these institutions have also raised ethical concerns, as they may mislead students about the value of the education provided.

Global Pressures

The U.S. economy is embedded in global markets, making it vulnerable to rising interest rates, commodity price volatility, and international competition. For higher education, this translates into shrinking research funding, fewer international students, and increased pressure to commercialize academic work. Public universities, in particular, face budget cuts while elite private institutions continue to thrive, deepening stratification within the sector.

Trumpenomics and Policy Illusions

As explored in "Trumpenomics: The Emperor Has No Clothes" (Higher Education Inquirer), former President Trump's economic strategy combined trickle-down rhetoric, tariffs, and authoritarian measures that disproportionately benefited elites. What has been presented as national economic growth is, in reality, an illusion that masks the persistent precarity and stagnation experienced by the majority of Americans.

Implications for Higher Education

The economic realities of recession, stagnation, and inequality reinforce a two-tiered higher education system. Elite institutions consolidate wealth and prestige, while regional public colleges and community colleges struggle to serve students in states facing economic decline. Student debt continues to rise, even as many degrees fail to provide upward mobility, especially in regions dominated by low-wage employment.

Without policy intervention, these trends threaten to erode access, affordability, and the social mobility function of U.S. higher education. The college meltdown is not just a financial issue; it reflects the broader societal impact of economic inequality, labor precarity, and regional economic disparities.

The Working-Class Depression 

Apparent growth in certain states hides a more profound working-class depression, fueled by insecure, low-quality jobs, widening inequality, and global economic pressures. Addressing these issues requires policies that improve job quality, reduce inequality, and build resilience against global shocks—not just headline GDP gains. A truly sustainable economy must be measured by the well-being and economic security of its citizens, rather than stock market highs or regional expansion statistics.

Sources:

• MSN: A third of the U.S. economy is already in a recession or at high risk

• Higher Education Inquirer: Trumpenomics: The Emperor Has No Clothes

• World Bank: Gini Index Data

• OECD Economic Outlook

• Higher Education Inquirer: Robocolleges 2025

Re‑examining the K–12 Pipeline: Perception, Inequality, and the Role of Gatekeeping Technology

As colleges and universities strategize around recruitment, retention, and preparing students for success, understanding what happens “upstream” in K–12 education is increasingly vital. Recent polling on parental attitudes, reporting on educational inequality, and analysis of AI-powered test prep all point to a pipeline shaped not just by skills and readiness, but also by resources, technology, and social stratification.

Only a minority of U.S. adults, roughly 35 percent, report satisfaction with K–12 education overall. Among parents, satisfaction is much higher when asked about their own child’s schooling, with approximately 74 percent expressing approval. Nonetheless, when parents consider whether schools are adequately preparing students for life after high school—whether for college or careers—only about 30 percent feel the system is doing enough. This gap between local satisfaction and systemic concern is widening, reflecting growing anxiety about the broader preparedness of students entering higher education.

Reporting in “The Ghosts Are Real: Savage Inequalities” (Higher Education Inquirer, August 2025) emphasizes that many K–12 students face systemic disparities based on socioeconomic status, geography, school funding, and access to advanced courses. These inequalities do not just affect student satisfaction; they shape readiness and opportunity. Students from under-resourced schools often lack the foundational knowledge, coursework, and support structures that wealthier peers take for granted. In “AI‑Driven SAT Prep and the System That Creates It: Savage Inequalities and the Gatekeeping of Opportunity” (HEI, July 2025), the influence of AI-powered test prep platforms is highlighted as a further layer of stratification. While these tools provide personalized study plans, analytics, and large question banks, their cost places them out of reach for many students, giving further advantage to those who are already privileged and widening the gap in college admissions.

Historical dispossession and structural inequality further shape the pipeline. The HEI article “Wealth and Want Part 3: Dispossession, Inequality, Underfunding, and Debt” (September 2024) documents how underfunding and marginalization of certain communities begins long before college. Under-resourced K–12 schools, coupled with systemic underfunding of higher education institutions serving marginalized populations, including HBCUs, Tribal Colleges and Universities, and community colleges, perpetuate cycles of disadvantage. Students from these schools often arrive at college less prepared academically and socially, facing limited counseling, fewer advanced courses, and persistent achievement gaps.

These dynamics carry profound implications for Higher Education Institutions. Many incoming students, particularly those from under-resourced schools, will arrive with gaps in content knowledge, test preparation, academic strategies, and the informal cultural capital necessary to navigate higher education successfully. Institutions must carefully consider admissions practices, potentially placing less weight on standardized test scores and more emphasis on potential, context, and growth. Academic support must extend beyond the classroom to include mentorship, advising, financial aid counseling, test preparation assistance, and orientation programs that teach self-management and the implicit norms of college success.

AI-powered prep tools present both opportunities and ethical challenges. While they can enhance learning for some, HEIs must be mindful of inequities in access, offering partnerships, affordable alternatives, or institutional support to prevent further entrenchment of privilege. Investments upstream, including partnerships with K–12 districts, teacher professional development, curriculum alignment, and advocacy for equitable school funding, are essential to improve readiness and outcomes.

Transparency is equally important. Institutions can build trust with families by publishing outcomes disaggregated by background, including test scores, graduation rates, retention, and success relative to socioeconomic status, first-generation status, and K–12 school resources.

The K–12 pipeline is no longer solely about academic preparation. It is shaped by perceptions, resource inequality, technological gatekeeping, and historical disparities. Parents may believe their own children are doing well, but systemic challenges persist, with many students arriving at college without equal preparation. AI-driven tools may accentuate rather than mitigate these inequities. For Higher Education Institutions, the responsibility extends beyond admission: they must act as active agents of change, addressing inequities through support, advocacy, and upstream partnerships to ensure the pipeline is equitable and opportunity is genuinely accessible to all students.

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Sources

• The Hill. Parents’ views on K–12 education show satisfaction with child’s school but concern about broader system (2025).

• Higher Education Inquirer. “The Ghosts Are Real: Savage Inequalities” (August 2025).

• Higher Education Inquirer. “AI‑Driven SAT Prep and the System That Creates It: Savage Inequalities and the Gatekeeping of Opportunity” (July 2025).

• Higher Education Inquirer. “Wealth and Want Part 3: Dispossession, Inequality, Underfunding, and Debt” (September 2024).

• Higher Education Inquirer. “A People’s History of Higher Education in the U.S.” (June 2023).

• Additional polling and public opinion reports (Gallup, EdChoice, etc.)

The Dark Legacy of Elite University Medical Centers

 

(Image: Mass General is Harvard University Medical School's teaching hospital.)  

 

For decades, America’s elite university medical centers have been the epitome of healthcare research and innovation, providing world-class treatment, education, and cutting-edge medical advancements. Yet, beneath this polished surface lies a troubling legacy of medical exploitation, systemic inequality, and profound injustice—one that disproportionately impacts marginalized communities. While the focus has often been on racial disparities, this issue is not solely about race; it is also deeply entangled with class. In recent years, books like Medical Apartheid by Harriet Washington have illuminated the history of medical abuse, but they also serve as a reminder that inequality in healthcare goes far beyond race and touches upon the economic and social circumstances of individuals.

The term Medical Apartheid, as coined by Harriet Washington, refers to the systemic and institutionalized exploitation of Black Americans in medical research and healthcare. Washington’s work examines the history of Black Americans as both victims of medical experimentation and subjects of discriminatory practices that have left deep scars within the healthcare system. Yet, the complex interplay between race and class means that many poor or economically disadvantaged individuals, regardless of race, have also faced neglect and exploitation within these prestigious medical institutions. The legacy of inequality within elite university medical centers, therefore, is not limited to race but is also an issue of class disparity, where wealthier individuals are more likely to receive proper care and access to cutting-edge treatments while the poor are relegated to substandard care.

Historical examples of exploitation and abuse in medical centers are well-documented in Washington's work, and contemporary lawsuits and investigations reveal that these systemic problems still persist. Poor patients, especially those from marginalized racial backgrounds, are often viewed as expendable research subjects. The lawsuit underscores the intersectionality of race and class, arguing that these patients’ socio-economic status exacerbates their vulnerability to medical exploitation, making it easier for institutions to treat them as less than human, especially when they lack the resources or power to contest medical practices.

One of the most critical components of this issue is the stark contrast in healthcare access between the wealthy and the poor. While elite university medical centers boast state-of-the-art facilities, cutting-edge treatments, and renowned researchers, these resources are often not equally accessible to all. Wealthier patients are more likely to have the financial means to receive the best care, not just because of their ability to pay but because they are more likely to be referred to these prestigious centers. Conversely, low-income patients, especially those without insurance or with inadequate insurance, are often forced into overcrowded public hospitals or community clinics that are underfunded, understaffed, and unable to provide the level of care available at elite institutions.

The issue of class inequality within medical care is evident in several key areas. For instance, studies have shown that low-income patients, regardless of race, are less likely to receive timely and appropriate medical care. A 2019 report from the National Academy of Medicine found that low-income patients are often dismissed by healthcare professionals who underestimate the severity of their symptoms or assume they are less knowledgeable about their own health. In addition, patients from lower socio-economic backgrounds are more likely to experience medical debt, which can lead to long-term financial struggles and prevent them from seeking care in the future.

Moreover, class plays a significant role in the underrepresentation of poor individuals in medical research, which is often conducted at elite university medical centers. Historically, clinical trials have excluded low-income participants, leaving them without access to potentially life-saving treatments or advancements. Wealthier individuals, on the other hand, are more likely to be invited to participate in research studies, ensuring they benefit from the very innovations and breakthroughs that these institutions claim to provide.

Class-based disparities are also reflected in the inequities in medical professions. The road to becoming a physician or researcher in these elite institutions is often paved with significant economic barriers. Medical students from low-income backgrounds face steep financial challenges, which can hinder their ability to gain acceptance into prestigious medical schools or pursue advanced research opportunities. Even when low-income students do manage to enter these programs, they often face biases and discrimination in clinical settings, where their abilities are unfairly questioned, and their economic status may prevent them from fully participating in research or other educational opportunities.

Yet, the inequities within these institutions don’t stop at the patients. Behind the scenes, workers at elite university medical centers, particularly those from working-class and marginalized backgrounds, face their own form of exploitation. These medical centers are not only spaces of high medical achievement but also sites of labor stratification, where workers in lower-paying roles are largely people of color and often immigrants. Support staff—such as janitors, food service workers, custodians, and administrative assistants—are often invisible but essential to the functioning of these hospitals and research institutions. These workers face long hours, poor working conditions, and low wages, all while contributing to the daily operations of elite medical centers. Many of these workers, employed through third-party contractors, lack benefits, job security, or protections, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation.

Custodial workers, who are often exposed to hazardous chemicals and physically demanding work, may struggle to make ends meet, despite playing a crucial role in maintaining the hospital environment. Similarly, food service workers—many of whom are Black, Latinx, or immigrant—also work in demanding conditions for low wages. These workers frequently face job insecurity and are not given the same recognition or compensation as the high-ranking physicians, researchers, or administrators in these centers.

At the same time, the stratification in these institutions extends beyond support staff. Medical researchers, residents, and postdoctoral fellows—often young, early-career individuals, many from working-class backgrounds or communities of color—are similarly subjected to precarious working conditions. These individuals perform much of the vital research that drives innovation at these centers, yet they often face exploitative working hours, low pay, and job insecurity. They are the backbone of the institution’s research output but frequently face barriers to advancement and recognition.

The higher ranks of these institutions—senior doctors, professors, and researchers—enjoy financial rewards, job security, and prestige, while those at the lower rungs continue to experience instability and exploitation. This division, which mirrors the economic and racial hierarchies of broader society, reinforces the very class-based inequalities these medical centers are meant to address.

In recent years, some progress has been made in addressing these inequalities. Many elite universities have implemented diversity and inclusion programs aimed at increasing access for underrepresented minority and low-income students in medical schools. Some institutions have also begun to emphasize the importance of cultural competence in training medical professionals, acknowledging the need to recognize and understand both racial and economic disparities in healthcare.

However, critics argue that these efforts, while important, are often superficial and fail to address the root causes of inequality. The institutional focus on "diversity" and "inclusion" often overlooks the more significant structural issues, such as the affordability of education, the class-based access to healthcare, and the economic barriers that continue to undermine the ability of disadvantaged individuals to receive quality care.

In addition to acknowledging racial inequality, it is crucial to tackle the broader issue of class within the healthcare system. The disproportionate number of Black and low-income individuals suffering from poor healthcare outcomes is a direct result of a system that privileges wealth and status over human dignity. To begin addressing these issues, we need to move beyond token diversity initiatives and work toward policy reforms that focus on economic access, insurance coverage, and the equitable distribution of medical resources.

Scholars like Harriet Washington, whose work documents the intersection of race, class, and healthcare inequality, continue to play a pivotal role in bringing attention to these systemic injustices. Washington’s book Medical Apartheid serves as a historical record but also as a call to action for creating a healthcare system that genuinely serves all people, regardless of race or socio-economic status. The fight for healthcare equity must, therefore, be a dual one—against both racial and class-based disparities that have long plagued our medical institutions.

The story of Henrietta Lacks, as told in The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot, exemplifies the longstanding exploitation of marginalized individuals in elite university medical centers. The case of Lacks, whose cells were taken without consent by researchers at Johns Hopkins University, brings to light both the historical abuse of Black bodies and the profit-driven nature of academic medical research. Johns Hopkins, one of the most prestigious medical centers in the world, has been complicit in the kind of exploitation and neglect that these institutions are often criticized for—issues that disproportionately affect not only Black Americans but also economically disadvantaged individuals.

The Black Panther Party’s healthcare activism, as chronicled by Alondra Nelson in Body and Soul, also directly challenges elite medical institutions’ failure to provide adequate care for Black and low-income communities. Nelson’s work reflects how, even today, these institutions are often slow to address the systemic issues of health disparities that activists like the Panthers fought against.

Recent lawsuits against elite medical centers further underscore the importance of holding these institutions accountable for their role in perpetuating medical exploitation and inequality. In An American Sickness by Elisabeth Rosenthal, the commercialization of healthcare is explored, highlighting how university hospitals and medical centers often prioritize profits over patient care, leaving low-income and marginalized groups with limited access to treatment. Rosenthal’s work highlights the role these institutions play in a larger system that disproportionately benefits wealthier patients while neglecting the most vulnerable.

A Global Comparison: Countries with Better Health Outcomes

While the United States struggles with systemic healthcare disparities, other nations have shown that equitable healthcare outcomes are possible when class and race are not barriers to care. Nations with universal healthcare systems, such as those in Canada, the United Kingdom, and many Scandinavian countries, consistently rank higher in overall health outcomes compared to the U.S.

For instance, Canada’s single-payer system ensures that all citizens have access to healthcare, regardless of their income. This system reduces the financial burdens that often lead to delays in care or avoidance of treatment due to costs. According to the World Health Organization, Canada has better health outcomes on a variety of metrics, including life expectancy and infant mortality, compared to the U.S., where medical costs often lead to unequal access to care.

Similarly, the United Kingdom’s National Health Service (NHS) provides healthcare free at the point of use for all citizens. Despite challenges such as funding constraints and wait times, the NHS has been successful in ensuring that healthcare is a right, not a privilege. The U.K. consistently ranks higher than the U.S. in terms of access to care, health outcomes, and overall public health.

Nordic countries, such as Norway and Sweden, also exemplify how universal healthcare can lead to better outcomes. These countries invest heavily in public health and preventative care, ensuring that even their most marginalized citizens receive the necessary medical services. The result is a population with some of the highest life expectancies and lowest rates of chronic diseases in the world.

These nations show that, while access to healthcare is a critical issue in the U.S., the challenge is not a lack of innovation or capability. Instead, it is the systemic barriers—both racial and economic—that persist in elite medical centers, undermining the potential for universal health equity. The U.S. could learn from these nations by adopting policies that reduce economic inequality in healthcare access and focusing on preventative care and public health strategies that serve all people equally.

Ultimately, the dark legacy of elite university medical centers is not something that can be erased, but it is something that must be acknowledged. Only by confronting this painful history, alongside addressing class-based disparities, can we begin to build a more just and equitable healthcare system—one that serves everyone, regardless of race, background, or socio-economic status. Until this happens, the distrust and skepticism that many marginalized communities feel toward these institutions will continue to shape the landscape of American healthcare. The path forward requires a concerted effort to address both racial and class-based inequities that have defined these institutions for far too long. The U.S. can, and must, strive for healthcare outcomes akin to those seen in nations that have built systems prioritizing equity and fairness—systems that put human dignity over profit.

How Higher Education Has Made America’s Caste System Worse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris Rufo and Right Wing "Civil Rights"

Chris Rufo’s recent article in City Journal, titled "New Right-Wing Civil-Rights Regime", is a prime example of ideological revisionism that fails to engage with history in any meaningful way. At its core, Rufo presents an interpretation of the civil rights movement and its aftermath that is both profoundly ahistorical and dangerously reductionist. While attempting to frame his argument as a critique of the modern Left’s grip on civil rights law, Rufo distorts the legacy of the 1960s civil rights movement and misrepresents the real challenges of racial justice in America today.

Chris Rufo, a senior fellow at the conservative Manhattan Institute and a prominent figure in the battle against Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) policies, has gained significant influence in recent years for his aggressive campaigns to shift the national discourse on race and education. Rufo's rise to prominence coincided with his efforts to expose and denounce critical race theory (CRT) in public education, a tactic that has been instrumental in shaping conservative rhetoric around race. His latest article continues this trend, proposing that the Trump administration's attack on DEI programs in higher education represents a necessary correction to what he perceives as a Left-wing racialist agenda.

However, Rufo’s understanding of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and its legacy is highly problematic. The article begins by referencing Christopher Caldwell’s The Age of Entitlement, a book that has been influential in certain conservative circles. Caldwell’s thesis, which Rufo echoes, argues that the Civil Rights Act marked a "fundamental departure" from America’s constitutional tradition. According to Caldwell (and by extension, Rufo), the Act, initially a noble effort to combat racial discrimination, eventually "consumed core American freedoms" and has been weaponized to entrench "left-wing racialist ideology" in American institutions. This narrative, however, overlooks the essential purpose of the Civil Rights Act—to eliminate legally sanctioned racial discrimination and provide equal protection to marginalized groups.

Rufo’s invocation of Caldwell’s book is troubling because it oversimplifies the historical context of civil rights legislation. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 was not the beginning of a long, slow descent into tyranny, as Rufo suggests, but rather the long-overdue correction of centuries of systemic racism. The idea that it was somehow a “departure” from constitutional principles is a misguided reading of both the Act’s intent and the broader history of American law. To frame the Act’s enforcement mechanisms and subsequent civil rights policies as a threat to "core American freedoms" is a distortion that erases the basic reality of racial oppression in the U.S. before and after its passage.

The Legacy of White Supremacy and Structural Racism

What Rufo and those who echo his arguments fail to acknowledge is the enduring legacy of white supremacy and structural racism that has pervaded American society for centuries. The very system of racial discrimination that the Civil Rights Act sought to dismantle is far from a relic of the past; it is woven into the fabric of American institutions, policies, and practices in ways that continue to disadvantage Black people and other people of color.

One glaring example is the practice of redlining, where federal policies explicitly denied mortgage loans and insurance to Black families and other communities of color in favor of white neighborhoods. The result was the creation of segregated, impoverished urban spaces that continue to suffer from disinvestment and lack of opportunity to this day. In many cities, predominantly Black neighborhoods were intentionally situated near polluting industries, highways, and other environmentally harmful sites—leading to environmental racism. For example, toxic waste was often dumped in or near Black communities, subjecting these populations to higher rates of asthma, cancer, and other health problems. These practices are a direct manifestation of a racist infrastructure that systematically devalued the lives and health of Black and Brown Americans.

Similarly, housing policies throughout the 20th century—especially during the post-WWII era—were designed to exclude Black families from the expanding suburban dream. The GI Bill, which offered housing subsidies to veterans returning from World War II, was administered in ways that largely excluded Black servicemen from accessing these benefits. As a result, millions of white families were able to buy homes and build wealth, while Black families were largely left out, forcing many into substandard housing or limited to racially segregated neighborhoods with fewer opportunities for economic mobility.

The effects of segregation are not limited to housing, however. In education, the legacy of white supremacy has created an unequal system that continues to affect Black and Latinx students today. While Brown v. Board of Education (1954) officially declared school segregation unconstitutional, de facto segregation still exists in many schools due to housing patterns, local funding disparities, and state and federal neglect. Predominantly Black schools often face chronic underfunding, inadequate facilities, and higher teacher turnover rates, all of which contribute to a less equitable education for students of color. The persistent racial achievement gap in standardized testing, college admissions, and career prospects is not an accident, but the direct result of this long-standing inequality in education.

In the workplace, systemic discrimination continues to be a major problem. Job discrimination against Black and Brown workers has been documented for decades, whether in hiring practices, wage disparities, or promotions. Studies show that applicants with “ethnic-sounding” names are less likely to be called back for job interviews, even when their resumes are identical to those of their white counterparts. Even in fields like law, medicine, and finance—where education and credentials are paramount—racial minorities face significant barriers to advancement.

The criminal justice system is perhaps the most visible example of how structural racism is still a significant issue in the United States. The over-policing of Black neighborhoods, mass incarceration, and the disproportionate sentencing of Black Americans for similar offenses compared to their white counterparts are stark reminders of how racial inequality remains embedded in American institutions. Rufo’s argument that we have moved past the systemic racism embedded in our society ignores this reality, while conveniently minimizing or disregarding the lived experiences of Black and Brown communities.

"Colorblindness" as a Historical Evasion

Rufo goes on to argue that the Right, for years ambivalent about civil rights law, has now discovered its “winning argument”—one grounded in “colorblind equality.” This is where the article takes a dangerous turn, suggesting that policies such as affirmative action and Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives are the result of a Left-wing plot to institutionalize racial discrimination. The article not only misrepresents the goals of such programs but also fundamentally misunderstands the role they play in a society that has never fully reckoned with its history of racial inequities.

The notion of “colorblindness” as the ideal model of equality, promoted by Rufo and others, is deeply problematic. While it may sound appealing in theory, in practice, colorblindness ignores the structural realities of race in America. It’s an abstraction that overlooks the lived experiences of racial minorities and fails to address the historical and ongoing disadvantages they face. In higher education, for example, DEI policies are designed not to perpetuate discrimination but to provide opportunities for those who have been historically excluded from academic spaces. Rufo’s argument that these policies are a form of “racialist discrimination” is not only misleading but actively harmful, suggesting that efforts to correct inequality are themselves a form of bigotry.

Chris Rufo’s Avoidance of Class in His Analysis

One of the most glaring omissions in Rufo’s analysis is his near-total avoidance of class as a factor in understanding systemic inequality. Rufo's focus is almost exclusively on race, specifically on how he perceives racial policies to be privileging one group over another, but he does not consider the ways in which class and economic status intersect with race to perpetuate inequality. This avoidance of class, particularly in the context of economic mobility and working-class struggles, weakens his entire argument and distorts the reality of how racism operates in modern American society.

Rufo’s critique of the modern civil rights regime seems to entirely ignore the vast disparities in wealth, income, and opportunity that are not simply a product of racial identity but of class-based systems of power. For example, his focus on “colorblind” equality in education does not account for the fact that the richest Americans, regardless of their racial background, have access to a far superior education and resources than the poor, who are disproportionately Black, Latinx, or Indigenous. The education gap that Rufo claims is a result of racial policies is also a direct consequence of economic inequality, where low-income communities—largely communities of color—are unable to access the same quality of education as wealthier, predominantly white communities. Acknowledging this would complicate Rufo’s narrative, as it would challenge the simplistic framing of a racial conflict between different ethnic groups, rather than a structural critique of the class divide in America.

Moreover, Rufo’s call for a “colorblind” society effectively erases the fact that poverty and economic disempowerment are racialized in ways that cannot be understood without examining the intersection of race and class. By focusing solely on racial hierarchy without addressing the role that economic disparity plays in sustaining social divisions, Rufo contributes to a larger ideological erasure of class struggle from the national conversation. His avoidance of class is a deliberate one, as it allows him to cast the issue of racial justice solely in terms of “identity politics” and to dismiss efforts aimed at addressing material inequality as divisive or unnecessary.

Who Will Be Receptive to This Propaganda?

While Rufo's article represents a highly selective interpretation of civil rights history, it will likely resonate with certain groups whose political and cultural leanings align with his critique of left-wing ideologies. These are individuals who believe that the modern civil rights agenda, particularly in the form of DEI and affirmative action programs, has gone too far and is now harmful to the interests of "oppressor" groups like white people, men, and even some Asian Americans. This demographic includes:

1. Conservative and Libertarian Thinkers: Many who align with conservative or libertarian ideologies are drawn to the narrative that civil rights policies have become a tool of social engineering, seeking to dismantle traditional values in the name of racial and gender equality. Rufo’s emphasis on "colorblind" policies will appeal to those who see government intervention as an overreach and prefer individual merit over group-based policies.

2. Populist Right-Wing Activists: The article will likely resonate with populist voters who view institutions like the Ivy League universities as bastions of elitism and left-wing ideologies. These individuals are often distrustful of academic institutions, the media, and governmental institutions, and Rufo’s framing of DEI as racialist discrimination plays into their fears of being "marginalized" in favor of minority groups.

3. Cultural War Foot Soldiers: Many of Rufo’s ideas are packaged as part of the broader culture wars. His framing of CRT, DEI, and "wokeness" as threats to American values is designed to rally those who feel alienated by changes in cultural norms, especially regarding race, gender, and identity. This group tends to be more reactive to what they perceive as a breakdown in social order, and Rufo provides a coherent narrative that positions them as defenders of a traditional, meritocratic society.

4. Right-Wing Media Consumers: The article is likely to appeal to consumers of right-wing media who are already attuned to the language of cultural decline and political correctness. These readers will be receptive to Rufo’s framing because it aligns with familiar themes promoted by conservative pundits.

In the end, Rufo’s narrative is one that is carefully designed for a particular audience—a segment of the American populace that feels threatened by the cultural shifts around race, identity, and equality. By presenting a revisionist history of civil rights and ignoring the deeply embedded structural inequalities of class, race, and economics, Rufo continues to peddle an ideological framework that is more about cultural warfare than actual justice.

U.S. Law Schools: Perpetuating Inequality and Injustice, Serving the Billionaire Class

As the nation grapples with profound social and economic inequities, U.S. law schools have become a critical yet overlooked institution in perpetuating these disparities. From shaping the legal minds that go on to influence policy to training future attorneys who occupy the nation's corridors of power, law schools are playing an outsized role in entrenching systems of privilege, rather than dismantling them.

One of the most glaring manifestations of this failure is the Trump-era Supreme Court, whose composition has shifted dramatically due to the influence of elite law schools. Justices such as Brett Kavanaugh (Yale Law), Neil Gorsuch (Harvard Law), and Amy Coney Barrett (Notre Dame Law) have reshaped the Court in the image of conservative ideologies. These justices, primarily from elite institutions, have consistently sided with corporate interests over public welfare. Their rulings on critical issues like voting rights (Shelby County v. Holder, 2013), abortion access (Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization, 2022), and corporate regulation (South Dakota v. Wayfair, Inc., 2018) have had profound consequences, amplifying inequalities and reducing access to justice for marginalized communities. The legal minds trained in these prestigious law schools have moved away from serving the public, instead reinforcing the status quo and further consolidating power in the hands of the wealthy elite.

This trend is compounded by the overwhelming concentration of law school graduates in a handful of sectors, particularly Washington, D.C., and on Wall Street. A report from the National Association for Law Placement (NALP) reveals that nearly 70% of graduates from top law schools—such as Harvard, Yale, and Columbia—secure positions in large corporate law firms or government roles. Meanwhile, those who enter public service or work in underfunded legal fields such as public defense face a starkly different reality. According to the American Bar Association (ABA), the average starting salary for a public defender in 2020 was around $50,000, compared to $190,000 in major corporate law firms. This disparity highlights the economic realities facing graduates who pursue careers in public interest law.

Law schools exacerbate these inequities through their admissions processes, which heavily favor students from affluent backgrounds. A 2019 study by the Equality of Opportunity Project found that 70% of students attending Harvard Law, Yale Law, and other Ivy League law schools come from families in the top 20% income bracket, while less than 5% come from the bottom 20%. This financial divide is perpetuated by high tuition costs—Harvard Law's tuition and fees for the 2024 academic year exceed $70,000 annually—making it inaccessible to many who might otherwise have the talent and potential to succeed in law.

Furthermore, law schools’ connections with corporate sponsors and wealthy alumni networks often shape the curriculum and career pathways offered to students. As a result, legal education has become increasingly oriented toward corporate law, perpetuating a system that values prestige and financial gain over social justice. A 2021 report from the American Bar Foundation indicated that nearly half of law school graduates work in the private sector within the first ten years of their careers, most of them in high-paying corporate firms or lobbying groups, which further concentrates legal power in the hands of the elite.

The oversupply of lawyers entering corporate sectors—many of whom attend the nation’s top law schools—has created a system where elite law firms and government agencies, such as the U.S. Department of Justice and major regulatory bodies, dominate legal decision-making. This trend is also visible in the disproportionate representation of law school graduates in Washington, D.C., where they shape policy in ways that benefit large corporations and financial institutions, while leaving the needs of the general public unmet.

A central aspect of the legal system that perpetuates inequality is the way the billionaire class profits from the injustice system itself. Wealthy individuals and corporate entities have found ways to exploit the legal system to their advantage, contributing to the concentration of wealth and power. Many billionaires and large corporations fund legal battles designed to weaken regulations, block labor rights, and influence policy decisions that benefit their financial interests.

For example, major private prison companies like CoreCivic and GEO Group, both of which have ties to influential law firms, profit from the mass incarceration of predominantly Black and Latino individuals. These private companies lobby for harsher sentencing laws and immigration policies that fill their prisons, creating a cycle of profit that thrives on systemic inequality. Legal professionals trained in elite law schools frequently represent these corporations, further entrenching the power dynamics that keep vulnerable populations incarcerated.

The billionaire class also reaps the benefits of legal loopholes and tax avoidance schemes facilitated by top-tier law firms. Lawyers trained in Ivy League schools often advise wealthy clients on ways to hide their assets, evade taxes, and exploit the legal system for personal gain, which further exacerbates income inequality. Law firms and the lawyers who work in them profit immensely by providing these services, while the broader public bears the burden of underfunded social programs and public services.

The impact of law schools’ role in the legal system is not a new development, but has historical roots. For much of U.S. history, the courts and legal institutions have played a pivotal role in limiting democracy and reinforcing inequalities. However, there have been pivotal moments when the courts, often driven by lawyers trained in the nation's top schools, expanded democracy and fought for justice.

A key moment in the history of expanding democracy was the work of Thurgood Marshall and Charles Hamilton Houston, both of whom were products of Howard University School of Law—a historically Black institution that stood in stark contrast to the elite, mostly white law schools of their time. Marshall, who went on to become the first African American Supreme Court Justice, and Houston, his mentor, fought tirelessly against segregation and racial discrimination. Houston's strategy, dubbed "the 'liberal' approach to civil rights," involved challenging discriminatory laws through the courts, using legal arguments rooted in equal protection and the promise of the 14th Amendment.

Houston's legal battles laid the groundwork for the landmark Brown v. Board of Education (1954) case, where the Supreme Court, under the influence of Marshall's legal strategies, overturned the doctrine of “separate but equal” and declared racial segregation in public schools unconstitutional. This ruling, perhaps one of the most profound examples of the courts expanding democracy, was achieved through the work of legal professionals committed to social justice, many of whom came from institutions outside the mainstream elite law schools.

Unfortunately, the trend of the courts advancing civil rights was not consistent. The Dred Scott v. Sandford (1857) decision, where the Supreme Court ruled that African Americans could not be citizens, and Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), which upheld racial segregation, serve as stark reminders of how the legal system can be wielded to entrench inequality and limit democracy. The very law schools that trained many of the justices responsible for these rulings were also responsible for shaping the legal education that upheld the racist and exclusionary structures of the time.

Today, the cycle of legal education serving the interests of the wealthy and powerful continues. While the courts have sometimes played a role in broadening civil rights and democracy, too often they have sided with corporate interests, limiting progress. Lawyers trained in elite law schools continue to occupy spaces where the rules of the game are rigged in favor of those with wealth and influence.

To reverse this trend, law schools must take deliberate action. They must shift their focus from training lawyers for the highest-paying and most prestigious jobs to producing attorneys who are dedicated to the public good. This includes increasing financial accessibility, offering more scholarships for low-income students, and reevaluating the curriculum to emphasize social justice, public interest law, and equitable legal reforms. Moreover, legal education should challenge the structures of wealth and power, ensuring that future lawyers are equipped to dismantle the systems that benefit billionaires and corporations at the expense of justice.

The influence of law schools in perpetuating inequality cannot be overstated. The future of the legal profession—and, by extension, the justice system—depends on whether these institutions can embrace a new mission: one that fosters true equality under the law and dismantles the structures of privilege that continue to shape our society.

Remote Work Rollback and the High Cost of Care: What Higher Education Should Know

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.

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Sources

• 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.

The American K-12 Pipeline: Inequality and Injustice Start Here

The American education system promises equal opportunity for all. However, that promise is far from reality. The K-12 system, the foundation of this educational pyramid, is riddled with inequalities that create a segregated pipeline towards higher education and future careers. This report delves into the systemic issues within K-12 education and their far-reaching consequences.

Under a Trump-Vance Administration, we should expect these inequalities to widen, with more resources going to those who need it least--and fewer resources going to families and communities that  need it most. Furthermore, we should expect even less oversight of federal dollars for programs meant for working class communities that may or may not work, including charter schools, online education for kids, and exclusively online teacher education. This could further harden the US class system, making social mobility even more caste-like.  

Inequality in the K-12 System

Funding disparities plague the K-12 system. Wealthy school districts often boast smaller class sizes, newer facilities, and access to advanced coursework, while schools in low-income areas struggle with overcrowding, outdated resources, and a lack of qualified teachers. This uneven distribution of resources creates a significant achievement gap, leaving students from disadvantaged backgrounds unprepared for higher education.

Impact on Higher Education

The consequences of K-12 inequality ripple through the entire educational spectrum. Students from under-resourced schools are less likely to meet the admissions requirements for competitive colleges and universities. This disproportionately affects students from low-income families, limiting their access to prestigious institutions and the professional networks they cultivate.

• Community Colleges: Community colleges often serve as a steppingstone for students seeking to transfer to four-year institutions. However, the poor preparedness of students from unequal K-12 systems lead to lower completion rates at community colleges. 

• Regional State Universities: Regional state universities, known for their affordability, become less accessible to students who require extensive remedial coursework due to inadequate K-12 preparation.

• Flagship Universities: Flagship universities, the crown jewels of state university systems, become even more exclusive for students from working class backgrounds. The mission of these schools to educate folks from the state is no longer its exclusive or even primary goal.  International students who pay greater tuition, or serve as skilled academic labor, are favored.  

• Elite Universities: Elite universities, with their highly selective admissions processes, remain largely out of reach for those without the academic foundation provided by well-funded K-12 schools.

Regional, State, County, and Local Disparities

The quality of K-12 education can vary dramatically within a single state, county, or even city. Wealthy suburbs often have superior schools compared to their urban counterparts. Rural areas may face challenges in attracting and retaining qualified teachers. These regional and local discrepancies exacerbate existing inequalities.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Demographic Changes

The United States is experiencing significant demographic shifts. The K-12 system needs to adapt to cater to an increasingly diverse student population with varying needs. This includes:

• Immigrant Populations: A growing number of students come from families where English may not be the primary language at home. Schools need resources to support these students and ensure their success.

• Social Class: Students from low-income backgrounds often have limited access to educational opportunities outside of school, further widening the achievement gap.

• Race and Ethnicity: Students of color are disproportionately enrolled in under-resourced schools, creating a system that perpetuates racial and ethnic disparities in educational attainment.

Impact on Employment Opportunities

The unequal K-12 pipeline has a direct impact on opportunities for gainful employment. Students who lack a strong educational foundation are more likely to enter low-paying jobs with limited upward mobility. This cycle of educational disadvantage translates into economic disadvantage, limiting opportunities for social mobility.

The Perpetuation of Poverty and Other Issues

Unequal access to quality education is intricately linked to a web of social issues. Poverty, near poverty, and mass incarceration are more prevalent among those with lower levels of education. Limited opportunities can lead to deaths of desperation, a term encompassing suicides and deaths due to preventable health conditions brought on by chronic stress. Conversely, those who navigate the unequal K-12 pipeline successfully are more likely to accumulate wealth, further widening the gap between the rich and the poor.

Related links:

The K-12 Pipeline for Global Elites: Inequality and Injustice Start Here

A People's History of Higher Education in the US?

We have met the enemy...

Class conflict has always been woven into the fabric of American higher education. The struggle over access, affordability, and control of knowledge production has long pitted economic elites against working-class and middle-class students, faculty, and staff. Since the 1960s, these tensions have only deepened, exacerbated by policy shifts that have served to entrench inequality rather than dismantle it.

The 1960s marked a critical turning point in the political battle over higher education. Ronald Reagan’s war on the University of California system while he was governor set the tone for a broader conservative backlash against public higher education, which had been expanding to accommodate the postwar baby boom and increasing calls for racial and economic justice. Reagan’s attacks on free tuition and student activism foreshadowed decades of policies designed to limit public investment in higher education while encouraging privatization and corporate influence.

Since the 1970s, economic inequality in the US has grown dramatically, and higher education has been both a battleground and a casualty in this ongoing class war. Today, the sector is experiencing a long-running meltdown, with no signs of reversal. The following key issues illustrate the breadth of the crisis:

Educated Underclass and Underemployment

The promise of higher education as a pathway to economic security has eroded. A growing segment of college graduates, particularly those from working-class backgrounds, find themselves in precarious employment, often saddled with student debt and working jobs that do not require a degree. The rise of the educated underclass reflects a broader trend of economic stratification in the US, where social mobility is increasingly constrained.

Student Loan Debt Crisis

Student loan debt has surpassed $1.7 trillion, shackling millions of Americans to a lifetime of financial insecurity. The cost of higher education has skyrocketed, while wages have stagnated, leaving many borrowers unable to pay off their loans. Rather than addressing this crisis with systemic reform, policymakers have largely chosen half-measures and band-aid solutions that fail to address the structural drivers of student debt.

The Role of Foreign Students in US Higher Education

The influx of international students, particularly from wealthy families abroad, has been used as a revenue stream for cash-strapped universities. While diversity in higher education is valuable, the prioritization of full-tuition-paying international students over domestic students, especially those from working-class backgrounds, reflects a troubling shift in university priorities from public good to profit-seeking.

Academic Labor and Adjunctification

Higher education’s labor crisis is one of its most glaring failures. Over the past several decades, universities have replaced tenured faculty with contingent faculty—adjuncts and lecturers who work for low wages with no job security. This adjunctification has degraded the quality of education while exacerbating economic precarity for instructors, who now make up the majority of faculty positions in the US.

Identity Politics and DEI as a Substitute for Racial Justice

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives have become a central focus of university policies, yet they often serve as a superficial substitute for genuine racial and economic justice. Originating in part from efforts like those of Ward Connerly in California, DEI programs provide cover for institutions that continue to perpetuate racial and economic inequities, while failing to address core issues such as wealth redistribution, labor rights, and equitable access to higher education.

Privatization of Higher Education

Public funding for universities has declined, and in its place, privatization has surged. Universities have increasingly outsourced services, partnered with corporations, and relied on private donors and endowments to stay afloat. This shift has transformed higher education into a commodity rather than a public good, further marginalizing low-income students and faculty who cannot compete in a system driven by financial interests.

Online Education and the For-Profit Takeover

The rise of online education, fueled by for-profit colleges and Online Program Managers (OPMs), has introduced new layers of exploitation and inequality. While online education promises accessibility, in practice, it has been used to cut costs, lower instructional quality, and extract profits from students—many of whom are left with degrees of questionable value and significant debt.

Alienation and Anomie in Higher Education

As economic pressures mount and academic work becomes more precarious, feelings of alienation and anomie have intensified. Students and faculty alike find themselves disconnected from the traditional mission of higher education as a space for critical thought and democratic engagement. The result is a crisis of meaning that extends beyond the university into broader society.

The Power of Elite Universities

At the other end of the spectrum, elite universities continue to amass enormous endowments, wielding disproportionate influence over higher education policy and urban development. These institutions contribute to gentrification, driving up housing costs in surrounding areas while serving as gatekeepers to elite status. Their governing structures—dominated by trustees from finance, industry, and politics—reflect the interests of the wealthy rather than the needs of students and faculty.

The Way Forward

To avoid the full entrenchment of an oligarchic system, those who hold power in higher education must step aside and allow for systemic transformation. This means prioritizing policies that restore public investment in education, dismantle student debt, protect academic labor, and democratize decision-making processes. The fight for a more just and equitable higher education system is inseparable from the broader struggle for democracy itself.

As history has shown, real change will not come from those at the top—it will come from the courageous efforts of students, faculty, and workers who refuse to accept a system built on exploitation and inequality. The time to act is now.