Tag: Glen

Moral Decay, Dehumanization, and the Failure of Courage (Dahn Shaulis and Glen McGhee)

At Higher Education Inquirer, our focus on the college meltdown has always pointed beyond collapsing enrollments, rising tuition, and institutional dysfunction. Higher education has served as a warning signal — a visible manifestation of a far deeper crisis: the moral decay and dehumanization of society, compounded by a profound failure of courage among those with the greatest power and resources.

This concern predates the current moment. Through our earlier work at American Injustice, we chronicled how American institutions steadily abandoned ethical responsibility in favor of profit, prestige, and political convenience. What is happening in higher education today is not an anomaly. It is the predictable outcome of decades of moral retreat by elites who benefit from the system while refusing to challenge its injustices.

Permanent War and the Moral Abdication of Leadership

Wars in Gaza, Ukraine, and Venezuela reveal a world in which human suffering has been normalized and strategically managed rather than confronted. Civilian lives are reduced to abstractions, filtered through geopolitical narratives and sanitized media frames. What is most striking is not only the violence itself, but the ethical cowardice of leadership.

University presidents, policymakers in Washington, and financial and technological elites rarely speak with moral clarity about war and its human costs. Institutions that claim to value human life and critical inquiry remain silent, hedging statements to avoid donor backlash or political scrutiny. The result is not neutrality, but complicity — a tacit acceptance that power matters more than people.

Climate Collapse and the Silence of Those Who Know Better

Climate change represents an existential moral challenge, yet it has been met with astonishing timidity by those most capable of leading. Universities produce the research, model the risks, and educate the future — yet many remain financially entangled with fossil fuel interests and unwilling to confront the implications of their own findings.

Student demands for divestment and climate accountability are often treated as public-relations problems rather than ethical imperatives. University presidents issue vague commitments while continuing business as usual. In Washington, legislation stalls. On Wall Street, climate risk is managed as a portfolio concern rather than a human catastrophe. In Silicon Valley, technological “solutions” are offered in place of systemic change.

This is not ignorance. It is cowardice disguised as pragmatism.

The Suppression of Student Protest and the Fear of Moral Clarity

The moral vacuum at the top becomes most visible when students attempt to fill it. Historically, student movements have pushed institutions toward justice — against segregation, apartheid, and unjust wars. Today, however, student protest is increasingly criminalized.

Peaceful encampments are dismantled. Students are arrested or suspended. Faculty are intimidated. Surveillance tools track dissent. University leaders invoke “safety” and “order” while outsourcing enforcement to police and private security. The message is unmistakable: moral engagement is welcome only when it does not challenge power.

This is not leadership. It is risk aversion elevated to institutional doctrine.

Mass Surveillance and the Bureaucratization of Fear

The expansion of mass surveillance further reflects elite moral failure. From campuses to corporations, human beings are monitored, quantified, and managed. Surveillance is justified as efficiency or security, but its deeper function is control — discouraging dissent, creativity, and ethical risk-taking.

Leaders who claim to champion innovation quietly accept systems that undermine autonomy and erode trust. In higher education, surveillance replaces mentorship; compliance replaces curiosity. A culture of fear takes root where moral courage once should have flourished.

Inequality and the Insulation of Elites from Consequence

Extreme inequality enables this cowardice. Those at the top are shielded from the consequences of their decisions. University presidents collect compensation packages while adjuncts struggle to survive. Wall Street profits from instability it helps create. Silicon Valley builds tools that reshape society without accountability. Washington dithers while communities fracture.

When elites are insulated, ethical standards erode. Moral responsibility becomes optional — something to be invoked rhetorically but avoided in practice.

Social Media, AI, and the Automation of Moral Evasion

Social media and Artificial Intelligence accelerate dehumanization while providing cover for inaction. Platforms reward outrage without responsibility. Algorithms make decisions without accountability. Leaders defer to “systems” and “processes” rather than exercising judgment.

In higher education, AI threatens to further distance leaders from the human consequences of their choices — allowing automation to replace care, metrics to replace wisdom, and efficiency to replace ethics.

The Crisis Beneath the Crisis

The college meltdown is not simply a failure of policy or finance. It is a failure of moral leadership. Those with the most power — university presidents, elected officials, financiers, and technologists — have repeatedly chosen caution over conscience, reputation over responsibility, and silence over truth.

War without moral reckoning. Climate collapse without leadership. Protest without protection. Surveillance without consent. Inequality without accountability.

These are not accidents. They are the results of decisions made — and avoided — by people who know better.

Toward Moral Courage and Rehumanization

Rehumanization begins with courage. It requires leaders willing to risk prestige, funding, and influence in defense of human dignity. Higher education should be a site of ethical leadership, not an echo of elite fear.

This means defending student protest, confronting climate responsibility honestly, rejecting dehumanizing technologies, and placing human well-being above institutional self-preservation. It means leaders speaking plainly about injustice — even when it is inconvenient.

Our concern at Higher Education Inquirer — and long before that, at American Injustice — has always been this: What happens to a society when those with the greatest power lack the courage to use it ethically?

Until that question is confronted, the college meltdown will remain only one visible fracture in a far deeper moral collapse.

Source link

January 4, 2026
How Higher Education Inquirer’s 2016 Warnings Played Out, 2016–2025 (Glen McGhee)

In December 2016, the Higher Education Inquirer published a set of 18 predictions warning of an ongoing “U.S. College Meltdown.” At the time, these warnings ran counter to the dominant narrative promoted by university leaders, accreditation agencies, Wall Street analysts, and much of the higher education press. College, readers were assured, remained a sound investment. Institutional risks were described as isolated, manageable, or limited to a small number of poorly run schools.

Nearly nine years later, that confidence has collapsed.

A comprehensive review of publicly available data, investigative journalism, court records, and government reports shows that 17 of the Higher Education Inquirer’s 18 predictions—94.4 percent—have been fully or partially confirmed. What was once framed as speculation now reads as an early diagnosis of a system already in advanced decline.

This article is not a victory lap. It is an accounting—of warnings ignored, of structural failures compounded, and of a higher education system reshaped less by learning than by debt, austerity, and financial engineering.

The Growth of Student Debt

In 2016, total student loan debt stood at approximately $1.4 trillion. By 2025, it had surpassed $1.8 trillion, despite repeated claims that the crisis was stabilizing. Millions of borrowers cycled in and out of forbearance, delinquency, and default, often unaware of the long-term consequences of capitalization, interest accrual, and damaged credit.

Temporary relief programs—pandemic pauses, income-driven repayment plans, and selective forgiveness—offered short-term breathing room while failing to address the underlying cost structure of higher education. Legal challenges and administrative reversals further destabilized borrower expectations, reinforcing the sense that student debt had become a permanent feature of American life rather than a transitional burden.

The Higher Education Inquirer warned in 2016 that student loans would increasingly function as a disciplinary mechanism, constraining career choice, delaying family formation, and suppressing economic mobility. That warning has proven prescient.

Graduate Underemployment and the Erosion of the Degree Premium

Another core prediction concerned the labor market. While headline unemployment numbers often appeared strong, the quality of employment deteriorated. By the early 2020s, a majority of recent four-year college graduates were underemployed—working in jobs that did not require a degree or offered limited advancement.

Wages stagnated even as credential requirements rose. Employers demanded more education for the same roles, while offering less stability in return. The result was a generation of graduates caught between rising expectations and diminishing returns.

This shift exposed a contradiction at the heart of the modern university: institutions continued to market degrees as pathways to prosperity, even as internal data increasingly showed that outcomes varied dramatically by institution, major, race, and class.

Enrollment Decline and the Demographic Cliff

The enrollment downturn predicted in 2016 arrived in waves. First came post–Great Recession skepticism. Then demographic decline reduced the number of traditional college-age students. Finally, the pandemic accelerated distrust, remote learning fatigue, and financial strain.

By the mid-2020s, enrollment losses were no longer cyclical. They were structural.

Colleges responded not by rethinking pricing or mission, but by cutting costs. Programs were eliminated, faculty positions left unfilled, and student services hollowed out. In rural and working-class regions, entire communities lost anchor institutions that had served as employers, cultural centers, and pathways to upward mobility.

Institutional Debt, Financialization, and Risk Shifting

One of the most underreported developments has been the rise of institutional debt. Facing declining tuition revenue, many colleges turned to bond markets to finance operations, capital projects, or refinancing. This strategy delayed collapse but increased long-term vulnerability.

The Higher Education Inquirer warned that debt-financed survival strategies would transfer risk downward—onto students through higher tuition, onto staff through layoffs, and onto local governments when institutions failed. That pattern has repeated itself across the country.

Meanwhile, elite universities with massive endowments continued to expand, insulate themselves from risk, and benefit from tax advantages unavailable to less wealthy institutions.

Closures, Mergers, and Asset Stripping

Since 2016, well over one hundred colleges have closed, merged, or been absorbed. Many closures were preceded by years of warning signs: declining enrollment, deferred maintenance, accreditation scrutiny, and emergency fundraising campaigns.

In some cases, institutions sold land, buildings, or entire campuses to survive. In others, boards pursued mergers that preserved branding while eliminating local governance and jobs.

These were not isolated failures. They were the predictable outcome of a system that prioritized growth, prestige, and financial metrics over resilience and public accountability.

The Limits of Reform and the Failure of Oversight

Perhaps the most sobering confirmation of the 2016 analysis is not any single data point, but the broader failure of reform. Despite abundant evidence of harm, regulatory responses remained fragmented and reactive. Accreditation agencies rarely intervened early. Federal enforcement was inconsistent. Media coverage often framed crises as unfortunate anomalies rather than systemic outcomes.

The Higher Education Inquirer argued in 2016 that the greatest risk was not collapse itself, but normalization—the slow acceptance of dysfunction as inevitable. That normalization is now visible in policy debates that treat mass underemployment, lifelong debt, and institutional instability as the cost of doing business.

A Crisis Foretold

The U.S. college meltdown did not arrive as a single dramatic event. It unfolded slowly, unevenly, and predictably—through spreadsheets, bond prospectuses, enrollment dashboards, and borrower accounts.

The accuracy of these forecasts underscores a deeper truth: the crisis was foreseeable. It was documented. It was warned about. What was missing was the willingness to act.

The Higher Education Inquirer published its predictions in 2016 not to provoke fear, but to provoke accountability. Nine years later, the record is clear. The meltdown was not an accident. It was a choice—made repeatedly, by institutions and policymakers who believed the system could absorb unlimited strain.

It could not.

Sources

LendingTree; EducationData; Inside Higher Ed; Higher Ed Dive; Forbes; NPR; Brookings Institution; National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER)

Source link

January 2, 2026
College Meltdown 2026 (Glen McGhee)
As the United States moves deeper into the 2020s, the College Meltdown is no longer a speculative concept but a structural reality. The crisis touches nearly every part of the system: enrollment, finances, labor, governance, and the perceived value of a college degree itself. The forces fueling this meltdown are not sudden shocks but accumulated pressures — demographic contraction, policy failures, privatization schemes, student debt burdens, and decades of mission drift — that now converge in 2026 with unprecedented intensity.

The Waning of College Mania

For decades, higher education sold an uncomplicated dream: go to college, get ahead, and move securely into the middle class. This college mania was promoted by policymakers, corporate interests, university marketers, and a compliant media ecosystem. But the spell is breaking. Students at elite universities are skipping classes, disillusioned not only by campus turmoil but by the reality that a degree, even from a prestigious institution, no longer guarantees a stable future. Employers increasingly question the value of credentials that have become inflated, inconsistent, and disconnected from workplace needs.

Yet paradoxically, many jobs still require degrees — not because the work demands them, but because credentialing has become a screening mechanism. The U.S. has built a system in which people must spend tens of thousands of dollars for access to a job that may not even require the knowledge their degree supposedly certifies. This contradiction lies at the heart of the meltdown.

Moody’s Confirms the Meltdown: A Negative Outlook for 2026

The financial rot is now too deep to ignore. Moody’s Investors Service recently issued a negative outlook for all of U.S. higher education for FY2026, confirming what researchers, debtors, and frontline faculty have been warning for years. Demographic decline continues to shrink the pool of traditional college-age students, leaving hundreds of institutions with no plausible path to enrollment stability.

Moody’s expects expenses to grow 4.4% in 2026, while revenues will grow only 3.5% — and for small tuition-dependent institutions, revenue growth may fall to 2.5–2.7%. In other words, the business model simply no longer works. Institutions are already turning to hiring freezes, early retirements, shared services, layoffs, and mergers. These austerity strategies hit labor and students hardest while preserving administrative bloat at the top, mirroring broader patterns of inequality across the U.S. economy.

Compounding the problem, federal loan reforms — particularly the elimination or capping of Grad PLUS loans — threaten universities that rely on overpriced master’s programs as revenue engines. Many of these programs were built during the boom years as financial lifelines, not academic commitments. The bottom is falling out of that model too.

[Image: HEI’s baseline model shows steady losses between 2026 and 2036. And it could get much worse].

White-Collar Unemployment and the Broken Value Proposition

A new generation is confronting economic realities that undermine the old promise of higher education. Recent data show that college graduates now make up roughly 25% of all unemployed Americans, a startling indicator of white-collar contraction. The unemployment rate for bachelor’s degree holders rose to 2.8%, up half a point in a year.

If higher education was once treated as an automatic economic escalator, it is now a much riskier gamble — often with a lifetime of debt attached.

Demographic Collapse and Institutional Failures

The so-called “demographic cliff” is no longer a future event; colleges in the Midwest, Northeast, and South are already competing for shrinking numbers of high-school graduates. Some institutions have resorted to predatory recruitment, deceptive marketing, and desperate discounting — the same tactics that fueled the for-profit college boom and collapse.

Meanwhile, the FAFSA disaster, mismanagement at the Department of Education, and the chaos surrounding federal financial aid verification have caused enrollment delays and intensified uncertainty. Institutions like Phoenix Education Partners (PXED) are already trying to shift blame for their own recruitment failures and history of fraud onto the federal government, signaling a new round of accountability evasion reminiscent of the Corinthian Colleges and ITT Tech eras.

Student Debt, Inequality, and Loss of Legitimacy

Student debt remains above $1.7 trillion, reshaping the life trajectories of millions and reinforcing racial and class disparities. Black borrowers, first-generation students, and low-income communities bear the heaviest burdens. Many institutions — especially elite medical centers and flagship universities — are simultaneously cash-rich and inequality-producing, perpetuating the dual structure of American higher education: privilege for the few, precarity for the many.

Faculty and staff face their own meltdown. Contingent labor now constitutes the majority of the instructional workforce, while administrators grow more numerous and more insulated from accountability. Shared governance is weakened, academic freedom is eroding, and political interference is rising, particularly in states targeting DEI programs, history curricula, and dissent.

The Road Ahead: Contraction, Consolidation, and Possibility

The College Meltdown will continue in 2026. More closures are coming, especially among small private colleges and underfunded regional publics. Mergers will be framed as “strategic realignments,” but for many communities — especially rural and historically marginalized ones — they will represent the loss of an anchor institution.

Yet contraction also opens space for reimagining. The United States could choose to rebuild higher education around equity, public purpose, and social good, rather than market metrics and debt financing. That would require:
- substantial public reinvestment,
- free or low-cost pathways for essential programs,
- accountability for predatory institutions,
- democratized governance, and
- a commitment to racial and economic justice.
Whether the nation takes this opportunity remains unclear. What is certain is that the system built on college mania, easy credit, and limitless expansion is collapsing — and Moody’s latest warning simply confirms what students, workers, and communities have felt for years.

The College Meltdown is here. And it’s reshaping the future of higher education in America.
Source link
January 1, 2026
MSI funding, institutional priorities, and the coming test of “social mobility” (Glen McGhee)

A recent opinion from the Department of Justice’s Office of Legal Counsel declares that federal Minority-Serving Institution (MSI) programs are unlawful because they allocate funding based on the racial composition of enrolled students. The ruling immediately throws hundreds of campuses—and the students they serve—into uncertainty. But beyond the legal debate lies a more revealing institutional reckoning: if MSI grants disappear, will colleges actually fund these programs themselves?

The short answer, based on decades of evidence, is no.

For years, colleges and universities have framed MSI grants as proof of their commitment to access, equity, and social mobility. Yet those commitments have always been conditional. They have depended on external federal subsidies rather than first-principles institutional priorities. Now that the funding stream is threatened, the gap between rhetoric and reality is about to widen dramatically.

The scale of what is being cut is not trivial. Discretionary MSI programs—serving Hispanic-Serving Institutions (HSIs), Asian American and Native American Pacific Islander–Serving Institutions (AANAPISIs), Predominantly Black Institutions (PBIs), and others—have collectively provided hundreds of millions of dollars annually for tutoring, advising, counseling, faculty development, and basic academic infrastructure. These grants have often been the difference between persistence and attrition for low-income students, many of whom are first-generation and Pell-eligible.

Yet MSI funding has also sustained something else: a sprawling administrative apparatus dedicated to grant writing, compliance, reporting, assessment, and “outcomes tracking.” Entire offices exist to chase, manage, and justify these funds. This is the professional-managerial class infrastructure that has come to dominate higher education—highly credentialed, compliance-oriented, and deeply invested in external funding streams.

Follow the money, and a pattern becomes clear. When federal or state funding declines, colleges do not trim administrative overhead. They cut instruction. They cut tutoring. They cut advising. They cut student-facing programs that lack powerful internal constituencies. Administrative spending, by contrast, is remarkably durable. It rarely shrinks, even in moments of fiscal crisis.

We have seen this movie before. When state appropriations fell over the past decade, public universities raised tuition and reduced instructional spending rather than dismantling administrative layers. When DEI offices were banned or defunded in several states, institutions eliminated student services and laid off staff, then quietly absorbed the savings into general operations. There was no surge in faculty hiring, no reinvestment in instruction, no serious attempt to replace lost support with institutional dollars.

MSI grants will follow the same path. Colleges may offer short-term “bridge funding” to manage optics and morale, but that support will be temporary and partial. The language administrators use—“assessing impacts,” “exploring alternatives,” “seeking private donors”—is a familiar signal that programs are being triaged, not saved.

Could institutions afford to self-fund these programs if they truly wanted to? In most cases, no—or at least not without making choices they refuse to make. Endowments are largely restricted and already used to paper over structural deficits. Tuition increases are politically and economically constrained at campuses serving low-income students. Federal aid flows through institutions but cannot be repurposed for operations. There is no hidden pool of fungible money waiting to be redirected.

What would replacing MSI funding actually require? Cutting administrative spending. Reducing executive compensation. Scaling back amenities and non-instructional growth. Reprioritizing instruction and academic support over branding and “customer experience.” These are choices institutions have consistently shown they will not make.

This is why the rhetoric of social mobility rings hollow. Colleges celebrate access and equity when the costs are externalized—when federal grants pay for the work and compliance offices manage the paperwork. But when that funding disappears, so does the institutional courage to sustain the mission.

The contrast with historically Black colleges and tribal colleges is instructive. Their core federal funding survives precisely because it is tied to historical mission rather than contemporary enrollment metrics, and because these institutions have long-standing political champions. That distinction exposes the truth: what is preserved is not equity, but power.

The coming months will bring program closures, staff layoffs, and diminished support for the students MSI grants were designed to serve. What we will not see, despite solemn statements and carefully worded emails, is a widespread commitment by colleges to fund these programs themselves.

The test is simple and unforgiving. If social mobility were truly a foundational principle of higher education, institutions would treat MSI programs as essential—not optional, not grant-contingent, not expendable. They would pay for them out of their own budgets.

They won’t.

And in that refusal, the performance ends. The mission statements remain, but the money moves elsewhere.

Sources

Inside Higher Ed, “DOJ Report Declares Minority-Serving Institution Programs Unlawful,” December 22, 2025.

U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Legal Counsel, Opinion on Minority-Serving Institution Grant Programs, 2025.

U.S. Department of Education, Title III and Title V Program Data, Fiscal Years 2020–2025.

Government Accountability Office, Higher Education: Trends in Administrative and Instructional Spending, various reports.

Delta Cost Project / American Institutes for Research, Trends in College Spending, 2003–2021.

State Higher Education Executive Officers Association (SHEEO), State Higher Education Finance Reports, 2010–2024.

University of California Office of the President, California State Auditor Reports on Administrative Spending and Reserves.

Texas Higher Education Coordinating Board; Florida Board of Governors; UNC System Office, public records and budget documents on DEI office eliminations, 2024–2025.

Bloomberg News and Associated Press reporting on DEI bans and campus program closures, 2024–2025.

National Center for Education Statistics (NCES), IPEDS Finance and Enrollment Data.

American Council on Education, Endowment Spending and Restrictions in Higher Education.

IRS Form 990 filings and audited financial statements of selected public and private universities.

Columbia University public statements on federal research funding disruptions, 2025.

University of Hawaiʻi system communications on federal grant losses and bridge funding, 2025.

Congressional Budget Justifications, U.S. Department of Education, FY2025–FY2026.

Ehrenreich, Barbara and John, The Professional-Managerial Class, and subsequent scholarship on administrative growth in higher education.

Student Borrower Protection Center, Student Debt and Institutional Finance, 2024–2025.

Source link

December 23, 2025
The Meritocratic Mask Is Crumbling (Glen McGhee)

“The Merit Ladder”

You unlock the door to a university, and the corridor stretches infinitely upward. Every student walks the same stairwell, one step at a time. The walls are adorned with clocks, calculators, and grade sheets, ticking and tallying as if the universe itself measured effort with perfect fairness.

But something is wrong. Some students float effortlessly upward, their steps silent, their progress smooth. Others stumble on invisible obstacles, their feet dragging in ways the rules do not explain. They glance at the walls, at the clocks, at the calculators—every metric insists they are equal, every announcement proclaims fairness. Yet the disparity is undeniable.

A voice echoes from the ceiling, calm, clinical: “Merit is universal. Merit is measurable. Merit is scale-invariant.” The students nod, forced to believe, even as they watch their neighbors leap ahead. Some students whisper, “It’s not the merit—it’s the ladder.” And indeed, the ladder is uneven, its rungs hidden, shifted by invisible hands of wealth, culture, geography, and health.

In this world—the stairwell of American higher education—the illusion of fairness is maintained with meticulous care. But every so often, a student notices the truth, and then the voice falters, the clocks pause, and the corridors ripple with the secret that can no longer be hidden. For the myth of meritocracy is collapsing. The ladder was never fair, and now, as the illusion fades, everyone will see it.

The Scale-Invariance Claim

For more than a century, American higher education has rested on an elegant but unspoken assumption: that the rules of meritocracy are scale-invariant. The ideology promises that any student—regardless of wealth, geography, culture, family background, or health—can climb the credential ladder. A student from a low-income rural household competes on the same metric as a student from an affluent suburb. A community college student is measured by the same ruler as an Ivy League undergraduate. Merit, the story goes, is constant across all scales.

This is the deep mathematical promise embedded in the system:

(X, merit) ≅ (X, λ·merit) for all λ > 0.

Change the scale—money, social capital, proximity, cultural background—and the metric of “merit” supposedly remains unchanged. Hard work is invariant. Ability is invariant. The measurement of learning is invariant.

But no part of this has ever been true. To understand the experience, one could step into Kafka’s The Trial, where invisible, arbitrary rules govern the fates of all, or into the unsettling dimensions of The Twilight Zone, where a carefully maintained illusion of fairness masks structural control. Episodes like “The Obsolete Man” or “Number 12 Looks Just Like You” illustrate societies where uniform rules are proclaimed but inequities are baked into every interaction—a perfect mirror for the fiction of meritocracy.

The Characteristic Scales American Higher Ed Pretends Not to Have

Every foundational element of U.S. higher education has a characteristic scale. Once these scales are made visible, the meritocratic myth dissolves.

Financial scale.

With little money, a student cannot attend or persist. With substantial wealth, barriers disappear. Financial rescaling completely changes outcomes.

Social capital scale.

A family with generations of college experience confers knowledge, networks, and expectations that directly affect admissions, persistence, and post-graduation trajectories. First-generation students navigate blind. The system is not invariant under social capital rescaling.

Geographic scale.

Proximity to selective universities, high-performing high schools, or robust community college systems radically alters opportunity. Rural and small-town America operates at a completely different scale.

Cultural and linguistic scale.

Students whose home culture mirrors academic expectations “fit.” Students from culturally distant communities must perform costly translation work. This is not a scale-invariant environment.

Health and disability scale.

Students without health barriers move cleanly through the system. Students with disabilities or chronic illness face friction at every stage. Their outcomes follow a different curve.

A genuinely scale-invariant system would show consistent outcomes across all these starting positions. American higher education shows the opposite. The system has always been scale-dependent—and merit was never the dominant term.

The Measurement Problem the Meritocracy Never Solved

The ideological foundation requires not only a scale-invariant world but a scale-invariant measurement system. GPA, grades, test scores, papers, and degrees must reliably track some underlying construct called “merit” or “learning.”

Higher education never developed such a construct. “Learning” is not stable across institutions or contexts. It is socially constructed daily by instructors with different philosophies, different constraints, and different biases. There is no psychometric framework that defines a scale-invariant measure of learning. The closest attempts—standardized testing regimes—have repeatedly collapsed under their own inequities.

Yet the system pretends that a 3.8 at an Ivy and a 3.2 at a regional university reflect a universal metric rather than two entirely different grading cultures.

Grade Inflation and AI Cheating: The Mask Slips

Recent trends expose how fragile the entire measurement fiction has become.

Elite universities give A grades at unprecedented rates. Two-thirds of all grades at some institutions are now A’s. GPA averages well above 3.7 are defended as “signs of excellence,” but in practice they are rescalings of the ruler itself. Institutions under competitive prestige pressure simply adjust the metric to protect their reputation.

AI cheating accelerates the collapse. Students with resources buy tutoring, editing, and AI-powered writing tools. These tools outperform human novices. The ability to “perform merit” is now directly purchasable. The metric no longer measures writing ability or analytical thinking. It measures access to technology, coaching, and time.

The function of grades has shifted from signaling ability to signaling socioeconomic positioning. What was once ρ(ability) is now ρ(ability + money), with wealth as the dominant term.

Literary and Cultural Parallels

This collapse is eerily familiar in literature and media. Kafka’s The Trial captures the experience of navigating opaque rules that punish effort unpredictably. Huxley’s Brave New World and Orwell’s 1984 show societies that insist on fairness while structurally enforcing inequality. Ellison’s Invisible Man exposes the consequences of climbing a ladder rigged by invisible scales.

The Twilight Zone dramatized these dynamics for mass audiences. Episodes such as “The Obsolete Man”, “Number 12 Looks Just Like You”, and “The Shelter” depict societies where declared rules are universal, yet outcomes are determined by hidden advantages. These narratives echo the experience of students forced to believe in meritocracy even while the structural scales—wealth, family education, geography, culture, health—determine success.

What “Never Was Meritocratic” Actually Means

When HEI reports that American higher education never was meritocratic, it is not a moral accusation. It is an empirical one. The system was constructed with characteristic scales baked in. Wealth, social capital, proximity, culture, and health have always determined trajectories.

The ideology of merit obscured those scales by promising invariance where none existed. The promise served to justify gatekeeping, tuition inflation, credential inflation, and systematic exclusion. Legacy admissions, donor influence, geographic disparities, and familial educational background were not aberrations—they were structural pillars.

The Collapse of the Meritocratic Narrative

The contemporary system is unraveling because the myth of scale-invariance—its core ideological justification—has been exposed as untenable.

Grade inflation reveals that institutions adjust the metric to preserve prestige.

AI reveals that performance can be outsourced or purchased.

Credential inflation reveals that degrees are required because employers have no alternative signal—not because the degrees measure anything.

Homeschooling and private micro-schools reflect widespread disbelief in the system’s ability to measure learning.

Employer skepticism shows that the labor market no longer trusts the bachelor’s degree as a signal.

Once the legitimacy of the metric collapses, the legitimacy of the entire structure collapses with it.

The Devastating Implication: A System Built on a Mathematical Fiction

A truly scale-invariant system would show no significant correlation between wealth and degree attainment, no legacy effects, no geographic disparities, and no demographic patterning. The opposite is true in every dimension.

This system is not failing to fulfill its meritocratic promise. It never could fulfill it. It was designed for scale-dependence and shielded by the promise of scale-invariance.

Now that the mask is slipping, the $80,000 price tags, the exclusionary admissions processes, the credential inflation, and the crushing student debt load are losing their ideological justification. Without the fiction that merit is meaningfully and consistently measured, the system’s rationale dissolves.

The crisis of American higher education is not primarily a financial crisis or a demographic crisis. It is a legitimacy crisis. The foundational myth—meritocracy as scale-invariance—has collapsed. And with it, the justification for the entire credentialing apparatus is beginning to collapse as well.

Sources

Higher Education Inquirer archives on grade inflation, admissions inequities, and credential inflation.

John Beach’s work on the social construction of “learning.”

HEI reporting on AI cheating, K-12 system collapse, employer distrust, and the shifting meaning of academic credentials.

Franz Kafka, The Trial

Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

George Orwell, 1984

Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man

Twilight Zone episodes: “The Obsolete Man,” “Number 12 Looks Just Like You,” “The Shelter”

Source link

December 22, 2025
Hyper Credentialism and the Neoliberal College Meltdown (Glen McGhee and Dahn Shaulis)

In the neoliberal era, higher education has become less a public good and more a marketplace of promises. The ideology of “lifelong learning” has been weaponized into an endless treadmill of hyper-credentialism — a cycle in which students, workers, and institutions are trapped in perpetual pursuit of new degrees, certificates, and micro-badges.

From Education to Signaling

Once, a college degree was seen as a path to citizenship and critical thought. Today, it’s a market signal — and an increasingly weak one. The bachelor’s degree no longer guarantees stable employment, so the system produces ever-more credentials: master’s programs, micro-certificates, “badges,” and other digital tokens of employability.

This shift doesn’t solve economic precarity — it monetizes it. Workers internalize the blame for their own stagnating wages, believing that the next credential will finally make them “market ready.” Employers, meanwhile, use credential inflation to justify low pay and increased screening, outsourcing the costs of training onto individuals.

A Perfect Fit for Neoliberalism

Hyper-credentialism is not a side effect; it’s a feature of the neoliberal education economy. It supports four pillars of the model:

Privatization and Profit Extraction – Public funding declines while students pay more. Each new credential creates a new revenue stream for universities, online program managers (OPMs), and ed-tech corporations.

Individual Responsibility – The structural causes of unemployment or underemployment are reframed as personal failures. “You just need to upskill.”

Debt Dependency – Students and workers finance their “reskilling” through federal loans and employer-linked programs, feeding the student-debt industry and its servicers.

Market Saturation and Collapse – As more credentials flood the market, each becomes less valuable. Institutions respond by creating even more credentials, accelerating the meltdown.

The Education-Finance Complex

The rise of hyper-credentialism is inseparable from the growth of the education-finance complex — a web of universities, private lenders, servicers, and Wall Street investors.
Firms like 2U, Coursera, and Guild Education sell the illusion of “access” while extracting rents from students and institutions alike. University administrators, pressured by enrollment declines, partner with these firms to chase new markets — often by spinning up online master’s programs with poor outcomes.

The result is a debt-driven ecosystem that thrives even as public confidence collapses. The fewer good jobs there are, the more desperate people become to buy new credentials. The meltdown feeds itself.

Winners and Losers

Winners: Ed-tech executives, university administrators, debt servicers, and the politicians who promote “lifelong learning” as a substitute for wage growth or labor rights.

Losers: Students, adjunct faculty, working-class families, and the public universities hollowed out by austerity and privatization.

The rhetoric of “upskilling” and “personal growth” masks a grim reality: a transfer of wealth from individuals to financialized institutions under the guise of opportunity.

A System That Can’t Redeem Itself

As enrollment declines and public trust erodes, the industry doubles down on micro-credentials and “stackable” pathways — small fixes to a structural crisis. Each badge, each certificate, is sold as a ticket back into the middle class. Yet every new credential devalues the old, producing diminishing returns for everyone except those selling the product.

Hyper-credentialism thus becomes both the symptom and the accelerant of the college meltdown. It sustains the illusion of mobility in a collapsing system, ensuring that the blame never reaches the architects of austerity, privatization, and financialization.

Sources and Further Reading

Brown, Wendy. Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism’s Stealth Revolution.

Giroux, Henry. Neoliberalism’s War on Higher Education.

Cottom, Tressie McMillan. Lower Ed: The Troubling Rise of For-Profit Colleges in the New Economy.

The Higher Education Inquirer archives on the college meltdown, OPMs, and the debt economy.

Source link

November 6, 2025
When Was Higher Education Truly a Public Good? (Glen McGhee)
Like staring at the Sun too long, that brief window in time, when higher ed was a public good, has left a permanent hole for nostalgia to leak in, becoming a massive black hole for trillions of dollars, and a blind-spot for misguided national policies and scholars alike.

The notion that American higher education was ever a true public good is largely a myth. From the colonial colleges to the neoliberal university of today, higher education has functioned primarily as a mechanism of class reproduction and elite consolidation—with one brief, historically anomalous exception during the Cold War.

Colonial Roots: Elite Reproduction in the New World (1636–1787)

The first American colleges—Harvard, William and Mary, Yale, Princeton, and a handful of others—were founded not for the benefit of the public, but to serve narrow elite interests. Their stated missions were to train Protestant clergy and prepare the sons of wealthy white families for leadership. They operated under monopoly charters and drew funding from landowners, merchants, and slave traders.

Elihu Yale, namesake of Yale University, derived wealth from his commercial ties to the East India Company and the slave trade. Harvard’s early trustees owned enslaved people. These institutions functioned as “old boys’ clubs,” perpetuating privilege rather than promoting equality. Their educational mission was to cultivate “gentlemen fit to govern,” not citizens of a democracy.

Private Enterprise in the Republic (1790–1860)

After independence, the number of colleges exploded—from 19 in 1790 to more than 800 by 1880—but not because of any commitment to the public good. Colleges became tools for two private interests: religious denominations seeking influence, and land speculators eager to raise property values.

Ministers often doubled as land dealers, founding small, parochial colleges to anchor towns and boost prices. State governments played a minimal role, providing funding only in times of crisis. The Supreme Court’s 1819 Dartmouth College decision enshrined institutional autonomy, shielding private colleges from state interference. Even state universities were created mainly out of interstate competition—every state needed its own to “keep up with its neighbors.”

Gilded Age and Progressive Era: Credential Capitalism (1880–1940)

By the late 19th century, industrial capitalism had transformed higher education into a private good—something purchased for individual advancement. As family farms and small businesses disappeared, college credentials became the ticket to white-collar respectability.

Sociologist Burton Bledstein called this the “culture of professionalism.” Families invested in degrees to secure middle-class futures for their children. By the 1920s, most students attended college not to seek enlightenment, but “to get ready for a particular job.”

Elite universities such as Harvard, Yale, and Princeton solidified their dominance through exclusive networks. C. Wright Mills later observed that America’s “power elite” circulated through these same institutions and their associated clubs. Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of cultural capital helps explain this continuity: elite universities convert inherited privilege into certified merit, preserving hierarchy under the guise of meritocracy.

The Morrill Acts: Public Promise, Private Gains (1862–1890)

The Morrill Act of 1862 established land-grant colleges to promote “practical education” in agriculture and engineering. While often cited as a triumph of public-minded policy, the act’s legacy is ambivalent.

Land-grant universities were built on land expropriated from Indigenous peoples—often without compensation—and the 1890 Morrill Act entrenched segregation by mandating separate institutions for Black Americans in the Jim Crow South. Even as these colleges expanded access for white working-class men, they simultaneously reinforced racial and economic hierarchies.

Cold War Universities: The Brief Public Good (1940–1970)

For roughly thirty years, during World War II and the Cold War, American universities functioned as genuine public goods—but only because national survival seemed to depend on them.

The GI Bill opened college to millions of veterans, stabilizing the economy and expanding the middle class. Massive federal investments in research transformed universities into engines of technological and scientific innovation. The university, for a moment, was understood as a public instrument for national progress.

Yet this golden age was marred by exclusion. Black veterans were often denied GI Bill benefits, particularly in the South, where discriminatory admissions and housing policies blocked their participation. The “military-industrial-academic complex” that emerged from wartime funding created a new elite network centered on research universities like MIT, Stanford, and Berkeley.

Neoliberal Regression: Education as a Private Commodity (1980–Present)

After 1970, the system reverted to its long-standing norm: higher education as a private good. The Cold War’s end, the tax revolt, and the rise of neoliberal ideology dismantled the postwar consensus.

Ronald Reagan led the charge—first as California governor, cutting higher education funding by 20%, then as president, slashing federal support. He argued that tuition should replace public subsidies, casting education as an individual investment rather than a social right.

Since 1980, state funding per student has fallen sharply while tuition at public universities has tripled. Students are now treated as “customers,” and universities as corporations—complete with branding departments, executive pay packages, and relentless tuition hikes.

The Circuit of Elite Network Capital

Today, the benefits of higher education flow through a closed circuit of power that links elite universities, corporations, government agencies, and wealthy families.
1. Elite Universities consolidate wealth and prestige through research funding, patents, and endowments.
2. Corporations recruit talent and license discoveries, feeding the same institutions that produce their executives.
3. Government and Military Agencies are staffed by alumni of elite universities, reinforcing a revolving door of privilege.
4. Elite Professions—law, medicine, finance, consulting—use degrees as gatekeeping mechanisms, driving credential inflation.
5. Wealthy Families invest in elite education as a means of preserving status across generations.
What the public receives are only residual benefits—technologies and medical innovations that remain inaccessible without money or insurance.

Elite Network Capital, Not Public Good

The idea of higher education as a public good has always been more myth than reality. For most of American history, colleges and universities have functioned as institutions of elite reproduction, not engines of democratic uplift.

Only during the extraordinary conditions of the mid-20th century—when global war and ideological conflict made mass education a national imperative—did higher education briefly align with the public interest.

Today’s universities continue to speak the language of “public good,” but their actions reveal a different truth. They serve as factories of credentialism and as nodes in an elite network that translates privilege into prestige. What masquerades as a public good is, in practice, elite network capital—a system designed not to democratize opportunity, but to manage and legitimize inequality.

Sources:

Labaree (2017), Bledstein (1976), Bourdieu (1984, 1986), Mills (1956), Geiger (2015), Thelin (2019), and McGhee (2025).
Source link
November 4, 2025
Charlie Kirk’s Assassination Through the Lens of Collins and Hoffer (Glen McGhee and Dahn Shaulis)
The assassination of Charlie Kirk on September 10, 2025, offers a stark illustration of how violent acts against movement leaders can reconfigure political energy on U.S. campuses. Kirk was the leader of Turning Point USA, Turning Point Action (formerly Students for Trump), and Turning Point Faith. He was also the creator of the Professor Watchlist and the School Board Watchlist.

Far from diminishing conservative student mobilization, Kirk’s death appears to have amplified it—at least in the short term. Randall Collins’ sociology of interaction ritual chains and Eric Hoffer’s classic analysis of mass movements provide a useful lens for understanding both the surge and the likely limits of this moment.

Collins’ Emotional Energy Framework Applied to Kirk’s Death

Collins identifies four outcomes of successful ritual gatherings: group solidarity, emotional energy, sacred symbols, and moral righteousness. In the wake of Kirk’s assassination, conservative students and evangelical leaders have experienced all four in compressed, amplified form.

Pastors quickly declared Kirk a “Christian martyr.” Rob McCoy invoked biblical precedent, while Jackson Lahmeyer described the murder as “spiritual in nature and an attack on the very institution of the church.” This religious framing elevates Kirk from activist to sacred symbol.

The immediate response has been extraordinary. Turning Point USA claims more than 32,000 requests for new chapters in the 48 hours following his death. Collins would interpret this as emotional energy seeking new ritual outlets. In this sense, Kirk’s martyrdom has become not just a grievance but a generator of collective action.

The memorial scheduled for September 21 at State Farm Stadium—with capacity for more than 60,000 and featuring Donald Trump—is set to be the largest ritual gathering in the history of conservative student politics. Collins would predict this to be a high-intensity moment of “collective effervescence,” the kind of event that extends emotional energy for months if not years.

Hoffer’s Mass Movement Dynamics and Conservative Student Mobilization

Hoffer’s The True Believer provides a complementary angle. He argued that mass movements thrive on frustration, doctrine, and the presence of either a leader or a transcendent cause. Kirk’s assassination intensified frustration while transforming him into a more powerful symbolic figure than he was in life.

Student conservatives now have all three: grievance (left-wing violence), a sacred cause (free speech framed as religious duty), and a heroic narrative (following a martyred leader). In Hoffer’s words, martyrdom provides both “grievance and transcendent meaning.”

The shift from Kirk as a living leader to Kirk as martyr reflects Hoffer’s principle of substitutability. Loyalty has already migrated from the man himself to the mythology of his sacrifice. College Republicans chairman William Donahue compared the killing to Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination, framing it as a watershed for the movement.

Sustainability and the Ritual Problem

The paradox is that Kirk’s most important contribution—the high-energy confrontational rituals of his “Prove Me Wrong” campus debates—cannot be replicated without him. These events generated viral spectacle, solidified conservative identity, and created sacred moments of confrontation. They were, in Collins’ terms, engines of emotional energy.

The September 21 memorial may provide a one-time boost, but Collins emphasizes that emotional energy must be renewed through repeated rituals. Without Kirk’s charisma and willingness to create confrontational spaces, conservative students risk energy dissipation. Already some students report greater enthusiasm for activism, while others express fear of being targeted themselves.

The dilemma is clear: the rituals that generated the most energy (public confrontations) are the very ones most likely to invite violence. This tension may limit the sustainability of the movement’s current surge.

The Profit Motive: Martyrdom as Marketplace

Beyond the sociology of solidarity lies a material reality: martyrdom is also a business model. Conservative organizations are already converting Kirk’s death into a revenue stream. Within hours of the assassination, Turning Point USA launched fundraising appeals invoking Kirk’s “sacrifice,” while conservative merchandisers began selling commemorative t-shirts, hats, and wristbands emblazoned with slogans like “Martyr for Freedom” and “Charlie Lives.”

Publishing houses are reportedly fast-tracking hagiographic biographies, while streaming platforms are negotiating for documentaries. Memorial events, livestreams, and “Martyrdom Tours” are being packaged as both spiritual rituals and ticketed spectacles. Kirk’s death, in other words, is generating not only emotional energy but also financial capital.

This profit motive raises questions about the sincerity of the rhetoric surrounding Kirk’s martyrdom. While Collins and Hoffer help explain the emotional pull, the commodification of grief ensures that the “sacred symbol” is also a lucrative brand. Conservative student organizing may thus be sustained less by spontaneous devotion than by a well-financed industry of grievance, merchandise, and media spectacle.

Indicators to Watch

Several markers will reveal whether Kirk’s martyrdom produces lasting transformation or burns out in ritual dissipation:
- Memorial impact: Attendance and intensity at the September 21 gathering will test whether Kirk’s death can generate lasting solidarity.
- Chapter formation: The real test of Turning Point USA’s 32,000 claims will be functioning chapters in six months.
- Leadership succession: Hoffer reminds us that movements need charismatic leaders. At present, Trump appears to be monopolizing the emotional energy, raising doubts about the rise of new student leaders.
- Counter-mobilization: Collins’ conflict theory suggests left-wing backlash could shape whether conservative students double down or retreat.
The Probable Trajectory

For the next 6–18 months, conservative student mobilization is likely to grow. The movement now has the grievance, sacred symbolism, and transcendent narrative that both Collins and Hoffer identify as powerful motivators.

But sustaining this surge will be difficult without Kirk’s unique talent for generating high-energy campus rituals. Unless new leaders emerge who can replicate or reimagine those ritual forms, the emotional energy of martyrdom may eventually dissipate.

At the same time, the financial infrastructure now growing around Kirk’s death suggests the movement has a fallback strategy: keep the martyrdom alive as long as it remains profitable. In this way, Kirk’s assassination may prove to be not just a sociological event but also a business opportunity—one that reveals the convergence of politics, religion, and profit in contemporary conservative student life.
Source link
September 16, 2025
How Close Are We to Collapse? (Glen McGhee)

For years, higher education leaders have avoided one of the most uncomfortable questions in the field: What is the minimum threshold of authentic learning required to keep the system operational? That threshold exists — and recent data suggest we may have already crossed it. The warning signs are visible in eroding public trust, declining employer confidence, and a growing inability to authenticate credentials. What we are watching now is not a temporary disruption, but the managed decline of mass higher education as we have known it.

A truly viable education system has to deliver four essential functions. It must transmit knowledge — not only basic literacy, numeracy, and critical thinking, but also the domain-specific skills employers recognize, along with the ability to evaluate information in a democratic society. It must authenticate credentials by verifying learner identity, ensuring assessments are legitimate, maintaining tamper-proof records, and clearly differentiating between levels of competence. It must serve as a pathway for social mobility, providing economic opportunities that justify the investment, generating real wage premiums, and fostering professional networks and cultural capital. And it must have reliable quality assurance, with competent faculty, relevant curriculum, trustworthy measurement of learning outcomes, and external accountability strong enough to maintain standards.

Research into institutional collapse and critical mass theory shows that each of these functions has a minimum operational threshold. The authentic learning rate must exceed 70 percent for degrees to retain their signaling value. Below that point, employers begin to see the credential itself as unreliable. Estimates today range from 30 to 70 percent, depending on the institution and delivery method. Employer confidence must stay above 80 percent for degrees to remain the default hiring credential. When fewer than eight in ten employers trust the degree signal, alternative credentialing accelerates — something already underway as skills-based hiring spreads across industries. Public trust must also remain high, but Gallup’s 2023 data put confidence in higher education at just 36 percent, far below the survival threshold. On the financial side, stability is eroding, with roughly 15 percent of U.S. institutions at risk of closure and more failing each year.

Despite these trends, parts of the system still function effectively. Elite institutions with rigorous admissions, strong alumni networks, and powerful employer relationships continue to maintain credibility. Professional programs such as medicine, engineering, and law retain integrity through external licensing and oversight. Technical programs tied closely to industry needs still provide authenticated learning with direct employment pathways. Research universities at the graduate level preserve rigor through peer review, publication requirements, and close faculty mentorship. These pockets of quality create the illusion that the overall system remains sound, even as large portions hollow out.

But the cracks are widening. Public trust is at 36 percent. Fraud rates are climbing beyond detection capacity, with California’s rate estimated at 31 percent. Grade inflation is erasing distinctions between levels of achievement. Authentic learning appears to be hovering somewhere between 30 and 70 percent, putting the system in a yellow warning zone. Financially, the sector remains unstable, with 15 percent of institutions on the brink.

Higher education is also becoming sharply stratified. At one end are the high-integrity institutions that still maintain meaningful standards, a group that may represent just 20 to 30 percent of the market. In the middle are the credential mills — low-integrity schools operating on volume with minimal quality control, perhaps 40 to 50 percent of the market. On the other end, alternative providers such as bootcamps, apprenticeships, and corporate academies are rapidly filling the skills gap. This stratification allows the system to stagger forward while its core mission erodes.

Collapse becomes irreversible when several failure points converge. Employer confidence dropping below 50 percent would trigger mass abandonment of degree requirements. Public funding cuts, fueled by political backlash, would intensify. Alternative credentials would reach critical mass, making traditional degrees redundant in many sectors. A faculty exodus would leave too few qualified instructors to maintain quality. Rising student debt defaults could force the federal government to restrict lending.

The available evidence suggests the tipping point likely occurred sometime between 2020 and 2024. That was when public trust cratered, employer skepticism intensified, financial fragility spread, and the post-pandemic environment made fraud and grade inflation harder to contain. We may already be living in a post-viable higher education system, one where authentic learning and meaningful credentialing are concentrated in a shrinking group of elite institutions, while the majority of the sector operates as a credentialing fiction.

The question now is whether the surviving components can reorganize into something sustainable before the entire system’s legitimacy evaporates. Without deliberate restructuring, higher education’s role as a public good will vanish, replaced by a marketplace of unreliable credentials and narrowing opportunities. The longer we avoid defining the collapse threshold, the harder it will be to stop the slide.

Sources: Gallup, Inside Higher Ed, BestColleges, Cato Institute, PMC (National Center for Biotechnology Information), Council on Foreign Relations

Source link

September 3, 2025
Iron Cage or Golden Handcuffs? (Glen McGhee and Dahn Shaulis)

Max Weber’s “iron cage” described a world where bureaucratic rationality and capitalist structures governed life so thoroughly that individuality and freedom were diminished. Today, Americans still live in that cage, bound by debt, hierarchy, and rules that channel human energy into impersonal systems. Alongside the cage sits another metaphor: the “golden handcuffs.” Unlike the coercion of bureaucracy, golden handcuffs represent the comfort and stability of jobs, mortgages, and benefits that discourage mobility. Taken together, iron and gold shape a society increasingly stuck in place.

Nowhere is this more visible than in the experience of younger generations. Student loan debt has become one of the most powerful bars of the iron cage. For decades, policymakers sold higher education as the ticket to mobility, yet the financing model has left tens of millions of Americans burdened with obligations that stretch across lifetimes. Parents still paying their own loans now watch their children borrow again, creating a cycle of indebtedness that limits family formation, delays homeownership, and stifles geographic mobility. College graduates often cannot take risks—whether by starting a business, moving to a new city, or pursuing meaningful but lower-paid work—because debt service makes such choices impossible. The American promise of education as liberation has become, for many, education as shackles.

Layered onto this cage is the massive growth of what anthropologist David Graeber called “bullshit jobs”—roles that exist less to create value than to maintain bureaucratic appearance and control. Whole sectors of the economy are filled with paper-pushers, compliance officers, middle managers, and customer service agents who know that their work adds little or nothing to society. Yet these jobs proliferate because they keep the system running, providing salaries and benefits that workers can’t easily abandon. Here lie the golden handcuffs: people remain in unfulfilling work not because they love it, but because the alternative—losing health insurance, defaulting on loans, or risking homelessness—is too dangerous. In effect, workers trade freedom for security, their ambitions dulled by the constant calculation of what can be risked and what cannot.

The Wall Street Journal recently documented how job-switching and geographic mobility have fallen to historic lows. For many, the causes are high housing costs, limited relocation packages, and rising mortgage rates. But behind those immediate factors lie deeper structures. Student loan debt reduces the willingness to gamble on uncertain opportunities. Bullshit jobs, however empty, offer just enough stability to keep people locked in place. Older generations, insulated by home equity or pensions, may experience the golden handcuffs as a form of protection, but their children and grandchildren feel more of the iron cage, inheriting debts and diminished opportunities while being funneled into roles that drain meaning from their labor.

The intergenerational effect is stark. Families once imagined that each generation would surpass the last, but mounting evidence shows downward mobility as the norm. Debt and immobility mean that the youngest workers face worse prospects than their parents, often despite higher levels of formal education. The cage has become hereditary, reinforced by golden handcuffs that reward those already inside while barring others from entry.

The consequences reach far beyond individual frustration. A society of debt-burdened, risk-averse workers chained to meaningless jobs loses dynamism, creativity, and the possibility of real progress. Economic innovation falters when people cannot afford to move, switch jobs, or challenge existing hierarchies. Civic life suffers when millions are too tired or precarious to participate fully. What Weber described as the cold rationality of bureaucracy now fuses with financialization and corporate incentives to produce both stagnation and quiet despair.

The question is not only whether Americans are trapped in iron cages or bound by golden handcuffs, but who profits from these arrangements. Student loan servicers, corporate employers, and real estate interests all benefit from a population too indebted, too constrained, and too risk-averse to push back. Unless there is structural change—through debt relief, meaningful labor reform, and a housing policy that restores mobility—the chains will only tighten, passed from one generation to the next.

The iron cage and the golden handcuffs are not metaphors in tension; they are metaphors in partnership, binding Americans simultaneously by force and by comfort. Together they describe a society that promises freedom while delivering entrapment, and a generation that is learning the hard way that education, work, and home are less ladders to opportunity than carefully designed systems of control.

Sources

Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (1905).

“Understanding Max Weber’s Iron Cage,” ThoughtCo. https://www.thoughtco.com/understanding-max-webers-iron-cage-3026373

“Nobody’s Buying Homes, Nobody’s Switching Jobs—and America’s Mobility Is Stalling,” Wall Street Journal, August 14, 2025. https://www.wsj.com/economy/american-job-housing-economic-dynamism-d56ef8fc

David Graeber, Bullshit Jobs: A Theory (2018).

Steven J. Davis and John Haltiwanger, “Dynamism Diminished: Housing Markets and Business Formation,” AEA Research (2024). https://www.aeaweb.org/research/charts/dynamism-diminished-housing-markets

“The Intergenerational Burden of Student Loan Debt,” Brookings Institution, October 2021. https://www.brookings.edu/research/the-intergenerational-burden-of-student-loan-debt/

Source link

August 21, 2025