Generation Z and the Fractured American Dream: Class Divide, Debt, and the Search for a Future

For Generation Z, the old story of social mobility—study hard, go to college, work your way up—has lost its certainty. The class divide that once seemed bridgeable through education now feels entrenched, as debt, precarious work, and economic volatility blur the promise of progress.

The new economy—dominated by artificial intelligence, speculative assets like cryptocurrency, and inflated housing markets—has not delivered stability for most. Instead, it’s widened gaps between those who own and those who owe. Many young Americans feel locked out of wealth-building entirely. Some have turned to riskier bets—digital assets, gig work, or start-ups powered by AI tools—to chase opportunities that traditional institutions no longer provide. Others have succumbed to despair. Suicide rates among young adults have climbed sharply in recent years, correlating with financial stress, debt, and social isolation.

And echoing through this uncertain landscape is a song that first rose from the coalfields of Kentucky during the Great Depression—Florence Reece’s 1931 protest hymn, “Which Side Are You On?”

Come all you good workers,
Good news to you I’ll tell,
Of how the good old union
Has come in here to dwell.

Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?

Nearly a century later, those verses feel newly urgent—because Gen Z is again being forced to pick a side: between solidarity and survival, between reforming a broken system or resigning themselves to it.

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The Class Divide and the Broken Ladder
Despite record levels of education, Gen Z faces limited social mobility. College remains a class marker, not an equalizer. Students from affluent families attend better-funded universities, graduate on time, and often receive help with housing or job placement. Working-class and first-generation students, meanwhile, navigate under-resourced campuses, heavier debt, and weaker professional networks.

The Pew Research Center found that first-generation college graduates have nearly $100,000 less in median wealth than peers whose parents also hold degrees. For many, the degree no longer guarantees a secure foothold in the middle class—it simply delays financial independence.

They say in Harlan County,
There are no neutrals there,
You’ll either be a union man,
Or a thug for J. H. Blair.

The metaphor still fits: there are no neutrals in the modern class struggle over debt, housing, and automation.

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Debt, Doubt, and the New Normal
Gen Z borrowers owe an average of around $23,000 in student loans, a figure growing faster than any other generation’s debt load. Over half regret taking on those loans. Many delay buying homes, having children, or even seeking medical care. Those who drop out without degrees are burdened with debt and little to show for it.

The debt-based model has become a defining feature of American life—especially for the working class. The price of entry to a better future is borrowing against one’s own.

Don’t scab for the bosses,
Don’t listen to their lies,
Us poor folks haven’t got a chance
Unless we organize.

If Reece’s song once called miners to unionize against coal barons, its spirit now calls borrowers, renters, adjuncts, and gig workers to collective resistance against financial systems that profit from their precarity.

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AI and the Erosion of Work
Artificial intelligence promises efficiency, but it also threatens to hollow out the entry-level job market Gen Z depends on. Automation in journalism, design, law, and customer service cuts off rungs of the career ladder just as young workers reach for them.

While elite graduates may move into roles that supervise or profit from AI, working-class Gen Zers are more likely to face displacement. AI amplifies the class divide: it rewards those who already have capital, coding skills, or connections—and sidelines those who don’t.

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Crypto Dreams and Financial Desperation
Locked out of traditional wealth paths, many young people turned to cryptocurrency during the pandemic. Platforms like Robinhood and Coinbase promised quick gains and independence from the “rigged” economy. But when crypto markets crashed in 2022, billions in speculative wealth evaporated. Some who had borrowed or used student loan refunds to invest lost everything.

Online forums chronicled not only the financial losses but also the psychological fallout—stories of panic, shame, and in some tragic cases, suicide. The new “digital gold rush” became another mechanism for transferring wealth upward.

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The Real Estate Wall
While digital markets rise and fall, real estate remains the ultimate symbol of exclusion. Home prices have climbed over 40 percent since 2020, while mortgage rates hover near 8 percent. For most of Gen Z, ownership is out of reach.

Older generations built equity through housing; Gen Z rents indefinitely, enriching landlords and institutional investors. Without intergenerational help, the “starter home” has become a myth. In America’s new class order, those who inherit property inherit mobility.

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Despair and the Silent Crisis
Behind the data lies a mental health emergency. The CDC reports that suicide among Americans aged 10–24 has risen nearly 60 percent in the past decade. Economic precarity, debt, housing insecurity, and climate anxiety all contribute.

Therapists describe “financial trauma” as a defining condition for Gen Z—chronic anxiety rooted in systemic instability. Universities respond with mindfulness workshops, but few confront the deeper issue: a society that privatized risk and monetized hope.

They say in Harlan County,
There are no neutrals there—
Which side are you on, my people,
Which side are you on?

The question lingers like a challenge to policymakers, educators, and investors alike.

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A Two-Tier Future
Today’s economy is splitting into two distinct realities:

• The secure class, buffered by family wealth, education, AI-driven income, and real estate assets.

• The precarious class, burdened by loans, high rents, unstable work, and psychological strain.

The supposed democratization of opportunity through technology and education has in practice entrenched a new feudalism—one coded in algorithms and contracts instead of coal and steel.

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Repairing the System, Not the Student
For Generation Z, the American Dream has become a high-interest loan. Education, technology, and financial innovation—once tools of liberation—now function as instruments of control.

Reforming higher education is necessary, but not sufficient. The deeper work lies in redistributing power: capping predatory interest rates, investing in affordable housing, curbing speculative bubbles, ensuring that AI’s gains benefit labor as well as capital, and confronting the mental health crisis that shadows all of it.

Florence Reece’s song endures because its question has never been answered—only updated. As Gen Z stands at the intersection of debt and digital capitalism, that question rings louder than ever:

Which side are you on?

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Sources

• Florence Reece, “Which Side Are You On?” (1931).

• Pew Research Center, “First-Generation College Graduates Lag Behind Their Peers on Key Economic Outcomes,” 2021.

• Dēmos, The Debt Divide: How Student Debt Impacts Opportunities for Black and White Borrowers, 2016.

• EducationData.org, “Student Loan Debt by Generation,” 2024.

• Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis, Gen Z Student Debt and Wealth Data Brief, 2022.

• CNBC, “Gen Z vs. Their Parents: How the Generations Stack Up Financially,” 2024.

• WUSF, “Generation Z’s Net Worth Is Being Undercut by College Debt,” 2024.

• Newsweek, “Student Loan Update: Gen Z Hit with Highest Payments,” 2024.

• The Kaplan Group, “How Student Debt Is Locking Millennials and Gen Z Out of Homeownership,” 2024.

• CDC, Suicide Mortality in the United States, 2001–2022, National Center for Health Statistics, 2023.

• Brookings Institution, “The Impact of AI on Labor Markets: Inequality and Automation,” 2024.

• CNBC, “Crypto Crash Wipes Out Billions in Investor Wealth, Gen Z Most Exposed,” 2023.

• Zillow, “U.S. Housing Affordability Reaches Lowest Point Since 1989,” 2024.

The College Meltdown Index: Profiting from the Wreckage of American Higher Education

“Education, once defended as a public good, now functions as a vehicle for private gain.”

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From Collapse to Contagion

The College Meltdown never truly ended—it evolved.

After a decade of spectacular for-profit implosions, the higher education sector has reconstituted itself around new instruments of profit: debt servicing, edtech speculation, and corporate “partnerships” that disguise privatization as innovation.

The College Meltdown Index—tracking a mix of education providers, servicers, and learning platforms—reveals a sector in quiet decay.

Legacy for-profits like National American University (NAUH) and Aspen Group (ASPU) trade at penny-stock levels, while Lincoln Educational (LINC) and Perdoceo (PRDO) stumble through cost-cutting cycles.

Even the supposed disruptors—Chegg (CHGG), Udemy (UDMY), and Coursera (COUR)—are faltering as user growth plateaus and AI reshapes their value proposition.

Meanwhile, SoFi (SOFI), Sallie Mae (SLM), and Maximus (MMS) thrive—not through learning, but through the management of debt.

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The Meltdown Graveyard

Below lies a sampling of the education sector’s ghost tickers—the silent casualties of a system that turned public trust into private loss.

Symbol	Institution	Status	Approx. Closure/Delisting
CLAS.U	Class Technologies	Defunct	2024
INST	Instructure (pre-acquisition)	Acquired by Thoma Bravo	2020
TWOUQ	2U, Inc.	Bankrupt	2025
CPLA	Capella University	Merged with Strayer (Strategic Ed.)	2018
ESI-OLD	ITT Technical Institute	Defunct	2016
EDMC	Education Management Corporation	Defunct	2018
COCO-OLD	Corinthian Colleges	Defunct	2015
APOL	Apollo Education Group (U. of Phoenix)	Taken Private	2017

Each ticker represents not only a failed business model—but a generation of indebted students.

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The Phoenix That Shouldn’t Have Risen

No institution better symbolizes this moral decay than the University of Phoenix and Phoenix Education Partners (PXED).

At its height, Phoenix enrolled nearly half a million students. By 2017, following federal investigations and mass defaults, Apollo Education Group—its parent company—collapsed under scrutiny.

But rather than disappearing, Phoenix was quietly resurrected through a private equity buyout led by Apollo Global Management, Vistria Group, and Najafi Companies.

Freed from public oversight, the university continued to enroll vulnerable adult learners, harvesting federal aid while shedding accountability.

In 2023, the University of Idaho’s proposed acquisition of Phoenix provoked national outrage, forcing state officials to confront a basic question: Should a public university absorb a for-profit brand built on exploitation?

The deal collapsed—but the temptation to monetize Phoenix’s infrastructure remains. In 2025, a small portion became publicly traded.  Its call centers and online systems remain models of enrollment efficiency, designed to extract just enough engagement to secure tuition payments.

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From Education to Extraction

The sector’s transformation reveals a deeper moral hazard.

If students succeed, investors profit.
If students fail, federal subsidies and servicer contracts ensure the money keeps flowing.

Executives face no downside. Shareholders are protected. The losses fall on students and taxpayers.

In this sense, the “meltdown” is not a market failure—it’s a market design.

“The winners are those who most efficiently extract value from hope.”

Public universities increasingly partner with private Online Program Managers (OPMs), leasing their brands to companies that control marketing, pricing, and student data. The once-clear line between public and for-profit education has blurred beyond recognition.

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The Quiet Winners of Collapse

A few companies continue to prosper by aligning with “practical” or “mission-safe” sectors:

• Adtalem (ATGE) in nursing and health education,

• Grand Canyon Education (LOPE) in faith-branded online degrees,

• Bright Horizons (BFAM) in corporate childcare and workforce training.

Yet all remain heavily dependent on public dollars and tax incentives. The state subsidizes their existence; the market collects the rewards.

Meanwhile, 2U’s bankruptcy leaves elite universities scrambling to explain how a publicly traded OPM, once championed as the future of online learning, could disintegrate overnight—taking with it a network of high-priced “nonprofit” certificate programs.

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A Reckoning Deferred

The College Meltdown Index exposes a system that has internalized its own failures.
Fraud has been replaced by financial engineering, transparency by outsourcing, and accountability by spin.

The real collapse is not in the market—but in moral logic. Education, once the cornerstone of social mobility, has become a speculative instrument traded between hedge funds and holding companies.

Until policymakers—and universities themselves—confront the ethics of profit in higher education, the meltdown will persist, slowly consuming what remains of the public good.

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“The real question is not whether the system will collapse, but who will rebuild it—and for whom.”

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Sources:

• Higher Education Inquirer, College Meltdown 2.0 Index (Nov. 2025)

• SEC Filings (2010–2025)

• U.S. Department of Education, Heightened Cash Monitoring Reports

• An American Sickness – Elisabeth Rosenthal

• The Goosestep – Upton Sinclair

• Medical Apartheid – Harriet A. Washington

• Body and Soul – Alondra Nelson

• The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks – Rebecca Skloot

US Senate Reopens the Government—But Leaves the Working Class Behind

The U.S. Senate’s vote to reopen the federal government on Sunday will likely end a painful 40-day shutdown, but it does so at a cost that goes far beyond missed paychecks and delayed services. The deal, driven by pressure to restore “normalcy,” comes with an implicit betrayal: millions of Americans who rely on Affordable Care Act (ACA) subsidies are being left in limbo.

Those subsidies—lifelines for low- and middle-income Americans—are now set to expire at the end of the year. The so-called “continuing resolution” passed the Senate with bipartisan relief, but no guarantee that these critical supports will continue. In practical terms, Congress chose to reopen the government by walking away from those who most need its help.

A Shutdown Ends, but the Austerity Logic Continues

The 2025 shutdown was the longest in modern U.S. history, the result of partisan fights over spending and political maneuvering around health care. During that time, millions of Americans faced uncertainty: furloughed workers, delayed SNAP benefits, shuttered Head Start centers, and frozen federal contracts.

Now that the government is back in business, the same austerity logic remains intact. While defense spending and tax breaks for the wealthy are protected, basic supports like subsidized health insurance are treated as optional. It’s a familiar story—one that echoes through higher education, housing, and labor markets.

The End of ACA Subsidies Means a New Working-Class Squeeze

The ACA subsidies that expanded during the pandemic allowed millions of Americans—often those working multiple jobs without employer coverage—to afford health care for the first time. With their expiration looming, premiums are expected to skyrocket. For some, costs could double or triple.

This isn’t just about “health care.” It’s about how the American system continually shifts burdens downward. Families will make impossible choices: health coverage or rent, insulin or food, doctor visits or student loan payments.

At the same time, Senate Republicans have embraced Donald Trump’s renewed call to “replace Obamacare”—a move that could dismantle what’s left of the safety net altogether. 

The Broader Pattern: Abandoning the Working Class

The Senate’s actions fit a larger pattern of bipartisan neglect. Each “deal” that avoids short-term crisis seems to deepen long-term inequity.

• In health care: subsidies expire, Medicaid rolls shrink, and hospital mergers raise costs.

• In higher education: student debtors are promised relief but face new barriers, while for-profit and “online program management” companies continue to profit.

• In housing: low-income tenants are told to prove future earnings or risk eviction, even as rent outpaces inflation.

• In labor: wage stagnation persists, union power declines, and automation and AI make employment more precarious.

For Generation Z and millennials—already burdened with debt, low job security, and unaffordable housing—the message is consistent: you’re on your own.

Health and Education: Two Fronts of the Same Struggle

Health and education are supposed to be public goods, but both have become profit centers managed by corporate intermediaries and politicians chasing donors.

In health care, private insurers dominate ACA marketplaces. In higher ed, the same dynamic exists: online program managers (OPMs) and corporate lenders extract money while students shoulder debt. The government’s role becomes one of stabilizing markets—not stabilizing lives.

And when the working class pushes back—through union drives, debt strikes, or demands for universal health care—they’re met with the same refrain: “We can’t afford it.”

Austerity in a Time of Plenty

What’s striking is that this “fiscal responsibility” always targets the vulnerable. There’s no serious debate about clawing back corporate tax breaks or limiting Pentagon contracts. But when it comes to healthcare subsidies or student loan forgiveness, the belt suddenly tightens.

The working class subsidizes the rich, while being told that government aid is an indulgence. This political economy of scarcity has consequences—measured in bankruptcies, untreated illness, and despair.

Which Side Are You On?

When Woody Guthrie’s generation faced inequality, they had a rallying cry:

“Which side are you on, boys, which side are you on?”

That question remains as urgent as ever. The Senate’s decision to reopen government while discarding health care protections for millions tells us whose side Washington is on—and it’s not the side of the working class.

Until policymakers see health, housing, and education as human rights rather than bargaining chips, “reopening government” will be little more than a hollow ritual of restoration—for a system that keeps leaving its people behind.

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Sources:

• Time: “What to Know About the Deal to End the Shutdown” (Nov. 2025)

• Al Jazeera: “US Senate nears vote on bill to end 40-day government shutdown” (Nov. 2025)

• Financial Times: “Senators take first step to end US government shutdown” (Nov. 2025)

• The Guardian: “Senate Republicans embrace Trump’s call to replace Obamacare” (Nov. 2025)

• Detroit Free Press: “Michigan's U.S. senators reject deal to end shutdown” (Nov. 2025)

When Educators Back the Cheating Platform: The Strange Case of Chegg (Glen McGhee)

Chegg — once a poster child for pandemic-era edtech growth — is now in free fall. In 2025 the company announced it would slash 45 % of its workforce, citing plunging web traffic, collapsing revenue, and the onslaught of AI tools that let students bypass paid homework help altogether.

It’s a dramatic reversal for a company that sold itself as a learning aid. But behind that collapse lies an even more troubling paradox: many teacher pension funds and public retirement systems — in whose names educators put decades of trust — hold millions in Chegg stock. Why would those funds invest in a company whose business model many of their own beneficiaries see as unethical, even corrosive?

We’ve seen this pattern before. In the early 2000s, retirement funds like these were major institutional investors in for-profit higher education companies such as EDMC, ITT Tech, and the University of Phoenix. Those institutions promised strong returns but ultimately collapsed under fraud allegations, predatory practices, and declining enrollments. Many public-sector workers indirectly suffered as the funds lost money. Chegg’s story looks eerily similar: high growth promises, an ethically contested business model, and exposure of public retirement funds to extreme financial risk. The repetition suggests a structural pattern: when education is financialized and commodified, the people meant to serve it — educators and students — are exposed to both moral and economic hazards.

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The Downward Spiral: Why Chegg Is Crashing

Chegg’s decline didn’t begin yesterday. It was seeded by technological disruption and a fragile business model dependent on volume, content access, and student compliance. Generative AI tools such as ChatGPT and Bard have undercut Chegg’s core service: paid homework help and explanations. Students can often get free answers faster and more flexibly. Google’s “AI overviews,” which display answer snippets directly in search results, divert traffic away from Chegg’s site, reducing ad and subscription conversions. Chegg has even sued Google, alleging unfair competition.

Earlier in 2025, Chegg laid off 22 % of its staff and closed its U.S. and Canada offices to cut costs. That was supposed to be a stabilization move, but it foreshadowed deeper troubles. The more recent 45 % layoff is sweeping: 388 jobs are being cut, $15–19 million in severance charges are expected, and $100–110 million in cost savings are projected for 2026. Chegg’s stock has lost approximately 99 % of its value since its 2021 peak. Yet the company is still pursuing a pivot toward B2B “skilling” markets, though skeptics doubt whether this can make up for the erosion of its original model. In short, Chegg is facing structural obsolescence. The ecosystem that once made its growth plausible is collapsing around it.

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Pension Funds and the Strange Attraction to Chegg

Several public pension and teachers’ retirement systems hold millions in Chegg: Kentucky Teachers’ Retirement System owns $4.5 million, California State Teachers’ Retirement System owns $4 million, New York State Common Retirement Fund owns $13 million, Colorado Public Employees’ Retirement Fund owns $9.3 million, California Public Employees’ Retirement Fund owns $5.3 million, a Florida retirement fund owns $3.3 million, Ohio Public Employees Retirement owns $1.5 million, and the Teacher Retirement System of Texas owns $630,000.

These investments raise hard questions. Do pension fund managers assume Chegg will survive its technological disruption? Are they prioritizing short-term returns over long-term reputational or ethical risk? Do they believe the stock is undervalued and thus a “contrarian bet”? Are they following passive index allocations rather than making deliberate choices? Some fund managers defend such investments as fulfilling fiduciary duty: to maximize returns for their beneficiaries within acceptable risk parameters. Ethical considerations, they argue, should not trump financial sustainability — especially in a system underfunded and under stress. But when the bet fails, the consequences fall hardest on retirees, educators, and the public who trusted those funds to safeguard their futures.

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Do We Owe Them Sympathy?

It’s tempting to feel a bit sorry: pension funds losing money is a headline nobody wants. But sympathy is complicated. These funds store and grow the life savings of public-sector workers — teachers, librarians, and staff. A poorly timed speculative investment can damage retiree security and erode public trust. On the other hand, this is no innocent failure; it is a foreseeable risk in backing a business facing existential challenges. It reflects a broader pattern of financialization in education: turning learning into a profit-seeking venture, exposing it to wild swings, and treating educators and students as market participants. Losses are regrettable, especially at the human level, but they also demand accountability. Institutions must explain why they placed trust in Chegg when its vulnerabilities were visible.

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What This Reveals: Institutional Contradiction

This episode exposes several deeper contradictions at the intersection of education, finance, and values. Many educators see Chegg as a threat to academic integrity, yet the institutions managing their retirement funds believed in its upside. Some investors are attracted to the “turnaround bet,” seeing potential in a company trading at a fraction of its former value, though the risk is very high. Some funds may hold Chegg because their portfolios track broad indices, ceding moral discretion to the market. Education has become infrastructure built on venture logic, and the Chegg collapse is a warning: when learning becomes a commodity, its institutions become as unstable as any tech startup. Finally, if pension funds backed a cheating-enabled platform, what else might their capital support, and how does that affect trust in those institutions?

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A Moral and Institutional Reckoning 

Chegg’s collapse is not just a market drama; it’s a moral and institutional reckoning. A company built on a questionable model is now evaporating under AI pressure. Meanwhile, public pension funds — meant to safeguard the futures of educators — placed bets on that very evaporation.

We might feel a pang of sympathy for the financial losses. But our greater duty is to probe the judgment of those entrusted with public capital, and to demand coherence between values and investment. If the administrators of teacher retirement funds cannot align ethics with asset allocation, then their claims to serving the public good are weakened — and so is the trust on which the idea of public education depends.

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Sources

Barron’s: “Chegg Is Suing Google. The Stock Is Sinking.”
Reuters: “Chegg to lay off 22% of workforce as AI tools shake up edtech industry.”
SF Chronicle: “Bay Area educational tech company slashes 248 jobs as students turn to AI tools for learning.”
The Cheatsheet Substack: “Meet Chegg’s Biggest Backers.”
The Chronicle of Higher Education: “Work in Public Education and Hate Chegg? You Might Be an Investor.”
Wikipedia: “Chegg”

Ambow Education Pushes AI Agenda Abroad While Raising Red Flags in the U.S.

Ambow Education, once linked to the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), is aggressively exporting its AI-driven education platform, HybriU™, to global markets—even as its footprint in the United States remains small and opaque. The company’s international ambitions raise questions about transparency, governance, and potential political influence.

Ambow’s recent partnership with Bamboo System Technology aims to scale HybriU’s AI-education ecosystem across Southeast Asia, touting a deeper technology stack and expanded distribution. Yet outside China, Ambow’s record is spotty, and critics warn that the firm’s rapid expansion may outpace oversight or educational rigor.

In the U.S., Ambow reportedly explored a partnership with Colorado State University (CSU), though details remain murky. Engagements like these, combined with its involvement with specialized institutions such as the NewSchool of Architecture and Design, suggest a strategy of targeting schools where oversight may be limited and innovation promises can be oversold.

That strategy has already seen major fallout. Bay State College, which Ambow once owned, officially closed its doors in 2024 after years of financial instability, regulatory scrutiny, and declining enrollment. The college’s demise, following Ambow’s acquisition and subsequent divestment, underscores the risks faced by institutions entangled with opaque foreign education firms that promise modernization but deliver financial collapse.

Despite these global ambitions, Ambow’s American presence is modest: a small office tucked in Cupertino, California, suggesting the company may be testing the waters in the U.S. market rather than committing to a major operational footprint.

Recent corporate moves add to the uncertainty. In October 2025, Ambow filed a stock offering for up to $80 million, a move that could significantly dilute existing shareholders and raise questions about its capital needs, liquidity, and long-term strategy. While the offering may be designed to fund global expansion of HybriU™, analysts have noted the lack of clear financial disclosures and the company’s history of volatile performance.

Promotional efforts also raise eyebrows. Former Adtalem executive James Bartholomew has been enlisted to boost Ambow’s profile, but whether his role is purely marketing or part of a broader legitimacy campaign remains unclear.

For U.S. institutions, Ambow’s history—including prior CCP ties, the collapse of Bay State College, and its aggressive share issuance—presents a cautionary tale: a company that combines ambitious AI promises with a murky past and minimal transparency. Ambow’s expansion illustrates a growing challenge in higher education—navigating partnerships with foreign edtech firms while safeguarding institutional integrity, regulatory compliance, and academic quality.

Sources: Ambow Education press releases, SEC filings, Bamboo System Technology announcements, Higher Education Inquirer reporting, and U.S. Department of Education data.

The College Meltdown: A Retrospective

[In 2017, we collaborated with Crush the Street on a video describing the College Meltdown.]  

“Education is not merely a credentialing system; it is a humanizing act that fosters connection, purpose, and community.”

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Origins

The College Meltdown began in the mid-2010s as a blog chronicling the slow collapse of U.S. higher education. Rising tuition, mounting student debt, and corporatization were visible signs, but the deeper crisis was structural: the erosion of public accountability and mission.

By 2015, the warning signs were unmistakable to us. On some campuses, student spaces were closed to host corporate “best practices” conferences. At many schools, adjunct instructors carried the bulk of teaching responsibilities, often without benefits, while administrators celebrated innovation. Higher education was quietly being reshaped to benefit corporations over students and communities — a true meltdown.

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Patterns of the Meltdown

Enrollment in U.S. colleges began declining as early as 2011, reflecting broader demographic shifts: fewer children entering the system and a growing population of older adults. Small colleges, community colleges, and regional public universities were hardest hit, while flagship institutions consolidated wealth and prestige.

Corporate intermediaries known as Online Program Managers (OPMs) managed recruitment, marketing, and course design, taking large portions of tuition while universities retained risk. Fully automated robocolleges emerged, relying on AI-driven templates, predictive analytics, and outsourced grading. While efficient, these systems dehumanized education: students became data points, faculty became monitors, and mentorship disappeared.

“Robocolleges and AI-driven systems reduce humans to data points — an education stripped of connection is no education at all.”

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Feeding the AI Beast

As part of our effort to reclaim knowledge and influence public discourse, we actively contributed to Wikipedia. Over the years, we made more than 12,000 edits on higher education topics, ensuring accurate documentation of predatory practices, adjunct labor, OPMs, and corporatization. These edits both informed the public and, inadvertently, fed the AI beast — large language models and AI systems that scrape Wikipedia for training data now reflect our work, amplifying it in ways we could never have predicted.

“By documenting higher education rigorously, we shaped both public knowledge and the datasets powering AI systems — turning transparency into a tool of influence.”

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Anxiety, Anomie, and Alienation

The College Meltdown documented the mental health toll of these transformations. Rising anxiety, feelings of anomie, and widespread alienation were linked to AI reliance, dehumanized classrooms, insecure faculty labor, and societal pressures. Students felt like credential seekers; faculty suffered burnout.

“Addressing the psychological and social effects of dehumanized education is essential for ethical recovery.”

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Trump, Anti-Intellectualism, and Fear in the Era of Neoliberalism

The project also addressed the broader political and social climate. The Trump era brought rising anti-intellectualism, skepticism toward expertise, and a celebration of market logic over civic and moral education. For many, it was an era of fear: fear of surveillance, fear of litigation, fear of being marginalized in a rapidly corporatized, AI-driven educational system. Neoliberal policies exacerbated these pressures, emphasizing privatization, metrics, and competition over community and care.

“Living under Trump-era neoliberalism, with AI monitoring, corporate oversight, and mass surveillance, education became a space of anxiety as much as learning.”

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Quality of Life and the Call for Rehumanization

Education should serve human well-being, not just revenue. The blog emphasized Quality of Life and advocated for Rehumanization — restoring mentorship, personal connection, and ethical engagement.

“Rehumanization is not a luxury; it is the foundation of meaningful learning.”

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FOIA Requests and Whistleblowers

From the start, The College Meltdown relied on evidence-based reporting. FOIA (Freedom of Information Act) requests were used to obtain internal communications, budgets, and regulatory filings, shining light on opaque practices. Whistleblowers, including adjunct faculty and staff at universities and OPMs, provided firsthand testimony of misconduct, financial malfeasance, and educational dehumanization. Their courage was central to the project’s mission of transparency and accountability.

“Insider testimony and public records revealed the hidden forces reshaping higher education, from corporate influence to predatory practices.”

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Historical Sociology: Understanding the Systemic Collapse

The importance of historical sociology cannot be overstated in analyzing the decline of higher education. By examining the evolution of educational systems, we can identify patterns of inequality, the concentration of power, and the commodification of knowledge. Historical sociology provides the tools to understand how past decisions and structures have led to the current crisis.

“Historical sociology reveals, defines, and formulates patterns of social development, helping us understand the systemic forces at play in education.”

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Naming Bad Actors: Accountability and Reform

A critical aspect of The College Meltdown was the emphasis on naming bad actors — identifying and holding accountable those responsible for the exploitation and degradation of higher education. This included:

• University Administrators: Prioritizing profit over pedagogy.

• Corporate Entities: Robocolleges and OPMs profiting at the expense of educational quality.

• Political Figures and Ultraconservatives: Promoting policies that undermined public education and anti-intellectualism.

“Holding bad actors accountable is essential for meaningful reform and the restoration of education's ethical purpose.”

[In 2016, we called out several bad actors in for-profit higher education, including CEOs Jack Massimino, Kevin Modany, and Todd Nelson.] 

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Existential Aspects of Climate Change

The blog also examined the existential dimensions of climate change. Students and faculty face a dual challenge: preparing for uncertain futures while witnessing environmental degradation accelerate. Higher education itself is implicated, both as a contributor through consumption and as a forum for solutions. The looming climate crisis intensifies anxiety, alienation, and the urgency for ethical, human-centered education.

“Climate change makes the stakes of education existential: our survival, our knowledge, and our moral responsibility are intertwined.”

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Mass Speculation and Financialization

Another critical theme explored was mass speculation and financialization. The expansion of student debt markets, tuition-backed bonds, and corporate investments in higher education transformed students into financial instruments. These speculative dynamics mirrored broader economic instability, creating both a moral and systemic crisis for the educational sector.

“When education becomes a commodity for speculation, learning, mentorship, and ethical development are subordinated to profit and risk metrics.”

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Coverage of Protests and Nonviolent Resistance

The College Meltdown documented student and faculty resistance: tuition protests, adjunct labor actions, and campaigns against predatory OPM arrangements. Nonviolent action was central: teach-ins, sit-ins, and organized campaigns demonstrated moral authority and communal solidarity in the face of systemic pressures, litigation, and corporate intimidation.

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Collaboration and Resistance

Glen McGhee provided exceptional guidance, connecting insights on systemic collapse, inequality, and credential inflation. Guest authors contributed across disciplines and movements, making the blog a living archive of accountability and solidarity:

Guest Contributors:
Bryan Alexander, Ann Bowers, James Michael Brodie, Randall Collins, Garrett Fitzgerald, Erica Gallagher, Henry Giroux, David Halperin, Bill Harrington, Phil Hill, Robert Jensen, Hank Kalet, Neil Kraus, the LACCD Whistleblower, Wendy Lynne Lee, Annelise Orleck, Robert Kelchen, Debbi Potts, Jack Metzger, Derek Newton, Gary Roth, Mark Salisbury, Gary Stocker, Harry Targ, Heidi Weber, Richard Wolff, and Helena Worthen.

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Lessons from the Meltdown

The crisis was systemic. Technology amplified inequality. Corporate higher education rebranded rather than reformed. Adjunctification and labor precarity became normalized. Communities of color and working-class students suffered disproportionately.

Dehumanization emerged as a central theme. AI, automation, and robocolleges prioritized efficiency over mentorship, data over dialogue, and systems over human relationships. Rising anxiety, anomie, and alienation reflected the human toll.

“Rehumanization, mentorship, community, transparency, ethical accountability, and ecological awareness are essential to restore meaningful higher education.”

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Looking Forward

As higher education entered the Trump era, its future remained uncertain. Students, faculty, and communities faced fear under neoliberal policies, AI-driven monitoring, mass surveillance, litigation pressures, ultraconservative influence, climate crises, and financial speculation. Will universities reclaim their role as public goods, or continue as commodified services? The College Meltdown stands as a testament to those who resisted dehumanization and anti-intellectualism. It also calls for Quality of Life, ethical practice, mental well-being, environmental responsibility, and Rehumanization, ensuring education serves the whole person, not just the bottom line. 

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Sources and References

• Washington, Harriet A. Medical Apartheid. Doubleday, 2006.

• Rosenthal, Elisabeth. An American Sickness. Penguin, 2017.

• Skloot, Rebecca. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Crown, 2010.

• Nelson, Alondra. Body and Soul. University of Minnesota Press, 2011.

• Paucek, Chip. “2U and the Growth of OPMs.” EdSurge, 2021. link

• Ravitch, Diane. The Death and Life of the Great American School System. Basic Books, 2010.

• Alexander, Bryan. Academia Next. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2020.

• U.S. Department of Education. “Closed School Information.” 2016–2020. link

• Federal Reserve Bank of New York. Student Debt Statistics, 2024. link

• Wayback Machine Archive of College Meltdown Blog: link

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.)

Confidence Games and Crumbling Institutions: Echoes of 1857 in 2025

In 1857, Herman Melville published The Confidence-Man: His Masquerade, a cryptic, satirical novel set aboard a Mississippi steamboat. The titular character—ever-shifting, ever-deceiving—exploits the trust of passengers in a society obsessed with profit, spectacle, and moral ambiguity. That same year, the United States plunged into its first global financial crisis, the Supreme Court issued the Dred Scott decision denying citizenship to Black Americans, and violence erupted in Kansas over slavery. The nation was expanding westward while morally imploding.

Fast forward to 2025, and the parallels are chilling.

The Collapse of Confidence

The Panic of 1857 was triggered by speculative bubbles, banking failures, and the sinking of a gold-laden ship meant to stabilize Eastern banks. In 2025, the U.S. faces a different kind of panic: record-high debt servicing costs, a fragile labor market dominated by gig work, and a public increasingly skeptical of financial institutions. The Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), led by Elon Musk, has slashed federal jobs and privatized public services, echoing the confidence games of Melville’s era.

Trust—once the bedrock of civic life—is now a currency in freefall.

Judicial Earthquakes and Political Fragmentation

In 1857, the Supreme Court’s Dred Scott decision shattered any illusion of unity. Today, the return of Donald Trump to the presidency has reignited deep political divisions. Executive orders, agency dismantling, and immigration crackdowns have triggered constitutional challenges reminiscent of the 1850s. The rule of law feels increasingly negotiable.

Higher education institutions, once bastions of reasoned debate, now find themselves caught between political polarization and economic precarity. Faculty are pressured to conform, students are surveilled, and public trust in academia is eroding.

Spectacle, Deception, and the Digital Masquerade

Melville’s confidence man sold fake medicines and bogus charities. In 2025, deception is digitized: AI-generated content, deepfakes, and influencer culture dominate public discourse. The masquerade continues—only now the steamboat is a livestream, and the con artist might be an algorithm.

Universities must grapple with this new epistemological crisis. What is truth in an age of synthetic media? What is scholarship when data itself can be manipulated?

Moral Reckonings and Institutional Failure

In both 1857 and 2025, America faces a reckoning. Then, it was slavery and sectional violence. Now, it’s climate collapse, racial injustice, and the erosion of democratic norms. The question is not whether institutions will survive—but whether they can evolve.

Higher education must decide: Will it be a passive observer of decline, or an active agent of renewal?

The Confidence Man Returns

Melville’s novel ends without resolution. The confidence man disappears into the crowd, leaving readers to wonder whether anyone aboard the steamboat was ever truly honest. In 2025, we face a similar uncertainty. The masquerade continues, and the stakes are higher than ever.

For higher education, the challenge is clear: to restore trust, to defend truth, and to prepare students not just for jobs—but for citizenship in an age of confidence games.

Does China Need US Universities for Its Elite Students?

For decades, U.S. universities have served as the finishing school for China’s elite. Children of Communist Party officials, wealthy businesspeople, and top scientists have often ended up at Harvard, Yale, Stanford, or the Ivy League, polishing their English and acquiring the cultural capital necessary for global finance, diplomacy, and technology. At the same time, thousands of middle-class Chinese families have made enormous financial sacrifices to send their children abroad, betting on an American degree as a ticket to upward mobility.

But the question today is whether China still needs U.S. universities to educate its elite.

Shifting Global Power Dynamics

The rise of China’s own research universities has complicated the old narrative. Institutions such as Tsinghua University and Peking University now rank among the top in the world in science, engineering, and AI research. China produces more STEM graduates annually than any other country, and its funding for science and technology rivals that of the U.S. While U.S. universities still command prestige, their monopoly on global academic excellence has weakened.

Politics and National Security

Relations between Washington and Beijing have soured, and U.S. policymakers increasingly view Chinese students as potential security risks. Visa restrictions on STEM fields, FBI investigations into Chinese scholars, and rhetoric about intellectual property theft have chilled the academic exchange. For Chinese elites, the risks of having children in the U.S. — politically and reputationally — are higher than in the 1990s or 2000s.

Yet at the same time, political figures like Donald Trump have openly courted the financial benefits of Chinese enrollment. Trump has said that China can send 600,000 students to the United States — a number that would far exceed current levels — underscoring the contradiction between security anxieties and the revenue-driven priorities of American higher education.

Meanwhile, China has invested heavily in partnerships with Europe, Singapore, and even African nations to build alternative networks of elite education. For some families, sending a child to Oxford or ETH Zurich carries less geopolitical baggage than Harvard or MIT.

The Prestige Factor

Yet prestige is not easily replicated. An Ivy League degree still carries enormous weight, especially in global finance, law, and diplomacy. American universities remain unmatched in their ability to offer “soft power” — connections, cultural fluency, and credibility in international markets. For Chinese elites with ambitions beyond national borders, U.S. universities still provide networking opportunities that cannot be fully duplicated in Beijing, Shanghai, or Shenzhen.

China’s Billionaires Build Private Universities to Challenge Stanford

In recent years, a number of China’s wealthiest business leaders have begun pouring billions into the creation of new private universities. Their ambitions are not modest: to build research institutions that can compete directly with the world’s most elite schools—Stanford, MIT, Oxford, and Harvard.

At first glance, such aspirations sound quixotic. Building a university brand that rivals Stanford typically takes a century of reputation, research, and networking. Yet, in China, examples already exist to show that rapid ascent is possible.

Westlake and Geely as Proof-of-Concept

Westlake University, founded in Hangzhou just seven years ago by leading biologists, is already outperforming global top 100 schools in specific fields, including the University of Sydney and the University of North Carolina. Its model—deep pockets, aggressive recruitment of top scientists, and a narrow focus on high-impact fields—demonstrates that prestige can be manufactured in years rather than generations.

Geely Automotive Group, meanwhile, established its own university to train engineers, feeding talent directly into one of the world’s largest car manufacturers. Today, Geely ranks among the ten biggest automakers worldwide, with its university playing a central role in workforce development.

A Stanford Model with Chinese Characteristics

The parallel to Stanford is intentional. Stanford thrived not only because of academic excellence but because it was embedded in Silicon Valley, benefiting from venture capital, defense contracts, and a culture of entrepreneurship. China’s industrialists are attempting something similar: building universities adjacent to industrial clusters and pairing them with massive R&D investments.

For billionaires, these institutions serve dual purposes: they act as innovation engines and as political insurance policies. In an era when Beijing has cracked down on tech moguls and capital excesses, aligning one’s fortune with education and national advancement offers a form of protection.

Political Constraints and Academic Freedom

The long-term question is whether these billionaire-founded institutions can sustain the openness and intellectual risk-taking that has characterized Stanford and MIT. While China’s system excels in applied sciences and technology, political controls may limit innovation in social sciences and fields that thrive on dissent, debate, and unconventional thinking.

Still, if the aim is dominance in biotech, engineering, AI, and materials science, the model may succeed. In fact, Westlake’s rapid climb already suggests mid-tier Western universities could soon find themselves leapfrogged by Chinese institutions less than a decade old.

A Changing Balance

So, does China need U.S. universities for its elite? The answer is complicated.

• Yes, for families who want global reach, especially in finance, technology entrepreneurship, and diplomacy. The cultural capital of an American education still matters.

• No, for families satisfied with domestic prestige and security. China’s own universities — both traditional public institutions and billionaire-backed ventures — increasingly provide sufficient training for leadership roles.

What is clear is that U.S. universities can no longer assume a steady flow of Chinese elite students. The market has shifted, the politics have hardened, and the prestige gap has narrowed. For American higher education, already struggling with enrollment cliffs and financial strain, this shift could have serious consequences.

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Sources:

• Institute of International Education, Open Doors Report

• Center for Security and Emerging Technology (CSET), “Chinese STEM Students in the U.S.”

• Times Higher Education World University Rankings

• South China Morning Post, Why China’s super-rich are spending billions to set up universities

• Guangming Daily, Hello, Westlake University

• CGTN, Westlake University established in Hangzhou

• Geely Automotive Group, Overview

• KE Press Global, China's Billionaires Are Building Universities to Drive Innovation and Stay Politically Favorable

Tech on Lockdown

In 2025, consumers face a deepening dilemma: how much personal information they must surrender in order to simply participate in the digital economy—and how much risk of fraud, surveillance, and exploitation comes with it. The modern internet is locked down, not just by corporate firewalls, but by an endless cycle of demands for identification and the rising threat of scams.

The trade-off is stark. On one side, companies require increasingly invasive personal data for access to basic services. Signing up for a financial aid platform, an online class, or even a subscription news site often involves revealing Social Security numbers, bank accounts, or biometric data. Meanwhile, universities, retailers, and fintech companies justify these demands as “verification” or “compliance.” Consumers are told that without surrendering their information, they cannot belong.

On the other side, scammers are thriving. From phishing emails that mimic official communications to sophisticated AI-generated calls that sound like family members in distress, fraud is no longer just the realm of obvious spam. The same technology that enables secure payments and online enrollment also fuels deepfake schemes, identity theft, and financial ruin.

Caught in this digital chokehold, working-class families often pay the highest price. The poorest are more likely to rely on insecure devices, public Wi-Fi, or predatory fintech platforms. They are also more likely to be blamed when fraud occurs, accused of “carelessness” when in reality the system forces them into unsafe digital practices. Meanwhile, the wealthy and elite universities insulate themselves with private cybersecurity teams, exclusive networks, and legal firepower.

Higher education illustrates this divide vividly. Students applying for loans or grants must disclose enormous amounts of personal data—only to find themselves targets of phishing schemes or, worse, data breaches at the very institutions they trusted. The recent wave of ransomware attacks against universities, along with the growth of “robocolleges” that automate student services with minimal oversight, shows how fragile the system has become. The illusion of safety masks a reality of vulnerability.

The underlying problem is structural. Data has become currency, and consumers are forced to spend it in order to function. Yet once surrendered, it cannot be taken back. Every digital form filled out, every student portal login, every financial aid verification increases the exposure to fraud. The system tells us to “trust” while offering few protections when trust is violated.

“Tech on lockdown” means more than clamping down on personal devices. It means a society where access is conditioned on surrender, and where surveillance and scams thrive in tandem. Consumers must navigate between giving up their privacy or risking being locked out, between handing over sensitive information or falling prey to those who exploit it.

What Consumers Can Do

While systemic change is essential, there are some basic protective strategies individuals can adopt:

• Use multi-factor authentication wherever possible, especially on student loan and financial accounts.

• Limit use of public Wi-Fi for sensitive transactions.

• Monitor credit reports and financial statements regularly.

• Be skeptical of unsolicited emails, texts, or calls—even those that appear to come from trusted institutions.

• When possible, push institutions (including colleges) to explain why they require specific personal data and how they will protect it.

These measures won’t fix the structural issues, but they can provide some insulation while policymakers, regulators, and institutions continue to fall behind in addressing this growing dilemma.

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Sources

• Federal Trade Commission (FTC). Consumer Sentinel Network Data Book 2024.

• Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI). Internet Crime Report 2024.

• EDUCAUSE. Cybersecurity and Privacy in Higher Education, 2024.

• The Higher Education Inquirer. “Robocolleges: Higher Education’s Automation Experiment.” (2024)

• Identity Theft Resource Center. 2024 Annual Data Breach Report.

Google, Your Data, and the Debt You Didn’t Know You Owed (Glen McGhee)

Google is everywhere. Search, Maps, YouTube—they make life convenient and seem “free.” But convenience comes at a price: your behavioral data. Every click, pause, search, or location check generates a digital footprint that Google collects, analyzes, and sells.

This isn’t just data collection—it’s what Shoshana Zuboff calls behavioral surplus: data that goes beyond what’s needed to provide the service itself. Google doesn’t just need to know what you search; it wants your location patterns, click habits, watch time, and every little action that can predict what you might do next. That surplus becomes a commodity, sold to advertisers and used to train AI systems that keep you engaged—and profitable—without your permission or compensation.

What “Data Debt” Means for You

Think of it like this: every time you interact with Google, you’re contributing to a kind of informational debt. Unlike a normal loan, this debt is infinite and unpayable. You can’t erase your search history, reclaim your behavioral profile, or get paid for the value you generate.

Here’s how it affects you:

1. You’re Paying With More Than Money
   Your data is the real currency. That “free” Google Maps route? Paid for with your personal information, every time you move, click, or linger on a page.

2. You Can’t Opt Out
   Google and similar platforms are now essential infrastructure. Avoiding them often means social or professional exclusion. You’re effectively forced into the system to live a connected life.

3. More Companies Have Access to Your Data
   Recent antitrust rulings require Google to share some data with competitors. Instead of reducing extraction, this spreads your data around, giving multiple companies the ability to profit from your behavior.

4. You Get No Ownership or Share of Profits
   Unlike college athletes who can monetize their Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL), most of us generate value for Google with no control, no claim, and no legal recourse. You’re a perpetual unpaid shareholder in a company that never pays dividends.

5. Privacy Is Your Job
   The system shifts responsibility onto you. You have to manage settings, use privacy tools, and track policies—all while the structural extraction continues.

Why This Matters

This is not just about annoying ads or targeted videos. It’s about power. Google, and other platforms like it, are essentially operating as all-powerful debtors. They take your data, turn it into profit, and owe you nothing. Meanwhile, the system is structured so that you can’t negotiate, limit, or reclaim what’s taken.

The rare exceptions—like NIL rights for college athletes—show how unusual it is for people to profit from their own data. For the rest of us, extraction without reciprocity is the rule, not the exception.

What You Can Do

• Be conscious of your digital footprint: Every app, click, and interaction is part of your behavioral surplus.

• Use privacy tools: VPNs, ad blockers, and encrypted services can limit some collection.

• Advocate for structural change: Laws and regulations that return ownership or compensation for data are the only way to address the systemic imbalance.

• Support alternatives: Platforms that share revenue with users or operate without surveillance models are small but growing options.

The key takeaway: your data is valuable, and right now, you’re the unpaid creditor. Understanding the stakes is the first step toward regaining some control—or at least knowing what you’re giving away.

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Sources

• Shoshana Zuboff, The Age of Surveillance Capitalism, PublicAffairs, 2019.

• Maurizio Lazzarato, The Making of the Indebted Man, Semiotext(e), 2012.

• Cory Doctorow, “Unpunishing Process,” Pluralistic.net, September 3, 2025. https://pluralistic.net/2025/09/03/unpunishing-process/

• U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia, United States v. Google LLC, antitrust ruling, 2025.

• NPR, “What NIL Rights Mean for College Athletes,” 2023.