Tag: opinion

  • On AI, We Reap What We Sow (opinion)

    On AI, We Reap What We Sow (opinion)

    I teach a first-year seminar. We call the course Education and the Good Life. The goal of the class is to engage students in a 15-week conversation. We talk about how they can make the most of their courses and our campus, with an eye toward the question of how the college experience can create an approach toward the world that lasts their whole life. In that spirit, last fall, I gave students an example of how I spend my time.

    In class, I shared a set of drafts of a poem that appeared in my most recent collection. One by one, I projected versions of the poem onto a screen. I drew attention to the red ink slashing through unwanted words. I pointed out how I added, struck, added, struck and then re-added a comma. I boasted about my careful use of my favorite punctuation mark—the delightfully overlong em dash. In the end, I shared all 32 drafts of the poem, from conception to published work. When I stopped, a student in the front row quipped, “That doesn’t seem efficient.” In response, I quoted Annie Dillard—“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives”—and I talked about the concept of “craft.” I suggested that a committed craftsperson produces work, but that in important ways, and for the reason Dillard suggests, the work also produces them. In the end, the time we spend on our projects makes us who we are.

    I asked the class to think about the time they give to writing assignments. I encouraged them to think about the minutes and the hours that they carve out of their schedules to read and then to write. I told them, “These are investments, not just in the creation of something to turn in on a deadline, but rather, investments in your humanity.” I explained, “When you give yourself time to use your faculties, you end up changing the dimensions of your mind.” I said, “You’re changing yourself.” Then I mused about how a college graduate is a certain kind of person, and how the process of earning a degree is largely a process of becoming.

    My students are smart. They understand social conventions. They know how to act, so they humored me. They nodded their heads, even though I detected facial expressions formed with a noticeable twist of “maybe that is how it worked in your generation.” Without saying the words, they made a point. History matters.

    In addition to my work on campus, I serve as a member of the Higher Learning Commission’s peer-review corps. Once or twice a year for the past 22 years, I have studied and visited colleges for the sake of ensuring the quality of their operations. When I joined the corps, in the early 2000s, the HLC held a leadership role in the nationwide assessment movement. The assessment of what students submit as their work, and by proxy what they know and what they can do, had become the benchmark by which we judge our institutions and accredit them. Because the question of whom students become during an education is harder to answer, and because the methods to answer such questions are out of necessity qualitative, we left those concerns aside while we moved, as a country, toward documenting the easily measurable, but narrowly defined, cognitive outcomes of the college experience.

    In the early 2000s, the heightened focus on the assessment of learning outcomes dovetailed with what were then advances in technology. Web-based platforms, still described as “learning management systems,” made it possible to assess students’ abilities at a distance, anytime, anywhere and under nearly any circumstance. The new, single-minded focus on the cognitive outcomes of higher education burgeoned alongside efforts to legitimize the new online institutions that had removed time in place as a component of schooling. In effect, our message was that we take stock of our success by measuring the end product of education, as opposed to the process of becoming educated. Students are smart. They quietly noted our priorities.

    Enter AI. Today we live in an era in which students can feed a prompt into an automated prose generator and, in seconds, have a viable draft of a writing assignment. What are they supposed to think? We’ve spent three decades acting like outcomes assessments are the only things we value. As for questions about how or where or with whom people engage in the process of becoming educated, our general approach has been, “These are not things that we like to know about.”

    Consider our focus on outcomes in another sphere of human development: athletics. Assume for a moment that you are a cyclist. I am confident that technocrats will soon create a bot capable of riding a bicycle. On a day when life presents you with too much to do, and you can’t find time to ride, would it seem reasonable to send a bot out in your stead? I hope that sounds absurd. During most of the time that we give to athletics, the outcome is not the point. In cycling, on most days, the point is not that a bicycle was ridden. The point is that you rode a bicycle.

    The craft of writing and the art of performing music share a set of similarities. Both demand engagement, practice and the exercise of creativity. The difference is that writing practices, outside of occasional public readings, tend to unfold in solitude, whereas a musical performance is, by nature, a social event. Imagine yourself as a student of the violin. At the end of the semester, during your final recital, would it seem reasonable to bring in a Bluetooth speaker, cue up a music streaming service to a song that you’ve been practicing and hit the play button? Of course not. The point is not that a song was played in the recital hall. The point is that you played the song.

    In the era of AI, student disengagement looms like a fog on our campuses, from libraries to studios and laboratories. Our best data on undergraduate engagement suggests that members of Generation Z are reading less. When pressed with assignments that require deep thought, time on task and earnestness, students tend to see technology as a means to maximize efficiency. Should we blame them? We spent years building systems and assessments designed to sidestep questions about the nature of the process students move through on the way to earning degrees.

    Through our actions, preferences and even accreditation, we built a set of values that suggest the finish line is what matters. We tend to see the route that we take to arrive there as irrelevant. Every campus I have ever visited staffs an office dedicated to the measurement of cognitive learning outcomes. I have yet to find a similar office aimed at understanding the quality, character or broad-ranging impact of the processes that students engage in during the course of an education.

    I would say it’s past time that we started to give the process of becoming educated our attention. But in at least some quarters, we have long-standing and holistic studies of the college experience. In 1991, Ernest T. Pascarella and Patrick T. Terenzini wrote the first of what became a three-volume set, published at roughly 10-year intervals: How College Affects Students. Alongside a chapter on verbal, quantitative and subject matter competence, each edition of the book contains sections on psycho-social change, attitudes and values, and moral development. We should see the AI era as providing us with a reason, and an opportunity, to expand our interests to include an analysis of the broadly formative processes involved in education, as opposed to focusing solely on narrow sets of outcomes. Fortunately, if we find the will to turn our curiosity toward questions about the quality of the time that we ask students to invest in their education, or the kinds of people that college graduates become, there is a well-developed body of literature waiting to guide our efforts.

    My first-year seminar includes an end-of-the-semester Saturday retreat. A local museum hosts the event. We take a tour in the morning, then students give presentations throughout the afternoon. The day represents more than just another class meeting. It’s a celebration. We make it a potluck, and the table we use features an impressive array of dishes: snacks, desserts, salads and crocks full of chili and soup.

    This past year, at the end of the day, I stood at the table with three students as we were preparing to leave. I happened to point out that half of the contributions brought to the potluck were handmade. The others were store-bought. The handmade dishes were nearly gone, while the efficiently prepared, mass-produced cookies and salads still sat in their plastic containers.

    One of the students said, “Hmm.” Then she added, “It’s not just ingredients on a table.” She went on, “How is something made? Who makes it? What kind of time do they spend?” She said, “That stuff matters.”

    I smiled and told her I agreed.

    Chad Hanson serves as a member of the faculty in sociology and religion at Casper College in Wyoming.

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  • The Trust in “Trustee” (opinion)

    The Trust in “Trustee” (opinion)

    The federal government and some state governments are now wanting to dictate to American colleges and universities what can and can’t be said on campus, what must and must not be taught in the curriculum, which students to admit and which to expel, which faculty to hire and which to fire, and what subjects to research and how.

    Part of this effort at ideological capture of American higher education has been to try to redefine the role of trustees at our institutions, particularly the public ones, as mere partisan operatives who should impose the will of the party in power on the institutions they govern. Trustees are framed as accountable to “the public.” They should be. The problem is that in this context, what is meant by “the public” is only that portion of it that agrees with government officials in charge at the moment, not the broader citizenry.

    Why is this a bad idea? Shouldn’t elected officeholders have some influence on the public campuses that their governments help fund? (Student tuition and donors help fund them, too, of course.) What about influence on private institutions whose students use public financial aid to pay tuition, and so much of whose research is government-funded? These are wholly reasonable expectations. However, when influence turns into direct intervention, when it manifests as heavy-handed government management, we have a problem. Why’s that?

    The genius of American higher education since colonial times has been the absence of a Ministry of Education that controls the operation of colleges and universities. This approach is very much in the American vein. The notion is that those who occupy elected office should not be able to manipulate independent, credible sources of information that might influence whether they get re-elected. (Ironically, many of the people who are pushing direct government control of higher education are at the same time taking apart the federal Department of Education because they say it exercises too much control over educational institutions.)

    The logical conclusion to today’s growing governmental pressure on higher education would be to dismiss all boards of trustees and establish a centralized ministry to govern the sector. Why resist the siren song of my favorite party telling those pointy-headed academics how to run their business without the intermediary layer of these governing boards? I’ll provide here just a few of the reasons.

    First, because Americans don’t like censorship, especially when the government does it. They hate the idea of any government telling them or their kids how to think or what to say. They don’t like political parties determining for them what “the truth” is. Trustees are the border runners between the party in power and government entities on the one hand, and the university on the other. At their best, they act as a conduit to bring public opinion—and sometimes public criticism—into the university, while at the same time buffering it from interference that gets in the way of its always messy search for truth, and its service to the commonwealth that derives from that mission.

    Second, boards in particular can and need to step up to defend America’s researchers in fields such as science, technology, engineering and mathematics as they follow their expertise to discoveries that benefit the health, economic well-being and national security of our citizens. Boards can assist in warding off politically motivated regulations and budget cuts that senselessly damage this vital progress pipeline. An Associated Press/NORC at the University of Chicago poll from May showed that 75 percent of Democrats and 57 percent of Republicans favor maintaining federal funding for scientific and medical research. Governing boards, populated by highly regarded, independent citizens with impressive personal and professional networks, are uniquely positioned to reflect the bipartisan will of the people, regardless of their personal partisan leanings.

    Third, if elected politicians, not trustees and staff, decide who gets hired and fired at colleges and universities, employees will be chosen and dismissed based more on personal and party loyalty than expertise and merit. So much for meritocracy.

    Fourth, boards can and should model for students, staff and the public at large how public-spirited volunteers civilly debate policy issues, without fear or favor, across whatever divisions exist among board members. Has there ever been a time when that would be a greater service by trustees to American democracy?

    Colleges and universities are hardly perfect. For one thing, they have not adequately reflected the diversity of the country—intellectual, economic or ethnic. This and other flaws trustees can identify and help fix. As informed, “loving critics,” they know more about their institution than anybody else who does not work there. Working with their president, they can push their institution to teach the conflicts we live today authentically and objectively, not preach the prevalent party line on campus or in the state house.

    In the current overheated political rhetoric, trustees, especially of public institutions, are presented with a false choice: Do you serve your institution or the citizens of your state? The question is based on the absurd assumption that you cannot serve both. Trustees have a responsibility to serve citizens by protecting the legacy of their institution built by previous generations, improving its quality and reach for today’s population, and ensuring its sustainability for generations to come. They should not be counting down to the next election; they should be taking the long view. That’s what we should be able to trust them to do.

    Kevin P. Reilly is president emeritus and Regent Professor for the University of Wisconsin system and a member of PEN America’s Champions of Higher Education group of former college and university presidents.

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  • English Teachers Work to Instill the Joy of Reading. Testing Gets in the Way – The 74

    English Teachers Work to Instill the Joy of Reading. Testing Gets in the Way – The 74


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    A new national study shows that Americans’ rates of reading for pleasure have declined radically over the first quarter of this century and that recreational reading can be linked to school achievement, career compensation and growth, civic engagement, and health. Learning how to enjoy reading – not literacy proficiency – isn’t just for hobbyists, it’s a necessary life skill. 

    But the conditions under which English teachers work are detrimental to the cause – and while book bans are in the news, the top-down pressure to measure up on test scores is a more pervasive, more longstanding culprit. Last year, we asked high school English teachers to describe their literature curriculum in a national questionnaire we plan to publish soon. From responses representing 48 states, we heard a lot of the following: “soul-deadening”; “only that which students will see on the test” and “too [determined] by test scores.”

    These sentiments certainly aren’t new. In a similar questionnaire distributed in 1911, teachers described English class as “deadening,” focused on “memory instead of thinking,” and demanding “cramming for examination.” 

    Teaching to the test is as old as English itself – as a secondary school subject, that is. Teachers have questioned the premise for just as long because too many have experienced a radical disconnect between how they are asked or required to teach and the pleasure that reading brings them.

    High school English was first established as a test-driven subject around the turn of the 20th Century. Even at a time when relatively few Americans attended college, English class was oriented around building students’ mastery of now-obscure literary works that they would encounter on the College Entrance Exam. 

    The development of the Scholastic Aptitude Test in 1926 and the growth of standardized testing since No Child Left Behind have only solidified what was always true: As much as we think of reading as a social, cultural, even “spiritual” experience, English class has been shaped by credential culture.

    Throughout, many teachers felt that preparing students for college was too limited a goal; their mission was to prepare students for life. They believed that studying literature was an invaluable source of social and emotional development, preparing adolescents for adulthood and for citizenship. It provided them with “vicarious experience”: Through reading, young people saw other points of view, worked through challenging problems, and grappled with complex issues. 

    Indeed, a national study conducted in 1933 asked teachers to rank their “aims” in literature instruction. They listed “vicarious experience” first, “preparation for college” last.

    The results might not look that different today. Ask an English teacher what brought her to the profession, and a love of reading is likely to top the list. What is different today is the  unmatched pressure to prepare students for a constant cycle of state and national examinations and for college credentialing. 

    Increasingly, English teachers are compelled to use online curriculum packages that mimic the examinations themselves, composed largely of excerpts from literary and “informational” texts instead of the whole books that were more the norm in previous generations. “Vicarious experience” has less purchase in contemporary academic standards than ever. 

    Credentialing, however, does not equal preparing. Very few higher education skills map neatly onto standardized exams, especially in the humanities. As English professors, we can tell you that an enjoyment of reading – not just a toleration of it – is a key academic capacity. It produces better writers, more creative thinkers, and students less likely to need AI to express their ideas effectively.

    Yet we haven’t given K-12 teachers the structure or freedom to treat reading enjoyment as a skill. The data from our national survey suggests that English teachers and their students find the system deflating. 

     “Our district adopted a disjointed, excerpt-heavy curriculum two years ago,” a Washington teacher shared, “and it is doing real damage to students’ interest in reading.” 

    From Tennessee, a teacher added: “I understand there are state guidelines and protocols, but it seems as if we are teaching the children from a script. They are willing to be more engaged and can have a better understanding when we can teach them things that are relatable to them.”

    And from Oregon, another tells us that because “state testing is strictly excerpts,” the district initially discouraged “teaching whole novels.”  It changed course only after students’ exam scores improved. 

    Withholding books from students is especially inhumane when we consider that the best tool for improved academic performance is engagement – students learn more when they become engrossed in stories. Yet by the time they graduate from high school, many students  master test-taking skills but lose the window for learning to enjoy reading.

    Teachers tell us that the problem is not attitudinal but structural. An education technocracy that consists of test making agencies, curriculum providers, and policy makers is squeezing out enjoyment, teacher autonomy and student agency. 

    To reverse this trend, we must consider what reading experiences we are providing our students. Instead of the self-defeating cycle of test-preparation and testing, we should take courage, loosen the grip on standardization, and let teachers recreate the sort of experiences with literature that once made us, and them, into readers.


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  • Colleges Shouldn’t Hike Tuition After May 1 (opinion)

    Colleges Shouldn’t Hike Tuition After May 1 (opinion)

    For students and their families, a university education is a massive investment of time and, often, money. To make a wise and informed decision about that investment, prospective students need full and timely financial transparency about that cost. The state of Florida has made that impossible for this year’s new out-of-state students.

    As a married academic couple, we were excited for our oldest daughter to begin her college journey. Starting her sophomore year of high school, she carefully analyzed her options along many dimensions, from location and program offerings to student life and academic rigor. After she developed a short list of about 20 universities, we created a spreadsheet that categorized colleges on anything that could be quantified. As offers and acceptance letters began rolling in, yet another spreadsheet carefully tracked tuition, room and board, and scholarships.

    After this careful analytic work, 13 on-campus visits and countless hours of conversation, our daughter chose the University of Florida. It was a tough decision; she had offers from other good colleges, including in- and out-of-state options that were more financially competitive. In the end, she valued UF’s high academic rigor and reputation combined with a relatively affordable cost. She made her choice about two weeks before the national May 1 decision deadline, and we began to prepare for her move to Gainesville. Of course, that planning included how we would pay for it. Based on numbers provided publicly on the university’s website, we thought we had that figured out.

    Then the state of Florida changed the financial picture.

    On June 18, the state of Florida’s Board of Governors permitted public universities to increase out-of-state student fees by 10 percent for the 2025–26 academic year (though called “fees,” this is in effect Florida’s term for the differential tuition costs paid by out-of-staters). And on July 23—more than two months after the national decision deadline, and less than a month before the start of the fall semester—the University of Florida’s Board of Trustees unanimously decided to do just that, hiking the per-credit cost for an out-of-state undergraduate by about $70 per credit, or about $2,000 for a full-time course load for the year. According to The Gainesville Sun, this decision was “in response to a budget shortfall of about $130 million due to a loss in state appropriations.”

    Both of us lead university units with tight budgets. Therefore, we have empathy for the tough fiscal decisions that higher education professionals sometimes must make. Perhaps the hardest financial decision university leaders face is when and by how much to increase tuition—in other words, when to pass the financial burden on to the students that we serve. That decision also increases young adults’ student loan debt, a matter of national concern addressed in many higher education articles, books and podcasts.

    But because of timing, what the state of Florida has done is different and much worse than a simple tuition/fee increase. If the university had announced the 2025–26 increase in fall 2024, we could have planned for that increase ahead of time. I do not think that would have changed our daughter’s decision, but it might have. Instead, by raising tuition so late in the game, Florida has created a classic example of a bait-and-switch: lure students in with the low cost, then dramatically increase it after their other options are gone.

    We remain excited about our daughter’s future at the University of Florida—and, most importantly, our daughter remains excited, too, despite this financial bump in the road. However, this last-minute change in price generated additional stress and uncertainty around her transition to college. When we spoke with one of the university’s financial aid advisers in late July, he was empathetic. He pointed us to the university’s scholarship portal—but of course, those scholarship deadlines passed long ago, serving as further evidence that Florida’s tuition increase came much too late.

    We have little doubt that this tuition approach has created stress for other students, too. With widespread concern for student mental health, increasing tuition costs just weeks before classes begin may add to students’ anxiety before they even set foot on campus. Student affairs professionals could see more requests for basic needs assistance, as students make tough choices between paying the higher tuition costs and other bills. University counseling centers are often already running at or above capacity and do not need such additional caseload.

    Ultimately, this pricing practice fails the test of scalability. If every university increased tuition well after the decision deadline, it would be chaos. Students and their families would have no way to plan. Particularly given significant public concern about the high cost of higher education and burgeoning student loan debt, this is unacceptable.

    Despite much debate within and beyond academia, the financial burden faced by young college students is a problem with no obvious solution in sight. But perhaps we can all agree on this: In order to make a wise financial decision, incoming students need complete and accurate information about the cost of college at least a few weeks ahead of the national decision deadline. Federal policy should preclude universities from making changes to their tuition and fees for the upcoming year after a certain point (say, two weeks prior to the decision deadline). Such a policy would provide transparency for students and fiscal accountability for higher education institutions.

    Andrew M. Ledbetter is a professor and chair in the Department of Communication Studies at Texas Christian University.

    Jessica L. Ledbetter is assistant dean of students at the University of Texas at Arlington.

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  • Trump Hijacks American Science and Scholarship (opinion)

    Trump Hijacks American Science and Scholarship (opinion)

    In a nearly daily barrage, President Trump and his MAGA forces heave fireballs at science and higher education. In the last weeks alone, the administration has been busy hurling a demand for a billion dollars from the University of California, Los Angeles; axing proven mRNA vaccine research; and demanding colleges submit expanded sex and race data from student applications, among other startling detonations. Amid the onslaught of these unsettling developments, it would be easy to miss the decisive change in conventional scientific and scholarly practice, one so vast that it threatens to overturn our revered American research achievements.

    On Aug. 7, Trump issued an executive order that uproots more than a half century of peer review, the standard practice for funding federal scientific grants. Taking approval out of the hands of experts, the new rule makes grant approval contingent upon the assent of political puppets who will approve only those awards the president finds acceptable.

    When I first came upon the order, I was immediately struck by how closely it resembles the unquestioned authority granted to senior political appointees in Soviet Russia and Communist China. As if dictated by commissars, the new rule requires officials to fund only those proposals that advance presidential priorities. Cast aside, peer review is now merely advisory.

    It took my breath away, suddenly realizing how completely threatening the new order is to the very foundations of the democratic practice of research and scholarship. As Victor Ambros, Nobel laureate and co-discoverer of microRNA, aptly put it, the order constitutes a “a shameless, full-bore Soviet-style politicization of American science that will smother what until now has been the world’s pre-eminent scientific enterprise.”

    Decades ago, long before I entered higher ed, I worked at a small publishing company in New York that translated Russian scientific and technical books and journals into English. As head of translations, I’d travel once or twice a year over many years to Moscow and Leningrad (now, once again, St. Petersburg) to negotiate with Soviet publishers to obtain rights to our English translations.

    One evening in the late ’60s, I invited a distinguished physicist to join me for dinner at a Ukrainian restaurant not far from my hotel in Moscow. We talked for some time openly over a bottle of vodka about new trends in physics, among other themes. As dinner drew to a close, he let his guard down and whispered a confidence. Mournfully, he told me he’d just received an invitation to deliver the keynote address at a scientific conference in England, but the Party official at his institution wouldn’t permit him to travel. I still remember the sense of being privy to a deep and troubling secret, reflected in the silence that followed and the palpable unease at the table. Shame enveloped him.

    Over a couple of dozen years of frequent trips to the Soviet Union and Communist China, I never met a single Party official. My day-to-day interactions were with administrators, editors, researchers and faculty who managed scientific publishing or were involved in teaching, research or other routine matters. The Party secretary remained hidden behind a curtain of power as in The Wizard of Oz.

    On one rare occasion in the 2010s, at a graduation ceremony at a local technical university in Beijing where I ran a couple of online master’s degrees in partnership with Stevens Institute of Technology, a student seated next to me in the audience drew near and identified a well-dressed official several rows ahead of us up front. “The Party secretary,” he revealed in hushed tones. I saw the officer later at the reception, standing by himself with a dour expression, as faculty, students and family members bustled about at a distance.

    One afternoon at that university in Beijing, I came upon a huddle of faculty in a corner office. As they chatted quietly among themselves in Mandarin, I took a seat at the far end of the room to give them privacy. But I could make out that a man in the group was disturbed, his face flushed and his eyes close to tears. Later, I approached one of the faculty members in the group with whom I’d grown close and asked what had troubled his colleague.

    “Oh,” he replied. “He often gets upset when the Party secretary objects to something we’re doing. He worries that our joint program is in jeopardy.”

    These personal reflections, based on my limited encounters with scientists and faculty, do not reveal the full extent of the control over scientific research exerted by Party functionaries. But if you compare the president’s new order with that of the Party’s authority in Soviet Russia and Communist China, you’ll find they’re all out of the same playbook.

    The order’s demand for political appointee approval takes decisions out of the hands of apolitical, merit-based peer-review panels. In the Soviet Union and China, adherence to the Party line and loyalty to the regime was (or is) paramount, with grant funds being used to advance ideological or state power. Similarly, the president’s order establishes a party line, stating that federal money cannot be used to support racial preferences, “denial … of the sex binary in humans,” illegal immigration or initiatives deemed “anti-American.”

    Relegating peer review is no small matter. It is at the center of modern science, distributing responsibility for evaluating scholarly work among experts, rather than holding this responsibility in the fist of authority. Even though peer review is under criticism today for its anonymity and potential biases, among other perplexing features, when researchers referee proposals, they nevertheless participate in a stirring example of collaborative democracy, maintaining the quality and integrity of scholarship—characteristics anathema to far-right ideologues.

    Of all the blasts shattering American science and higher education since the president assumed office in January, this executive order may be the most devastating. It is not one of Trump’s random shots at research and scholarship, but an assault on democracy itself.

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  • Predictions for Governance This Academic Year (opinion)

    Predictions for Governance This Academic Year (opinion)

    The start of the new academic year has all eyes looking ahead. As we all know, prediction is very difficult, particularly about the future, as physicist Niels Bohr cheekily put it. At the same time, the future is already here—it is just unevenly distributed, as writer William Gibson said. In other words, while predictions are difficult, we have evidence of what we might expect. This essay applies those logics to higher education governance.

    If predictions about the future are difficult, predictions about the future of governance might be outright foolish. Nevertheless, it is worth speculating and preparing.

    On the Board’s Radar

    Since higher education is in the headlines—if not the headline in the news—boards are likely to be more aware and informed of the issues and trends in higher education than they were in the past. This is particularly true because of federal action (I once would have said “policy,” but we are not seeing policy being made or even discussed) making news in The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times and other outlets read by trustees. Boards read about the Trump executive orders, drastic and devastating reductions in federal research funding, and attacks on institutional autonomy, as well as on specific universities: Harvard, Penn, Columbia, George Mason. The attacks on inclusion and student support for underrepresented groups (even the phrase “underrepresented groups”), DEI or its dismantling, and antisemitism are all subjects of conversations among trustees. Many are having parallel conversations in their corporate and law offices.

    The demographic cliff—the long-foretold decline in the numbers of traditional-age students—has only gotten closer. Boards are worried about enrollment. There is concern over international students who are expected to seek alternatives other than the U.S.

    For those universities with Division I athletics, there are complexities associated with name, image and likeness rights; the coaching hiring carousel; the transfer portal; and direct student athlete compensation. Boards like to be associated with winning.

    Inflation over the past few years has made costs higher and budgets tighter. This means not only that there are fewer operational resources, but fewer dollars have gone into infrastructure. Therefore, deferred maintenance is growing and worrying many.

    Then there is AI. As a Princeton University professor wrote in a recent article in The New Yorker, “The White House’s chain-jerk mugging feels, frankly, like a sideshow. The juggernaut actually barreling down the quad is A.I., coming at us with shocking speed.”

    Underlining all of this is finances. For boards, particularly those at tuition-dependent institutions as well as those at research funding–dependent institutions, financial well-being is still king. It can and will continue to dominate board conversations. And in extreme cases, it risks becoming the only thing these boards care about.

    Governance Crystal Ball

    What does the above mean regarding the near-term future for governance? Before answering that question, I need to acknowledge the tremendous variation in boards and their composition as well as in the mission and geographic contexts in which they are operating. Governance generally is not governance locally. At the risk of overgeneralizing:

    • Expect more anxiety and energy in the board room. Board members feel the pressure on higher education and their institutions. Some boards will amplify that pressure and others will help dissipate it. Nevertheless, expect boards to be 1) well-read on higher education because it’s in the national headlines and 2) animated about what they are reading and how they are translating that into the institutional context.
    • Anticipate activist trustees and activist boards. In some instances, activism will be instigated by individual board members. Activist trustees as well as donors will likely continue to borrow approaches from their corporate brethren, driving agendas, trying to influence board composition, leveraging philanthropy and working behind the scenes. Ten years ago, the Harvard Business Review published an article about corporate activism. While there are clearly lessons to be learned and translated, the most striking part was that one named example of a corporate activist is now a familiar name to many in higher education after playing a key role in forcing the leadership change at Harvard University.

    In other instances, the boards themselves (or at least a majority of members) may be activist. We have seen such examples in Florida, Idaho, Texas and Virginia. This is a different conversation altogether, when it is the full board as compared to individuals.

    • Increased questioning of the role if not value of faculty governance. Many more boards are likely to openly question the value of faculty governance and how it can be improved. They may have done this privately in the past, but don’t expect quiet conversations about faculty decision-making. Given the enrollment and other external pressures and the “entrenched problems” with higher education (real and perceived, thus the quotation marks), boards may increasingly ask what faculty governance has contributed and in extreme instances why it exists. Most do not have it, or anything substantially similar, in their professional lives.
    • A desire to consolidate power in the presidency. When the chips are down, corporate leaders may see their roles as being about making hard decisions, leading change and making unpopular choices to right their organizations. Captains of industry steer the ships under their charge. In higher education boardrooms, they then wonder why the college president—the institutional CEO—seems to have such comparatively little power in relation to their corporate peers. Often without realizing the differences in organizational contexts, they think that their approach to leadership, which typically works for them because they are successful (otherwise they most likely would not be trustees) should apply to colleges and universities. Presidents will be presented with corporate playbooks.
    • Increased focus on what is taught. The idea of viewpoint diversity will likely gain increased weight this year in board rooms. Boards may see it as part of their oversight role to ensure a range of ideas is being taught. This means that boards may be focusing on the curriculum and in some instances on the content of individual courses. This also means that boards may want to create new structures and centers, particularly those focused on conservative thought. This too requires much unpacking. Some boards will likely approach this issue with a genuine sense of inquiry and interest, with student learning at heart. Other boards—not so much.
    • Increased focus on how the curriculum is taught. Boards may be asking new and more pointed questions about how teaching and learning is conducted. The AI conversation may be driving some of this focus, but not all. Instructional costs, program enrollments, challenges of postgraduation employment and strained resources may also be behind their interest in curriculum.
    • More time on campus issues and on campus. I sense that all of these will mean that board members will be increasing their engagement with higher education trends and issues and also spending more time on or in close contact with the campus. I anticipate calls and texts to presidents and possibly others on campus will increase—first in response to the day’s headlines. And second because they will simply have more questions or solutions.

    Near-Term Action Agenda for Campus Leaders

    While the above are predictions, solid and careful preparation may suit presidents well. It’s best to take that umbrella rather than get caught out in the rain.

    1. Make more time for governance. We all know the complexities and demands of presidential schedules. Yet, be prepared to increase the time dedicated to the board. Board engagement is something that for the most part only presidents can do. That will mean delegating other tasks and responsibilities to the team. One might consider extending the time of board meetings and creating ways to meet with the board between meetings (briefings and updates are good strategies). There will likely be more governance work to do; don’t let old meeting structures impede good governance.
    2. Increase communication with board leaders and with the board as a whole. It’s better to shape the narrative of information rather than constantly respond. Increase regular communications; send out special messages. Be sure to spend more time helping the board understand what they need to know and appreciate.
    3. Prepare the board for crises. We don’t know what will happen this year, but one can safely assume there will be crises of some magnitude across a range of institutions. Have a clear communications plan—know who speaks for the campus and who speaks for the board. Clarify the process for the board of how messages get crafted and vetted. Be clear on who will communicate to the individual trustees. Set expectations for which trustees will know what and when. Remind trustees of the importance of confidentiality. Finally, consider conducting tabletop activities in which the board can work through a crisis before one occurs.
    4. Lay the foundation for discussions about faculty governance. Be prepared to explain and possibly defend the idea, its structures and the culture of shared decision-making. A simple point to remind the board is that making decisions and actually implementing them are two different things. While shared governance may result in slower decision-making processes, it expedites implementation and ensures a greater likelihood of success because faculty were involved and have a sense of ownership. Bring faculty into board conversations as experts and contributors. Demonstrate their value, which is more powerful than explaining their value.
    5. Invest in board education. Board members will want to engage. So it’s best to prepare them to do so from the point of knowledge and information. If boards are going to question academic freedom, for example, get ahead of the inquiries.
    6. Bolster the board chair. Chairs play exceedingly important roles in effective governance. These are volunteer roles in which they manage the board and its personalities; set governance expectations and run interference, when need be; facilitate meetings (again running interference when need be); and support the president and serve as a strategic thought partner.
    7. Ensure you have a top-notch board professional. Just as chairs play pivotal roles, so do board professionals. Good ones are worth their weight in gold, as they work mostly behind the scenes on governance, but they also engage directly with trustees. And speaking of gold, do your best to ensure they have the resources needed to do their jobs.
    8. Spend more time on the development of committee and board meeting agendas. Boards do much of their work through meetings. Make sure the president and the senior team are intentional about the content of the agendas, the anticipated outcomes of each meeting and the materials boards need to have informed discussions. This point should go without saying, but too many board agendas are rote, poorly framed and lack focus.
    9. Finally, intentionally address issues of finances—again particularly for those tuition-dependent and research funding–dependent institutions. Boards will be concerned and want action: By addressing financial well-being intentionally, you can then get the board to focus on other strategic priorities without being distracted. Attending to trustee priorities is important, but ensuring a balanced board agenda will better play the long game needed right now.

    Conclusion

    This calendar year has been one like no other. A safe bet is to predict that this academic year will be no different. The ideas above may be alarmist. Many boards will continue to govern effectively and do so in ways consistent with past practices. For that be thankful. Other boards may take it upon themselves to look in the mirror and move forward in new, positive and more constructive ways. Be even more thankful for that. As one experienced general counsel said to me, “If trustees truly want to guide their institutions and make sure that their problem-solving and future planning decisions are the best they can be, they need to keep their governance blades sharp.”

    Peter Eckel is a senior fellow and director of the Global Higher Education Management program at the University of Pennsylvania’s Graduate School of Education. He thanks two humans, a ChatGPT-generated novice board chair and a long-serving president for their feedback on the essay. The humans offered better insights, which could be due to the prompt writing or the caliber of the humans.

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  • Why Area Studies Matters (opinion)

    Why Area Studies Matters (opinion)

    Area studies, the interdisciplinary study of region-specific knowledge, is under threat in the United States. Some area studies programs are facing immediate dismantling by red-state legislatures. Others, at private universities or in blue states, are more likely to experience a slow decline through dozens of small cuts that may leave them untenable. While most area studies programs are small, their loss would ripple through a wide range of disciplines, impoverishing teaching, research and scholarship across the humanities and social sciences.

    Most contemporary area studies departments were developed and funded in part to meet perceived U.S. national security needs during the Cold War. Nonetheless, area studies programs have, from the outset, reached far beyond policy concerns. They should be saved, not (just) out of concern for the national interest, but because they are fundamental to our modern universities. Area studies have helped to pluralize our understanding of the drivers of history, the sources of literary greatness and the origins and uses of the sciences, enabling scholars to challenge narratives of “Western” normativity.

    As the second Trump administration has thrown federal support for area studies into question, some scholars have come to the field’s defense from the perspective of U.S. security and national interests. They have noted that cutting government funding for programs such as the Foreign Language Area Studies (FLAS) fellowships will linguistically and intellectually impoverish future cadres of policymakers. But in the present political landscape, in which the Trump administration has demonstrated little if any interest in maintaining the trappings of U.S. soft power, it seems unlikely that the federal government will restore funding for language education and the development of regionally specific knowledge. Their ability to contribute to U.S. soft power will not save area studies.

    The future of area studies lies beyond state security and policy interests and instead with the core mission of our universities. If we are to save area studies, we must admit—and celebrate—the fact that the benefits of area studies have never been just about U.S. national interests. Indeed, area studies have decisively shaped how scholarship and education are practiced on U.S. university campuses.

    Since the 1950s, area studies programs have quietly informed disciplinary practices across the humanities and social sciences, changing education even for students who never take courses offered by formal area studies departments. In part, this is because scholars educated through area studies programs teach in history, anthropology, political science, religious studies and a bevy of other programs that require a depth of linguistic and regional knowledge. These scholars introduce global, regional and non-Western knowledge to students at colleges and universities that may not host their own area studies programs, but that rely on the cultivation of regionally specific knowledge at institutions that have invested in and embraced the area studies model. Some of these scholars undertook area studies as their primary field of research. In other cases, including my own, they hold Ph.Ds. in other disciplines but would not have been able to conduct their research without access to the language and regionally specific courses offered by area studies programs at their universities.

    The influence of area studies stretches beyond this immediate impact on scholars and their students. Area studies scholars have insisted that there is just as much to be learned within Middle Eastern, Latin American or sub-Saharan African literature, histories and cultures as there is in Western European or the modern North American Anglophone traditions. At their best, area studies have reminded us that none of these formations or knowledge traditions exist in isolation, that there are no “pure” or untouched civilizations and that ideas and practices have always circulated and shaped each other, whether violently or peacefully. Certainly, many scholars knew and studied these realities well before the advent of the contemporary area studies model. Nonetheless, the presence of area studies in many prominent U.S. universities from the 1950s onward enabled a quiet but certain reckoning with historical scholarly exclusions and helped to internationalize U.S. campus communities.

    Federal and state cuts and institutional austerity are now reshaping university departments and programs across many disciplines. But area studies programs are especially at risk in part because they are excluded from some calls for the defense of the humanities or liberal arts that take an older, pre–area studies view of our shared cultural and historical knowledge. Even more troublingly, the far right is eager to claim and weaponize the humanities for itself. Its vision of the humanities, and of the liberal arts more generally, is one that not only rejects area studies, but also seeks to undo critical approaches to European and Anglophone literature and history. The far right portrays the humanities in triumphalist civilizational terms, imagining a fallacious pure Western (white) tradition that justifies contemporary forms of dominance and exclusion.

    Scholars within the fields that have seen increased interest from the far right are fighting their own battles against these imagined, reactionary pasts. But those of us within area studies—and fields that have been enriched by area studies—also have our part to play. We must refuse to concede to narratives of human history, literature, culture and politics that write out the experiences and contributions of non-European, non-Anglophone or nonwhite individuals and communities.

    The most extreme current threat to area studies, like many threats to the humanities and social sciences more generally, comes from hostile red-state legislatures. I completed an area studies M.A. in central Eurasian studies at Indiana University, a program that hosts languages such as Mongolian, Kurdish and Uyghur, which are rarely if ever taught at other institutions in North America. That program, like many of Indiana’s other vaunted area studies degrees (and many other programs) is currently slated for suspension with “teach-out toward elimination.”

    Yet even institutions seemingly removed from such direct political pressure seem poised to reduce their engagement with area studies. I am now an assistant professor in South Asian languages and civilizations at the University of Chicago, a program that has produced renowned scholars of South Asia globally and offers languages ranging from Tibetan to Tamil. The university has proposed decreasing the number of departments within its Division of the Arts and Humanities and limiting offerings in language classes that do not regularly attract large numbers of students. These policies could result in significant cuts to relatively small area studies programs like my own. And none of these proposals are unique. Whether rapidly or slowly, universities across the country are walking back their commitments to area studies, especially the study of non-Western languages.

    There are actions that we, as area studies scholars, can take to ensure the longevity of our work. As we revel in the complexities of the regions we have chosen to study, we sometimes forget how unfamiliar they remain to many American undergraduate students. Unfamiliarity, however, should not mean inaccessibility. The Shahnameh or the Mahabharata may be less familiar to many of our students than The Iliad and The Odyssey, but there is no reason they should be less accessible. The study of modern sub-Saharan African histories or Southeast Asian languages is not intrinsically more esoteric than the study of modern North American histories or Western European languages. Our goal must be to welcome students into topics that seem unfamiliar and to share in their joy as what was once unfamiliar slowly becomes part of their system of knowledge.

    Likewise, one of the most significant challenges stemming from the Cold War foundations of area studies is that the discipline is often organized along a mid-20th century, U.S.-centric understanding of global political fault lines and cultural boundaries associated with nation-states. These boundaries, as many scholars have shown, do not always reflect how people experience and understand their own cultures and histories. Yet scholars in area studies have become increasingly adept at working beyond these boundaries. Many of us use the framework of area studies to challenge understandings of regional borders as natural, identifying forms of mobility and connectivity that upend assumptions built on the locations of modern lines on modern maps.

    Even as we make area studies more accessible and more reflective of transregional cultural worlds, area studies programs will never be moneymakers for U.S. universities. As the novelist Lydia Kiesling, a beneficiary of area studies and specifically of FLAS funding, noted in Time, “The market will never decide that Uzbek class is a worthwhile proposition, or that it is important for a K–12 teacher in a cash-strapped district to attend a free symposium on world history.” And so, in the absence of federal funding for these programs, any defense of area studies must ultimately come down to asking—begging!—our universities to look beyond the financial motives that seem to have overtaken their educational missions.

    Ultimately, area studies allows us to embrace, even revel in, cultural, social and linguistic particularity and specificity and, through understanding these differences, recognize our shared humanity. At their best, area studies programs help students and the public dismantle cultural hierarchies through knowledge of non-Western traditions that have depth and heterogeneity equal to that of their European and Anglophone counterparts. In our present moment, as a dizzying range of university programs are destroyed by right-wing legislatures or threatened by aggressive institutional austerity, it may seem futile to call for the preservation of this seemingly small corner of the U.S. intellectual universe. Yet in an era when governments, both in the U.S. and abroad, seem beholden to narrow and exclusionary nationalist interests, fields of study that center the pluralism within our shared global histories and cultures are needed in our universities more than ever.

    Amanda Lanzillo is an assistant professor in South Asian languages and civilizations at the University of Chicago.

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  • A Teaching Mantra for the New Year (opinion)

    A Teaching Mantra for the New Year (opinion)

    As professors, we naturally talk a lot about teaching—and I’ve certainly benefited from public discussions at workshops and panel presentations. But we can also have more intimate moments of instructional insight, private moments we may initially keep to ourselves until over time we come to appreciate more fully their value.

    Here’s my hitherto secret bit of pedagogic wisdom.

    It’s my teaching mantra. For many years before teaching each class, I took a moment and silently repeated to myself: Be clear. Be engaging. Be honest. Be kind.

    As a beginning teacher, it was a simple tactic to calm my nervousness before class. But as philosophers since Aristotle have recognized, daily choices become persistent habits that evolve into enduring character. It worked. As I strove to embody these values, they enabled me to bring the self I hoped to become into the classroom.

    Clarity. Engagement. Honesty. Kindness. Simple teaching virtues, yet I’ve come to believe they have a larger salience in the turbulent academic world of today.

    Be Clear

    Students today are coming to college with their own share of inner turmoil. Unsettled by the disruptions of COVID, facing an uncertain job market, and inundated with social media skepticism about the value of college, there’s a vulnerability to them that’s new.

    With their perceptions of a topsy-turvy world, students are understandably looking for clarity, elusive though it may be. Well-designed syllabi and clear directions help, but the clarity they’re looking for is something more than straightforward course formalities. The clarity they’re looking for is a more deeply rooted certainty that they can count on you.

    Thus, providing the clarity students are hoping for today involves the self you bring to the classroom. It is more a matter of character than of course planning. Are you someone they can depend on, confide in and trust? Demonstrating these personal qualities hinges on the kind of outreach you make to students from the start.

    Be Engaging

    Tentative and uncertain as they often are, I can’t expect students to come to me. Personal outreach today means I have to make the first move. It also means doing so by beginning wherever they are. Only by beginning wherever they are can you hope to take them where you might want them to go.

    While I dearly love my students, I don’t expect them to be like me. In my teaching, it has been important to remind myself of this as effective engagement depends on knowing your audience well. Particularly as I’ve gotten older, I’ve had to ensure my cultural references, case choices and even language use have a resonance for students decades younger than I am. I am regularly grateful to my daughter, a recent college graduate, for exposing me to the current lingo of “crashing out,” the delights of matcha and the talents of Billie Eilish.

    Be Honest

    Honesty is hard as a teacher, particularly when reading students’ less-than-laudatory evaluations. I’ve certainly had my share of such evaluations and they can discourage extending yourself in personal outreach. But I’ve taken heart from an entrepreneur friend who has counseled openness on my part. See such student comments simply as information, he said, just as he does in reflecting upon investor critiques after pitching a business plan.

    Honesty is especially hard when enduring criticism of an unfair or even hostile nature, something that in the classroom can be especially painful. But taking criticism as simply information, as a source for developing my own deeper reflection and critical faculties, enables a self-honesty that I’ve come to realize I need not fear. In teaching law, I am regularly reminded of John Stuart Mill’s insight: “He who knows only his own side of the case knows little of that.”

    Be Kind

    Sometimes, the personal outreach you offer matters more than even the latest teaching strategies you might employ. Kindness toward students can make a decisive difference. Once, while suffering from a bad cold and struggling with a lecture, I noticed that a student coughing in the front row was struggling with her own respiratory ailment. While continuing with the lecture, I offered her a few throat lozenges from the packet that was giving me relief. From the thankful look she gave me, I saw that simple unplanned gesture had a greater impact on her than any of the legal theories I espoused that day.

    The turmoil of students’ inner lives mirrors the unsettled state of professors’ professional lives today. Many external forces are currently upending the established norms of academic life. From politicians who act to defund us to AIs that threaten to replace us to a public that increasingly distrusts us, the traditional foundations of academic culture are at risk. With such larger external threats to these traditional foundations, little tips for strengthening our relationships with students may appear to have negligible relevance or sway.

    But such little ideas do matter, even if only because of the way they contribute to the cultural resilience colleges will need in the coming days. In a deeper sense, we as individual professors are the academy’s foundations, the strength in which its future resides. And the future begins with the values embedded in the teaching choices we make each day.

    Jeffrey Nesteruk is an Emeritus Professor of Legal Studies at Franklin & Marshall College. He has published widely in the areas of law, ethics and liberal education and may be reached at [email protected].

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  • Let’s Talk About Proxies and Admission (opinion)

    Let’s Talk About Proxies and Admission (opinion)

    The Trump administration has stepped up government scrutiny of college admission. Settlements reached with Brown and Columbia Universities each included a requirement that they pursue “merit-based” admission policies. On Aug. 7, President Trump issued a memorandum requiring colleges and universities to submit data to IPEDS (the Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System) demonstrating that they are not considering race in admission decisions. The Department of Education has since published in the Federal Register details about the planned data collection, with the public having 60 days to comment. And Attorney General Pam Bondi has entered into the fray by publishing a memo outlining what constitutes unlawful discrimination.

    I will leave it to others to rail against the unprecedented federal attack on higher education and the incursion into admission policies at individual institutions. I would prefer to examine some of the issues and underlying assumptions suggested by these documents.

    The Aug. 7 Presidential Memorandum

    Trump’s memorandum calls for increased transparency to expose practices that are “unlawful” and to rid society of “shameful, dangerous racial hierarchies.” For some reason, it doesn’t say that all racial hierarchies are shameful and dangerous. Is that an oversight or a meaningful omission? The memorandum also asserts without explanation that race-based admission policies threaten national security.

    The call to get rid of “shameful, dangerous racial hierarchies” is ironic. It is easy to imagine previous administrations using the same phrase to defend the very race-based admission policies that the executive order now seeks to abolish. “Shameful” and “dangerous” are in the eye of the beholder, and may not be color-blind.

    What is not clear is how the administration intends to collect and analyze the data, given its efforts to gut the Department of Education. As Inside Higher Ed has reported, the National Center for Education Statistics had been decimated, with a staff of more than 100 reduced to a skeleton crew of three employees.

    The Bondi Memo

    Attorney General Bondi’s July 29 memorandum offered guidance to federal agencies about practices that may constitute illegal discrimination at colleges and other entities receiving federal funds. A lot of it is rehashed, targeting popular straw men/persons like DEI programs and transgender athletes (and bathrooms).

    What is interesting is Bondi’s take on what she calls “unlawful proxy discrimination,” defined as the use of “facially neutral criteria” that function as “proxies” for race or other protected characteristics. Per the memo, examples in higher education may include things like requiring diversity statements in hiring or essay questions asking applicants to reflect on their unique identity or to write about obstacles they have overcome.

    On a surface level, Bondi is right that those can become back doors to identify an individual’s race. At the same time, knowing the obstacles an individual has overcome is essential to understanding his or her unique story, and race would seem to be one of the factors that can heavily influence that story.

    Where Bondi goes off the rails is in maintaining that what she calls “geographic targeting” may constitute a potentially unlawful proxy. She is suggesting that recruitment or outreach in schools and communities with high levels of racial minorities may be illegal. That is preposterous. Trying to expand access to education through outreach is in no way comparable to reverse engineering an admission process to arrive at a desired class composition.

    Taken to its logical extreme, Bondi’s guidance would prevent colleges from recruiting not only at inner-city schools with a large percentage of Black students, but also at suburban schools with a large percentage of affluent white students. Both could be examples of what she calls “geographic targeting.” For that matter, colleges might be in violation for asking for an applicant’s address, because ZIP code information can be used as a proxy for determining race and socioeconomic status.

    New Data Collection Requirements

    As for data collection for IPEDS, the administration has proposed a new “Admissions and Consumer Transparency Supplement,” or ACTS. ACTS will require targeted colleges and universities to report data in the following categories, disaggregated by race and sex:

    • Admissions test score quintile
    • GPA quintile
    • Family income range
    • Pell Grant eligibility
    • Parental education

    It will also ask for information to be broken down for early decision, early action and regular admission as well as institutional need-based and merit aid. What’s missing? Legacy status and athletic recruits, both categories that benefit white applicants. At some of the Ivies, between 10-20 percent of the undergraduates are athletes, many in “country club” sports where most of the competitors are wealthy and white, and the proportion of athletes is even higher at the highly selective liberal arts colleges that make up the New England Small College Athletic Conference. Discovery in SFFA v. Harvard revealed that recruited athletes had an 86 percent admit rate. You don’t have to have had an uncle who taught at MIT to know that is substantially higher than the overall admit rate.

    ACTS will apparently apply only to “all four-year institutions who utilize selective college admissions,” which the administration maintains “have an elevated risk of noncompliance with the civil rights laws.” That may at first glance seem to be singling out elite, “name” colleges, and that’s probably the intent, but it also reflects a recognition that the vast majority of institutions couldn’t practice race-based admission even if they wanted to because they are too busy filling the class to worry about crafting the class.

    The focus on selective institutions will both make it easy to score political points and hard to derive meaning from the data. Selectivity, especially at the 5-10 percent level, makes it impossible to know why any individual is or isn’t admitted. Admission deans at the highly-selective (or rejective) universities report that they could fill several additional freshman classes from among those applicants who have been waitlisted or denied.

    Merit-Based Admission

    The real target of the push for “merit-based” admission may be holistic review. A holistic admission process allows colleges to take into consideration nuances in an individual’s background and life experiences. It can also be frustrating for applicants, since different individuals are admitted for different reasons. The government may be pushing consciously or unconsciously for a more formulaic selection process.

    But would that be any better? Even if you focus only on grades and test scores, should you put more weight on a three-hour test or on four years of high school? How do you compare applicants from schools with different grading scales and levels of academic rigor? Should a test score obtained after thousands of dollars in test prep count the same as an identical score without coaching?

    How do we distinguish between merit and privilege? Those who have strong test scores may be more likely to believe that test scores are a measure of merit, and yet test scores are strongly correlated with family income. Those who are born into wealth and privilege may come to believe that their good fortune is a proxy for merit, buying into a perverse and self-serving interpretation of John Calvin’s doctrine of the elect. They may see themselves as deserving rather than lucky.

    Proxies in Admission

    We need a larger discussion about proxies in college admission. Advanced Placement courses are a proxy for a rigorous curriculum. GPA is a proxy for academic accomplishment, and yet means little without understanding context. Similarly, SAT scores are often seen as a proxy for ability, despite the fact that the College Board long ago abandoned the pretense that the SAT measures “aptitude.” The U.S. News & World Report college rankings have always relied on proxies, such as alumni giving as a proxy for alumni satisfaction when it may be more a measure of the effectiveness of the development office. Selectivity is a proxy for academic quality—feeding into the belief that the harder a place is to get in, the better it must be. Are proxies for race any more problematic than these other proxies?

    The larger question here is what should the selective college admission process be a proxy for. Should we seek to reward students for past performance? Predict who will earn the best grades in college? Identify those students who will benefit the most from the college experience? Or predict who will make the greatest contribution to society after college?

    I’m waiting for an executive order or memo or even a discussion among college admission professionals about what the selective admission process should represent and what proxies will support those goals.

    Jim Jump recently retired after 33 years as the academic dean and director of college counseling at St. Christopher’s School in Richmond, Va. He previously served as an admissions officer, philosophy instructor and women’s basketball coach at the college level and is a past president of the National Association for College Admission Counseling. He is the 2024 recipient of NACAC’s John B. Muir Excellence in Media Award.

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  • 5 Trends Reshaping K-12 Education Across the U.S. – The 74

    5 Trends Reshaping K-12 Education Across the U.S. – The 74


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    Since 2020, interest in homeschooling, microschooling, and other alternatives to conventional education has soared. Entrepreneurial parents and teachers have been building creative schooling options across the U.S. Kerry McDonald, a senior fellow at the Foundation for Economic Education and contributor to The 74, was so inspired by these everyday entrepreneurs that she wrote a book about them: Joyful Learning: How to Find Freedom, Happiness, and Success Beyond Conventional Schooling.The following is an adapted excerpt from McDonald’s book. It is reprinted here with permission from the publisher.

    In 2019, I gave a keynote presentation at the Alternative Education Resource Organization’s (AERO) annual conference in Portland, Oregon. Founded in 1989 by Jerry Mintz, AERO has long supported entrepreneurial educators in launching new schools and spaces, with a particular focus on learner‑centered educational models. It was about a month after my previous book Unschooled was published, and I was talking about the gathering interest in unconventional education. Homeschooling numbers were gradually rising, and more microschools and microschooling networks were surfacing. I predicted that these trends would continue, but I said they would remain largely on the ­edge— as alternative education had for decades. They would offer more choices to some families who were willing to try new things, similar to those of us who eagerly embraced Netflix’s mailed DVDs when they first appeared. But I didn’t think these unconventional models would upend the entire education sector the way Netflix ultimately did with entertainment. I thought they would remain small and niche. I was wrong.

    The COVID crisis catapulted peripheral educational trends into the mainstream, not only creating the opportunity for new schools and spaces to emerge but, more importantly, permanently altering the way parents, teachers, and kids think about schooling and learning. The pre‑pandemic tilt toward homeschooling and microschooling has converged with five post‑pandemic trends that are profoundly reshaping American education for families and founders. Together, these trends are shifting the K–12 education sector from being an innovation laggard to an innovation leader.

    Trend #1: The growth of homeschooling and microschooling

    The nearby microschool for homeschoolers that my children attended before COVID was one of only a sprinkling of schooling alternatives in our area. Now, it’s part of a wide, fast‑growing ecosystem of creative schooling options— both locally and nationally— representing an array of different educational philosophies and approaches. Families today are better able to find an education option that aligns with their preferences. From Maine to Miami to Missouri to Montana, the majority of the innovative schools and spaces I’ve visited have emerged since 2020, and many already have lengthy waitlists, inspiring more would‑be founders. The demand for these options will grow and accelerate over the next ten years, as will the number of homeschooling families, many of whom will be attracted to homeschooling as a direct result of these microschools and related learning models. Indeed, data from the Johns Hopkins University Homeschool Hub reveal that homeschooling numbers continued to grow during the 2023/2024 academic year compared to the prior year in 90 percent of the states that reported homeschooling data, shattering assumptions that homeschooling’s pandemic‑era rise was just a blip. Parents that otherwise wouldn’t have considered a homeschooling option will do so because homeschooling enables them to enroll at their preferred microschool or learning center.

    One particularly striking and consistent theme revealed in my conversations with founders as I’ve crisscrossed the country is that their kindergarten classes are filling with students whose parents chose an unconventional education option from the start. These parents aren’t removing their child from a traditional school because of an unpleasant experience or a failure of a school to meet a child’s particular needs. They are opting out of conventional schooling from the get‑go, gravitating toward homeschooling and microschooling before their child even reaches school age. This trend is also likely to accelerate, as younger parents become even more receptive to educational innovation and change.

    Trend #2: The adoption of flexible work arrangements

    Today’s generation of new parents grew up with a gleeful acceptance of digital technologies and the breakthroughs they have facilitated in everything from healthcare to home entertainment. These parents see the ways in which technology and innovation enable greater personalization and efficiency, and expect these qualities in all their consumer choices. It’s no wonder, then, that parents of young children today are generally more curious about homeschooling and other schooling alternatives. They are often perplexed that traditional education seems so sluggish.

    The response to COVID gave these parents license to consider other options for their children’s education. The school closures and extended remote learning during the pandemic empowered parents to take a more active role in their children’s education. That trend persists, as does the remaking of Americans’ work habits. The number of employees working remotely from home rather than at their workplace has more than tripled since 2019. 

    As more parents enjoy more flexibility in their work schedules, they will seek similar flexibility in their children’s learning schedules. While remote and hybrid work generally remain privileges of the so‑called “laptop class” of higher‑income employees, the growing adoption of flexible work and school arrangements is driving demand for more of these alternative learning models, including many of the ones featured in Joyful Learning that offer full‑time, affordable programming options for parents who don’t have job flexibility. Remote and hybrid work patterns are here to stay, and so is the trend toward more nimble educational models for all.

    Trend #3: The expansion of school choice policies

    The burst of creative schooling options since 2020 is now occurring all across the United States, in small towns and big cities, in both politically progressive and conservative areas, and in states with and without school choice policies that enable education funding to follow students. 

    Education entrepreneurs aren’t waiting around for politicians or public policy to green‑light their ventures or provide greater financial access. They are building their schools and spaces today to meet the mounting needs of families in their communities.

    That said, there is little doubt that expansive school choice policies in many states are accelerating entrepreneurial trends. Founders I talk to who are developing national networks of creative schooling options, are intentional about locating in states with generous school choice policies that enable more parents to choose these new learning models. Other entrepreneurs are moving to these states specifically so that they can open their schools in places that enable greater financial accessibility and encourage choice and variety. Jack Johnson Pannell is one example. The founder of a public charter school for boys in Baltimore, Maryland, that primarily serves low‑income students of color, Jack grew discouraged that the experimentation that defined the early charter school movement in the 1990s steadily disappeared, replaced by an emphasis on standardization and testing that can make many—but certainly not all—of today’s charter schools indistinguishable from traditional public schools. He saw in the choice‑enabled microschooling movement the opportunity for ingenuity and accessibility that was a hallmark of the charter sector’s infancy. In 2023, Jack moved to Phoenix, Arizona, to launch Trinity Arch Preparatory School for Boys, a middle school microschool that families are able to access through Arizona’s universal school choice policies. 

    Trend #4: The advent of new technologies and AI

    New technologies are also accelerating the rise of innovative educational models, while making it harder to ignore the inadequacies of one‑size‑fits‑all schooling. The ability to differentiate learning, personalizing it to each student’s present competency level and preferred learning style, has never been easier or more straightforward. It no longer makes sense to say that all second graders or all seventh graders should be doing the same thing, at the same time, in the same way—and failing them if they don’t measure up. 

    Emerging and maturing technologies help prioritize students over schools and systems, but the widespread introduction of artificial intelligence (AI) tools, and bots like ChatGPT, will hasten this repositioning. New AI bots can act as personal tutors for students, helping them navigate through their set curriculum. The real promise, according to founders focused more on agency‑ based or learner‑directed education, is for AI tools to work for the students themselves, helping them to control their own curriculum.

    “We don’t have a set pathway for our learners. It’s personalized,” said Tobin Slaven, cofounder of Acton Academy Fort Lauderdale, which he launched with his wife Martina in 2021. Part of the global Acton Academy microschool network, Tobin’s school prioritizes student‑driven education in which young people set and achieve individual goals in both academic and nonacademic areas, participate in frequent Socratic group discussions, engage in collaborative problem‑solving and shared decision‑making, and embark on their own “hero’s journey” of personal discovery and achievement. 

    When we spoke in 2024, Tobin had recently founded an educational technology startup building AI companion tools that act as a personal tutor, life coach, and mentor all in one. He sees AI tools like his as being instrumental in helping learners have more independence and autonomy over their learning. Rather than AI bots guiding a student through a pre‑established curriculum, Tobin thinks the truly transformative potential of AI lies in tools that help students lead their own learning—answering their own questions and pursuing their own academic and nonacademic goals.

    “When I hear the visions of some other folks in the education space, their visions are very different from mine,” Tobin said, referring to many of today’s emerging AI‑enabled educational technologies. He offered the example of a device known as a jig, used often in carpentry, to further illustrate his point. “The jig tells you exactly where the curves should be, where the cut should be. It’s like a template. The template that most of the AI folks are using is traditional education. It was broken from the start. It’s a bad jig,” Tobin said.

    Instead, he sees the potential of AI to help reimagine education rather than reinforce a top‑down, traditional model. He is helping to create a new and better educational jig.

    Trend #­ 5: Openness to new institutions

    The final trend that is merging with the others to transform American education is the shift away from established institutions toward newer, more decentralized ones. Some of this is undoubtedly due to emerging technologies that can disrupt entrenched power structures and lead to greater awareness of, and openness to, new ideas, but the trend goes beyond technology. Annual polling by Gallup reveals that Americans’ confidence in a variety of institutions has fallen, with their confidence in public schools at a historic low. Only 26 percent of survey respondents in 2023 indicated that they had a “Great deal/Quite a lot” of confidence in that institution. The good news is that confidence in small business remains high, topping Gallup’s list with 65 percent of Americans expressing a “Great deal/Quite a lot” of confidence in that institution in 2023. The falling favor of public schools occurring at the same time that small businesses continue to be well‑liked creates ideal conditions for today’s education entrepreneurs. Families who are dissatisfied with public schooling may be much more interested in a small school or space operating or opening within their community. 

    For another signal of the shift away from older, more centralized institutions toward newer, more customized options, look at what the Wall Street Journal calls the “power shift underway in the entertainment industry,” as YouTube increasingly draws viewers away from traditional television networks. Individual YouTube content creators, such as the world’s top YouTuber, MrBeast, who has some 300 million subscribers, appeal to more viewers than the legacy media networks with their more curated content. New content creators are particularly attractive to younger generational cohorts like Gen Z, who prefer decentralized, user‑generated content over traditional, top‑ down media models. Consumers today are looking for more modern, responsive, personalized products and services, especially those being developed by individual entrepreneurs who bear little resemblance to legacy institutions. This is as true in education as it is in entertainment and will be an ongoing, indefinite, and transformational trend in both sectors.

    Shortly before completing this manuscript, I spoke again at the annual AERO conference, this time in Minneapolis. Gone was my measured optimism of 2019. In its place was a mountain of evidence showing how popular alternative education models have become since 2020, and how steadily that popularity continues to grow. This isn’t a pandemic- era fad or an educational niche destined for the edges. This is a diverse, decentralized, choice‑filled entrepreneurial movement that is shifting American education from standardization and stagnation toward individualization and innovation.

    We are only at the very early stages of a fundamental change in how, where, what, and with whom young people learn. Over the next decade, homeschooling and microschooling numbers will continue to grow, work flexibility will trigger greater demand for schooling flexibility, expanding education choice policies will make creative schooling options more accessible to all, AI and emerging technologies will help create a new “educational jig” fit for the innovation era, and declining confidence in old institutions will enable fresh ones to arise. The future of learning is brighter than ever. Families and founders are finding freedom, happiness, and success beyond conventional schooling, inspiring the growth of today’s joyful learning models and the invention of new ones yet to be imagined.


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