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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forgetting Henry George

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

The Ghost of Henry George

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

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

The University and the Land

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

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

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

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

Why Georgism Was Forgotten

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

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

This forgetting wasn’t accidental. It was ideological.

A Forgotten Game with a Forgotten Message

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

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

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

What Higher Education Could Learn—and Teach

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

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

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

Relearning the Unlearned

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sources:

1. National Student Clearinghouse Research Center

2. U.S. Department of Education

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

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

5. UNESCO Blockchain for Education Report

The LinkedIn Illusion: A Harsh Reality for Job Seekers (Glen McGhee)

 LinkedIn, long marketed as the premier platform for professional networking and career advancement, is failing the vast majority of its users. Far from being a ladder to opportunity, academic research and hard statistics reveal that LinkedIn is more illusion than solution—a social media platform powered by professional anxiety, built on fake engagement, and designed to serve corporate interests rather than individual users.

A peer-reviewed study in the Journal of Applied Psychology cuts through the hype. It found that the more job seekers use LinkedIn, the worse their outcomes. Increased usage leads to depleted confidence, greater frustration, and poorer job search results. LinkedIn encourages toxic upward social comparisons, making people feel inadequate rather than empowered. The platform is not just unhelpful—it is psychologically harmful.

The data is damning. InMail response rates, once a tool of recruiters, have dropped from 30 percent to just 15–18 percent. Connection success rates among sales teams are abysmal, with over 80 percent unable to achieve even a 50 percent success rate. Most job applications submitted through LinkedIn go unanswered—96 percent receive no response, compared to a 20 percent response rate on Indeed. Meanwhile, 76 percent of users report receiving spam or unsolicited sales pitches, often within minutes of accepting new connections.

LinkedIn consumes users’ time without delivering results. Critics have called it a “time-suck,” with users spending an estimated 4 to 6 hours a week on job search and networking activities across social media—yet LinkedIn’s own data shows average engagement is only 17 minutes per user per month. That gap between effort and return is a red flag. People are putting in time, but the system is stacked against them.

The platform’s core issues run deep. Fake accounts, bot-driven connections, and plagiarized influencer content dominate the space. Automated “growth hackers” admit to engineering virality through dishonest tactics, while personal branding influencers peddle fantasy success stories. Nearly 25 percent of influencers on social media, including LinkedIn, have been involved in deceptive engagement practices.

Networking itself has been corrupted. LinkedIn promotes a view of professional relationships as purely transactional—connections are often followed immediately by sales pitches. Metrics that track profile views, endorsements, and connection counts gamify relationships, turning human interactions into status signals. Instead of meaningful collaboration or mentorship, users are trained to see every interaction as a career move.

And then there’s the money. LinkedIn is not a free public service—it is a $15 billion-a-year business model that monetizes professional desperation. Individual users pay between $30 and $120 per month for premium subscriptions that promise visibility and competitive advantage. Companies shell out hundreds or thousands per month for recruiting tools. And advertisers pay LinkedIn over $3 billion a year to access a user base that’s 44 percent composed of professionals earning more than $75,000 annually. Behind the networking façade is a finely tuned engine of data extraction and lead generation.

Microsoft’s $26.2 billion acquisition of LinkedIn in 2016 paid off handsomely. Today, the platform is one of Microsoft’s most profitable divisions. But its profits come not from helping most people find meaningful work—they come from convincing them to keep trying, to keep paying, and to keep feeding the system with their data and their hope.

At its core, LinkedIn is built on a fundamental contradiction. It sells itself as an equalizing tool of professional empowerment while reinforcing elite advantages and monetizing user anxiety. It claims to democratize opportunity while allowing bots, spam, and exaggeration to dominate. It encourages users to “be authentic” while rewarding those who fabricate experience and inflate achievements. It hosts an “influencer economy” where marketing, not merit, is the coin of the realm.

What LinkedIn truly excels at is data collection. Its real value lies in selling access to that data to corporations—recruiters, advertisers, and sales teams. While millions of users struggle to get noticed, LinkedIn is delivering premium insights and leads to those who can pay. It is a social media site masquerading as a merit-based marketplace, a platform where unpaid users supply the content and data that fuel a multi-billion-dollar operation.

The hard truth is that LinkedIn isn’t broken. It’s working exactly as designed. It generates massive profit by promising professional uplift but delivering little more than noise, distraction, and emotional drain for most users. Its real customers are not job seekers or aspiring professionals. They are the corporations paying for recruiting tools, advertising access, and professional intelligence.

For those caught in the churn of LinkedIn’s false promises, it’s time to recognize the platform for what it is: not a community, not a meritocracy, but a highly sophisticated mechanism for monetizing ambition.

Google, Amazon Web Services, and the Robocollege Gold Rush

The rise of robocolleges—massive, data-driven online universities like Southern New Hampshire University (SNHU), Liberty University Online, and the University of Phoenix—has not only reshaped the American higher education landscape but also become a lucrative revenue stream for Big Tech giants like Google and Amazon Web Services (AWS). These corporations, often thought of in the context of search engines or online retail, are quietly cashing in on the transformation of higher education into a sprawling digital enterprise.

Google profits primarily through its dominant advertising platform. Robocolleges spend tens of millions of dollars annually on Google Ads, targeting prospective students through highly refined search engine marketing. When a person types “online college” or “fastest bachelor’s degree,” Google’s algorithms serve up ads from SNHU, Liberty, University of Phoenix, and similar institutions, often above organic search results. These schools bid aggressively on search terms, particularly those that resonate with working adults, single parents, and veterans—populations that are more vulnerable to misleading advertising and frequently take on large student loans with low completion rates. A 2018 New York Times report revealed that the University of Phoenix spent $27 million on Google ads in a single year. SNHU and Liberty have since increased their digital marketing budgets dramatically, much of it funneled into the Google ecosystem.

But Google’s relationship with robocolleges goes far beyond advertising. Through its YouTube platform, also part of Alphabet Inc., the company monetizes education-related content and ads aimed at vulnerable populations. Whether viewers are watching videos about job interviews or financial survival, they’re often served high-pressure ads from online universities offering "flexible" degrees with "no SAT required." These targeted promotions generate both direct revenue and valuable behavioral data, which is used to optimize future advertising and extract more profit from the education market.

Amazon Web Services (AWS), the dominant player in cloud computing, profits from robocolleges in a different but equally impactful way. The University of Phoenix, for instance, migrated its entire infrastructure to AWS, entrusting Amazon with the storage and management of its student data, financial systems, and learning platforms. This move was framed as a way to increase efficiency and reduce costs, but it also locked a major for-profit university into the AWS ecosystem, with recurring fees that scale with student enrollment and data usage. Liberty University and other online-heavy institutions have also entered cloud partnerships with AWS and its competitors, making Amazon a key stakeholder in the delivery and surveillance of digital education.

The integration of Big Tech with robocolleges isn't just about services—it's about power. These tech platforms shape who gets seen and who remains invisible. Google's search and ad algorithms essentially control the public-facing narrative of higher education, prioritizing those who pay the most, not those who offer the best outcomes. Meanwhile, Amazon’s infrastructure ensures that these institutions can operate at scale with minimal human oversight, using cloud tools to automate enrollment, course delivery, and even student monitoring.

This alliance between Big Tech and robocolleges has significant implications for students, many of whom take on large debts in pursuit of degrees that may have limited labor market value. The same students who are recruited through Google ads often end up attending classes hosted on AWS servers, their tuition dollars indirectly supporting some of the richest corporations on the planet. As regulators begin to scrutinize student outcomes and loan defaults, the role of Google and Amazon in propping up this system remains largely invisible—and unaccountable.

What we are witnessing is not just the digitization of higher education, but its full-scale commercialization, driven by two of the most powerful technology firms in the world. In this new regime, education becomes a pipeline for data extraction, ad revenue, and cloud profits—where the student is no longer the customer, but the product.

Sources:
The New York Times, “How Google Took Over the Classroom” (2017)
The Chronicle of Higher Education, “Online Education’s Marketing Machine” (2020)
The Markup, “Google Is Earning Big From Predatory For-Profit Colleges” (2020)
University of Phoenix Newsroom, “University of Phoenix Moves to AWS” (2019)
SNHU Financial Statements (2020-2023)
Liberty University Marketing Disclosures (Various)
Alphabet Inc. and Amazon.com Inc. Annual Reports (2023-2024)

Older (Desperate) Folks Targeted for Online Robocolleges

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blue Falcons: Politicians, Government Agencies, and Nonprofits Serve Themselves, Not Those Who Have Served

“Blue Falcon”—military slang for a “Buddy F****r”—refers to someone who betrays their comrades to get ahead. It’s a fitting label for disgraced U.S. Congressman Duncan Hunter, a Marine Corps veteran convicted of misusing campaign funds while cloaking himself in patriotic rhetoric. But Hunter isn’t alone. He’s emblematic of a broader betrayal—one that involves politicians, bureaucrats, predatory schools, and veteran-serving nonprofits. Together, they form an ecosystem where self-interest thrives, and veterans are left behind.

Despite endless platitudes about “supporting our troops,” the systems designed to serve veterans—especially in education—are failing. Two of the most generous and ambitious benefits ever created for veterans, the Post-9/11 GI Bill (PGIB) and Department of Defense Tuition Assistance (TA), are now riddled with waste, abuse, and profiteering. The real beneficiaries aren’t veterans, but an extensive network of for-profit colleges, lobbying firms, and institutions that exploit them.

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The GI Bill and DOD Tuition Assistance: A Pipeline for Predators

The Post-9/11 GI Bill was supposed to be a transformative benefit—a way to reward veterans with the chance to reintegrate, retrain, and succeed in the civilian world. At more than $13 billion annually, it is the single most generous higher education grant program in the country. According to a report highlighted by Derek Newton in Forbes, the GI Bill now costs more than all state scholarships and grants combined and represents half of all Pell Grant spending.

And yet, it isn’t working.

A groundbreaking study from the National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER)—conducted by researchers from Texas A&M, the University of Michigan, Dartmouth, William & Mary, and even the U.S. Department of the Treasury—delivers a scathing indictment of the program’s effectiveness. According to the report, veterans who used PGIB benefits actually earned less nine years after separating from the military than peers who didn’t attend college at all. The researchers found:

“The PGIB reduced average annual earnings nine years after separation from the Army by $900 (on a base of $32,000). Under a variety of conservative assumptions, veterans are unlikely to recoup these reduced earnings during their working careers.”

The reason? Too many veterans are enrolling in heavily marketed, low-value schools—institutions that offer little return and often leave students without degrees or meaningful credentials. Veterans from lower-skilled military occupations and those with lower test scores were particularly likely to fall into this trap. These “less advantaged” veterans not only saw worse labor market outcomes but were more likely to spend their GI Bill benefits at for-profit schools with dismal outcomes.

Even worse, the report estimated that the cost to taxpayers for every additional marginal bachelor’s degree produced by PGIB is between $486,000 and $590,000. That’s beyond inefficient—it’s exploitative.

In the Forbes article we put it bluntly:

“This is sad to say, that the GI Bill does not work for many servicemembers, veterans and their families. What's even sadder is that if you drill into the data, to the institutional and program level, it will likely be worse. There are many programs, for-profit and non-profit, that do not work out for servicemembers, veterans, and their families.”

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Tuition Assistance and the DOD’s Open Wallet

The Department of Defense’s Tuition Assistance program also faces exploitation. With few controls, it serves as an open faucet for bad actors who aggressively recruit active-duty service members through deceptive advertising, partnerships with base education offices, and endorsements from shady nonprofits. Just as with the GI Bill, predatory institutions see DOD TA not as an education resource, but as a predictable stream of federal cash.

Military leadership has done little to intervene. The same institutions flagged for fraud and poor outcomes continue to operate freely, bolstered by industry lobbyists and revolving-door influence in Washington.

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Nonprofits and Politicians: Wolves in Patriotic Clothing

The betrayal doesn’t stop with colleges. Many large veteran-serving nonprofits and “military-friendly” initiatives exist more for image than impact. Instead of helping veterans, they prop up harmful systems and launder legitimacy for the very institutions exploiting the military community.

Meanwhile, Congress talks a big game but routinely fails to act. Lawmakers from both parties show up for ribbon cuttings and Veterans Day speeches, but many take campaign donations from subprime colleges and education conglomerates that prey on veterans. They refuse to close known loopholes—like the infamous 90/10 rule—that incentivize for-profit schools to chase GI Bill funds with deceptive tactics.

And all the while, the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA)—underfunded, overburdened, and politically manipulated—struggles to provide the basic services veterans were promised.

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A Sad Reality, and a Call to Action

It’s a bitter irony that programs designed to lift up veterans often lead them into deeper debt, poorer job prospects, and wasted years. The data from NBER, the findings from watchdogs like Derek Newton, and the lived experience of thousands of veterans all point to one conclusion: the Post-9/11 GI Bill, as currently administered, is failing. And so is the broader system around it.

Veterans deserve better. They deserve:

• Strict oversight of predatory colleges and training programs

• Transparency in outcomes for veteran-serving nonprofits

• Accountability from lawmakers and government agencies

• Equitable investment in public and community college options

• A fundamental shift from patriotic lip service to real systemic reform

Until then, the Blue Falcons will continue to circle—posing as allies while feasting on the very benefits veterans fought to earn.

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The Higher Education Inquirer will continue exposing the policies, institutions, and individuals who exploit veterans under the guise of service. If you have insider information or want to share your story, contact us confidentially at gmcghee@aya.yale.edu.

“The Payback”: Kashana Cauley’s Fictional Rebellion Echoes a Real-Life Debt Hero

 

Kashana Cauley’s second novel, The Payback (out July 15, 2025), might read like a brilliantly absurd heist movie—but its critique of debt peonage, surveillance capitalism, and broken educational promises is dead serious. With its hilarious yet harrowing depiction of three underemployed retail workers taking on the student loan-industrial complex, The Payback arrives not just as a much-anticipated literary event, but as a cultural reckoning.

The protagonist, Jada Williams, is relentlessly hounded by the “Debt Police”—a dystopian twist that, while fictional, feels terrifyingly close to home for America’s 44 million student debtors. But instead of accepting a life of financial bondage, Jada and her mall coworkers hatch a plan to erase their student debt and strike back against the system that sold them a future in exchange for permanent servitude.

This wild caper—praised by Publishers Weekly, Bustle, The Boston Globe, and others for its intelligence and audacity—may be fiction, but it echoes the real-life story of one bold man who did exactly what Jada dreams of doing.

The Legend of Papas Fritas

In the mid-2000s, a Chilean man known only by his pseudonym, Papas Fritas (French Fries), pulled off one of the most radical and symbolic acts of debt resistance in modern history. A former art student at Chile’s prestigious Universidad del Mar—a private for-profit institution later shut down for corruption and fraud—Papas Fritas discovered that the university had falsified financial documents to secure millions in profits while leaving students in mountains of debt.

His response? He infiltrated the school’s administrative offices, extracted records documenting approximately $500 million in student loans, and burned them. Literally. With no backup copies.

He then turned the ashes into an art installation called “La Morada del Diablo” (The Devil’s Dwelling), displayed it publicly, and became an instant folk hero. For many Chileans, who had taken to the streets in the early 2010s protesting an exploitative and privatized higher education system, Papas Fritas was more than a trickster—he was a vigilante philosopher, an artist of revolt.

His act raised questions that still haunt us: What is the moral value of debt acquired through deception? Should the victims of predatory institutions be forced to pay for their own exploitation?

Fiction Meets Resistance

In The Payback, Cauley’s characters don’t just want debt relief—they want retribution. And like Papas Fritas, they understand that justice in an unjust system may require transgression, even sabotage. Cauley, a former Daily Show writer and incisive New York Times columnist, doesn’t shy away from this. Her prose is electric with rage, joy, absurdity, and clarity.

She also knows exactly what she’s doing. Jada’s plan to eliminate debt isn’t merely about numbers—it’s about dignity, possibility, and reclaiming a future that was sold for interest. Cauley’s fiction, like Papas Fritas’s fire, is not just a spectacle—it’s a warning, and a dare.

In an America where student debt totals over $1.7 trillion, where debt servicers act like bounty hunters, and where the promise of higher education has become a trapdoor, The Payback delivers catharsis—and inspiration.

Hollywood, take note: this story demands a screen adaptation. But more importantly, policymakers, debt collectors, and university administrators should take heed. The people are reading. And they’re getting ideas.

Preorder The Payback
Signed editions are available through Black-owned LA bookstores Reparations Club, Malik Books, and Octavia’s Bookshelf. National preorder links are now live. Read it before the Debt Police knock on your door.

Because as both Cauley and Papas Fritas remind us: sometimes, the only moral debt is the one you refuse to pay.

“The Big Beautiful Bill”: A Catastrophic Blow to College Affordability

The so-called “Big Beautiful Bill,” pushed through the Senate as part of a massive reconciliation package, represents one of the most aggressive federal overhauls to higher education funding in modern history. Masked behind rhetoric of “budget responsibility” and “efficiency,” the legislation systematically guts key pillars of college affordability—Pell Grants and federal student loans—placing the greatest burden on working-class families, part-time students, and graduate borrowers.

The bill slashes the foundation of federal student aid by redefining Pell Grant eligibility in ways that dramatically reduce access. Students who receive full-ride scholarships or other substantial grants would no longer qualify for Pell, regardless of their economic need. Part-time students—who make up a substantial portion of today’s college population, particularly in community colleges—are completely excluded. The credit threshold for receiving a full Pell award jumps from 24 to 30 credit hours per year. This effectively penalizes students who work while studying or attend school at night, demanding a pace that many cannot maintain.

Even for those who still qualify, Pell awards may shrink or disappear. According to the Congressional Budget Office, more than 10 percent of current Pell recipients would lose their grants entirely, and over half would see reductions. The bill’s language also includes a provision to count foreign income in determining eligibility, starting in the 2026–2027 academic year—a move that disproportionately affects immigrant and dual-national families.

In a superficial nod to stabilization, the bill allocates $10.5 billion to prevent near-term Pell shortfalls. But this does nothing to address the deep structural harm inflicted by these new restrictions. The House and Senate remain divided over the specific credit-hour thresholds, but both versions aim to cut costs at the expense of the most vulnerable students.

On the student loan front, the legislation is equally ruthless. Subsidized federal loans are eliminated entirely, forcing interest to accrue while students are still in school. This shift alone will increase student debt burdens by thousands of dollars per borrower. Graduate PLUS loans, a vital resource for those pursuing advanced degrees in education, health care, and social work, are eliminated. Parent PLUS loans, used heavily by middle-income families, are capped at $65,000—regardless of tuition inflation or program costs.

Income-driven repayment plans, including the Biden administration’s SAVE plan, are scheduled for termination in 2026. In their place, borrowers will be offered a limited menu: a standard 10- to 25-year fixed repayment plan or a newly created “Repayment Assistance Plan” tied to adjusted gross income. Gone are provisions for economic hardship deferments. Time spent in medical, legal, or other professional residencies will no longer count toward loan forgiveness. For future professionals in high-demand fields, this is not just a technical change—it is a direct economic assault.

The bill’s architects claim these cuts are necessary to “streamline” federal spending and fund tax reductions. But the effect is clear: stripping away the scaffolding that allows millions of Americans to pursue higher education. Private lenders stand to gain the most, as students increasingly turn to high-interest loans to fill the financial vacuum.

This is not a plan to reform education—it’s a plan to ration it.

For years, policymakers have debated whether the federal government should play a leading role in making college accessible and affordable. This bill answers that question with chilling clarity: the market will decide who gets educated, and debt will decide who succeeds. Low-income and first-generation students, single parents, and adult learners will be the first casualties in this new regime. Graduate education, once seen as a ladder to mobility, becomes a privilege for the already wealthy.

The higher education sector is already under enormous strain from declining enrollments, rising costs, and growing skepticism about the value of a degree. This legislation pours gasoline on that fire. Institutions serving working-class students, especially public regional colleges and community colleges, will be hit hardest. We are witnessing not just a rollback of financial aid but the strategic dismantling of public higher education as a gateway to opportunity.

The “Big Beautiful Bill” is not beautiful. It is brutal.

It deserves not only scrutiny but resistance—from students, educators, and every citizen who believes that education should be a public good, not a private luxury. The damage this bill will do cannot be overstated. But it must be understood—and it must be challenged.

Does higher ed still make sense for students, financially? (Bryan Alexander)

[Editor's note: This article first appeared at BryanAlexander.org.]

Is a college degree still worth it?

The radio program/podcast Marketplace hosted me as a guest last week to speak to the question.  You can listen to it* or read my notes below, or both.  I have one reflection at the end of this post building on one interview question.

One caveat or clarification before I get hate mail: the focus of the show was entirely on higher education’s economics.  We didn’t discuss the non-financial functions of post-secondary schooling because that’s not what the show (called “Marketplace”) is about, nor did we talk about justifying academic study for reasons of personal development, family formation, the public good, etc.  The conversation was devoted strictly to the economic proposition.

The hosts, Kimberly Adams and Reema Khrais, began by asking if higher ed still made financial sense.  Yes, I answered, for a good number of people – but not everyone.  Much depends on your degree and your institution’s reputation.  And I hammered home the problem of some college but no degree.  The hosts asked if that value proposition was declining.  My response: the perception of that value is dropping.  Here I emphasized the reality, and the specter, of student debt, along with anxieties about AI and politics.  Then I added my hypothesis that the “college for all” consensus is breaking up.

Next the hosts asked me what changing (declining) attitudes about higher education mean for campuses.  I responded by outlining the many problems, centered around the financial pressures many schools are under.  I noted Trump’s damages then cited my peak higher education model.  Marketplace asked me to explain the appeal of alternatives to college (the skilled trades, certificates, boot camps, etc), which I did, and then we turned to automation, which I broke up into AI vs robotics, before noting gender differences.

Back to college for all: which narrative succeeds it?  I didn’t have a good, single answer right away.  We touched on a resurgence of vocational technology, then I sang the praises of liberal education.  We also talked about the changing value of different degrees – is the BA the new high school diploma? Is a master’s degree still a good idea?  I cited the move to reduce degree demands from certain fields, as well as the decline of the humanities, the crisis of computer science, and the growing importance of allied health.

After my part ended, Adams and Khrais pondered the role of higher education as a culture war battlefield.  Different populations might respond in varied ways – perhaps adults are more into the culture war issues, and maybe women (already the majority of students) are at greater risk of automation.

So what follows the end of college for all?

If the American consensus that K-12 should prepare every student for college breaks down, if we no longer have a rough agreement that the more post-secondary experience people get, the better, the next phase seems to be… mixed.  Perhaps we’re entering an intermediary phase before a new settlement becomes clear.

One component seems to be a resurgence in the skilled trades, requiring either apprenticeship, a short community college course of study, or on the job training.  Demand is still solid, at least until robotics become reliable and cost-effective in these fields, which doesn’t seem to be happening in at least the short term.  This needs preparation in K-12, and we’re already seeing the most prominent voices calling for a return to secondary school trades training.  There’s a retro dimension to this which might appeal to older folks. (I’ve experienced this in conversations with Boomers and my fellow Gen Xers, as people reminisce about shop class and home ec.)

A second piece of the puzzle would be businesses and the public sector expanding their education functions.  There is already an ecosystem of corporate campuses, online training, chief learning officers, and more; that could simply grow as employers seek to wean employees away from college.

A third might be a greater focus on skills across the board. Employers demand certain skills to a higher degree of clarity, perhaps including measurements for soft skills.  K-12 schools better articulate student skill achievement, possibly through microcredentials and/or expanded (portfolio) certification. Higher education expands its use of prior learning assessment for adult learners and transfer students, while also following or paralleling K-12 in more clearly identifying skills within the curriculum and through outcomes.

A fourth would be greater politicization of higher education.  If America pulls back from college for all, college for some arrives and the question of who gets to go to campus becomes a culture war battlefield.  Already a solid majority of students are women, so we might expect gender politics to intensify, with Republicans and men’s rights activists increasingly calling on male teenagers to skip college while young women view university as an even more appropriate stage of their lives.  Academics might buck 2025’s trends and more clearly proclaim the progressive aims they see postsecondary education fulfilling, joined by progressive politicians and cultural figures.  Popular culture might echo this, with movies/TV shows/songs/bestsellers depicting the academy as either a grim ideological factory turning students into fiery liberals or as a safe place for the flowering of justice and identity.

Connecting these elements makes me recall and imagine stories.  I can envision two teenagers, male and female, talking through their expectations of college. One sees it as mandatory “pink collar” preparation while the other dreads it for that reason.  The former was tracked into academic classes while the latter appreciated maker space time and field trips to work sites. Or we might follow a young man as he enters woodworking and succeeds in that field for years, feeling himself supported in his masculinity and also avoiding student debt, until he decides to return to school after health problems limit his professional abilities.  Perhaps one business sets up a campus and an apprenticeship system which it codes politically, such as claiming a focus on merit and not DEI, on manly virtues and traditional culture. In contrast another firm does the same but without any political coding, instead carefully anchoring everything in measured and certified skill development.

Over all of these options looms the specter of AI, and here the picture is more muddy.  Do “pink collar” jobs persist as alternatives to the experience of chatbots, or do we automate those functions?  Does post-secondary education become mandatory for jobs handling AIs, which I’ve been calling “AI wranglers”?  If automation depresses the labor force, do we come to see college as a gamble on scoring a rare, well paying job?

I’ll stop here.  My thanks to Marketplace for the kind interview on a vital topic.

*My audio quality isn’t the best because I fumbled the recording. Sigh.

A Brief History of U.S. Financial Downturns and Collapses: Speculation, Deregulation, Environmental Stress, and the Crises to Come

Since the Treaty of Paris in 1783, the United States has experienced repeated financial collapses—economic convulsions shaped by cycles of speculation, deregulation, and systemic inequality. While official narratives often frame these crises as isolated, unexpected events, the truth is more systemic. Time and again, economic downturns have been driven by elite greed, weakened regulatory institutions, and the exploitation of both people and the planet. Today, amid climate chaos, digital finance, and eroding public trust, the United States stands on the brink of another, potentially greater, financial reckoning.

The country’s first financial panic, in 1792, was triggered by speculative schemes in government securities. Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton’s efforts to stabilize the new economy through the Bank of the United States led to rampant speculation on public debt. A brief crisis followed when overextended investors panicked. A few years later, the Panic of 1797 resulted from overleveraged land investments and a tightening of British credit. These early shocks revealed a fundamental pattern: deregulated markets rewarded insiders and punished everyone else.

Throughout the 19th century, financial panics became a fixture of American capitalism. The Panic of 1819, the nation’s first true depression, followed a credit boom tied to western land speculation and aggressive lending by the Second Bank of the United States. As cotton prices collapsed and farmers defaulted on loans, banks failed, and mass unemployment followed. The Panic of 1837, catalyzed by President Andrew Jackson’s dismantling of the national bank and his hard-money policies, triggered a deep depression that lasted through most of the 1840s. The financial collapse of 1857, in turn, stemmed from global trade imbalances, railroad speculation, and the failure of major financial institutions like the Ohio Life Insurance and Trust Company.

Even at this early stage, economic expansion was fueled by environmental exploitation. Railroads cut through forests and Indigenous territories. Monoculture farming destroyed topsoil. Western land, viewed as limitless, was extracted for immediate profit, with no regard for sustainability or stewardship.

The late 19th century’s Gilded Age brought a series of devastating crashes that reflected the unchecked power of monopolists and financiers. The Panic of 1873, known as the beginning of the Long Depression, began with the collapse of Jay Cooke & Company, a bank overinvested in railroads. The depression persisted for years and was marked by widespread unemployment, strikes, and a backlash against corporate excess. In 1893, another railroad bubble burst, leading to bank runs, industrial failures, and one of the worst economic downturns of the century. At every turn, environmental damage—from deforestation to mining disasters—intensified.

The 20th century began with new waves of speculation and consolidation, culminating in the infamous crash of 1929 and the Great Depression. In the 1920s, the U.S. economy boomed on the back of industrial expansion, easy credit, and a largely unregulated stock market. Wall Street profits masked deep inequality and rural poverty. When the bubble burst in October 1929, the collapse wiped out millions of investors and plunged the country into a decade-long depression. Environmental catastrophe followed in the form of the Dust Bowl, a man-made disaster brought about by overfarming and soil mismanagement across the Great Plains. Families lost both their farms and their future, creating a mass migration of the economically displaced.

In response, the Roosevelt administration implemented the New Deal, which included financial reforms like the Glass-Steagall Act, the Securities and Exchange Commission, and public investment in infrastructure. But by the late 20th century, many of these safeguards were systematically dismantled. The wave of deregulation began in earnest during the Reagan era. The Savings and Loan Crisis of the 1980s, a direct result of financial deregulation and speculative lending, cost American taxpayers more than $160 billion. At the same time, environmental protections were weakened, leading to an explosion of toxic sites and a spike in chronic health problems, especially in low-income communities.

In the 1990s and early 2000s, the rise of Silicon Valley and the dot-com bubble marked a new chapter in speculative capitalism. Investors poured money into tech startups with little revenue or product. The bubble burst in 2000, wiping out trillions in paper wealth and exposing the fragility of digital economies built on hype rather than value. This was followed by the more devastating crash of 2008, the result of subprime mortgage fraud, unregulated derivatives, and the repeal of Glass-Steagall in 1999. Wall Street firms packaged risky home loans into complex securities and sold them across the globe. When the housing market collapsed, so did the global financial system.

The 2008 crash led to the Great Recession, which resulted in millions of foreclosures, lost jobs, and deep cuts to public services. African American and Latinx communities, already targeted by predatory lenders, were especially hard hit. At the same time, sprawling housing developments—many built in environmentally fragile areas—were abandoned or devalued, further highlighting the links between financial speculation and ecological risk.

More recently, the COVID-19 pandemic triggered a sharp recession in 2020. Lockdowns and mass illness disrupted labor markets, supply chains, and public institutions. The federal government responded with massive fiscal and monetary stimulus, which lifted financial markets even as millions lost jobs or left the workforce. Low interest rates and stimulus checks fueled speculative booms in housing, stocks, and digital assets like cryptocurrency.

Cryptocurrency, originally touted as a decentralized alternative to Wall Street, became a magnet for speculative excess. Bitcoin and Ethereum surged to record highs, only to crash repeatedly. The collapse of major crypto exchanges like FTX in 2022 revealed rampant fraud, regulatory gaps, and a new frontier of financial exploitation. In addition to its financial instability, cryptocurrency mining has significant environmental costs, consuming more electricity than many small nations and accelerating carbon emissions in areas powered by fossil fuels.

The current moment is defined by overlapping crises: speculative bubbles in tech and crypto, a fragile labor market, worsening inequality, and a rapidly destabilizing climate. Insurance companies are retreating from high-risk areas due to wildfires, floods, and hurricanes. Crop failures and water shortages threaten food security. Global supply chains are vulnerable to both pandemics and extreme weather. At the same time, deregulatory fervor continues, with efforts to weaken environmental laws, consumer protections, and financial oversight.

If history is any guide, these trends point toward the likelihood of a greater collapse—one not confined to Wall Street but cascading through housing, education, healthcare, and global systems. Future downturns may not be triggered by a single event like a stock crash or pandemic but by an interconnected series of shocks: climate disaster, resource wars, digital speculation, and institutional failure.

Higher education will not be spared. Universities increasingly rely on endowments tied to volatile markets, student debt, and partnerships with speculative industries. The growth of for-profit colleges, online "robocolleges," and gig-economy credentialism has created a hollow system that produces degrees but not economic security. Many young Americans—especially those from working-class and marginalized communities—now face a lifetime of debt and precarious employment. They are the product of a financialized education system that promised upward mobility and delivered downward pressure.

In the end, financial collapses in the U.S. have never been merely economic—they have been moral and political failures as well. They reflect a system that too often prioritizes speculation over stability, deregulation over justice, and private gain over public good. Some of the wealthiest figures in this system—like Peter Thiel and other techno-libertarian futurists—actively invest in escape plans: buying bunkers in New Zealand, funding longevity startups, or betting on crypto anarchy, all while anticipating societal collapse. But most Americans don’t have the luxury of opting out. What we need instead is a commitment to rebuilding systems grounded in equity, sustainability, and democratic accountability. While the risks ahead are real, so are the opportunities—especially if the people most affected by past collapses organize, speak out, and help shape a more resilient and just future.

For more critical perspectives on inequality, education, and economic justice, follow the Higher Education Inquirer.

The Rise of Joe Rogan, AI, and Distrust: What It Means for Traditional Journalism and Higher Education

The media landscape in the United States continues to shift rapidly, with significant implications not only for journalism but also for education, politics, and civic engagement. A recent Reuters Institute Digital News Report reveals a dramatic change in how Americans—especially younger citizens—consume news. For the first time, more Americans reported getting their news from social and video networks than from traditional television and news websites or apps. In the post-inauguration week of January 2025, this milestone marked a sobering moment for legacy media and higher education institutions tied to conventional notions of media literacy and journalistic integrity.

One of the most visible signs of this transformation is the prominence of podcasters and online influencers such as Joe Rogan, whose reach now rivals—and often surpasses—that of network anchors and seasoned reporters. According to the report, one in five Americans encountered news or commentary from Rogan during the week after the presidential inauguration. Other influential figures included Tucker Carlson, Candace Owens, Megyn Kelly, Ben Shapiro, and Brian Tyler Cohen—names that draw significant loyalty from ideological audiences but also raise concerns about bias, misinformation, and the growing power of personality-driven content.

The influence of these creators extends beyond simple popularity. As Nic Newman of the Reuters Institute noted, they attract demographics that traditional media often fail to reach—particularly young men, conservative audiences, and those with low trust in what they see as a "liberal elite" mainstream press. This trend has a direct bearing on the mission and structure of American higher education, which has historically aligned itself with liberal democratic norms, academic rigor, and journalistic objectivity.

While university journalism programs and public radio stations have long been the training grounds for reporters, the new wave of content creators is largely self-taught, algorithm-amplified, and commercially successful—often without journalistic credentials or institutional backing. The implications for higher ed are profound: students may no longer see value in traditional journalism degrees or media studies if alternative paths offer greater visibility and profitability. This further challenges colleges and universities already struggling with enrollment declines, public distrust, and questions about ideological bias.

Another significant development is the role of artificial intelligence in news consumption. The report found that 15% of those under 25 now rely on AI chatbots and interfaces like ChatGPT, Google Gemini, and Meta AI for news weekly. While AI can provide quick and customized information, it also raises concerns about the decline of direct traffic to publisher websites, the risk of disinformation, and the erosion of context and investigative depth that traditional outlets once provided.

Meanwhile, over 70% of Americans expressed concern about their ability to discern truth from falsehood online. Despite—or perhaps because of—the abundance of content, trust in the news remains at a stagnant 40% across global markets. In the U.S., politicians are viewed as the leading source of false or misleading information, followed closely by online influencers. This environment has created a digital Wild West in which news, propaganda, entertainment, and advertising are increasingly indistinguishable.

Social media platform X (formerly Twitter) has also seen a resurgence as a news source, particularly among right-leaning users and young men. Twenty-three percent of Americans now use X for news, a jump of 8 percentage points from last year. In contrast, platforms like Threads, Bluesky, and Mastodon have failed to gain similar traction.

The implications for higher education go beyond media studies departments. Civic literacy, critical thinking, and democratic engagement are all at risk when information is consumed without vetting or context. Universities and public educators must now grapple with how to teach digital literacy in an age where the loudest voices—and not the most factual—command attention.

At the same time, institutions must reflect on their own roles in this shift. The traditional media’s alignment with elite academic and political cultures has alienated large segments of the population, especially those who feel economically or culturally marginalized. The rise of Rogan and others is as much a symptom of that alienation as it is a media phenomenon.

For the Higher Education Inquirer, the message is clear: if truth still matters, then new strategies for reaching the public—especially younger generations—must be developed. That means embracing new technologies without surrendering to them, and fostering independent, investigative voices that hold power accountable, wherever it resides.

The old media model is collapsing. But the need for trustworthy information, critical analysis, and bold reporting has never been more urgent.

The Higher Education Inquirer’s Dramatic Rise in Viewership

The Higher Education Inquirer has experienced a dramatic surge in readership in recent months, defying the odds in a media ecosystem dominated by corporate influence, algorithmic manipulation, and declining public trust. Without the benefit of advertising dollars, search engine optimization tactics, or institutional backing, the Inquirer has built an expanding audience on the strength of its investigative rigor, academic credibility, and fearless confrontation of power in higher education.

The Inquirer’s success lies in its refusal to chase headlines or appease stakeholders. Instead, it examines the underlying systems that have shaped the American higher education crisis—escalating student debt, the exploitation of adjunct faculty, administrative overreach, the encroachment of private equity, and the weakening of regulatory oversight. Its reporting draws directly from primary source documents: internal university records, SEC filings, FOIA requests, and government data from the U.S. Department of Education, Department of Veterans Affairs, and other public institutions. Readers trust the Higher Education Inquirer not simply because it is independent, but because it is evidence-based and relentlessly honest.

This journalistic integrity has attracted a diverse and influential group of contributors whose work amplifies the publication’s reach and credibility. Among them is David Halperin, an attorney, journalist, and watchdog who has long held the for-profit college industry accountable. Halperin’s sharp investigative writing has helped shape federal policy, inform regulatory action, and expose the inner workings of a powerful, often unregulated sector of higher education.

Other essential contributors include Henry Giroux, whose writing connects neoliberalism, authoritarianism, and education policy; Bryan Alexander, who offers foresight into technological and demographic changes shaping the future of academia; and Michael Hainline, who combines investigative rigor with grassroots activism. Together, these voices reflect a commitment to intellectual diversity grounded in a shared mission: to make sense of a higher education system in crisis, and to imagine alternatives.

HEI's timing could not be more significant. As student loan debt hits historic levels, public confidence in higher education erodes, and international students reassess their futures in the United States, people are seeking answers—and not from the usual pundits or PR firms. They’re turning to sources like the Inquirer that offer clarity, accountability, and a refusal to look away from injustice.

With more than 700 articles and videos in its growing archive, the Inquirer has become a vital resource for researchers, journalists, educators, and activists alike. And unlike many mainstream outlets, it remains open-access, free of paywalls and advertising clutter. It encourages participation from readers through anonymous tips, public commentary, and shared research, building a collaborative community that extends beyond the screen.

Last week, more than 30,000 readers visited the site—a significant number for an independent, ad-free platform. But more than numbers, this growth signals a shift in how people consume and value journalism. It shows that there is a real appetite for media that holds power accountable, that prioritizes substance over spectacle, and that dares to tell the truth even when it’s inconvenient.

The Higher Education Inquirer is not chasing influence—it’s earning it. Through fearless reporting, scholarly insight, and a commitment to justice, it has become a trusted voice in the fight to reclaim higher education as a public good. And with its core group of contributors continuing to inform and inspire, the Inquirer is poised to grow even further, serving as a beacon for those who believe that education—and journalism—should serve the people, not the powerful.