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Saturday, December 20, 2025

Financial Logic and the Limits of Educational Governance: David R. Barker and the Marketization of Postsecondary Policy (Glen McGhee)

 “Barker’s background does not prepare him to navigate this tension. It predisposes him to resolve it in favor of the market—and to treat the casualties as acceptable losses.”

Dr. David R. Barker is an economist, wealthy real estate investor, and long-time Iowa Republican activist who currently serves as Assistant Secretary for Postsecondary Education at the U.S. Department of Education under President Donald Trump. A sixth-generation Iowan and former member of the Iowa Board of Regents, Barker previously worked as an economist at the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, taught economics and real estate at the University of Iowa and the University of Chicago, and now runs a real estate and finance firm that owns thousands of apartments and commercial properties across the Midwest.

In 2025, Barker was nominated and confirmed to oversee federal postsecondary policy, with a portfolio focused on “outcomes and accountability,” accreditation reform, student aid policy, and aligning federal grants with the administration’s ideological and fiscal priorities. His academic background—most notably his 1991 dissertation, Real Estate, Real Estate Investment Trust, and Closed End Fund Valuation—reveals a conceptual toolkit grounded in financial economics, asset valuation, property markets, and quantitative modeling. That training, reinforced by decades as a real estate investor and governance actor, shapes a distinctively market-oriented understanding of higher education—one that privileges measurable returns, financial discipline, and transactional accountability.

While these perspectives can contribute to cost control and fiscal stewardship, they also generate predictable and consequential blind spots when applied to institutions whose core purposes are epistemic, developmental, and democratic rather than market-optimizing.

Barker’s intellectual formation rests firmly within a positivist epistemological framework that treats value as something discoverable through quantification, comparability, and replicability. Real estate valuation depends on observable data—comparable sales, capitalization rates, discounted cash flows—to arrive at ostensibly objective measures of worth. Higher education, by contrast, encompasses vast domains of inquiry that resist quantification. The humanities and interpretive social sciences generate knowledge through close reading, archival reconstruction, ethnography, phenomenology, and critical theory—methods that foreground context, reflexivity, and meaning rather than numerical outputs.

An institutional ethnographer, for example, does not aim to optimize organizational efficiency but to understand how power, texts, and routines structure everyday academic life, often from the standpoint of marginalized actors. Such work deliberately rejects managerial abstraction in favor of situated understanding. From an asset-valuation perspective, this kind of scholarship appears unproductive, inefficient, or indulgent. Barker’s training offers little conceptual grounding for why a historian’s decade-long archival project on subaltern voices or a philosopher’s engagement with moral reasoning might be intrinsically valuable despite producing no immediate marketable deliverables.

This epistemological mismatch extends directly into student learning. Decades of higher education research conceptualize college as a developmental process encompassing cognitive complexity, identity formation, ethical reasoning, and critical consciousness. Theories such as Chickering’s vectors of identity development, Perry’s scheme of intellectual and ethical growth, and transformative learning theory emphasize qualitative shifts in how students interpret the world and their place within it.

Barker’s emphasis on return on investment and labor-market outcomes aligns instead with a human capital model that treats education as an economic input yielding wage premiums. This transactional framework struggles to accommodate the intrinsic, non-instrumental aims of liberal education—the cultivation of judgment, curiosity, civic responsibility, and reflective self-understanding. When learning is operationalized primarily through employment metrics, the deeper question of how students think, reason, and deliberate disappears from view.

Nowhere is the mismatch more consequential than in faculty governance and academic freedom. American higher education rests on shared governance, articulated in the AAUP’s 1966 Statement on Government of Colleges and Universities, which recognizes faculty as the primary stewards of curriculum, academic standards, and knowledge production.

Barker’s professional background emphasizes hierarchical authority, executive control, and fiduciary accountability—an orientation that mirrors corporate governance rather than collegial self-rule. His rhetoric echoes the managerial logic of the Jarratt Report era, which reimagined universities as corporate enterprises with academic units treated as cost centers. Barker has publicly described “battling a liberal university establishment,” mapping faculty political affiliations through voter registration data, closing departments, and curbing what he calls “indoctrination sessions.” These remarks reveal a view of faculty not as epistemic authorities but as politically suspect employees requiring surveillance and correction.

Applying asset-management logic to academic departments—judging their worth by enrollment figures or ideological balance rather than disciplinary contribution—misunderstands the distributed authority and intellectual autonomy on which academic quality depends.

Equally alien to financial logic are the tacit and relational dimensions of learning. Liberal education unfolds through mentorship, dialogue, sustained engagement with complexity, and the slow formation of intellectual dispositions. Its most profound effects often emerge years after graduation and cannot be pre-specified as metrics. Barker’s preference for standardizable outcomes and compliance-based accountability—reinforced by the Trump administration’s Compact for Academic Excellence—privileges what can be measured over what can be meaningfully understood.

The consequences are especially severe for community colleges and HBCUs. These institutions serve disproportionate numbers of low-income, first-generation, and historically marginalized students. Research consistently shows that equity gaps reflect structural inequalities in K–12 education, funding, and social stratification, not institutional inefficiency or lack of merit. Market-efficiency frameworks misread these realities, interpreting low completion rates as failure rather than as evidence of unmet structural obligations.

Saint Augustine’s University captured this tension in its response to Barker regarding the Compact for Academic Excellence, noting that restrictions on race-conscious policies conflict directly with HBCUs’ statutory mission under Title III of the Higher Education Act. Institutions designed to expand access cannot be evaluated using the same market metrics as selective research universities.

Barker’s antipathy toward critical pedagogy further reveals the limits of his framework. Educational traditions rooted in Paulo Freire, bell hooks, and Henry Giroux understand education as inherently political and aimed at developing critical consciousness and democratic agency. Barker’s efforts to eliminate diversity-related accreditation standards and suppress justice-oriented curricula position him in direct opposition to these traditions.

At stake are fundamentally different answers to the question of what education is for. Market logic prioritizes efficiency, credential exchange, and wage outcomes. Critical and liberal traditions prioritize human development, democratic participation, and knowledge for its own sake. Barker’s training provides no framework for adjudicating between these visions beyond market discipline.

The predictable consequences are already visible: epistemological narrowing, erosion of faculty autonomy, commodification of credentials, punitive accountability for equity-serving institutions, and deregulated accreditation that invites predatory actors. History shows that weakened oversight benefits for-profit extractive models, not students or the public good.

David R. Barker’s expertise equips him to manage balance sheets and assess asset performance. It does not equip him to steward institutions whose central purposes—knowledge creation, human development, and democratic citizenship—cannot be reduced to financial return. The conflict articulated by Saint Augustine’s University between equity mission and market mandate will define the next phase of federal postsecondary policy. Barker’s background does not prepare him to navigate that tension. It predisposes him to resolve it in favor of the market—and to treat the casualties as acceptable losses.


Sources

American Association of University Professors. Statement on Government of Colleges and Universities. 1966.

American Association of University Professors. 1940 Statement of Principles on Academic Freedom and Tenure, with 1970 Interpretive Comments.

Barker, David R. Real Estate, Real Estate Investment Trust, and Closed End Fund Valuation. Doctoral dissertation, University of Chicago, 1991.

Chickering, Arthur W., and Linda Reisser. Education and Identity. Second edition. Jossey-Bass, 1993.

Freire, Paulo. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Continuum, 1970.

Giroux, Henry A. Neoliberalism’s War on Higher Education. Haymarket Books, 2014.

hooks, bell. Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom. Routledge, 1994.

Jarratt, Alex. Report of the Steering Committee for Efficiency Studies in Universities. Committee of Vice-Chancellors and Principals, 1985.

Nelson, Cary. No University Is an Island: Saving Academic Freedom. New York University Press, 2010.

Perry, William G. Forms of Intellectual and Ethical Development in the College Years. Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1970.

Scott, James C. Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed. Yale University Press, 1998.

Slaughter, Sheila, and Gary Rhoades. Academic Capitalism and the New Economy. Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004.

Trow, Martin. “Problems in the Transition from Elite to Mass Higher Education.” OECD conference paper, 1973.

U.S. Department of Education. Compact for Academic Excellence. Trump administration policy framework, 2025.

U.S. Department of Education, Office of Postsecondary Education. Accreditation and State Authorization Regulations. Federal rulemakings and guidance, various years.

Yosso, Tara J. “Whose Culture Has Capital? A Critical Race Theory Discussion of Community Cultural Wealth.” Race Ethnicity and Education, 2005.

Friday, December 19, 2025

The Four Envelopes: A Cautionary Tale for Higher Education

When a new university president arrives on campus, they inherit more than a title and a set of obligations. They inherit a political ecosystem, a financial tangle, an entrenched culture of silence, and a long list of unresolved failures handed down like family heirlooms. Academic folklore captures this reality in the famous story of the three envelopes, a darkly humorous parable that has circulated for decades. But the contemporary landscape of higher education—with its billionaire trustees, private-equity logic, political interference, and donor-driven governance—demands an updated version. In 2025, the story no longer ends with three envelopes.

It begins the usual way. On the new president’s first day, they find a note from their predecessor and three envelopes in the top drawer. A few months later, enrollment stumbles, faculty grow restless, and trustees begin asking pointed questions. The president opens the first envelope. It reads: “Blame your predecessor.” And so they do, invoking inherited deficits, outdated practices, and “a period of transition.” Everyone relaxes. Nothing changes.

The second crisis comes with even less warning. Budget gaps widen. Donors back away. A scandal simmers. Morale erodes. The president remembers the drawer and opens the second envelope. It says: “Reorganize.” Suddenly the campus is flooded with restructuring proposals, new committees, new vice provosts, and flowcharts that signal movement rather than direction. The sense of activity buys time, which is all the president really needed.

Eventually comes the kind of crisis that neither blame nor reshuffling can contain: a revolt among faculty, a public scandal, a collapse in confidence from every constituency that actually keeps the university functioning. The president reaches for the third envelope. It contains the classic message: “Prepare three envelopes.” Leadership in higher education is cyclical, and presidents come and go with the expensive inevitability of presidential searches and golden-parachute departures.

But that is where the old story ends, and where the modern one begins.

In the updated version, the president sees one more envelope in the drawer. This one is heavier, embossed, and unmistakably official. When they open it, they find a severance agreement and a check already drafted. The fourth envelope is a parting gift from megadonor and trustee Marc Rowan.

The symbolism is blunt. In an era when billionaire donors treat universities like portfolio companies and ideological battlegrounds, presidential tenures can end not because of institutional failure but because the wrong donor was displeased. Rowan, the financier who helped drive leadership changes at the University of Pennsylvania, represents a broader shift in American higher education: presidents are increasingly accountable not to faculty, staff, students, or the public, but to wealthy benefactors whose money exerts gravitational pull over governance itself. When those benefactors want a president removed, the departure is not a matter of process or principle but of power.

The fourth envelope reveals the new architecture of control. It tells incoming presidents that their exit was negotiated before their first decision, that donor influence can override shared governance, and that golden severance packages can help smooth over conflicts between public mission and private interest. It is a warning to campus communities that transparency is not a value but an obstacle, and that leadership stability is fragile when tied to the preferences of a handful of financiers.

The revised story ends not with resignation but with a question: what happens to the public mission of a university when private wealth dictates its leadership? And how long will faculty, students, and staff tolerate a structure in which the highest office is subject not to democratic accountability but to donor impatience?

The four envelopes are no longer folklore. They are a mirror.

Sources
Chronicle of Higher Education reporting on donor-driven leadership pressure at Penn
Inside Higher Ed coverage on presidential turnover and governance conflicts
Public reporting on Marc Rowan’s influence in university decision-making
Research literature on billionaire philanthropy and power in higher education

Tuesday, December 16, 2025

Pyrrhic Defeat and the Student Loan Portfolio: How a Managed Meltdown Enables Unauthorized Asset Sales

In classical history, a Pyrrhic victory refers to a win so costly that it undermines the very cause it was meant to advance. Less discussed, but increasingly relevant to modern governance, is the inverse strategy: the Pyrrhic defeat. In this model, short-term failure is tolerated—or even cultivated—because it enables outcomes that would otherwise be politically, legally, or institutionally impossible. When applied to public finance, pyrrhic defeat theory helps explain how the apparent collapse of a system can be leveraged to justify radical restructuring, privatization, or liquidation of public assets.

Nowhere is this framework more relevant than in the management of the federal student loan portfolio.

The federal student loan portfolio, totaling roughly $1.6 to $1.7 trillion, is not merely an accounting entry. It is one of the largest consumer credit systems in the world and functions simultaneously as a public policy tool, a long-term revenue stream, a data infrastructure, and a political liability. It shapes who can access higher education, how risk is distributed across generations, and how the federal government exerts leverage over the postsecondary sector. Precisely because of its scale and visibility, the portfolio is uniquely vulnerable to narrative reframing.

That vulnerability was not accidental. It was constructed over decades through a series of policy decisions that stripped borrowers of normal consumer protections while preserving the financial attractiveness of student debt as an asset. Chief among these decisions was the gradual removal of bankruptcy protections for student loans. By rendering student debt effectively nondischargeable except under the narrow and punitive “undue hardship” standard, lawmakers transformed education loans into a uniquely durable financial instrument. Unlike mortgages, credit cards, or medical debt, student loans could follow borrowers for life, enforced through wage garnishment, tax refund seizure, and Social Security offsets.

This transformation made student loans exceptionally attractive for securitization. Student Loan Asset-Backed Securities, or SLABS, flourished precisely because the underlying loans were shielded from traditional credit risk. Investors could rely not on educational outcomes or borrower prosperity, but on the legal certainty that the debt would remain collectible. Even during economic downturns, SLABS were marketed as relatively stable instruments, insulated from the discharge risks that plagued other forms of consumer credit.

Private banks once dominated this market. Sallie Mae, originally a government-sponsored enterprise, became a central player in both originating and securitizing student loans, while Navient emerged as a major servicer and asset manager. Yet as Higher Education Inquirer documented in early 2025, banks ultimately lost control of student lending. Rising defaults, public outrage, state enforcement actions, and mounting evidence of predatory practices made the sector politically radioactive. The federal government stepped in not as a reformer, but as a backstop, absorbing the portfolio and stabilizing a system private finance could no longer manage without reputational and regulatory risk.

That history reveals a recurring pattern. When student lending fails in private hands, it becomes public. When the public system is allowed to fail, it becomes ripe for re-privatization.

A portfolio does not need to collapse to be declared unmanageable. It only needs to appear dysfunctional enough to justify extraordinary intervention.

The post-pandemic repayment restart, persistent servicing failures, legal challenges to income-driven repayment plans, and widespread borrower confusion have all contributed to a growing narrative of systemic breakdown. Servicers such as Maximus, operating under the Aidvantage brand, MOHELA, and others have struggled to process payments accurately, manage forgiveness programs, and provide reliable customer service. These failures are often framed as bureaucratic incompetence rather than as predictable consequences of outsourcing public functions to private contractors whose incentives are misaligned with borrower welfare.

Navient’s exit from federal servicing did not mark a retreat from the student loan ecosystem so much as a repositioning, as it continued to benefit from private loan portfolios and legacy SLABS exposure. Sallie Mae, rebranded and fully privatized, remains deeply embedded in the private student loan market, which continues to rely on the same nondischargeability framework that props up federal lending.

Crucially, these servicing failures cannot be separated from the earlier elimination of bankruptcy as a safety valve. In normal credit markets, distress is resolved through restructuring or discharge. In student lending, distress accumulates. Borrowers remain trapped, servicers remain paid, and policymakers are confronted with a swelling mass of unresolved debt that can be labeled a crisis at any politically convenient moment.

Under pyrrhic defeat theory, such a crisis is not merely tolerated. It is useful.

Once the federal portfolio is framed as broken beyond repair, the range of acceptable solutions expands. What would be politically impossible in a stable system becomes plausible in an emergency. Asset transfers, securitization of federal loans, expansion of SLABS-like instruments backed by government guarantees, or long-term conveyance of servicing and collection rights can be presented as pragmatic fixes rather than ideological choices.

A Trump administration would be particularly well positioned to exploit this dynamic. Skeptical of debt relief, hostile to administrative governance, and ideologically aligned with privatization, such an administration could recast the portfolio as a failed public experiment inherited from predecessors. In that framing, selling or offloading the portfolio is not an abdication of responsibility but an act of fiscal discipline.

Importantly, this need not take the form of an explicit, congressionally authorized sale. Risk can be shifted through securitization. Revenue streams can be monetized. Servicing authority can be extended indefinitely to private firms. Data control can migrate outside public oversight. Over time, these steps amount to de facto privatization, even if the loans remain nominally federal. The infrastructure, incentives, and profits move outward, while the political blame remains with the state.

This is where earlier McKinsey & Company studies reenter the conversation. Long before the current turmoil, McKinsey analyses identified high servicing costs, fragmented contractor oversight, weak borrower segmentation, and low political returns on administrative complexity. While framed as efficiency critiques, these studies implicitly favored market-oriented restructuring. In a crisis environment, such recommendations become blueprints for divestment.

The danger of a pyrrhic defeat strategy is that it delivers a short-term political win at the cost of long-term public capacity. Selling or functionally privatizing the student loan portfolio may improve fiscal optics, but it permanently weakens democratic control over higher education finance. Borrowers, already stripped of bankruptcy protections, lose what remains of public accountability. Policymakers lose leverage over tuition inflation and institutional behavior. The federal government relinquishes a powerful counter-cyclical tool. What remains is a debt regime optimized for extraction, enforced by servicers, securitized for investors, and detached from educational outcomes.

The defeat is real. It is borne by students, families, and future generations. The victory belongs to those who acquire distressed public assets and those who benefit ideologically from shrinking the public sphere.

Pyrrhic defeat theory reminds us that collapse is not always accidental. In the case of the federal student loan portfolio, what appears to be dysfunction or incompetence may instead be strategic surrender: a willingness to let a public system deteriorate so that it can be sold off, securitized, or outsourced under the banner of necessity. If that happens, it will not be remembered as a policy error, but as a deliberate transfer of public wealth and power—made possible by decades of legal engineering that began when bankruptcy protection was taken away and ended with student debt transformed into a permanent financial asset.


Sources

Higher Education Inquirer. “When Banks Lost Control of Student Loan Lending.” January 2025.
https://www.highereducationinquirer.org/2025/01/when-banks-lost-control-of-student-loan.html

U.S. Department of Education, Federal Student Aid. FY 2024 Annual Agency Performance Report. January 13, 2025.

U.S. Department of Education, Federal Student Aid. Federal Student Loan Portfolio Data and Statistics, various years.

Government Accountability Office. Student Loans: Key Weaknesses in Servicing and Oversight, multiple reports.

Congressional Budget Office. The Federal Student Loan Portfolio: Budgetary Costs and Policy Options.

U.S. Congress. Bankruptcy Abuse Prevention and Consumer Protection Act of 2005 and prior amendments affecting student loan dischargeability.

Pardo, Rafael I., and Michelle R. Lacey. “The Real Student-Loan Scandal: Undue Hardship Discharge Litigation.” American Bankruptcy Law Journal.

Financial Crisis Inquiry Commission materials on asset-backed securities and consumer credit markets.

McKinsey & Company. Student Loan Servicing, Portfolio Optimization, and Risk Management Analyses, prepared for federal agencies and financial institutions, 2010s–early 2020s.

Higher Education Inquirer archives on SLABS, servicers, privatization, deregulation, and student loan policy.

Monday, December 8, 2025

2U: The Prestige of Partnership — and the Problem of Unclear Payoff

For more than a decade, 2U has presented itself as a premier intermediary between elite universities and the expanding global audience for online higher education. The company’s roster of partners includes some of the most recognizable names in academia, as well as a growing list of selective, mid-tier, and international institutions. On its public site, 2U highlights collaborations with universities such as Yale, Northwestern, North Carolina–Chapel Hill, Pepperdine, Maryville, and the University of Surrey. The message is unmistakable: if universities of this caliber trust 2U with their online programs, then students should as well.

These partnerships have fueled the impression that 2U-supported programs deliver high-quality, academically rigorous education backed by prestigious institutional brands. For many learners, especially working adults, international students, and career switchers, such arrangements offer a seemingly ideal blend: the name of an elite university, the flexibility of online learning, and access to fields where credentials are increasingly necessary.

Yet beneath the glossy presentation and impressive partner list, fundamental questions remain unanswered. Despite working with many of the world’s most respected institutions, 2U still does not provide sufficient data to determine the true value of the programs it supports. Even as universities lend their names and curricula, the real-world outcomes of students enrolled in 2U-powered programs remain opaque.

The core difficulty lies in the mismatch between the prestige of the institution and the limited transparency around program performance. For years, 2U issued annual “Transparency and Outcomes” reports designed to demonstrate impact and accountability across its portfolio. But the most recent report available to the public is from 2023. In the fast-moving world of online education—where competition has intensified, student expectations have shifted, and 2U itself has undergone significant financial turmoil—data that old is no longer a reliable indicator of the current state of programs.

This lack of updated reporting is especially notable given 2U’s recent trajectory. After years of rising debt and declining investor confidence, the company filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy in 2024. Although it has since emerged under new ownership with a streamlined balance sheet, questions persist about its future direction, the stability of its services, and whether its partnerships will endure in their current form. For universities, outsourcing key functions such as marketing, recruitment, student support, and technological infrastructure may expand enrollment and revenue, but it also raises concerns about the consistency and quality of the student experience—areas that become even more vulnerable when the partner company faces financial strain.

This structural opacity makes it nearly impossible for students, policymakers, or even universities themselves to determine whether these programs provide a meaningful return on investment. A degree or certificate bearing the name of Yale or Pepperdine may confer a level of brand recognition, but what does it signify in practice? Are students completing programs at comparable rates to on-campus peers? Are they finding jobs in their fields? Are they earning more than they would have without the credential? Are they satisfied with the instruction, advising, and support they receive? Without rigorous, current, and independently verified data, these remain open—and critical—questions.

The challenge is not solely financial or operational. It is also conceptual. The surge in online learning has created a vast gray zone between institutional brand and educational substance. While universities retain control over academic content, the underlying delivery mechanisms are increasingly intermediated by firms like 2U. Students may assume that an online master’s degree from a prestigious university carries the same weight as an on-campus equivalent, but the learning environments, student services, and community-building opportunities differ dramatically. In many cases, the online experience is shaped more by 2U’s systems and staff than by the university itself.

For prospective students, the implication is clear: a well-known university name is not a guarantee of value. For universities, the stakes are equally high. Partnering with a third-party company can expand their reach, but it can also blur the boundaries of academic identity and accountability. And for anyone tracking the direction of higher education more broadly, 2U’s situation serves as a cautionary example of how prestige can mask the absence of meaningful transparency—and how quickly the economics of online learning can shift.

Until 2U produces up-to-date, independently verifiable data about program quality and student outcomes, the value of its offerings remains an open question. The partnerships look impressive. The marketing is compelling. But the evidence is missing.


Sources

2U Partners Page
2U 2023 Transparency and Outcomes Report
2U announcements on new degree partnerships and expansions
Washington Post coverage of 2U’s 2024 bankruptcy filing
PR Newswire statements on 2U’s financial restructuring and emergence as a private company

Thursday, December 4, 2025

HEI Investigation: FAFSA (Financial Aid) Fraud

26-00780-F  

The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) is requesting all emails, memos, and meeting notes between FSA leadership and ED leadership from January 2022–present referencing fraudulent FAFSA submissions, identity theft, synthetic identities, or the need for strengthened ID verification. (Date Range for Record Search: From 01/10/2022 To 12/02/2025)

26-00779-F  
The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) is requesting from the FSA Office of the Chief Information Officer, all security assessments, vulnerability reports, or risk analyses referencing the FAFSA processing system (FPS), identity verification, or bot-driven application spikes from 2020–present. This includes reports about warnings about bots, concerns about insufficient authentication, and breaches or near-breaches that the public never hears about.  (Date Range for Record Search: From 01/10/2020 To 12/02/2025)

26-00777-F  
The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) is asking for any and all FSA records, reports, data dashboards, spreadsheets, audits, or communications from January 2023–present that track or analyze fraudulent FAFSA submissions, including synthetic identities, ghost students, identity verification failures, or suspected fraud rings. This includes documents prepared for FSA leadership, ED leadership, OMB, or the OIG. (Date Range for Record Search: From 01/01/2023 To 12/02/2025)

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The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) is requesting all emails from the US Department of Education regarding selling off the student loan portfolio.   (Date Range for Record Search: From 01/10/2025 To 11/27/2025)

26-00023-F-IG  
The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) is requesting any and all correspondence between the ED-OIG and the University of Phoenix regarding unusual or suspicious FAFSA applications from 1/1/2020 and 11/26/2025 (Date Range for Record Search: From 01/01/2020 To 11/26/2025)

26-00709-F  
The Higher Education Inquirer is requesting any and all email correspondence between the US Department of Education and the Thompson Coburn Law Firm from January 6, 2025 to November 24, 2025.  We are particularly interested in the following areas related to higher education:
Gainful Employment
Bare Minimum Rule
Borrower Defense to Repayment
Student Loan Forgiveness
Title IX
False Claims Act
Federal Funding Freeze Litigation
DEI Executive Orders Litigation, the Dear Colleague Letter Litigation, and DOJ’s July 2025 Guidance on Unlawful Discrimination
Executive Order 14242 Directing the Closure of ED
Grant Termination
Rate Cap Policy Litigation
Student and Exchange Visitor Program Litigation
Legality of Nationwide Injunctions
Program Participation Agreement Signatory Litigation (Date Range for Record Search: From 01/06/2025 To 11/24/2025)

26-00697-F
The Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) is requesting any and all correspondence pertaining to "unusual" or "suspicious" activity regarding FAFSA applications involving the University of Phoenix.  Phoenix Education Partners CEO Chris Lynne has recently acknowledged this issue.   (Date Range for Record Search: From 01/01/2024 To 11/23/2025)
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 26-00697-F  

Tuesday, November 11, 2025

Divestment from Predatory Education Stocks: A Moral Imperative

Calls for divestment from exploitative industries have long been part of movements for social and economic justice—whether opposing apartheid, fossil fuels, or private prisons. Today, another sector demands moral scrutiny: the network of for-profit education corporations and student loan servicers that have turned higher learning into a site of mass indebtedness and despair. From predatory colleges to the companies that profit from collecting on student debt, the system functions as a pipeline of extraction. For those who believe education should serve the public good, the issue is not merely financial—it is moral.

The Human Cost of Predatory Education

For decades, for-profit college chains such as Corinthian Colleges, ITT Tech, the University of Phoenix, DeVry, and Capella targeted low-income students, veterans, single parents, and people of color with high-pressure marketing and promises of career advancement. These institutions, funded primarily through federal student aid, often charged premium tuition for substandard programs that left graduates worse off than when they began.

When Corinthian and ITT Tech collapsed, they left hundreds of thousands of students with worthless credits and mountains of debt. But the collapse did not end the exploitation—it simply shifted it. The business model has re-emerged in online form through education technology and “online program management” (OPM) firms such as 2U, Coursera, and Academic Partnerships. These firms, in partnership with elite universities like Harvard, Yale, and USC, replicate the same dynamics of inflated costs, opaque contracts, and limited accountability.

The Servicing of Debt as a Business Model

Beyond the schools themselves, student loan servicers and collectors—Maximus, Sallie Mae, and Navient among them—have built immense profits from managing and pursuing student debt. Sallie Mae, once a government-sponsored enterprise, was privatized in the 2000s and evolved into a powerful lender and loan securitizer. Navient, its spinoff, became notorious for deceptive practices and aggressive collections that trapped borrowers in cycles of delinquency.

Maximus, a major federal contractor, now services defaulted student loans on behalf of the U.S. Department of Education. These companies profit directly from the misery of borrowers—many of whom are victims of predatory schools or structural inequality. Their incentive is not to liberate students from debt, but to sustain and expand it.

The Role of Institutional Investors

The complicity of institutional investors cannot be ignored. Pension funds, endowments, and major asset managers have consistently financed both for-profit colleges and loan servicers, even after repeated scandals and lawsuits. Public sector pension funds—ironically funded by educators—have held stock in Navient, Maximus, and large for-profit college operators. Endowments that pride themselves on ethical or ESG investing have too often overlooked education profiteering.

Investment firms like BlackRock, Vanguard, and State Street collectively hold billions of dollars in these companies, stabilizing an industry that thrives on the financial vulnerability of students. To profit from predatory education is to participate, however indirectly, in the commodification of aspiration.

Divestment as a Moral and Educational Act

Divesting from predatory education companies and loan servicers is not just an act of conscience—it is an educational statement in itself. It affirms that learning should be a vehicle for liberation, not a mechanism of debt servitude. When universities, pension boards, and faith-based investors divest from corporations like Maximus, Navient, and 2U, they are reclaiming education’s moral purpose.

The divestment movement offers a broader civic lesson: that profit and progress are not synonymous, and that investment must align with justice. Faith communities, student debt activists, and labor unions have made similar stands before—against apartheid, tobacco, and fossil fuels. The same principle applies here. An enterprise that depends on deception, coercion, and financial harm has no place in a socially responsible portfolio.

A Call to Action

Transparency is essential. Pension boards, university endowments, and foundations must disclose their holdings in for-profit education and student loan servicing companies. Independent investigations should assess the human consequences of these investments, particularly their disproportionate impact on women, veterans, and people of color.

The next step is moral divestment. Educational institutions, public pension systems, and religious organizations should commit to withdrawing investments from predatory education stocks and debt servicers. Funds should be redirected to debt relief, community college programs, and initiatives that restore trust in education as a public good.

The corporate education complex—spanning recruitment, instruction, lending, and collection—has monetized both hope and hardship. The time has come to sever public and institutional complicity in this cycle. Education should empower, not impoverish. Divestment is not merely symbolic—it is a declaration of values, a demand for accountability, and a reaffirmation of education’s original promise: to serve humanity rather than exploit it.


Sources:

  • U.S. Department of Education, Borrower Defense to Repayment Reports

  • Senate HELP Committee, For Profit Higher Education: The Failure to Safeguard the Federal Investment and Ensure Student Success (2012)

  • Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB) enforcement actions against Navient and Sallie Mae

  • The Century Foundation, Online Program Managers and the Public Interest

  • Student Borrower Protection Center, Profiting from Pain: The Financialization of the Student Debt Crisis

  • Higher Education Inquirer archives

Saturday, August 30, 2025

Pigs on Parade: The University of Phoenix IPO

Apollo Global Management and Vistria have an offer only a pig would consider: the Phoenix Education Partners IPO.

Touted by Morgan Stanley, Goldman Sachs, Bank of Montreal, Jefferies, and Apollo Global Securities, the offering of Phoenix Education Partners brings the University of Phoenix (PXED) back to public markets—but few fans remain in the audience.


A Decade of Decline: From Expansion to Erosion

In the early 2000s, the University of Phoenix was hailed as a pioneering force in adult education—cozy campuses near freeway exits and an advanced online infrastructure for working learners earned praise. Its founder John Sperling was seen as visionary.

But by 2010 enrollment had already begun plummeting after reaching nearly 470,000 students, and the school’s academic quality and recruiting ethics were under the microscope. Critics decried “The Matrix,” a perverse scheme where recruiters were aggressively incentivized to push enrollments—no matter the cost.

By 2018, more than 450 locations had shuttered, enrollment was down by approximately 80%, and half the remaining sites were no longer accepting new students. Even Hawaii, Jersey City, Detroit, and other major cities were on the closure list.


Regulatory Fallout: Lawsuits, Settlements, and Borrower Defenses

From the early 2010s onward, the University of Phoenix (aka UoPX) saw an avalanche of legal scrutiny. In 2019, the FTC leveled a $191 million settlement against it for misleading advertising, including deceptive claims about job placement and corporate partnerships.

By late 2023, 73,740 borrower-defense claims had been filed by former students under federal programs. Many of these were settled under the Sweet v. Cardona class action, with estimates of the university’s potential liability ranging from $200 million to over $1 billion. Meanwhile, nearly one million debtors owed a combined $21.6 billion in student loans—about $22,000 per borrower on average.

Another flashpoint: UoPX agreed to pay $4.5 million in 2024 to settle investigations by California’s Attorney General over military-targeted recruiting tactics.


The Ownership Unicorn: Apollo, Vistria, and Political Backing

After Apollo Global Management and the Vistria Group acquired UoPX in 2016, the school became a commodified unit in a larger private equity portfolio. The deal brought in figures like Tony Miller, a political insider, as chairman—signaling strategic power play as much as financial management.

Vistria’s broader stable included Risepoint (previously Academic Partnerships), meaning both UoPX and OPM entities were controlled by one private-equity firm—drawing criticism for creating a “for-profit, online-education industrial complex.”


The IPO Circus: “Pigs on Parade”

Enter the Phoenix Education Partners IPO (PXED), steered onto the market with all the pomp of a carnival but none of the substance. The front-line banks—Morgan Stanley, Goldman Sachs, BMO, Jefferies, Apollo Global Securities—are being paid handsomely to dress up this distressed asset as a growth opportunity.

But here’s what those colorful floats hide:

  • Collapse, not comeback. Enrollment and campus infrastructure have withered.

  • Debt, not opportunity. Nearly a million debt-laden alumni owe $21.6 billion.

  • Liability, not credibility. Borrower defense claims and state investigations continue to mount.

  • Profit, not public good. Ownership is consolidated in private equity with political access, not academic mission.

This is a pig in parade attire. Investors are being asked to cheer for ribbon-cutting and banners, while the mud-stained hooves of exploitative business models trudge behind.


The HEI Verdict

This PXED IPO isn’t a pivot toward better education—it’s a rebrand of an exploitative legacy. From aggressive recruitment of vulnerable populations (“sandwich moms,” military servicemembers) to mounting legal liabilities, the University of Phoenix remains the same broken system.

Investors, regulators, and the public must not be dazzled by slick packaging. The real story is one of failed promises, students carrying lifelong debt, and private equity cashing out. In education, as in livestock, parades are meant to show off—just make sure you're not cheering at the wrong spectacle.


Sources

  • Higher Education Inquirer. Search: University of Phoenix

  • Higher Education Inquirer. “The Slow-Motion Collapse of America’s Largest University” (2018)

  • Higher Education Inquirer. “University of Phoenix Collapse Kept Quiet” (2019)

  • Higher Education Inquirer. “Fraud Claims Against University of Phoenix” (2023)

  • Higher Education Inquirer. “University of Phoenix Uses ‘Sandwich Moms’ in Recruiting” (2025)

  • Higher Education Inquirer. “What Do the University of Phoenix and Risepoint Have in Common?” (2025)

  • Federal Trade Commission. “FTC Obtains $191 Million Settlement from University of Phoenix” (2019)

  • Sweet v. Cardona Settlement Documents (2022–2023)

  • California Attorney General. “University of Phoenix to Pay $4.5 Million Over Deceptive Military Recruiting” (2024)

Saturday, August 9, 2025

The Higher Education Inquirer: Investigating the Dark Corners of U.S. Higher Ed

For nearly a decade, the Higher Education Inquirer (HEI) has cultivated a reputation for relentless, independent journalism in a field often dominated by press-release rewrites and trade-conference boosterism. In 2024 and 2025, that commitment has been on full display, with a series of investigations that not only expose institutional negligence and corporate greed, but also demand structural change.

Following the Money: GI Bill Loopholes and Veteran Betrayal

One of HEI’s most impactful 2025 stories examined how billions in GI Bill funds—more than Pell Grants or state scholarships—are diverted to for-profit and low-performing nonprofit institutions. Despite promises of career advancement, many veterans end up underemployed and in debt. The reporting points to deliberate policy gaps, such as the weakened 90–10 rule, that incentivize predatory recruitment over educational quality.

Student Debt Transparency: A FOIA Offensive

HEI has also launched an ambitious Freedom of Information Act campaign to shed light on the federal student loan portfolio and on how rarely student loan debt is discharged through bankruptcy. Requests to the Department of Education seek data going back to 1965—records that could help quantify decades of policy drift away from borrower relief.

The FOIA strategy doesn’t stop at the Department of Education. HEI has queried the Securities and Exchange Commission for complaint data against online program managers 2U and Ambow Education, bringing corporate accountability into sharper focus.

Beyond the Campus: Immigration, Religion, and Geopolitics

While student debt remains a central concern, HEI has broadened its investigative reach. In March 2025, it filed a FOIA with the State Department for details on more than 300 revoked student visas, a move to illuminate opaque policies that can upend lives without public explanation.

Other pieces have examined the rise of Christian cybercharter schools, warning of a drift toward ideological indoctrination in taxpayer-funded education. Internationally, HEI has scrutinized the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation’s U.S. media tour, questioning the intersection of higher education, faith-based advocacy, and political agendas.

Why This Work Matters

What makes HEI’s journalism unique is its sustained follow-through. Many outlets publish a single exposé and move on. HEI revisits stories months or years later, tracking the real-world consequences of policy changes and institutional behavior. This persistence has helped keep public attention on issues like the Corinthian Colleges collapse and the broader failure to deliver promised student debt relief.

By pairing data-driven reporting with insider accounts and whistleblower input, HEI not only documents abuse but also lays out pathways for reform. In a higher education system where financialized logic often outweighs student welfare, that combination is increasingly rare—and increasingly necessary.


Sources:

Saturday, August 2, 2025

From Hackathon to Higher Ed: BlackRock’s Quiet Capture of the University

BlackRock’s recent promotional piece, “From Hackathon to Higher Ed: The BlackRock for Universities Story,” presents the financial giant as an innovative, student-focused partner in education. On the surface, it’s a compelling narrative: a creative idea born at a company hackathon grows into a program that gives college students access to powerful investment tools and mentorship from professionals. But beneath this polished story lies a deeper concern—one that speaks to the creeping corporatization of higher education and the normalization of Wall Street ideologies on campus.

BlackRock for Universities (BLK4U) isn’t just an educational outreach initiative. It’s a branding vehicle. It exposes students—especially those in student-managed investment funds (SMIFs)—to BlackRock’s proprietary Aladdin platform, a cornerstone of the company’s vast influence in the global asset management industry. The program’s reach into university classrooms and finance labs presents itself as educational, but it’s fundamentally about cultivating loyalty and familiarity with BlackRock’s tools and worldview.

BLK4U’s narrative of empowerment masks a deeper structural reality: it privileges institutions that already have access to well-funded investment programs. While the article notes some outreach to HBCUs and diverse student groups, the core of the initiative targets elite universities with robust finance programs. The result is a form of digital gatekeeping, where certain students are primed to succeed in finance while others are left out of the pipeline entirely. Rather than democratizing opportunity, BLK4U reinforces existing hierarchies—between institutions, students, and regions.

What’s missing from BlackRock’s story is any serious reflection on the ethical dimensions of its work or the broader implications of its presence in academia. Students aren’t being asked to examine the role that BlackRock plays in climate finance, corporate governance, housing markets, or public pensions. They’re not learning about the critiques of financialization or the democratic consequences of concentrated economic power. They’re learning how to use Aladdin.

In this way, BLK4U exemplifies the shift from education as a public good to education as workforce training. Students are taught to speak the language of portfolio optimization, but not to question why wealth is so unequally distributed or how the financial sector has shaped those outcomes. They’re trained in storytelling, but not in accountability.

The story’s hackathon origin is meant to emphasize grassroots innovation, but hackathons themselves are often used within corporations to generate ideas that serve institutional goals—not the public interest. It’s unlikely that a program like BLK4U would have moved forward if it didn’t align with BlackRock’s long-term strategy of influence-building, talent acquisition, and brand saturation. Calling this initiative a “win for students” is disingenuous without acknowledging the asymmetries of power it reinforces.

Even BlackRock’s claim to promote “financial well-being” deserves scrutiny. Whose financial well-being? For whom is this education truly built? The firm manages trillions in assets for governments, pension funds, and corporations, but its influence has drawn bipartisan criticism—from the left for its role in exacerbating inequality and climate risk, and from the right for its ESG positions and market dominance. Embedding BlackRock’s ideology into college finance programs risks training the next generation of financial professionals not to challenge that power, but to replicate it.

What we see in BLK4U is not an isolated case, but part of a broader trend in which corporate actors shape higher education behind the scenes. Whether through tech platforms, consulting partnerships, or curriculum design, companies like BlackRock are quietly steering the future of education toward their own ends. These programs may look like public service, but they function as strategic investments in control and compliance.

As the Higher Education Inquirer has long documented, the privatization of knowledge and the encroachment of financial interests into academic life are not theoretical concerns—they are unfolding in real time. BlackRock’s venture into the classroom is not just a story about mentorship or innovation. It’s a story about soft power, captured institutions, and the narrowing of what education is allowed to be.

In a truly democratic education system, students would not only learn how to use tools like Aladdin—they would also learn how to critique them. Until that’s part of the curriculum, programs like BLK4U deserve far more skepticism than celebration.

Tuesday, July 29, 2025

Triumphalism in Decline: A Critique of “They Attack Because We’re Strong”

In his recent Inside Higher Ed opinion piece, “They Attack Because We’re Strong,” Frank Fernandez argues that American higher education is under fire not because it is failing, but because it is too powerful and influential. He calls for a long-view perspective that celebrates the accomplishments of U.S. colleges and universities over the past century. But his essay—well-intentioned as it may be—reads less as a sober reflection and more as institutional nostalgia, untethered from the brutal realities of the present.

Fernandez’s triumphalism overlooks or distorts several truths. It is true that U.S. universities have had moments of undeniable achievement: scientific breakthroughs, professional training, and expansion of access. But to say “higher education won” is to ignore the hollowing out of public trust, the corporatization of academia, and the structural harm inflicted on millions of students and contingent workers. If this is victory, it has come at a staggering cost.

“Higher Education Won”? Who Lost?

One of the glaring absences in Fernandez’s narrative is any sustained acknowledgment of the student debt crisis—more than $1.7 trillion in outstanding loans that have left borrowers in financial limbo for decades. The author does not address how rising tuition, stagnating wages, and declining public investment have turned the promise of higher education into a burden for the working class and communities of color.

Nor does he wrestle with the implications of an adjunct majority workforce. Most college instructors today work under precarious contracts with little pay, no benefits, and no job security. This is not a sign of institutional strength. It is a labor crisis.

The rhetorical move to compare today’s struggles with the early 20th century glosses over the fact that the institutions that once expanded access are now increasingly exclusionary. Public flagships and elite privates alike are doubling down on selectivity, building billion-dollar endowments, and investing in luxury amenities while cutting humanities departments and hiking student fees.

If the past 100 years have brought expansion, the past 20 have brought erosion.

Legitimacy Cannot Be Willed into Being

Fernandez concedes that “our challenge in this new era is primarily one of legitimacy.” But he frames this as a problem of perception, not performance. He cites faculty critiques over gendered language in a voter turnout study as a distraction, implying that the real work of the academy is hindered by too much internal debate. But that line of thinking presumes that legitimacy can be restored by tone and unity, not by systemic reform.

Legitimacy is not gained by declaring relevance—it is earned through material impact. That means resisting extractive tuition models, ending the abuse of contingent labor, and seriously confronting how the industry has facilitated racial and economic stratification.

It also means acknowledging that some of the conservative critiques—about administrative bloat, about ideological insularity, about weak accountability mechanisms—are not entirely without merit. These issues are not the inventions of “Trump acolytes,” but of decades of elite capture and mission drift.

A House Divided

Perhaps most troubling is Fernandez’s call for national solidarity among faculty and institutional leaders, modeled after the early AAUP. But today’s higher education system is profoundly stratified. Community colleges face declining enrollments and funding cliffs. HBCUs and regional publics have long been underresourced. For-profit colleges exploit the most vulnerable. And elite institutions continue to hoard wealth and status.

There is no shared struggle here. There is no unified front. The idea that faculty from a state university in Texas or an adjunct at a California community college share the same institutional mission as leadership at Princeton or Stanford is a comforting illusion. Solidarity will not emerge without reckoning with this inequality.

Conclusion

Fernandez asks us to see the attacks on higher ed as a signal of strength. But what if these attacks are, in part, the result of decades of institutional failure? What if irrelevance is not imposed from the outside but cultivated from within—through inaccessibility, arrogance, and systemic exploitation?

If higher education is to have a future worth defending, it will require more than collective nostalgia and appeals to tradition. It will require a commitment to equity, transparency, and accountability—not just to the ideals of the past, but to the people failed by the system today.

Sources:

  • U.S. Department of Education. “Student Loan Portfolio Summary.” Federal Student Aid.

  • AAUP. “Data Snapshot: Contingent Faculty in US Higher Ed.”

  • Center for American Progress. “The Cost of Cuts: A Look at the Ongoing Crisis in Public Higher Education.”

  • Georgetown University CEW. “The College Payoff.”

  • The Century Foundation. “How Public Colleges Have Been Undermined.”

  • National Center for Education Statistics (NCES). Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System (IPEDS).

Tuesday, July 22, 2025

Crisis Talk as Business Strategy: A Review of a Chronicle of Higher Education Mass Email

On July 22, 2025, The Chronicle of Higher Education distributed a mass email promoting an upcoming online event titled “The Path Ahead for Higher Ed”. The message, signed by Deputy Managing Editor Ian Wilhelm, framed the event as a vital opportunity for “higher ed’s business and nonprofit partners” to better understand the current challenges colleges face and how they might “help and provide value.”

While presented as a call for collaboration, the subtext of the message suggests a commercial logic that raises deeper questions about the Chronicle’s position in the higher education ecosystem. The email is not aimed at students, educators, or the broader public, but rather at vendors and consultants — those who stand to profit from institutional volatility.

Key Themes: Crisis and Commerce

Wilhelm identifies a list of familiar problems: demographic shifts, declining admissions, skepticism about the value of a degree, student protests, and political upheaval. These issues are real. According to data from the National Student Clearinghouse, total postsecondary enrollment in the U.S. has declined by more than 10 percent since 2012, with sharper drops among community colleges and for-profit institutions.

A recent ECMC Foundation survey (2024) shows that just 39 percent of teenagers believe education beyond high school is necessary — down from 60 percent in 2019. Public trust in higher education has also declined. A 2023 Gallup poll showed that only 36 percent of Americans had a “great deal” or “quite a lot” of confidence in colleges and universities, down from 57 percent in 2015.

What’s less clear is how a marketing webinar for outside vendors will meaningfully address these structural issues. The Chronicle’s event is positioned not as a public forum or investigative inquiry, but as a networking and insight session for firms involved in “technology, student services, consulting, design, or another function.” The framing shifts the conversation from public good to private opportunity.

The Chronicle’s Role: Observer or Participant?

For decades, The Chronicle of Higher Education has maintained a reputation as a leading source of news and analysis on academia. But it also functions as a platform for advertisers and vendors to access a lucrative market of institutional clients. In 2023, The Chronicle earned an estimated 65 percent of its revenue from advertising and sponsored content, according to industry data aggregated by MediaRadar.

This business model complicates its journalistic neutrality, especially when the publication hosts events that blur the line between reporting and consulting. The July email does not disclose whether the August 13 session is sponsored, or which companies may be involved. Nor does it acknowledge the Chronicle’s role in promoting firms that may contribute to the very instability being discussed — including online program managers (OPMs), edtech platforms, and private equity–backed service providers.

The Missing Voices

Absent from the message are the voices of students, contingent faculty, and debt-burdened alumni — those most impacted by the policies and market strategies shaping higher education. Nearly 70 percent of instructional staff in U.S. colleges are now non-tenure-track, often working without benefits or job security. Student loan debt remains at $1.7 trillion, with over 5 million borrowers in default as of early 2025, according to Federal Student Aid.

These constituencies are not addressed in the email. Instead, the implicit audience is those with the capital and infrastructure to offer “solutions” to the crisis — many of whom have historically benefited from that very crisis.

Chronicle of Higher Ed Business

The Chronicle’s invitation reflects a common pattern in U.S. higher education: the packaging of systemic decline as a service opportunity. Whether the August 13 event delivers meaningful insight or simply reinforces the revolving door between higher education institutions and their vendors remains to be seen.

But the framing is clear. This is not a convening to discuss how to reduce tuition, reinvest in teaching, or restore public trust. It is a pitch to business partners on how to better position themselves in a distressed but still profitable sector.


Sources:

National Student Clearinghouse Research Center, “Current Term Enrollment Estimates,” Spring 2024
ECMC Foundation, “Question the Quo Survey,” 2024
Gallup, “Confidence in Institutions,” 2023
MediaRadar, “Education Media Ad Spend Trends,” 2023
U.S. Department of Education, Federal Student Aid Portfolio, Q1 2025
American Association of University Professors (AAUP), “Annual Report on the Economic Status of the Profession,” 2024

Monday, July 14, 2025

Did Higher Education Ever Have a Soul? A Response to Frank Bruni

In his New York Times opinion piece, “I’m Watching the Sacrifice of College’s Soul,” Frank Bruni laments the erosion of academic rigor and the rise of artificial intelligence in the college classroom. He worries that students read less, care more about networking, and rely too much on AI to write their papers. And he ties this perceived moral decay to the broader culture war era under a second Trump administration.

But if we are truly asking whether college has lost its soul, the answer lies not just in classroom etiquette, grade inflation, or even AI. These are surface symptoms. The deeper rot goes back much further—and runs much deeper.

In 2025, as student debt surpasses $2 trillion, adjuncts live paycheck to paycheck, and billion-dollar university endowments sit idle amid growing social crises, the question lingers like a ghost in the lecture hall: Did higher education ever have a soul?

Bruni suggests that something noble has been lost. But to mourn a fall from grace assumes there was grace to begin with. It assumes the soul of higher education was once intact—whole, ethical, virtuous. That assumption demands interrogation.

A Soul in Theory
From the founding of Harvard in 1636 to the post-WWII GI Bill expansion, there have always been idealistic threads: Socratic dialogue, liberal education, shared governance, land-grant missions to uplift the working class. Thinkers like John Dewey and W.E.B. Du Bois believed that education could be democratic and emancipatory, a crucible for ethical development and social justice.

But for every Du Bois, there was a Booker T. Washington being positioned to serve capitalism. For every land-grant university, there were extractive relationships with Indigenous lands and communities. For every golden age of college access, there were doors closed to women, Black Americans, and the working poor.

The soul, it seems, has always lived uneasily beside the dollar.

The Neoliberal Turn
In the last half-century, the contradictions have only grown starker. Beginning in the late 1970s and accelerating in the Reagan era, higher education became increasingly privatized, commodified, and financialized. Universities morphed into entrepreneurial corporations, presidents became CEOs, students became customers, and faculty became precarious gig workers. The soul of higher education—if ever there was one—was sold off in pieces. Not in a single transaction, but through thousands of small decisions: outsourcing food services, patenting research, expanding sports empires, launching predatory online programs, partnering with Wall Street, and calling it “innovation.”

Today, we see the results:

For-profit colleges and edtech firms exploiting vulnerable populations.

Public universities chasing out-of-state tuition while abandoning their mission to serve local and working-class communities.

DEI initiatives used as branding while workers on campus remain underpaid, underinsured, and over-policed.

Boards of trustees stacked with bankers, developers, and tech executives more loyal to markets than to mission.

And beyond the classrooms that Bruni mourns, darker truths persist—truths rarely explored in glossy alumni magazines or New York Times op-eds:

Fraternities continue to operate as quasi-criminal enterprises, protected by wealthy alumni and timid administrations. Hazing deaths, sexual assault, racial abuse, and alcohol-fueled violence are treated as unfortunate exceptions, rather than the predictable outcomes of a toxic culture of entitlement and silence.

NCAA football, the crown jewel of many flagship universities, thrives on the unpaid labor of student-athletes whose bodies are sacrificed for weekend entertainment and television contracts. Behind the pageantry lie lifelong injuries, untreated concussions, and a trail of lawsuits over traumatic brain damage—while coaches and athletic directors rake in seven-figure salaries.

These are not footnotes to the story of higher education’s moral decline. They are the story—central to understanding what kind of “soul” has actually animated American higher education for decades.

A Soul in Struggle
Yet to say higher education never had a soul would be to erase the people who have fought—and still fight—for it to matter.

The soul has lived in the pushback: in student protests for civil rights and against apartheid; in hunger strikes for living wages and union recognition; in the quiet resilience of community college faculty who refuse to give up on their students despite impossible workloads and poverty wages. It’s found in the Black campus movements of the 1960s and today, in the labor organizing of adjuncts and graduate students, and in underfunded tribal colleges and HBCUs resisting systemic neglect.

And the soul is alive in critique itself—in those willing to ask not only what students are learning, but why the university exists, who it serves, and who it exploits.

Where Do We Go from Here?
Frank Bruni mourns the death of something noble. But perhaps what’s dying isn’t the soul of higher education—it’s the illusion that the soul was ever fully alive within institutions so deeply enmeshed in money, hierarchy, and exclusion.

If higher education once had a soul, it now lies fragmented—compromised by institutional betrayal, bureaucratic inertia, and a corporate logic that values prestige over people. But to ask whether it ever had a soul is to ask whether the soul resides in institutions at all, or in the people struggling within and against them.

Perhaps we shouldn’t romanticize the past, but neither should we resign ourselves to the present.

The soul of higher education may never have been whole. But it has always been contested. And in that contest—between commerce and conscience, exclusion and liberation, silence and speech—we may yet find the spark to reimagine what education could be.

Because if the university is to be saved, its soul must be fought for—not assumed, and certainly not bought.


Sources:

  • Bruni, Frank. “I’m Watching the Sacrifice of College’s Soul.” New York Times, July 14, 2025.

  • U.S. Department of Education. Federal Student Aid Portfolio Summary. https://studentaid.gov/data-center

  • The Century Foundation. “The Adjunct Crisis.”

  • Flanagan, Caitlin. “Death at a Penn State Fraternity.” The Atlantic, November 2017.

  • NPR. “Inside the Secret World of College Fraternities.”

  • ESPN. “Concussion Lawsuits and the NCAA.”

  • The Chronicle of Higher Education. “How Billion-Dollar Endowments Avoid Spending.”

  • The Guardian. “Inside America’s College Debt Machine.”

  • American Association of University Professors (AAUP). “Trends in Faculty Employment Status.”

  • The Intercept. “EdTech and the Exploitation of Students.”

  • Washington Post. “DEI for PR, Not for Pay.”

  • Inside Higher Ed. “Boards of Trustees: Who They Really Represent.”

  • NLRB Rulings and Union Filings, 2010–2025.