by Maxwell Fjeld, The Hechinger Report December 1, 2025
Earning an associate degree alongside my high school diploma was an ambitious goal that turned into a positive high school experience for me. By taking on the responsibilities of a college student, I further prepared myself for life after high school.
I needed to plan out my own days. I needed to keep myself on task. I needed to learn how to monitor and juggle due dates, lecture times and exams while ensuring that my extracurricular activities did not create conflicts.
All of this was life-changing for a rural Minnesota high school student. Dual enrollment through Minnesota’s PSEO program saved me time and money and helped me explore my interests and narrow my focus to business management. After three years of earning dual credits as a high school student, I graduated from community college and was the student speaker at the commencement earlier this year in May — one month before graduating from high school.
As a student earning college credits while still in high school, I gained exposure to different career fields and developed a passion for civic engagement. At the beginning of my senior year, while taking courses at the local community and technical college, I was elected to serve as that school’s first cross-campus student body president.
While most states have dual-enrollment programs, Minnesota’s support for its PSEO students stands out. As policymakers consider legislative and funding initiatives to strengthen dual enrollment in other states, I believe that three features of our program could provide a blueprint for states that want to do more.
First, the college credits I earned are transferable and meet degree requirements.
Second, the PSEO program permitted me to take enough credits each semester to earn my associate degree. While the number of dual-enrollment credits high school students can earn varies by state and program, when strict limitations are set on those numbers, the program can become a barrier to higher education instead of an alternate pathway.
Third, Minnesota’s PSEO program limits the cost burden placed on students. With rising costs and logistical challenges to pursuing higher education credentials, the head start that students can create for themselves via loosened restrictions on dual-enrollment credits can make a real financial impact, especially for students like me from small towns.
Dual-enrollment costs vary significantly from state to state, with some programs charging for tuition, fees, textbooks and other college costs.In Minnesota, those costs are covered by the Department of Education. In addition, if families meet income requirements, the expenses incurred by students for education-related transportation are also covered.
If I did not have state support, I would not have been able to participate in the program. Financial support is a crucial component to being a successful dual-enrollment student. When the barrier of cost is removed, American families benefit, especially students from low-income, rural and farming backgrounds.
Early exposure to college helped me choose my major by taking college classes to experiment — for free. When I first started, I was interested in computer science as a major. After taking a computer science class and then an economics class the following semester, I chose business as my major.
The ability to explore different fields of study was cost-saving and game-changing for me and is an opportunity that could be just as beneficial for other students.
Targeted investments in programs like this have benefited many students, including my father in the 1990s. His dual-enrollment experience allowed him to get a head start on his education and gain valuable life skills at a young age and is a great example of dual enrollment’s potential generational impact.
When dual-enrollment students receive guidance and support, it can be transformational. Early exposure to college introduced me to college-level opportunities. As student government president, I went to Washington, D.C., to attend a national student summit. I was able to meet with congressional office staffers and advocate for today’s students and for federal investment in dual-enrollment programs, explaining my story and raising awareness.
The daily life of high school is draining for some and can be devastating for others. I had many friends who came to believe that the bullying, peer-pressure and culture they experienced in high school would continue in college, so they deemed higher education “not worth it.”
Through dual enrollment, I saw the difference in culture; students who face burnout from daily high school life can refocus and feel good about their futures again.
Congress can help state legislatures by establishing strong dual-enrollment programs nationwide. With adequate government support, dual-enrollment programs can help students from all walks of life and increase college graduation rates. If all states offer access to the same opportunities that I had in high school, our next generation will be better prepared for the workforce and more successful.
Maxwell Fjeld is pursuing his bachelor’s degree at the University of Minnesota Twin Cities’ Carlson School of Management after earning an associate degree upon high school graduation through dual enrollment. He is also a student ambassador fellow at Today’s Students Coalition.
This <a target=”_blank” href=”https://hechingerreport.org/student-voice-i-earned-my-associate-degree-while-still-in-high-school-and-it-changed-my-life/”>article</a> first appeared on <a target=”_blank” href=”https://hechingerreport.org”>The Hechinger Report</a> and is republished here under a <a target=”_blank” href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/”>Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src=”https://i0.wp.com/hechingerreport.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/cropped-favicon.jpg?fit=150%2C150&ssl=1″ style=”width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;”>
Is it possible for someone you’ve never met to be a mentor?
I don’t know how else to describe Ken Bain, author of What the Best College Teachers Do, a book that transformed not just my teaching, but my entire life.
Ken Bain passed away on Oct. 10. I first learned this news on LinkedIn from Jim Lang, who did know and was directly mentored by Ken Bain and, like the several dozen folks who offered comments on his passing—and also me—whose life and work were profoundly affected by Ken Bain’s work.
I read an advance copy of What The Best College Teachers Do sometime in early 2004 in a period where I was starting to question the folklore of teaching I had absorbed as a student and graduate assistant, and it immediately changed how I thought about my own work, kicking off a process of consideration and experimentation around teaching writing that continues to this day.
What the Best College Teachers Do reflects more than a decade of study and is entirely based in observations of teaching, teaching materials, student responses and reflections, interviews and other sources, filtered through various lenses (history, literary analysis, sociology, ethnography, investigative journalism) to draw both big conclusions about not just what teachers do, but how they think, how they relate to students, how they view their work and how they evolve their approaches.
The method is relentlessly qualitative rather than quantitative, and it can be straightforwardly adapted to one’s own work.
At least that’s how I used the book. Looking through some of the text for the first time in years, I can see significant strands of What the Best College Teachers Do DNA in my writing about the writer’s practice. The lens of “doing” as the central feature of any work has been part of my personal framework for so long that I almost lost its origin, but there it is.
The book is more than 20 years old, but its framing questions are evergreen and even more relevant in this AI age. The book asks and answers the following questions:
What do the best teachers know and understand?
How do they prepare to teach?
What do they expect of their students?
What do they do when they teach?
How do they treat students?
How do they check their progress and evaluate their efforts?
The book helpfully encapsulates the study’s findings under these categories, and as bullet points of good teaching practice they are spot-on. But I am also here to testify that they are not a substitute for the full experience of reading What the Best College Teachers Do, because the act of reading the specific illustrations and examples that gave rise to these findings allows for the individual to reflect on their own practices relative to others.
The first thing I did after reading and absorbing What the Best College Teachers Do was change my attendance policy to no longer punish students based on a maximum number of absences. I’d engaged in this practice because it had been handed down as conventional wisdom: If you don’t police student attendance, they won’t show up. Bain’s best teachers challenged this conventional wisdom.
The positive effects were immediate. I stepped up my game in terms of making sure class was viewed by students as productive and necessary. My mood improved, as I no longer stewed over students who were pushing their luck in terms of absences, daring me to dock their overall semester grade.
Attendance went up! I asked students about this, and they said that when a class says you “get four absences” they were treating that as a kind of permission (or even encouragement) to go ahead and miss four classes. Student agency and self-responsibility increased. If they missed a class, they knew what they had to do, and it didn’t involve me.
The experiments continued, leading ultimately to the writer’s practice and my embrace of alternative assessment, developments that made me a much more effective instructor and now, improbably, someone invited to colleges and universities to share his expertise on these subjects.
It would not have happened without the work and mentorship of Ken Bain, mentorship I experienced entirely through reading his book.
I worry that mentorship is going to be further eroded by AI, particularly if entry-level jobs with their apprenticeship tasks are now completed through automation, rather than by working with other, more experienced humans. The enthusiasm for letting large language models compress texts into summaries rather than reading the full work of another unique intelligence is also a threat.
My conviction that our way forward through the challenge of AI is rooted in deeply examining the experiences of learning and fostering those experiences for students only grows stronger by the day. What the Best College Teachers Do is experiences all the way down, a book of observations conveyed in such a way that allows us to make use of them, literally, in what we do.
A great man. A great mentor. Ken Bain’s work will live on through the many pedagogues he’s inspired.
Like most of my colleagues in art history, English, history, modern languages, musicology, philosophy, rhetoric and adjacent fields, I am concerned about the current crisis in the humanities. Then again, as a student of the history of the modern university, I know that there haven’t been too many decades over the last 150 years during which we humanities scholars have not employed the term “crisis” to portray our place in the academy.
Our Greek forebears, as early as Hippocrates, coined the term “kρίσις” to describe a “turning point”; kρίσις, a word related to the Proto-Indo-European root krei-, is etymologically connected to practices like “sieving,” “discriminating” and “judging.” In fact, the most widely mentioned skill we humanists offer our students, critical thinking, originates from the same practice of deliberate “sieving.” Thus, when we call ourselves critics and write critical theory, we admit that crisis might just be our natural habitat.
What’s Different This Time Around?
A look at the helpful statistics provided by the American Academy of Arts and Sciences indicates that this latest crisis in humanities enrollments and degree completions is not like the previous fluctuations in our history, but more foundational. Things sounded bad enough when a state flagship like West Virginia University slashed modern languages (and math!) two years ago. But when that beacon of humanistic learning, the University of Chicago, pauses Ph.D. admissions across all but two of its humanities programs, we know the crisis is existential. Wasn’t it Chicago’s Kalven report that once stated boldly, and for the entire nation, that the university was “the home and sponsor of critics”?
Cultures of Complaint, and a Pinch of Hubris
Feeling powerless in the face of dwindling enrollment and support for our disciplines, some of us have resorted to digging up conspiracy theories, perhaps because, as Stanley Fish opined, in the psychic economy of academic critics, “oppression is the sign of virtue.” The tenor of such virtue-signaling complaints is that an unholy alliance of tech and business bros and their programs, together with politicians and academic leaders, promote only “useful” disciplines and crowd out interest in the humanities.
I think intellectual honesty would demand we remember that it was the humanities, custodians of high-culture education (Bildung), that once upon a time crowded out the applied arts, crafts and technologies, accusing them of lacking intellectual depth. Humanistic Ivy League and Oxbridge schools championed the classics, philosophy and literary studies as “liberal” and sneered at professional education in the “mechanical arts” (engineering, agriculture, business, etc.) as “servile.” When the humanities (and natural sciences) faculty at these elite colleges refused to open their classist “gentlemen’s education” to larger publics, land-grant universities and technological institutes emerged to increase access and to educate teachers, lawyers and engineers.
Could it be that today’s humanists still retain some of this original hubris toward technical, vocational and applied training, which makes the current inversion of disciplinary hierarchy even tougher to accept? Are warnings against instrumentalizing the humanities for economic gain (Martha C. Nussbaum, Not for Profit) or applying them to support vocational or technical disciplines (Frank Donoghue, The Last Professors) echoes of such hubris? Will this mentality, based on the knowledge economy of the late 19th century, convince today’s students to work with us?
Angsting About Ancillarity
The modernist poet W. H. Auden, in his book-length poem about anxiety, wrote that “We would rather be ruined than changed / We would rather die in our dread / Than climb the cross of the moment / And let our illusions die.” For sure, some among us deny the signs of the time, yearning for the golden days when humanities departments were ever expanding, arguing that an essential third Victorianist (focusing on drama) be added to the colleagues already focusing on fiction and poetry. If these golden days ever existed (in the early 1970s?), they are gone now. Nostalgia for the simulacrum persists.
Closer to reality, many colleagues in the humanities have been “climbing the cross of the moment,” adapting to the inversion of disciplinary hierarchies at our institutions and accepting the mandate to show at least some measurable outcomes instead of our beloved unquantifiable humanistic critique. We have been aligning with the new lead disciplines by creating a vast infrastructure of certificates, degrees, journals, book series and organizations in the medical, health, digital, environmental and energy humanities, in science and technology studies, computational media, and music technology.
However, as Colin Potts observed, when we partner with our colleagues in these better-funded and high-visibility disciplines, we are rarely “co-equal contributors.” We are like alms seekers, condensing our lifelong training and knowledge into an ethics, civics and policy module required for our partners’ accreditation, or infusing technical writing and communication skills into a STEM curriculum to amplify their majors’ impact. These collaborations offer a modicum of recognition and an honorable mention in a holistically minded National Academies consensus report. But they also make us feel dreadfully ancillary.
Institutional strategic plans that exalt the value of the humanities with terms like “cornerstone,” “core” and “heart” only deepen our suspicions, especially when our budgets don’t match the performative strategic grandiloquence. From the medieval through the 18th-century university, the humanities suffered the trauma of being “handmaidens to theology” (ancillae theologiae), then the doctrinal master discipline. Now, technology has taken theology’s place, and we are once again “pleasant (but more or less inconsequential) helpmeets.” Trauma redux.
Hyperbole Won’t Help
In an existential crisis, hyperbole in the defense of our field no longer feels like a vice. Therefore, some of us now claim that the end of the humanities heralds the end of humanity and human civilization. Brenna Gerhardt, for example, warned that, because of the 2025 funding cuts to the National Endowment for the Humanities, “we may find that a society that forgets to ask what it means to be human forgets how to be one.”
Similarly, the 2024 World Humanities Report asserts that “the humanities are of critical importance” at a time when the “world and planet [are] under duress” and in dire need of “tools and concepts that will foster change and help us live under these shared, if still uneven, conditions.” These kinds of well-meaning statements, and the desperate daily news item (preferably from Oxbridge) amplifying our relevance and adaptability, burden the academic humanities with a responsibility incommensurate with the cultural and educational work we can perform. Their claim that “either you support the humanities, or inhumanity prevails” scares only us, but nobody else. As the authors of WhatEvery1Says: The Humanities in Public Discourse find, “The humanities appear to the public to be siloed in universities (unlike the sciences).”
This I Believe
If the previous paragraphs didn’t sound resilient and hopeful enough, please remember that my first obligation as a humanist is to be a critic, not a cheerleader. I believe that the humanities do have an important place in the ecosystem of higher education and at each university, that integrating STEM and liberal arts practices increases student success and leads to better research and scholarship, that humanistic considerations contribute to a more just and benign world, and that we need to continue our important work in core education.
However, I don’t think that we academic humanists have sufficient standing to make hyperbolic claims about what we can achieve. Just consider: Have we ever advanced how many majors and faculty positions would be enough to keep the world humane and civilized? Have we, as Roosevelt Montás asks in Rescuing Socrates, ever overcome the “crisis of consensus … about what things are most worth knowing”? And should we lecture our STEM colleagues on ethics and gender equity when, as recently as 2019, fewer than one-third of tenure-track faculty and fewer than one-fourth of non-tenure- track professors in U.S. philosophy departments were women?
We humanists are really good at asking critical questions, “sieving,” “discriminating” and “judging” at the highest levels of abstraction, but we are not so good at offering solutions. When we do, they often come from the same intellectual heights that have alienated us from undergraduate populations and the public. In a recent essay for the Journal of Theoretical Humanities, Wayne Stables takes us beyond hyperbole. He asks us to envision our lives and work “as if the humanities were dead,” thereby (he hopes) freeing us to consider collective action based on the likes of G. W. F. Hegel, Karl Marx, Friedrich Nietzsche, Theodor W. Adorno, Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida and Wendy Brown. He believes this kind of “critical orientation” may help us survive “the troubling interregnum” in which we now find ourselves.
While I sympathize with Stables’s call to action (though I would add Hannah Arendt, Simone de Beauvoir, Julia Kristeva, bell hooks and Judith Butler to his list), I believe it takes us back to the time when the humanities strove to be “all breathing human passion far above.”
I recommend we befriend the idea that our humanistic values and practices may relate to more public-oriented and holistic goals, as exemplified by the University of Arizona’s successful degree in the public and applied humanities, which wants “to translate the personal enrichment of humanities study into public enrichment and the direct and tangible improvement of the human condition” and offers a “fundamentally experimental, entrepreneurial, and transdisciplinary” educational experience that “focuses on public and private opportunities that straddle rather than fall between purviews, or are confined by them.”
Since the introduction of this new kind of humanities program, connected with such fields as business, engineering and medicine, the number of students majoring in the humanities at Arizona has increased by 76 percent. This true kind of integrated partnership, and similar initiatives at St. Anselm College, Virginia Tech and my home institution of Georgia Tech, give me hope for a turning point—kρίσις—for the humanities in higher education.
Richard Utz is senior associate dean for strategic initiatives in the Ivan Allen College of Liberal Arts at Georgia Institute of Technology.
Brazil exited the age of slavery 135 years ago. It remains a multi-racial society today. But for much of the twentieth century, Brazil suffered an enormous bout of amnesia. From being one of the last societies on earth to give up slavery, it immediately began touting itself as a place where colour did not matter, that it was a post-racial society.
But then about 30 years ago, things changed. Race — or more accurately race and inequality — became a much more prominent subject of debate, and various measures were brought in to lessen racial inequality. In higher education, however, Brazil did not however take the path of “affirmative action” as the United States did. Instead: it went the route India did with respect to caste: hard, fixed numerical quotas.
Today we’re going to look at how that this policy has worked out, and joining me to do so is Luiz Augusto Campos: He’s a professor of sociology and Political science at the State University of Rio de Janeiro, and he’s co-editor of a recent book on quotas in Brazilian higher education called O impacto das cotas: Duas decadasde acao affirmativano Ensino superior brasileiro. We had a great discussions about how Brazilian admissions quotas came to be and how they have change higher education. Of particular interest to me is that these quotas were imposed in some of the country’s most elite institutions — and how the arrival of quotas has managed to make policies of free tuition at elite institutions much less regressive.
The World of Higher Education Podcast Episode 4.7 | Access and Aftermath: What Racial Quotas Changed in Brazil’s Universities with Luiz Augusto Campos
Transcript
Alex Usher (AU): Luiz, before we start talking about quotas in higher education, let’s paint a picture of race in Brazil. Like the United States, Brazil was a colonial slave state—one where emancipation didn’t happen until 1888. But for a long time, there was a kind of myth that Brazil had become a post-racial society, one where people didn’t see race. So, what are the politics of race like in Brazil, and what’s changed over, say, the last 50 years?
Luiz Augusto Campos (LAC): That’s true, and I can say that almost everything has changed in recent years. At the beginning, Brazil was portrayed as a racial democracy—the idea that people in Brazil don’t see race and that there’s no racism. It’s complicated to understand how a country that was completely slave-based in the past could create this myth.
The myth was actually quite successful in the sense that most Brazilians used to believe it. It’s connected to how people viewed our history of slavery. In the past, people used to say that Brazilian slavery was a kind of soft slavery compared to other countries. Historians now show that’s not true, but that was how people saw it.
It was also tied to the myth of miscegenation—the idea that every Brazilian was of mixed race. And if everyone was mixed race, there was supposedly no place for racism, because you couldn’t practice racism against someone who was mixed, as everyone was.
But after 50 or 60 years, this national myth started to change—first because of the rise of the Black movement, which began to call out racism in Brazil, and later because of data on racial inequality. We’ve historically had very good data on race in Brazil—it’s a kind of legacy from the 18th century, through censuses and demographic records.
Those numbers began to show that, despite this idea of racial democracy, racial inequality remained deeply entrenched in Brazil, right up until the end of the 1990s. I think those two things—the activism of the Black movement and the hard data—really contributed to changing people’s belief in the myth of racial democracy.
AU: Just to be clear, when you talk about data on race, how is race classified? I don’t think it’s just white and Black, right? How does that work?
LAC: It’s changed over time, but we generally work with five racial categories. Even today, the Brazilian census is quite good. When a census worker comes to your house, they’ll ask you to identify your race using one of five options: Black, Brown, White, Yellow—which refers to Brazilians of Asian descent—and Indigenous.
That last category isn’t meant for people with distant Indigenous ancestry, but rather for those who actually live within Indigenous communities.
AU: Within higher education, how did race historically affect access? How big were the participation gaps between racial groups prior to the introduction of quotas?
LAC: The differences were huge. At the beginning of the 1990s, about 70 percent of students in public higher education were white. And it’s important to note that Brazil has both a public and a private higher education system.
AU: Right—and even though the private system is larger, the public system is the more selective and prestigious one. That’s where people want to go, correct?
LAC: Exactly. The private system is much bigger, but the public system is more selective, higher quality, and more prestigious.
At the start of the 1990s, around 70 percent of enrollments in the public system were white students. That was a real injustice, because the public system is completely tuition-free. So essentially, the government was collecting taxes from the majority of the population—who are largely Brown, Black, and poor—and using that money to fund the education of white students, who mostly came from middle- and upper-class backgrounds.
AU: Let me just ask—if about 70 percent of students in public higher education were white, how did that compare to the population as a whole?
LAC: In Brazil, the population has usually been about half white and half non-white. At the beginning of the 1990s, around 57 percent of people self-identified as white, but they made up about 70 percent of students in public universities.
It’s interesting, though, because racial classification in Brazil has also shifted over time—the proportions of people identifying as white, Black, or Brown have changed. But to answer your question directly, today less than 50 percent of students in public higher education are white. Black and Brown students now make up the majority in the public system.
AU: Let’s think about how we got there. In the 1980s and 1990s, as you said, racial politics started to change across Brazil. People realized this wasn’t really a racial democracy. How did quotas become the tool for achieving racial justice, rather than affirmative action as practiced in the United States at the time?
LAC: It’s a really complex process—and not one that was carefully planned.
First, we had the earliest proposals coming from the Black movement, mostly from an important Black leader in Brazil who was a congressman at the time. He introduced several bills for affirmative action, most of them based on quotas, though they included other ideas as well—such as direct financial support for Black Brazilians and other measures. But the core idea of quotas was already there in the early 1980s.
After that, we saw the rise of a movement creating preparatory courses for university entrance exams. In Brazil, admission to public universities is based on a standardized test, and these prep courses were designed by Black activists to help Black, Brown, and low-income students prepare for it.
The first actual quota policy began at my own university—the State University of Rio de Janeiro—at the beginning of the 2000s. Interestingly, the counselor who approved the quota system was from a right-wing party. He wasn’t necessarily a racial justice advocate; he was just a politician looking for proposals to champion, and this was one he decided to push through.
From that point onward, other universities began to adopt and replicate the model. Today, Brazil likely has the largest racial quota system in the world.
AU: So, how did we go from a situation in the 1980s and 1990s, where a few institutions were experimenting with quotas, to a point where the federal government actually mandated them for all federal universities in 2012? What led up to that decision, and how does the current quota system work?
LAC: It’s a complex story. In the beginning, there was fierce opposition to quotas in Brazil. Even intellectuals and public figures who had long supported anti-racist efforts criticized the quota system when it was first proposed.
At the same time, there were also important groups supporting these policies, but the federal government initially stayed on the sidelines. During Lula’s first two terms, he was personally supportive of such initiatives, but because the topic was so controversial, his government took a cautious approach. They said, “We need to wait—this is a divisive issue,” and chose not to sponsor a national quota bill for higher education at that stage.
However, during Lula’s broader reform of the higher education system, the government did introduce incentives for universities to adopt diversity policies. And for many institutions, quotas were simply the most practical approach—bureaucratically, they’re straightforward to implement. You just reserve a certain percentage of seats, and that’s it.
The Black movement also played a critical role. Activists developed strategies and frameworks to encourage universities to adopt quotas, and because Brazilian universities enjoy a high degree of autonomy, many were able to introduce these policies on their own.
AU: My understanding is that the quota system is actually a kind of two-level structure. The main rule is that 50 percent of students must come from public secondary schools, and then within that, there are race-based quotas that vary depending on the region—since, I assume, the racial makeup of Brazil isn’t homogenous across the country.
LAC: Exactly. First, it’s important to understand that Brazil’s quota system is primarily socioeconomic. The first criterion is that 50 percent of students admitted to public universities must come from public schools. On average, public schools in Brazil are of lower quality than private schools. You don’t pay to attend them, but the quality is generally weaker.
Within that 50 percent, there’s another socioeconomic division: 25 percent of seats are reserved for students from lower-income backgrounds, and 25 percent for students from higher-income backgrounds who still attended public schools.
Then, inside those categories, there are racial quotas. And as you said, the racial proportions vary by state, depending on the local population.
AU: It’s now been a couple of decades since quotas were first introduced, and 13 years since the federal law came into effect. You mentioned earlier that there’s been a significant narrowing of racial access gaps. How substantial has that change been?
LAC: In terms of access, it’s very significant. Today, we can say that Brazilian universities are truly Black and Brown universities. If you visit a campus in Brazil now, you’ll see far more Black and Brown students than in the past.
That said, there are still limits and challenges. While the public higher education system has changed dramatically in both racial and socioeconomic terms, it remains quite small compared to the private sector. In the 1990s, the public system made up almost half of Brazil’s entire higher education system. Today, it accounts for only about 20 percent.
AU: What about graduation rates? It’s one thing to get into university, but as you mentioned, students from public secondary schools might not have had the same preparation. Has the system been able to adjust to ensure that racial minorities are graduating at the same rate as white students?
LAC: In terms of graduation, the rates are quite similar. Black and Brown students now graduate at roughly the same rate as white students. But there are still differences because, even with quotas, access isn’t evenly distributed across all majors.
AU: So, there’s still stratification within the system.
LAC: Yes, exactly. Because racial quotas exist within the broader socioeconomic quota, the share of seats reserved for Black and Brown students ends up being about half of their proportion in the overall Brazilian population.
As a result, in some programs—especially in the less selective ones—you might see 50 or 60 percent of students identifying as Black or Brown. But in the most selective fields, like law or engineering, that number drops to around 20 percent.
It’s also important to note that not all quota seats are filled. Universities sometimes introduce additional requirements or special exams that can limit how these racial quotas are implemented in practice.
AU: Based on your overview of quotas and their results, is there anything you think could be improved in the system?
LAC: Yes, there’s quite a lot that could be improved. We have a new law from 2023 that made some small but important updates to the 2012 legislation. It’s a good law—I think it corrected several issues—but there are still many areas that need attention.
First, data access. In Brazil, getting access to racial data is actually harder today than it used to be. This is partly due to new data protection laws that were meant to regulate big tech companies, but in practice they’ve ended up restricting academic research instead. So, access to race-related data for research is now much worse than before.
Second, the admissions system itself is extremely complicated. Students take a national standardized exam—the ENEM—to apply for higher education. Through this unified system, they can choose from roughly 6,000 different programs across the country.
Within that, there are multiple overlapping quota categories. Besides the main racial and socioeconomic quotas, there are additional ones—like for students with disabilities—which exist inside the broader categories. Altogether, there are around 16 groups, and combining all of them within a single national admissions platform makes it very difficult to fill every quota properly.
So, while the policy framework is strong, the system still has a lot of complexity and operational challenges that need to be addressed.
AU: And what do you think the future holds for quotas in Brazilian higher education? Is there a limit to how far quotas can help narrow the access gap? And can you imagine a future in which quotas wouldn’t be needed anymore?
LAC: I can imagine that future—and I hope for it. I think we’re all working toward a world where quotas are no longer necessary. But for now, they’re still very much needed.
At the moment, the quota system itself isn’t under serious attack. What is under pressure, though, is public higher education—and really the higher education system as a whole. There’s a growing discourse, mostly from the far right, claiming that higher education isn’t necessary, that people should simply “work hard” instead.
Public universities, in particular, have become targets. Critics accuse them of being useless or of being dominated by the far left, which simply isn’t true.
To answer your question directly, I’d say the quota system in Brazil is quite stable right now. But the institutions that sustain it—especially public universities—are facing challenges. Looking ahead, I think the next step is to expand affirmative action beyond higher education, into other areas like the labor market and public institutions, where access for Black and Brown Brazilians remains limited.
AU: Luiz, thank you so much for being with us today.
LAC: Thank you. It’s my pleasure.
AU: And it just remains for me to thank our excellent producers, Sam Pufek and Tiffany MacLennan, and you, our readers and listeners, for joining us. If you have any questions about today’s episode or suggestions for future ones, don’t hesitate to contact us at [email protected]. Next week is a break week—but after that, we’ll be back with another fascinating conversation. Bye for now.
*This podcast transcript was generated using an AI transcription service with limited editing. Please forgive any errors made through this service.Please note, the views and opinions expressed in each episode are those of the individual contributors, and do not necessarily reflect those of the podcast host and team, or our sponsors.
At first, the question seemed simple: “Why do we go to school?”
I had asked it many times before, in many different districts. I’m a planner and designer specializing in K-12 school projects, and as part of a community-driven design process, we invite students to dream with us and help shape the spaces where they’ll learn, grow, and make sense of the world.
In February of 2023, I was leading a visioning workshop with a group of middle schoolers in Southern California. Their energy was vibrant, their curiosity sharp. We began with a simple activity: Students answered a series of prompts, each one building on the last.
“We go to school because …”
“We need to learn because …”
“We want to be successful because …”
As the conversation deepened, so did their responses. One student wrote, “We want to get further in life.” Another added, “We need to help our families.” And then came the line that stopped me in my tracks: “We go to school because we want future generations to look up to us.”
I’ve worked with a lot of middle schoolers. They’re funny, unfiltered, and often far more insightful than adults give them credit for. But this answer felt different. It wasn’t about homework, or college, or even a dream job. It was about legacy. At that moment, I realized I wasn’t just asking kids to talk about school. I was asking them to articulate their hopes for the world and their role in shaping it.
As a designer, I came prepared to talk about flexible furniture, natural light, and outdoor learning spaces. The students approached the conversation through the lens of purpose, identity, and intergenerational impact. They reminded me that school isn’t just a place to pass through — it’s a place to imagine who you might become and how you might leave the world better than you found it.
I’ve now led dozens of school visioning sessions, no two being alike. In most cases, adults are the ones at the table: district leaders, architects, engineers, and community members. Their perspectives are important, of course. But when we exclude students from shaping the environments they spend most days in, we send an implicit message that this place is not really theirs to shape.
However, when we do invite them in, the difference is immediate. Students are not only willing participants, they’re often the most honest and imaginative contributors in the room. They see past the buzzwords like 21st-century learning, flexible furniture, student-centered design, and collaborative zones, and talk about what actually matters: where they feel safe, where they feel seen, where they can be themselves.
During that workshop when the student spoke about legacy, other young participants asked for more flexible learning spaces, places to move around and collaborate, better food, outdoor classrooms, and quiet areas for mental health breaks. One asked for sign language classes to better communicate with her hard-of-hearing best friend. Another asked for furniture that can move from inside to outside. These aren’t requests that tend to show up on state-issued planning checklists, which are more likely to focus on square footage, capacity, and code compliance, but they reflect an extraordinary level of thought about access, well-being, and inclusion.
The lesson: When we take students seriously, we get more than better design. We get better schools.
There’s a popular saying in architecture: Form follows function. But in school design, I’d argue that form should follow voice. If we want to build learning environments that support joy, connection, and growth, we need to start by asking students what those things look and feel like to them — and then believe them.
Listening isn’t a checkbox. It’s a practice. And it has to start early, not once construction drawings are finalized, but when goals and priorities are still being devised. That’s when student input can shift the direction of a plan, not just decorate it.
It’s also not just about asking the right questions, but being open to answers we didn’t expect. When a student says, “Why do the adults always get the rooms with windows?” — as one did in another workshop I led — that’s not a complaint. That’s a lesson in power dynamics, spatial equity, and the unspoken messages our buildings send.
Since that day, about a year and a half ago, when I heard, “We want future generations to look up to us,” I’ve carried that line with me into every planning session. It’s a reminder that students aren’t just users of school space. They’re stewards of something bigger than themselves.
So if you’re a school leader, a planner, a teacher, or a policymaker, invite students in early. Make space for their voices, not just as a formality but as a source of wisdom. Ask questions that go beyond what color the walls should be. And don’t be surprised when the answers you get are deeper than you imagined. Be willing to let their vision shift yours.
Because when we design with students, not just for them, we create schools that don’t just house learning. We create schools that help define what learning is for. And if we do it right, maybe one day, future generations will look up to today’s students not just because of what they learned, but because of the spaces they helped shape.
Chalkbeat is a nonprofit news site covering educational change in public schools.
For more news on district and school management, visit eSN’s Educational Leadership hub.
Enrico Giori, Chalkbeat
Enrico Giori is a California-based planner and designer at Architecture for Education, or A4E, specializing in K-12 educational facilities. He focuses on agency-driven school design that promotes equitable and future-thinking learning environments.
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This analysis originally appeared at The Up and Up, a newsletter focused on youth culture and politics.
There’s been a massive effort to understand why Gen Z shifted right in the 2024 election. Part of that movement was thanks to Charlie Kirk and his work to engage young people — on and offline.
Whether it was his college tours or the campus debate videos he brought to the forefront of social media, he changed the way young people think about, consume and engage in political discourse.
Over the past few years, as I’ve conducted Gen Z listening sessions across the country, I’ve watched as freedom of speech has become a priority issue for young people, particularly on the right. The emphasis on that issue alone helped President Donald Trump make inroads with young voters in 2024, with Kirk as its biggest cheerleader. Just a few years ago, being a conservative was not welcomed on many liberal college campuses. That has changed.
Even on campuses he never visited, Kirk, via his massive social media profile and the resonance of his videos online, was at the center of bringing MAGA to the mainstream. Scroll TikTok or Instagram with a right-leaning college student for five minutes, and you’re likely to see one of those debate-style videos pop into their feed. Since the news broke of the attack on his life last week, I’ve heard from many young leaders — both liberal and conservative — who are distraught and shook up. The reality is that Kirk changed the game for Gen Z political involvement. Even for those who disagreed with his politics, his focus on young voters inevitably shifted how young people were considered and included in the conversation.
Like many of you, I’ve followed Kirk for years. Whether you aligned with his policy viewpoints or not, his influence on the conversation is undeniable. And, for young people, he was the face of the next generation for leadership in the conservative party.
Kirk’s assassination was the latest in a string of political violence, including the political assassination in Minnesota that took the life of former House Speaker Melissa Hortman and her husband, and left state Sen. John Hoffman wounded. One of the most common fears I hear from young people across the country and the political spectrum is that political division has gone too far. Last week’s shooting also coincided with a tragic school shooting in Colorado. The grave irony of all these forces coinciding — gun violence, political violence and campus violence — cannot be ignored.
In all my conversations with young people, one thing is clear: they are scared.
Gen Z perspectives
After Wednesday’s tragedy, I reached out to students and young people I’ve met through listening sessions with The Up and Up, as well as leaders of youth organizations that veer right of center. Others reached out via social media to comment. Here’s some of what they shared.
California college student Lucy Cox: “He was the leader of the Republican Party and the conservative movement right now especially for young people. He’s probably more famous than Trump for college students. He had divisive politics, but he never went about it in a divisive way. He’s been a part of my college experience for as long as I’ve been here. He felt like somebody I knew. His personality was so pervasive. It feels very odd that I’m never going to watch a new Charlie Kirk video again.”
Jesse Wilson, a 30-year-old in Missouri: “From the first time I saw him, it was on the ‘Whatever’ podcast, I’ve watched that for a long long long time. Just immediately, the way he carried himself and respected the people he was talking to regardless of who they were, their walk of life, how they treated him. Immediately I just thought, ‘Man, there’s just something different about him.’ He was willing to engage. It was the care, he didn’t want to just shut somebody down. He was like, ‘These are my points, and this is what I’m about,’ and it seemed like there was a willingness to engage and meet people where they’re at. I found it really heartwarming. And we need it. That’s what’s going to make a difference.”
Ebo Entsuah, a 31-year-old from Florida: “Charlie had a reach most political influencers couldn’t even imagine. I didn’t agree with him on a number of things, but there’s no mistaking that he held the ear of an entire generation. When someone like that is taken from the world, the impact multiplies.”
Danielle Butcher Franz, CEO of The American Conservation Coalition: “Charlie changed my life. The first time I ever went to D.C. was because of him. He invited me to join TPUSA at CPAC so I bought a flight and skipped class. When we finally met in person he grinned and said, ‘Are you Republican Sass?’ (My Twitter at the time) and gave me a big thumbs-up. I owe so much of my career to him. Most of my closest friends came into my life through him or at his events. Because of Charlie, I met my husband. We worked with him back when TPUSA was still run out of a garage. Charlie’s early support helped ACC grow when no one else took us seriously. He welcomed me with open arms to speak at one of his conferences to 300+ young people when ACC was barely weeks old. I keep looking around me and thinking about how none of it would be here if I hadn’t met Charlie.”
A 26-year-old woman who asked to remain anonymous: “I would be naive to not admit that my career trajectory and path would not have been possible without Charlie Kirk. He forged a path in making a career with steadfast opinions, engaging with a generation that had never been so open-minded and free, slanting their politics the exact opposite of his own. He made politics accessible. He made conservatism accessible. But damn, he made CIVICS accessible. He dared us to engage. To take the bait. To react. He was controversial because he was good at what he was doing. Good at articulating his beliefs with such conviction to dare the other side to express. He died engaging with the other side. In good or bad faith is one’s own to decide, but he was engaging. In a time where the polarization is never more clear. So I will continue to dare to engage with those I agree and those I disagree with. But it’s heartbreaking. It feels like we’ve lost any common belonging. There has not been an event in modern political history that has impacted me this much. Maybe it hits too close to home.”
Disillusioned by a divided America
Over the summer, I wrote about Gen Z’s sinking American pride. Of all generations, according to Gallup data, Gen Z’s American pride is the lowest, at just 41%. At the time, I wrote that this is not just about the constant chaos which has become so normalized for our generation. It’s more than that. It’s a complete disillusionment with U.S. politics for a generation that has grown up amid hyperpolarization and a scathing political climate. What happened last week adds a whole layer.
Beyond the shooting, there is the way in which this unfolded online. There’s a legitimate conversation to be had about people’s reactions to Kirk’s death and an unwillingness to condemn violence.
As a 19-year-old college student told me: “This reveals a big problem that I see with a lot of members in Gen Z — that they tend to see things in black and white and fail to realize that several things can be true at once.”
There’s also the need for a discussion about the speed at which the incredibly graphic video of violence circulated — and the fact that it is now seared into the minds of the many, many young people who watched it.
We live in a country where gun violence is pervasive. When we zoom out and look toward the future, there are inevitable consequences of this carnage.
Since The Up and Up started holding listening sessions in fall 2022, young people have shared that civil discourse and political violence are two of their primary concerns. One of the most telling trends are the responses to two of our most frequently asked questions: “What is your biggest fear for the country, and what is your biggest hope for the country?”
Consistently, the fear has something to do with violence and division, while the hope is unity.
I think we all could learn from the shared statement issued by the Young Democrats and Young Republicans of Connecticut before Trump announced Kirk’s death, in which they came together to “reject all forms of political violence” in a way we rarely, if ever, see elected officials do.
When then-16-year old Mariam Kaba won $1 million through the Transform Rhode Island scholarship three years ago, she saw it as her opportunity to create the change she wanted to see in her nearly 45,000-person community of Woonsocket.
“I don’t see much positive representation from our community all the time,” Kaba said. “I was thinking ‘my scholarship won’t get picked.’ But it did … and I was able to bring something so big to my community, a community that already doesn’t have the most funding in the world.”
Kaba’s investments resulted in a number of youth-centered spaces and opportunities popping up across the city, including 120 calm corners in elementary classrooms to support students’ sensory functions, new physical education equipment for all Woonsocket elementary schools, job fairs, hundreds of donated books, and field trips to local colleges & universities, among others.
Kaba, who is now a rising sophomore at Northeastern University, describes the experience of winning the scholarship as surreal.
“It didn’t occur to me that I was the last person standing and I won $1 million,” Kaba said. “But when I won, the first thing I thought was, ‘OK, let’s get to work. I’m given this opportunity to help improve my community. What steps can I take? And when does the groundwork start happening?’”
When a teen leads, adults follow
Bringing Kaba’s vision to life meant working alongside adults with experience in project management and community engagement while keeping up with her student life at Woonsocket High School.
“In high school, I managed both classwork and extracurriculars like student council, being a peer mentor and participating in Future Business Leaders of America,” Kaba said. “Balancing those things with my work with the scholarship came easy to me.”
Kaba partnered with community organizations across the state like nonprofit Leadership Rhode Island. This collaboration helped lay out a roadmap for Kaba’s proposal, manage the scholarship funds and coordinate meetings with community leaders.
The winning student also sits on the board of the Papitto Opportunity Connection Foundation for a year. This provides an opportunity for them to build their network and connect with leaders in Rhode Island.
High schoolers can make a difference through spaces and support like this, Kaba said, and also advises teens interested in engaging with their community to “not be afraid to start off small.”
This “small” gesture, Kaba added, can be as simple as gathering a group of friends to organize a community cleanup or starting a school club or Instagram to advocate for something they’re passionate about.
“Starting off small is going to give you those steps to leading these big impactful projects,” Kaba said.
The feedback Kaba received on her community investments, primarily from peers, community members and teachers in Woonsocket, was overwhelmingly positive.
“People told me, ‘I was able to go to this job fair and I got connected to this job,’ or, ‘I’m going to the Harbour Youth Center to get items from the food pantry you created and it’s been helping my family a lot,’” Kaba said. “Community organizations reached out to me to let me know they would love to find a way to work together and do their part to take action too.”
NEW ORLEANS — Kapri Clark used the $50 to help pay for her braces. Lyrik Grant saved half of it, and used the rest for dance classes. Kevin Jackson said he squandered the cash on wings, ride shares for dates and some DJ equipment he later tossed.
For the past five years, Clark, Grant, Jackson and hundreds of high schoolers in New Orleans have shopped — or saved — as part of a project to explore what happens if you give cash directly to young people, no strings attached.
“That was the most helpful thing ever,” said Clark, now a student at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, who said she could still use that extra cash.
“The $50 study,” as it’s known, began at Rooted School, a local charter school, as an experiment to increase attendance. The study has since grown to eight other high schools in the city, as well as Rooted’s sister campus in Indianapolis, with students randomly selected to receive $50 every week for 40 weeks, or $2,000 total. By comparing their spending and savings habits to a larger control group, researchers wanted to figure out whether the money improved a teen’s financial capability and perception of themselves. They also wanted to know: Could the cash boost their grade-point averages and reading scores?
Now, as the experiment expands to Washington, D.C., and perhaps Texas, a final report of the $50 study suggests a little bit of spending cash can make a difference in young people’s lives.
The report, released Tuesday, shows students who received the cash payments were slightly more likely to attend school than those who didn’t. Academic performance did not differ between the groups. But financially, the extra cash helped students acquire stronger long-term planning skills and familiarity with savings accounts and other financial products. They ended the study, on average, with $300 saved away — a 15 percent savings rate, triple the national average for American adults.
“When young people are given the opportunity to manage money in low-stakes environments, they build the habits that shape long-term financial health,” said Stacia West, an associate professor at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville and co-founder of the Center for Guaranteed Income Research, which partnered with the Rooted School Foundation to run the study. “The short-term habits we’re seeing are laying the foundation for lifelong financial capability.”
Across the United States and the globe, hundreds of communities have tinkered with some form of universal basic income, or UBI, a social welfare program that provides people with regular cash payments to meet their needs. Direct cash transfer programs like the $50 study or the child tax credit for families are similar, but they often provide smaller amounts and target specific populations to boost a person’s income. Many studies have linked UBI to financial stability and better employment and health outcomes.
In the U.S. and Canada, researchers have found links between cash transfer pilots that focus on low-income families and better test scores and graduation rates for their kids. So far, though, few experiments have targeted young people or examined how the programs influence their lives specifically.
Talia Livneh, senior director of programs at the Rooted School in New Orleans, poses for a portrait on the school grounds. Credit: Daniella Zalcman for The Hechinger Report
“There’s a deep, deep distrust that we adults have of young people,” said Jonathan Johnson, CEO of the Rooted School Foundation, which operates the network’s four charter schools. “That distrust is to their detriment.”
In New Orleans, roughly 4 in 5 of Rooted students come from economically disadvantaged families, and during the pandemic, many struggled to prioritize school. Some students skipped class to provide child care for their working parents, or because they needed to work themselves, according to Johnson. With some seed funding from a local education nonprofit, Rooted started a “micropilot” to test whether cash could help students make ends meet and get themselves to school.
The original cohort included 20 students, half of whom received the $50 payment. In that micropilot, those receiving the cash saw their material wellbeing improve, meaning their family could more easily afford rent or utilities, and they gained skills around setting financial goals. Rooted added students from its Indianapolis campus and another high school in New Orleans, G.W. Carver. And for their final report released this week, researchers sifted through the spending and survey data from 170 students who received the cash payments and 210 students who did not.
The two-year report found students in the treatment group attended 1.23 more days of school, and spent close to half their funds on essentials like food and groceries. The report also noted that 70 percent of all students at the participating schools qualify for subsidized meals, suggesting “this spending may reflect efforts to meet immediate nutritional needs.” One 12th grader in a survey mentioned using the money to feed their siblings.
Kapri Clark recalled waiting every Wednesday morning for the $50 deposit to appear in her banking app. And every Wednesday afternoon, during her senior year at Carver High School, she put that money toward her $200 bill for braces she covered out of pocket.
She braided hair to cover the rest, and still books clients when she has time in between her studies to become a nurse at the Lafayette campus. Even in college, Clark can see the need for some supplemental income for herself and her peers.
“I make enough to take care of myself, but I watch every dollar,” said Clark. “There’s a lot of people struggling in life to eat, to live. Think if they got kids.”
Read Irvin, chief of staff for Collegiate Academies in New Orleans, a network of five charter high schools that includes Carver High, said the $2,000 had provided the extra incentive a few students needed to stick it out until graduation. “That’s incredibly impactful for their life trajectories,” she said.
In January 2024, the city of New Orleans invested $1 million to bankroll another extension of the study, as part of an economic mobility initiative that tapped federal Covid relief funding. During the pandemic, a skyrocketing murder rate and spike in overall crime had convinced the city to help more residents, especially young people, find stability.
“Research shows that people who are economically stable are less likely to commit crime,” said Courtney Wong, the city’s deputy director of economic development.
The city funding not only expanded the $50 study to nine high schools, it also set a longer timeline for the research: About 800 seniors who participate will have their data tracked for 18 months after their graduation.
A former high school teacher and administrator, Wong said $50 could have made a difference in the lives of many of her former students.
“This targets young people in that perfect moment,” she said. “They’re in the right spot where even a little amount of help could have big, positive impacts before issues of crime or unemployment or things like that even come up.”
Researchers also found students who received the $50 reported greater agency. They felt more control over their finances and more confidence about making long-term financial decisions. Students, according to the report, aligned their spending to future goals such as college prep classes and getting a driver’s license.
Lyrik Grant, a rising junior at Carver High School, is the second-youngest of six kids with two working parents. She could ask them for help, but the $50 allowed Grant to afford the tights and tops she needed for dance class on her own. The money helped cover a college entrance exam, which she aced, and Grant wants to learn how to drive soon.
“My first thought was: What am I going to do with all this money?” Grant said, adding that the cash helped some of her classmates find financial stability. “Children don’t always want to spend their parent’s money, and some parents don’t always have money to give them.”
Still, for some students, the money wasn’t exactly life-changing. Irvin of Collegiate Academies said many used the cash to “just be teenagers.”
That was true for Kevin Jackson, a rising junior at Rooted School New Orleans.
“It’s cool to get free money,” he said. “I was spending it on the TikTok shop: posters, keyboards, lights — stuff I liked, not stuff I actually needed.”
Despite the studies that show a positive impact from UBI, many Americans appear skeptical of the idea of a federal program that gives unconditional financial support to people. Aditi Vasan, a pediatrician and researcher at PolicyLab at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, said skeptics often worry about recipients using public dollars for drug use or other illicit behavior, even though the data does not support that.
Still, that fear will likely keep any large-scale cash transfer program from being adopted in the United States any time soon, she said.
“That concern exists certainly for cash transfers in general but might be particularly magnified for teens,” Vasan said. “We’ve not seen that play out in the evidence from the quality studies that have been done.”
Next year, in Washington, D.C., the nonprofit Education Forward will fund a pilot of the $50 study with 40 high schoolers. The Rooted school network resumed talks, meanwhile, to take the study to neighboring Texas, after state lawmakers earlier this year failed to pass legislation that threatened to ban local governments from adopting guaranteed income programs.
Talia Livneh, senior director of programs for the Rooted School Foundation, said the politics may need to catch up to the research.
“I don’t think what we’re doing is so radical. I believe this just works,” she said. “Kids don’t lack character. They lack cash,” Livneh added. “They deserve deep, deep trust that students and people know what’s best for them.”
It’s been four years since Vernell Cheneau III received the $50 for 40 weeks while a student at Rooted in New Orleans, and his economic life isn’t easy. He struggled for months to find part-time work in his hometown. But on a recent summer morning, the same day he finally received a job offer, Cheneau recalled what he learned from the study.
Vernell Cheneau III (left) with two other students who participated in the cash transfer program at Rooted School, in New Orleans. Credit: Courtesy of Rooted School
“You learn that money goes fast, especially if it’s free,” said Cheneau, 22.
As a student, he tried to use the money to build some credit history. Since then, he’s learned the full cost of being an adult in America: health care, fuel and maintenance for his car, getting your hair done before a new job. Cheneau has also spent that time trying to convince friends and family to support UBI.
Most oppose giving “free” money to people, he said. “How much does it cost to feed children? Get to work? We can’t just allow people to drown.”
“Everything costs something,” Cheneau added. “If you’re stuck in a rut, it’s expensive to restart. In this country, it’s expensive to be poor.”
Contact staff writer Neal Morton at 212-678-8247, on Signal at nealmorton.99, or via email at [email protected].
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The higher education enrollment landscape is undergoing a significant transformation, driven by shifting demographics, technological advancements, and economic uncertainty. To remain relevant and competitive, colleges and universities must adapt to these changes and develop strategies to succeed in a challenging environment. But before you can adapt, one must first look at some of the major innovations that have disrupted how consumers engage with brands.
Are you engaging students the way they engage with other brands?
Short form video content: Platforms like TikTok, Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts have dominated, offering snackable content that informs, entertains, and inspires within seconds. Influencers (see #5) use this medium to tell stories, drive trends, and engage consumers on behalf of sponsored brands. Students use the medium to assess campus life and inform college choices.
Voice and visual search optimization: The rise of “smart assistants”and digital assistants have changed the way we engage with brands, discover products, and complete research, transactions, and more. A good digital assistant is becoming as essential as a solid logo design in marketing.
AI personalization: Artificial intelligence has revolutionized marketing by enabling hyper-personalized experiences, analyzing real-time data, and predicting consumer behavior to deliver tailored content. For cash strapped institutions, it has the added benefit of allowing you to zero in on your highest potential return prospects and curate content.
Augmented reality (AR) experiences: AR is transforming how consumers shop, learn, and engage with brands, creating immersive experiences that drive both engagement and sales. George Mason University developed a successful AR campus tour for transfer students, and I expect to see prospective students and their families wandering campus with branded AR glasses on campuses everywhere before long.
Influencer marketing: The focus has shifted from big-name endorsements to micro- and nano-influencers, offering niche expertise and deeper connections with audiences. Universities are leveraging student influencers on campus for enrollment and advancement opportunities.
Data privacy regulations and ethical marketing trends: With increasing concerns about data breaches, consumers demand transparency and ethical practices in data handling and marketing. Layer an ever changing and tightening regulatory environment and you will need solid governance and procedural guidance to ensure compliance without limiting effectiveness.
Omnichannel integration: Marketers now focus on providing a seamless experience across all touchpoints, ensuring brand consistency and cohesive customer interactions. The same experience is paramount during the college search process to stand out, stay top of mind, and draw students to your engaging (AR powered?) on campus events.
5 keys to optimizing your college marketing strategy to address these changes
That is the how, but what about the what. A great tech stack is one thing, but the meat of your strategy and message must center around what is central to your mission, your goals, and your prospective student audience.
1. Gear your strategy to your prospective students
As the student population becomes increasingly diverse, institutions must develop targeted recruitment and communication strategies to engage with underrepresented groups, including Hispanic, African American, and first-generation students. According to RNL’s most recent study of undergraduate marketing and recruitment practices, 51% of four-year private, 42% of two-year public, and 37% of four-year public institutions have specific strategies for recruiting Hispanic students. The vast majority of institutions also do not have materials and communications available in Spanish. Depending on your locality, these populations may be your best bet for stable growth, but without a specific marketing strategy, you will miss the opportunity.
2. Assess the suite of marketing tools, vehicles and assets at your fingertips
How cohesive, consistent and connected are they? Students use a variety of resources to learn about colleges and universities, from websites and social media to videos and printed brochures. Institutions must adopt a balanced, omnichannel approach to marketing, leveraging multiple channels to reach students at various stages of their decision-making process.
3. Plug the leak
As the demographic cliff approaches, institutions must prioritize student success and retention strategies. A recent study found that public colleges and universities use market research and print/electronic campaigns to impact student yield and summer melt, but there is room for improvement in collecting data to inform retention policies. (Our report on retention practices provides very helpful benchmarks and ideas for student success strategies.)
To succeed in a rapidly changing environment, institutions must be willing to adapt and innovate. This includes investing in technology, such as AI-powered enrollment management systems, and exploring new revenue streams, such as online and graduate programs.
College marketing is evolving at an unprecedented pace. How can you keep up?
To remain competitive, colleges and universities must embrace strategies that prioritize personalization, authenticity, and innovation. From leveraging short-form video content and AI-powered tools to integrating augmented reality experiences and omnichannel approaches, institutions have a wealth of opportunities to connect with prospective students in meaningful ways.
However, success will require more than technology; it demands a deep understanding of the diverse needs and aspirations of the modern student population. By aligning marketing efforts with institutional goals, fostering inclusivity, and enhancing the overall student experience, higher education institutions can not only navigate these changes but thrive in a rapidly shifting environment. Now is the time to adapt, innovate, and future-proof strategies to ensure sustainable growth and relevance in the years ahead. Reach out and we can connect on your marketing strategies. We will find a time to talk about your opportunities to make sure your marketing efforts resonate with students and reach them in the channels they use.
Talk with our marketing and recruitment experts
RNL works with colleges and universities across the country to ensure their marketing and recruitment efforts are optimized and aligned with how student search for colleges. Reach out today for a complimentary consultation to discuss:
Arguably, the most recognisable example of translational research in recent years was the swift development and rollout of the COVID-19 mRNA vaccine. The world was waiting for this research to meet its real-world ambition. Many members of the public would recognise that some of this research was undertaken at Oxford University and, with some exceptions, would also recognise the beneficial impact of the vaccine for both individuals and society. Following the rollout, there was even a public discussion that touched upon the idea of interdisciplinarity. How could the benefits of the COVID-19 vaccine be communicated to communities who felt reluctant to have the jab or distrustful of medical science?
However, there was another piece of research that was translated into real-world effect with serendipitous timing.
In 2013, Professor Andrew Ellis was working at the Aston Institute of Photonic Technologies. Ellis had previously worked at BT, where his observations and experience suggested that the ‘capacity’ needed in the telephone infrastructure had and would increase consistently over time and was consistently underestimated. Ellis recalls an ongoing refrain of ‘surely we have enough capacity already’. This continued to be true once the copper phone lines were used to deliver data for home internet usage.
At this point, most residential properties were on ADSL (Asymmetric Digital Subscriber Line) internet connections. That is where copper wires are used to deliver broadband internet. Homes were typically working at speeds of around 8 megabits per second (Mbps).
The Government had developed a strategy setting out that the majority of residential properties should be able to work at speeds of ‘at least 2 Mbps per second and 95% of the UK receiving far greater speeds (at least 24 Mbps) by 2017’. Fibre broadband was beginning to be rolled out, which used fibre optic cables to transmit data much more quickly. However, these fibre optic cables were generally only used to reach the street cabinet, with copper wires connecting the street cabinets to individual homes, restricting the broadband speed that could be achieved.
From his previous work, Ellis could see that this ambition was neither competitive internationally nor of sufficient use long-term when demand for emerging applications was taken into account. He demonstrated that capacity was falling well below the predicted need and that the UK was slipping down the league table for connectivity in economically developed countries. Estonia, Poland, Korea and Norway were all streaking ahead.
Ellis contacted MPs working on this strategy via the Industry and Parliament Trust. Two breakfast meetings and a dinner meeting were held to discuss the lack of ambition in the strategy. However, only the fortuitous attendance of a senior civil servant at the dinner meeting led to a policy breakthrough. Further momentum and publicity were generated by a meeting organised by the Royal Society to discuss ‘Communication networks beyond the capacity crunch’, including a presentation by Dr Andrew Lord.
Ellis was lobbying for an increase in ambition. There was resistance to this as there was no additional money to spend on improving infrastructure outside of the spending review cycle. Ellis convinced the Government that no additional spending was needed to change the ambition. Changing a number in a policy document wouldn’t (on this occasion) cost the government any more money. (The terms ‘pure-fibre’ and ‘full-fibre’ were also coined at these meetings, meaning using fibre optics cables to the street cabinet and from the cabinet to individual homes.)
With the Government changing their ambition, providers such as Clear Fibre, Gigaclear and BT Openreach would need to improve the infrastructure to deliver faster broadband to our homes.
It was estimated that upgrading the whole UK to full fibre would cost £40-60 billion as part of the EU-funded Discus project. Research by the AiPT team showed that it would be closer to £8-10 billion if the network was reconfigured according to their research proposals, a one-for-one replacement of network equipment from copper to fibre-based ones. Further, research demonstrated that fibre is also more energy efficient.
Optical networks were using about 2% of the electricity in the developing world. (Ellis explained that BT objected to this figure, stating that it was, in fact, 1.96%!) Not only was a full-fibre network faster, it was also more energy efficient. (This now pales in significance to the energy consumption that will increasingly be needed to power AI data centres.)
BT began rolling out full-fibre broadband to 80% of the UK. In 2019, BT hired heavily for this work, much of which was completed in the first few months of 2020. The increased activity and presence of BT vans helped fuel the 5G coronavirus conspiracy!
In a moment of serendipity, this meant that by the 23rd of March 2020, when the then Prime Minister, Boris Johnson, announced the first lockdown, there was enough access capacity for many of us to begin working at home. As we got used to Zoom and Teams, multiple people were using video calls in one household for work and homeschooling. Not only did this allow for a relatively smooth transition to remote working, but it allowed our children to continue accessing their education and for us to keep in touch with friends and family (Zoom quiz, anyone?) The societal shift to remote working, prompted by lockdowns but enabled by full-fibre, remains both contested in terms of productivity and profound in terms of impact.
I asked Andrew what challenges he faced when trying to inform industry and policy of his research. He noted three key barriers:
To impact Government policy, one needs to know the right person to talk to. There must be barriers to prevent a free-for-all lobbying system of civil servants. However, policy institutes, research impact centres and organisations such as the IPT should be able to facilitate connections when this is helpful to both parties.
The second – is the structure of academic contracts. New ideas often come from, and are certainly implemented by, PhD students and Research Assistants. However, given that most research assistants are on two- or three-year contracts, their eyes are firmly on improving their CV to land the next contract. This often leads them to focus almost entirely on publications. To build good links with industry and engage in long-term strategy, longer-term job contracts are needed.
Similarly, he feels a strong tension between metrics, such as 4* papers, required for REF and rapid publication of results in outlets read or attended by decision-makers in industry, where solutions are often required in months rather than years
Whilst the success of the COVID vaccine development may have made global headlines, the work of the AiPT’s team (Andrew believes that others lobbied on the same topic, including Professor Dimitra Simeonidou at the University of Bristol, Professor Polina Bayvel CBE at University College London and Professor Sir David Payne at Southampton University) quietly allowed many of us to continue working and to be connected to our colleagues, friends, and family throughout the pandemic. Further, as Professor Sarah Gilbert, Professor of Vaccinology at the Jenner Institute and lead scientist on the vaccine project, explains, the ability to work remotely with trial volunteers (giving them information via video instead of in-person presentations) and collaborating with colleagues across the globe was vital in the vaccine production itself.
