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  • Beats, Truth, and a Higher Education of the Streets

    Beats, Truth, and a Higher Education of the Streets

    In a nation that throws trillions at war, banks, and billionaires while students drown in debt and public schools crumble, the Bronx-based hip-hop duo Rebel Diaz has carved out a necessary lane—one where education doesn’t come from a classroom but from struggle, solidarity, and sound. Formed by Chilean-American brothers Rodrigo (RodStarz) and Gonzalo (G1) Venegas, Rebel Diaz is more than a music group. They are truth-tellers, radical educators, and architects of a liberatory curriculum that centers the oppressed and calls the system by its name.

    Nowhere is that more evident than in their track “A Trillion,” a searing critique of post-9/11 U.S. capitalism, war profiteering, and the impunity of Wall Street elites. It opens with an indictment so sharp it borders on satire:

    “A lotta people askin’—‘Is that really nine zeroes?’

    Nah, homie, it’s twelve.”

     

    And then the verses drop—complex, accessible, and devastating in their precision. G1 raps:

    “Lotta speculations on the moneys they made

    Markets they played

    Pimping the system because they run the game

    They trades is inside of the old boy network

    Money stays in while they build they net worth.”

    This is economics with teeth—naming not just the scale of corruption but the two-tiered justice system that underwrites it. G1 continues:

    “If I was to flip money that ain’t exist

    Or get a loan on my home and not pay back that shit

    Interest will stack up

    Moving truck or backup

    And the repo man will pack everything up.”

    These aren’t abstract critiques. They’re visceral comparisons between the impunity of the rich and the precarity of everyday people. Wall Street collapses the economy and gets bailed out with public funds. Meanwhile, poor and working-class people are criminalized for far less—whether it’s defaulting on a loan, evading rent, or “flipping currency” in the underground economy.

    A Trillion was written in the shadow of the Bush administration’s wars in Iraq and Afghanistan—wars that cost American taxpayers more than a trillion dollars, all while social services were gutted and inequality soared. Rebel Diaz doesn’t just call out that grotesque spending. They tie it directly to neoliberal austerity, to gentrification, to student debt, and to the very structure of a U.S. economy built on extraction and punishment.

    Their music functions as what bell hooks called engaged pedagogy. It’s teaching that risks something—something real. And it’s rooted not in theory alone, but in a lifetime of organizing, community-building, and lived experience. The brothers’ political lineage runs deep: they are children of Chilean exiles who fled the Pinochet dictatorship, and that legacy of resistance is embedded in every syllable they spit.

    Their broader body of work—songs like “Runaway Slave,” “Crush,” “I’m an Alien,” and “Which Side Are You On?”—challenges both the prison-industrial complex and the nonprofit-industrial complex, the police and the politicians, the landlords and the labor exploiters. In their hands, hip-hop becomes a weapon against what Paulo Freire called banking education—where students are seen as empty vessels to be filled, rather than agents of transformation.

    Rebel Diaz refuses that model. They’ve facilitated workshops for youth around the world. They founded the Rebel Diaz Arts Collective (RDAC) in the South Bronx—a radical cultural center that functioned as studio, classroom, and sanctuary. While elite universities peddle “diversity” through PR campaigns, Rebel Diaz built power in real time.

    A Trillion reminds us that debt and inequality aren’t natural—they’re designed. That a trillion dollars could be conjured for war and bailouts, while education remains underfunded and healthcare inaccessible, isn’t a fluke. It’s policy. It’s ideology. It’s class warfare.

    And while most institutions of higher learning remain silent—or worse, complicit—Rebel Diaz offers a curriculum of truth. Their syllabus includes economic justice, anti-imperialism, grassroots organizing, and critical media literacy. Their lectures come through speakers, not Zoom screens. And their degrees? Measured not in credits, but in collective awakening.

    In a society that leaves millions in debt for chasing knowledge, and rewards only the knowledge that maintains power, Rebel Diaz flips the script. They aren’t just part of the resistance—they are building the new university.

    And in that space, “A Trillion” isn’t just a song. It’s a lesson. A warning. A call to action.

    Rebel Diaz Playlist: A Syllabus of Sound

    Listen to these Rebel Diaz tracks as an alternative curriculum—one that speaks to the struggles universities often silence:

    “A Trillion” — A blistering takedown of war spending, corporate bailouts, and the injustice of capitalism.

    “Which Side Are You On?” — A rallying cry against complicity, rooted in a long tradition of protest music.

    “Runaway Slave” — A powerful indictment of the prison-industrial complex and systemic racism.

    “Crush” — A sharp narrative linking gentrification, police violence, and displacement.

    “I’m an Alien” — A migrant anthem reclaiming humanity against the backdrop of dehumanizing immigration policy.

    “Work Like Chávez” — A celebration of working-class resistance and Latin American liberation.

    “Revolution Has Come” — An intergenerational call to remember the lessons of past uprisings.

    These tracks are available via Rebel Diaz’s Bandcamp page, Spotify, YouTube, or independent archives. Better yet, invite them to speak—virtually or in person—if your institution has the courage to confront its own contradictions.

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  • Illinois Budget Lists Funds for Defunct College

    Illinois Budget Lists Funds for Defunct College

    Illinois lawmakers budgeted $500,000 for Lincoln College in a state budget that went into effect July 1—even though the small private institution closed in 2022, WICS News Channel 20 reported.

    The earmark added in a capital bill in 2018 continues to resurface in the budget each year because it’s included in a state law, even though it hasn’t been funded.

    “That money’s still in there. However, it wouldn’t have any place to go to now,” state senator Sally Turner told WICS.

    But it could be redirected in the future.

    “Later on, down the road, we could probably change that title to the city of Lincoln or to the furtherment of the development of Lincoln Developmental Center or something of that nature, if it ever gets funded,” Turner said.

    Critics say it raises broader concerns about the budgeting process.

    State Representative Bill Hauter, whose district includes Lincoln, told The Center Square that state lawmakers have hours to review thousands of budget pages.

    “This line item for Lincoln College? It’s basically a banner that says ‘incompetent,’” he said.

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  • How to Create an ADHD Academic Community (opinion)

    How to Create an ADHD Academic Community (opinion)

    “Have you ever considered you might have ADHD?” My therapist asked me that during my second year of Ph.D. studies at Cornell University. I had just mentioned my 8-year-old nephew’s diagnosis, adding that both my brother and father had it too. She explained how attention deficit hyperactivity disorder manifests differently in women—less hyperactivity, more internal struggle—and why men and children with more recognizable symptoms are diagnosed earlier.

    The diagnosis, when it finally came, illuminated a lifetime of confusion: why simple tasks felt insurmountable, why my brilliance arrived in unpredictable bursts, why I could hyperfocus for 12 hours on coding but couldn’t remember to pay rent. Then the pandemic hit. Isolated in my apartment, stripped of external structure, I watched my symptoms spiral out of control. My dissertation research stalled. My carefully constructed coping mechanisms crumbled. I wasn’t just struggling with ADHD—I was drowning in it.

    I had been thinking about creating a space specifically for academics with ADHD. In a therapy group, I met another graduate student silently battling the same demons. When I shared my idea, she immediately understood its value. Together, we organized our first meeting, gathering a few friends via Zoom. Our numbers grew after I took a calculated risk during a department seminar—openly discussing my diagnosis and the unique challenges it created in academic life. Private messages trickled in from students across departments, each one a confession of silent, similar struggles.

    My courage to speak openly came from an unexpected source. Months earlier, a successful visiting professor had casually mentioned getting diagnosed with ADHD after their first year on the faculty. Seeing someone in a position I aspired to reach discuss their diagnosis so matter-of-factly gave me hope. This cascade effect—from the professor to me, from me to others—became how our community grew.

    Four years later, our weekly meetings continue, even as many of us have graduated and moved to new institutions. What began as a survival mechanism during isolation has evolved into a sustainable community that transcends institutional boundaries.

    The Challenges of Being an Academic With ADHD

    Academia presents unique challenges for individuals with ADHD that differ from those found in other professional environments. Research requires sustained focus over months or years with minimal external structure—a particularly difficult task for the ADHD brain that thrives on novelty and immediate feedback. Grant deadlines, publication timelines and research planning demand executive functioning skills that many of us struggle with, despite high intelligence and creativity.

    But ADHD’s effects on academic life extend far beyond issues of executive function. Rejection sensitive dysphoria—the intense emotional response to perceived criticism—can make grant rejections and peer review feedback devastating rather than constructive. What neurotypical colleagues might process as routine academic critique can trigger profound emotional responses that interrupt work for days or weeks.

    Time blindness affects how we manage projects and deadlines in significant ways. The inability to accurately perceive how much time has passed or how long tasks will take creates a pattern of either last-minute panic work or paralysis when deadlines feel abstractly distant. Poor working memory impacts our ability to hold multiple concepts in mind during writing and research, often leading to fragmented work processes that others misinterpret as lack of focus or commitment.

    Many of us also struggle with auditory processing issues that make departmental meetings, lectures and conferences particularly taxing. The cognitive effort required simply to process spoken information in these settings depletes mental energy.

    Traditional academic support resources rarely address these specific challenges. Time management workshops typically assume neurotypical brain functioning and don’t account for the variable attention and motivation that characterizes ADHD. Productivity advice often focuses on willpower and discipline rather than taking into account neurodivergent traits. Even when disability services are available on campus, they tend to focus on classroom accommodations rather than the holistic challenges of academic life with ADHD, particularly the unstructured aspects of research and writing that often cause the greatest difficulty.

    Building Our Community

    Our initial meetings were simply virtual gatherings to validate frustrations and share strategies. The pandemic actually provided an unexpected advantage—virtual meetings allowed us to participate from our most comfortable environments, pacing or fidgeting as needed.

    While we first attempted a highly structured approach with designated facilitators, we quickly discovered this created more pressure than relief. What worked better was a simple pattern: rounds of updates in which each person shares recent struggles and wins, plus spontaneous advice sharing and time spent setting intentions for what we’ll accomplish next.

    Creating psychological safety was paramount. We established clear confidentiality guidelines—what’s shared in the group stays in the group. Group norms evolved organically: no shame for forgetfulness, no competitiveness with one another, and a focus on solutions rather than just venting. We emphasized how ADHD traits such as hyperfocus and creative thinking can become significant strengths when properly channeled.

    Starting Your Own Group

    Based on our experience, here’s how to create an effective ADHD academic community:

    1. Start small with trusted connections. Begin with three to five people you already know to establish psychological safety before expanding.
    2. Consider independence from institutional structures. Our unofficial status meant less administrative hassle and allowed continuity as members graduated.
    3. Implement minimal structure. Our simple meeting format provided enough structure to be productive while allowing flexibility. A rotating notetaker helped members with memory challenges revisit past discussions.
    4. Embrace accessible, virtual options. We created a shared calendar and Slack channel for regular meetings, but also allowed members to add impromptu co-working sessions.
    5. Share resources collaboratively. Regularly exchange tools and strategies—from productivity apps to therapist recommendations to successful accommodation requests.
    6. Prioritize confidentiality. Some members may not have disclosed their diagnosis in their departments, making the group their only space for open discussion.

    Impact Beyond Expectations

    Members of our group have reported significant improvements in completing dissertations, meeting deadlines and navigating the job market with ADHD. The psychological benefits have been equally profound. Academia’s competitive nature breeds imposter syndrome, amplified for those with ADHD. When peers appear to effortlessly juggle multiple responsibilities while you struggle with basic tasks, the comparison can be crushing.

    In our group, however, we found role models who shared our challenges. Watching fellow ADHD academics successfully defend dissertations or secure positions created a powerful ripple effect of inspiration. These visible successes provided concrete evidence that academic milestones were achievable with ADHD, motivating others to persevere through their own struggles.

    While consistent attendance can be challenging (unsurprisingly, given our shared attention difficulties), we’ve found that maintaining a no-pressure atmosphere works better than strict accountability—members drift in and out as needed, returning without shame.

    Finding Connection Through Shared Neurodiversity

    What I’ve learned through this journey is that sometimes the most powerful communities form around shared neurological experiences rather than departmental affiliations. The regular connection with others who understand your specific challenges can be transformative for wellbeing, productivity and career development.

    By creating these supportive micro-communities, we not only help ourselves navigate existing structures but gradually transform academic culture to better accommodate diverse cognitive styles—ultimately enriching scholarship for everyone.

    If you’re an academic with ADHD, consider initiating a similar group. The effort to create connection amid the isolation of both academia and neurodivergence yields returns far beyond what we initially imagined.

    Maria Akopyan is a National Science Foundation postdoctoral research fellow in the Department of Evolution, Ecology and Organismal Biology at the University of California, Riverside. She uses genomic tools to study how species diverge, adapt and persist across environments through time.

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  • How Medicaid Cuts Undermine Belonging (opinion)

    How Medicaid Cuts Undermine Belonging (opinion)

    In a recent opinion piece entitled “This Law Made Me Ashamed of My Country,” former Harvard University president and U.S. Secretary of the Treasury Lawrence Summers details the human brutality that will result from the recent unprecedented cuts to Medicaid. One glaring omission in his compelling narrative is concern for the estimated 3.4 million college students who are Medicaid recipients.

    Especially vulnerable are those students with disabilities and chronic conditions, including mental health issues, which recently surpassed financial considerations as the primary reason students are either dropping out of college or not attending in the first place. In addition, when states face budget shortfalls, as they will with the federal Medicaid cuts, higher education is often one of the first areas targeted, leading to higher tuition, fewer resources for students and cuts to academic support services. It is certain that reductions in state-funded appropriations will have a direct negative impact on college access and quality for the approximately 13.5 million students enrolled in America’s community colleges and public universities. The catastrophic repercussions, including the exacerbation of existing healthcare disparities, will be disproportionately felt in rural and underserved communities.

    Moreover, both poor health and financial insecurity are known to significantly reduce cognitive bandwidth, impeding the ability of students to learn and resulting in lower completion rates. While racism, sexism, homophobia, ableism and other forms of discrimination each contribute to diminished cognitive bandwidth. studies show that belonging uncertainty is one of the biggest bandwidth stealers. Since the passage of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the long-term consequences for those who already have doubts about whether they belong in college.

    My understanding of the subtle but powerful ways in which policies and practices communicate exclusion is not a mere exercise in moral imagination—it is at the core of my lived experience. When I began college as a first-generation student at the age of 17, I was able to escape the factory work I had done alongside my mother the previous summer only because of funding I received under the Comprehensive Employment and Training Act. At the time, CETA funds were reserved for those at the lowest socioeconomic rungs who were considered at risk of being permanently unemployable. That fall, with the additional help of Pell grants and Perkins loans, I attended a local community college that had just opened in the small, rural town in which I lived. Throughout my first two years in college, I worked 35 hours a week under the CETA contract, took a full course load of five classes a semester, and served as a caregiver to my mother, who was chronically ill. Like my mother, I suffered from severe asthma, during the days before biologics and inhaled corticosteroids were available to manage the disease, and Medicaid was a lifeline for both of us.

    One late afternoon, I rushed across town to the pharmacy from my American literature class that was held in the basement of the Congregational church, trying to make it before going to my Bio 101 lab, taught in the public high school after hours. My exchange with the pharmacist was straight out of a Monty Python skit. There were people milling around, browsing the makeup aisle and buying toiletries, but there was no one other than me picking up prescriptions. Yet, when I handed over my Medicaid card, the person controlling access to the medicine yelled, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Title XIX patients line up over there.” Regardless of his intention, the pharmacist’s insistence that I was in the wrong line and that I move to a different, nonexistent line, when in fact I was the only one in any line and he was the only person behind the counter, was more than an exercise in blind adherence to pointless bureaucratic protocol—it was a reinscription of the notion that there are spaces across all sectors of society reserved for those who are wealthier, healthier and more “deserving.” Students who are already uncertain about whether they belong in college begin to internalize the idea that their presence on campus is conditional and tolerated.

    When national leaders frame Medicaid as an “entitlement” and abuse of taxpayer money, their rhetoric conveys a sense of stigmatization and the appropriateness of shame felt by those relying on it. And I am especially concerned about the effect of stricter Medicaid work requirements on those in communities like mine, with limited job opportunities and little to no public transportation. The recent cuts to Medicaid send a message to them that their struggles are either invisible or unimportant.

    The new Medicaid policies aren’t accidental missteps. They are the result of a social policy ecosystem built to privilege some while sidelining others. Thus, when we see Medicaid cuts and rollbacks in programs such as SNAP (supplemental nutrition assistance program), we need to understand them not just as budgetary decisions, but as deliberate reinforcements of exclusion. Indeed, Medicaid cuts don’t just remove healthcare—they erode the social contract that says everyone is deserving of access to education and well-being. Rather than reaffirming higher education as a cornerstone of the American Dream for students at the lowest socio-economic rungs, the message from cuts to Medicaid is loud and clear: If you are poor, you don’t belong in college. Higher education is reserved for those who don’t need help to get or stay there.

    As Jessica Riddell, an American Association of Colleges and Universities board member, reminds us, “The systems in higher education are broken and the systems are working the way they are designed.” For this reason, higher education advocates at all levels must organize, teach and lead in ways that dismantle that design.

    Lynn Pasquerella is president of the American Association of Colleges and Universities.

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  • Dilemmas of research

    Dilemmas of research

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    The post Dilemmas of research appeared first on HEPI.

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  • Being the Nurse in the Family: Balancing Caregiving and Self-Care Amidst Grief and Stress – Faculty Focus

    Being the Nurse in the Family: Balancing Caregiving and Self-Care Amidst Grief and Stress – Faculty Focus

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  • Antisemitism action waiting on more info – Campus Review

    Antisemitism action waiting on more info – Campus Review

    Education Minister Jason Clare said the government will deliver its plan to tackle antisemitism after considering input from the Islamophobia envoy, Race Discrimination Commissioner and Expert Council on University Governance.

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  • Western Sydney uni launches 5-year plan – Campus Review

    Western Sydney uni launches 5-year plan – Campus Review

    Western Sydney University (WSU) has doubled down on its commitment to make every year the ‘year of the student’ in its new 2030 strategic plan.

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  • How skills drive productivity – Campus Review

    How skills drive productivity – Campus Review

    Sector voices discussed how skills could drive productivity at the Applied Learning Conference at the Singapore Institute of Technology.

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  • Technical professionals can offer more than support

    Technical professionals can offer more than support

    UK universities are under financial strain. As institutions look to restructure, reduce costs and rethink delivery, there’s a clear need to make better use of the talent that already exists within them.

    Technical professionals – highly skilled, deeply embedded and often misunderstood – are key to this. While often grouped under ‘professional services’, technicians occupy a distinct space in the university workforce. Their work spans research, teaching and operations, often in highly specialised or safety-critical environments. Recognising this distinction isn’t about drawing divisions, it’s about making sure roles are properly understood, supported and used to their full potential.

    At a time when universities must become more agile, efficient and sustainable, the contribution of technical professionals has never been more important.

    Technicians as problem-solvers in a time of reform

    Too often, technical teams are brought into conversations late, after decisions have been made, spaces reallocated, or budgets set. But these are the people who manage the infrastructure, operate the systems, and know what’s really happening on the ground.

    At the University of Nottingham, we’ve taken a different approach, bringing technical leaders into strategic planning early. This is already helping us avoid duplication and develop smarter, more joined-up technical support across the institution. By involving technical leaders from the outset, we’re able to align services more effectively and make better-informed decisions about how we support research and teaching activity.

    These aren’t just operational wins. They’re strategic enablers, unlocking resource savings, reducing risk and supporting more sustainable delivery of core activity.

    Smarter sharing, greater efficiency

    One of the clearest opportunities lies in how we share and manage resources, whether research labs, creative studios or teaching equipment. Technical professionals are central to this.

    We understand how facilities work, how to optimise them, and how to adapt usage models across disciplines. In some institutions, this has led to the creation of “research hotel” models – shared lab spaces managed by technical teams, improving access and utilisation while reducing the need for new investment.

    Nationally, the UK Institute for Technical Skills & Strategy is supporting this through initiatives like the ITSS Capability Showcase, which maps institutional technical facilities and strengths and promotes collaboration across the sector. It’s a model that supports smarter decisions – both within and between institutions.

    A distinct role in shaping what comes next

    Technical professionals sit at the intersection of research, teaching, innovation and operations. They lead facilities, deliver teaching, train students, and increasingly contribute directly to research outputs – from papers and software to exhibitions and datasets.

    In the face of restructuring, universities have a chance to rethink how these roles are supported. Fragmented structures and inconsistent career pathways don’t just affect individuals – they weaken our ability to plan for the future.

    A more strategic approach brings clarity, fairness and future-readiness. It supports succession planning, skills development, and the protection of specialist knowledge. It also helps retain exceptional people – many of whom could thrive in industry, but choose to stay in universities because of their commitment to education and discovery.

    The opportunity now

    Technical professionals aren’t simply support staff. They’re a distinct group within the wider university workforce – working at the intersection of research, education, innovation and operations. Their roles are different from those in professional services but not separate. Both are essential, and both must be recognised for their unique contributions.

    At a recent Technician Commitment event held at Queen’s University Belfast, representatives from institutions across the UK shared practical and strategic actions they believe could help universities weather the current financial crisis. Ideas ranged from income generation through technician-led consultancy and external training, to resource efficiency via equipment sharing and pooled maintenance contracts. Delegates highlighted the importance of breaking down institutional silos, promoting cross-disciplinary technical training and enabling technicians to access internal funding schemes.

    There was also a strong call for structural advocacy – recognising technicians as research enablers and challenging default organisational models that position technical teams within professional services by default. The message was clear: technicians are not a cost centre. They are a strategic asset in how universities respond to financial and operational challenges.

    In a sector facing difficult choices, the opportunity is to harness the full breadth of talent available. Technical professionals are ready – not just to support change, but to help lead it.

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