

More than twenty years after James McMurtry released We Can’t Make It Here Anymore, the song’s haunting verses continue to echo across the American landscape. Originally written during the early 2000s under the weight of offshoring, union busting, and post-9/11 disillusionment, McMurtry’s protest ballad has aged not with irrelevance but with renewed urgency.
McMurtry wrote about Vietnam veterans pushed aside by a society eager to forget its mistakes. Today, those veterans have been replaced by men and women who served in Iraq and Afghanistan—some with missing limbs, some with invisible wounds, many with few job prospects. The system still tells them “thanks for your service” while it sends their factories overseas, their benefits into the shredder, and their children into debt servitude at for-profit colleges or underfunded public universities.
The song’s refrain—“And the banks run the loan game, and the dollar jumps the track”—has only deepened in meaning in the era of trillion-dollar student loan burdens and the financialization of everything from housing to higher education. Entire zip codes have been gutted by opioid overdoses, job loss, and rising suicide rates. The technology is flashier now, but the despair McMurtry chronicled feels even more entrenched. The “big boys” still “don’t like to lose,” and the factories are still “boarded up,” not just in Michigan and West Virginia, but now in the shadows of elite universities, where campuses flourish while surrounding communities falter.
Higher education, the supposed equalizer, has played its own part in this disillusionment. Where once it held the promise of upward mobility, it now too often offers low-wage adjunct jobs, debt without degrees, and institutions more concerned with branding and endowments than student welfare. McMurtry sings, “The doctor can’t be reached, he has moved back to LA,” and in 2025, that’s still true—except now the doctor’s been replaced by a telehealth AI, and the local hospital has been bought out by a hedge fund.
We Can’t Make It Here Anymore is not nostalgia. It is indictment. It is reportage. It is prophecy. And like Woody Guthrie before him, McMurtry tells a story corporate media would rather ignore.
The song’s last verse ends not with hope, but with observation:
“Will work for food, will die for oil, will kill for power and to us the spoils.”
Two decades later, the empire has not changed course. It has just changed spokespeople.
The names may change—NAFTA to USMCA, Halliburton to BlackRock—but the machinery grinds on. And McMurtry’s anthem remains a soundtrack for those who never made it out of the wreckage, for the veterans of war and labor still trying to make it here.
Sources
James McMurtry, We Can’t Make It Here Anymore, 2004
U.S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics
U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs
National Student Legal Defense Network
Higher Education Inquirer archives

Professor Pete Kosek was a leading voice for the faculty at Sterling College — a small, private Christian college in central Kansas — when negotiating changes to the college’s employee handbook. Ken Troyer, another Sterling professor, spoke out as well, including statements to the media about concerns he had with Sterling administrators’ communication with faculty and about a vote of no confidence in the college’s president.
For these exercises of basic faculty expressive rights, Sterling has now punished them both for exhibiting “behavior that is fundamentally inconsistent” with Sterling’s mission. But it’s these punishments that are “fundamentally inconsistent” with Sterling’s promises that its faculty enjoy “free expression, on and off campus.”
FIRE wrote to Sterling on April 3, 2025, articulating our concerns. Its administration ignored us, so today we’re writing to the college again as well as its board of trustees, urging them to reverse the punishments of Kosek and Troyer.
College clashes with faculty over revisions to the employee handbook
In 2023, Sterling faculty received a new version of Sterling’s employee handbook. Faculty voiced concerns about whether faculty were obligated to sign the handbook’s acknowledgement, which appeared to require that faculty affirm Sterling’s institutional stance on marriage, life, gender identity, and human sexuality. For example, a provision in the handbook stated: “[m]arriage is designed to be the lifelong uniting of one man and one woman in a single, biblical, covenant union as delineated by Scripture.”
Concerned that this may adversely impact faculty who were divorced, Kosek led a group of faculty members in negotiating changes to the handbook. Over the course of a year, he went back and forth with Sterling administrators about making sure the handbook could be modified so that it didn’t single out divorced faculty for adverse action.
On Aug. 21, 2024, Kosek emailed a large group of faculty members informing them he believed he and anyone else would be fired if they did not sign the handbook acknowledgement. Kosek also told the administration that while he would abide by the terms of the handbook, he disagreed with how the administration went about communicating with faculty and instituting the new handbook. Two days later, the administration clarified that while faculty were expected to abide by the terms of the handbook, they would not be terminated for not signing it. Kosek subsequently clarified this to the rest of the faculty. The situation seemed resolved, right? Wrong.
Months later, on Feb. 25 of this year, administrators summoned Kosek to a meeting and gave him a disciplinary warning. They told him that it was because he allegedly misrepresented the college when he told other faculty that he believed he and others would be fired over not signing the handbook’s acknowledgement. Sterling provided Kosek no real opportunity to defend himself from the charge.
Troyer, meanwhile, received a nearly identical disciplinary warning on the same day as Kosek, purportedly because of his comments to the media criticizing Sterling’s poor communication with faculty. (This poor communication was a major reason why a group of faculty supported a no-confidence vote in Sterling’s leadership.) Troyer had also discussed the inclusion of non-Christian students at the college, and how that inclusion related to Sterling’s Christian mission.
Similar to Kosek, Troyer had no real opportunity to defend himself. He was just expected to take the disciplinary warning and keep his mouth shut.
If Sterling’s mission required absolute and unquestioning obedience to the administration, this might be understandable. But these punishments cannot be squared with the policies actually laid out in Sterling’s faculty handbook. That handbook does not demand unthinking fealty, but imposes on “students, faculty members, administrators and trustees” the obligation “to foster and defend intellectual honesty, freedom of inquiry and instruction, and free expression on and off campus.” As if anticipating the exact scenario facing both Kosek and Troyer, Sterling adds in the handbook, “administrators should respect the right of faculty members to criticize and seek revision of institutional regulations.”
FIRE’s first letter explained why the college could not square its punishment of Kosek with Sterling’s written commitments. Under First Amendment jurisprudence and at most private colleges (like Sterling) faculty members retain the right to comment on matters of public concern — and one of those concerns is how the college is being run. Indeed, faculty members are often among the most important voices regarding how colleges and universities operate since they witness firsthand the impacts of institutional policies.
Sterling blew FIRE off. So now we’re taking this up the chain and writing to the Board of Trustees as well as the college. When a private institution like Sterling makes promises in its handbooks to faculty, it must keep those promises. To violate them with impunity is to undermine trust and credibility.