In higher education policy, you and Secretary Arne Duncan have consistently focused on two goals of critical national importance: 1) Expanding access to higher education and degree completion rates, especially by low-income, minority, and first-generation students, to increase the number of Americans who enter the work force with 21st-century skills; and 2) Making college more affordable to more people. As president of the major service organization for more than 600 private, nonprofit colleges and universities, I want to assure you that the leaders of these institutions share your goals — and have a track record of achieving them.
This truth is often obscured by myths about America’s private colleges — that they cater only to an elite, that they are not affordable, that debt levels for graduates are excessive, that liberal arts degrees are not viable in the workplace. Each of these myths is demonstrably false.
Mr. President, I am confident that your own experience of higher education — as an undergraduate, law student, and faculty member at independent colleges — leads you to understand the engine of opportunity and social mobility that these colleges provide to students and the resource pool of innovation that they provide for our nation. In fact, the effectiveness of this sector of higher education — in providing access, affordability, timely graduation, and employable skills — could provide models for the most valuable use of scarce tax dollars.
Let me first address the question of affordability, which looms so large in today's constrained economy. In private, nonprofit colleges and universities today, students on average pay about half the full cost of their education. The stereotype is entirely false that private colleges enroll students who are much wealthier than those at public universities. In fact — counterintuitively — there is a higher proportion of low-income students at nondoctoral private colleges and universities than at public research universities.
First-generation college-goers account for one-third of all enrolled students, and low-income students account for about 30 percent of all students in private colleges. Moreover, private scholarship funds total six times the amount of federal funds awarded to students — effectively leveraging the value of tax dollars for higher education. Extremely significant as well is the issue of opportunity costs; students of all backgrounds are more likely to graduate on time at private colleges, further reducing the total cost of their education.
In considering the affordability of a college education, much has been made recently about student debt. The fact is that most students have manageable debt and they repay their loans. What is "manageable debt"? The median debt for a four-year degree at a private college or university is $22,380 — about the same as a moderately priced car (and in fact not much more than the median debt at a public university). But the college degree appreciates, while the car depreciates. Estimates for the differential in lifetime earnings for a college degree vs. high school diploma are $700,000–$1,000,000, which is not a bad return on investment.
Recently, the $1 trillion in total student debt has been trumpeted as a "scare quote" in headlines. Not noted is the fact that this large number is a direct result of increased numbers of enrolled students, especially those with modest financial resources — itself an indication of progress in fulfilling Great Society objectives even during a weak economy. Our country has, quite remarkably, increased the number of college-goers — from fewer than half of all high school graduates 50 years ago to almost two-thirds today. This achievement is a result of the commitment by many over two generations — the federal government’s repeated willingness to increase Pell Grants, state governments’ expansion of the number of places at state universities (each heavily subsidized by taxpayers), and private colleges’ aggressive fund-raising for scholarships from nongovernmental sources to keep college affordable. All Americans can take pride in this example of shared responsibility.
This is decidedly not a picture of college costs "out of control" or, as you phrased it recently at Knox College, "an undisciplined system where costs just keep on going up and up and up." That speech referenced tuition increases of up to 7 percent. Perhaps this applies to a few universities. But private colleges, surveyed last year, increased tuition by only 4 percent on average and the trend has been downward. In fact, in recent years the net cost to students at private, nonprofit colleges has declined when adjusted for inflation.
It's also the case that most of the large percentage increases in tuition at state universities are direct results of cuts in state government funding. In addition, nearly every college and university in the country has recently taken measures to cut costs, such as eliminating staff and faculty positions, restricting pay increases, and delaying maintenance and construction projects.
Mr. President, on numerous occasions you and Secretary Duncan have encouraged colleges and universities to use technology to achieve cost savings in instruction. I am certain you recognize that more than two-thirds of colleges are already active in efforts to blend online with face-to-face learning. But an entirely online education, while better than no education, does not provide a student with the same learning outcomes and lifelong advantages as a live education on a campus with frequent interaction among students and between students and full-time professors.
It’s this distinctively American form of education — with room for questioning, discussion, creativity, interpersonal dynamics, and supportive faculty — that has made American colleges and universities the envy of the world and widely imitated.
Impartial research literature overwhelmingly shows that students at traditional institutions learn more, finish their degrees faster, and exhibit more postgraduate success in such aspects of life as civic participation. The reputation for innovation and educational quality — enjoyed by both America’s research universities and our small colleges — is well-deserved. Our national goal, therefore, should be to make the best form of American education — face to face — available and affordable for as many people as possible, to use blended approaches carefully, and not to make a less effective form — online only — the norm for everyone except a fortunate few. Indeed, such a prospect of a two-tiered system (to put it crudely: personal instruction for the few, online instruction for many) would pose serious threats to our democracy.
In the same week that you spoke at Knox College, Forbes magazine issued its survey of "top performing" colleges, and shortly thereafter Georgetown University’s Anthony Carnevale released an analysis of the affordability of college and the low percentages of low-income students at many “selective” universities. Curiously, both analyses chose to focus on only the "best" institutions but defined the group of selective institutions broadly. If the goal of such studies is to increase college participation among low-income students, it is odd to examine the effectiveness of only a fraction of America’s 4,000 colleges and universities. Forbes’s analysis starts with 650 of what it considers the best-performing institutions, and Carnevale’s begins with 468. (Most observers would argue that only about 100 colleges and universities are truly selective — that is, able to assemble a freshman class from an overabundance of well-qualified applicants, giving weight to virtually any factor of merit or need it chooses, and most able to meet every dollar of financial need.)
While there are few surprises near the top of Forbes’s list, more interesting details can be found farther down the list because they offer hints for the design of public policies. First, the top 217 colleges (or one-third of the 650) include every kind of college and university — large and small, public and private. Second, among the 117 colleges just below the top 100 are 40 smaller, private colleges that are not well-known beyond their regions. These colleges are market-sensitive, have room to expand, spend large amounts of their own resources as financial aid in order to enroll many low-income and first-generation students, and graduate students quickly. The vast majority of their graduates remain in-state.
While the top 100 colleges enroll 17 percent of their students from low-income backgrounds, smaller, private, nondoctoral colleges and universities, despite smaller endowments and less selective admissions, enroll approximately one-third of their students from low-income backgrounds. Most impressive is that the numbers of graduates of small, private colleges who enter careers in high-priority fields such as STEM are proportionally much higher (although small in absolute numbers) than the percentage who start their studies in these fields at many larger universities. In short, even within the second 100 of the “top” 650 institutions, the patterns of institutional performance differ from the myth of higher education’s unresponsiveness to your objectives. A great deal more could be achieved by harnessing the commitment of all 4,000 colleges and universities.
Your twin national policy goals of access and affordability could be advanced most rapidly if private colleges and universities, especially those at the middle levels of selectivity, were given a larger role. Their track records point to educational practices that could easily be brought to a larger scale. Their demonstrated cost-effectiveness as agents of upward mobility argues for reinforcement by public policy. In the difficult budget choices that lie ahead, these institutions offer the most value in the use of scarce tax dollars. To ignore the dedication of traditional institutions, both public and private, to your goals and the resulting benefits to the country would be to forego a major opportunity.
Richard Ekman is president of the Council of Independent Colleges.
Purdue University's Calumet regional campus is planning layoffs for seven faculty members, most of them assistant professors, The Journal and Courier reported. At least another 12 faculty members have accepted early retirement packages. The size of the faculty will shrink by about 7 percent, as part of a response to a deficit brought on by lower than expected enrollments.
An article in The New York Times provides an overview of the new Football Performance Center at the University of Oregon. Among the features noted by the Times: rugs woven in Nepal, couches made in Italy, a weight room featuring a floor of Brazilian hardwood and a barbershop where utensils are from Milan. The center was originally projected to cost $68 million, but the Times reporter found that to be "conservative" based on a tour. The university claims not to know the full cost. Donations from Phil Knight, a founder of Nike, paid for the facility (which has Nike-themed features). University officials said that they were proud to be associated with Nike. "We are the University of Nike,” said Jeff Hawkins, senior associate athletic director of football administration and operations. "We embrace it. We tell that to our recruits."
Centre College on Tuesday announced a $250 million gift -- believed to be the largest ever to a liberal arts college -- that will support merit scholarships. Starting in the fall of 2014, 40 students a year will receive what the college is calling "full ride plus" scholarships, to cover tuition, room and board, all fees and additional money to support study abroad, research or internships. The funds will be available only to students majoring in the natural sciences, computational sciences and economics.
E. Gordon Gee, who stepped down as president of Ohio State University on July 1, will make $5.8 million over the next five years as part of a new contract with the university. According to the contract, Gee will serve as a tenured professor in Ohio State's law school and his responsibilities will include "completion of his research on 21st Century Education Policy and will include research, writing and national speaking as well as teaching or lecturing" in the law school, the school of public affairs and the college of education. Gee's annual base salary will be $410,000, and he will receive retirement contributions and a grant of $300,000 to fund his research. After the five years are up, Gee's salary will be equivalent to the highest-paid non-administrative faculty member in the law school.
The new contract waives any compensation Gee would have been entitled to under his previous contract with the university, which would have paid out approximately $6 million in supplemental and deferred compensation over the next four years.
Penn State angered faculty when it mandated biometric tests for those on health insurance. Now it's charging extra to those who use tobacco. Faculty members -- including those who don't smoke -- are furious.
The annual amount families spent on college leveled off at about $21,000 after several years of decline, according to Sallie Mae survey, which finds families -- particularly high-income ones -- taking steps to limit their expenditures.
If you were a casual reader of American newspapers, you would think that the fate of the humanities was in doubt. Polishing off a 30-year-old critique, most famously offered by Allan Bloom in 1987’s The Closing of the American Mind, an acerbic corps of doubters – David Brooks of The New York Times is in the vanguard -- wonders if scholars of literature have lost their way, substituting politically chosen texts for classics, stripping away the basic function of the humanities, defined gloriously as: to help us make sense of our world. Enrollments are down, they note, which means that students are shifting their efforts into the sciences, or business, or technology. The doubters want us to believe that the wonderful dreamers who once taught at Chicago or Penn or Yale are, sorrowfully, gone.
This skeptical cohort is often partnered with another, angrier, and more politically active group, which questions whether a college degree is even worth the money these days. Hack the degree, they say. Take a MOOC. If you have to go, enroll at Stanford, or choose your major based on your starting salary after graduation. This platoon of nail-biters and shouters asks us – the big "us," that is, our fractious national family – to distrust the words of tenured radicals, to seek an end to administrative bloat, to treat higher education, basically, as a commodity.
As many have noted – Michael Bérubé and Scott Saul foremost among them – this is all generally hogwash. The humanities remain popular with students, and the great bulk of student credit hours in the humanities are still generated by courses that discuss Important Events or Great Books or Big Thinkers. Much of the decline in enrollments can be attributed to long-term trends – for instance, changes in the gender distribution of majors as universities open doors into STEM fields for students, or the rise of new interdisciplines that eat away at our notion of what counts as the core of the humanities. Professors still love their subjects, even if they don’t wear tweed and even if some of them are women or people of color, even if they sometimes look different, dress different, talk with accents, come with different histories, and sometimes even use foreign languages in the classroom. Great lectures are still given, by "star" faculty and wandering adjuncts alike. Students are still inspired, even if they read William Faulkner alongside Toni Morrison.
I’m in lockstep with Bérubé and Saul, but I also think we need to continually reframe this conversation, to focus in on the single greatest threat to higher education: the defunding of public colleges and universities and the consequent overemphasis on revenue through student credit hours. The threat to the humanities – really, to higher education comprehensively – isn’t caused by a loss of passion or direction or focus, as Brooks and his chorus of doubters want us to believe. Or about bloat in the administrative middle.
It comes from the transformation of the day-to-day interactions between students and faculty, a transformation that is ensured by an emphasis on vast classes, big draws, and throngs of students. And that emphasis flows – in a straight and narrow line – directly from the declining state contributions to public universities and, more abstractly, from our recent consensus that profit alone is the surest measure of importance. It is great that Harvard University wants to pour more money into the humanities, but such an investment is meaningless, really, if every place that isn’t Harvard, or Yale, or Princeton has to trim and cut in one corner to build and grow in another (let alone to cover the skyrocketing health care costs of employees).
Who am I to contribute to this conversation? I should not be here today. I should be silent, or muted, or fixed in the background, a security guard or a mechanic or a grocery clerk – noble professions, I know, but not generally featured in conversations like this one. There was nothing inevitable about my present social position. Indeed, if you were a gambler, you’d have wagered against me. I am no David Brooks, you see. But I am just as much a creature of the humanities.
I was a screw-up, a wastrel, washed-out and adrift for a long time. And headed to nowhere-in-particular very slowly. A generally lackluster youth from a small, forgettable town, I was a C- student at the end of high school, trending down and not up. I enrolled -- at my mother’s loving insistence -- at a big public university, signed up to major in political science, and bombed out fast and hard, earning a 0.5 GPA in my first semester.
With my failure thus well proven, I moved out to a trailer park at the dusty, quiet, southern tip of New Jersey’s Long Beach Island, and went to work in a used bookstore. I rode my bicycle, drove an old station wagon, grew my hair long, drank Miller Lite in tall, dark bottles, smoked Camel cigarettes, and genuinely enjoyed my early hermitage.
The institution that saved me from this enthralling vagabondage wasn’t a church, or a gang, or prison, or the family. It wasn’t football or baseball or basketball. It wasn’t "America." I didn’t read Kerouac. I didn’t hear an inspirational speech on television. It was a small place, Richard Stockton College, tucked away in the Pine Barrens, perhaps the simplest and most basic expression of our belief in an educated adult citizenry. I signed up – not knowing what I meant to do, really – and then showed up, ready for absolutely nothing.
My saviors weren’t clerics or wardens or coaches. They were teachers. They wore mismatched socks, drank coffee by the gallon, and loved ideas, evidence, and debate. They weren’t generalists but specialists, with hard-earned knowledge about medical science in Scotland, or library readership in the early Republic. I couldn’t tell you anything about their politics, but I could paint you a richly detailed portrait of their presence at the head of the classroom. From what I could see, they lived cheaply, responsibly, and haphazardly, drawing sustenance from the material of their research, which they shared, twice or three times a week, with a group of 35 or so history majors, mouth-breathers all. These strange masters of the blackboard, drove cars just like mine, except that theirs were filled with random slips of paper and wildly strewn books and file folders. They gave extraordinary, dazzling lectures, even though much of the time, I could not understand anything they were saying. They were a live cliché.
I wish I could say that their job was easy, that I turned myself around, figured it out, and bootstrapped my way back to the right track. The truth is, I was hard work, just like everyone else. In red ink, they implored me to rewrite and rethink. In a cascade of office meetings and hallway conversations they pored over my paragraph formation, transition sentences, basic grammar and syntax.
They didn’t see anything special in me, of course, because there just wasn’t anything special to see. They merely believed that this was what they should do for everyone who walked into their classroom. They had seen thousands of people before I arrived, and they would see thousands after I was gone. They weren’t naïve or wide-eyed, and they didn’t imagine themselves as heroic or romantic. They were professional. And, when I look back on the last 20 years of my life, it wasn’t their lecture material that made the difference. It was the time they spent with me outside of class.
Of course, I was lucky. I was born in 1970, at a moment when most states believed in adequately funding higher education. I grew up in a place that had an enhanced system of public universities and colleges, all staffed with well-trained, research-focused faculty, people with published expertise in a specific field, with a dedication to craft. And I went to school and college at a time when professors – and schoolteachers more generally – were respected for their role in civil society, and trusted to patiently instruct and constructively challenge slack-jawed young men and women like me.
Raised in the idyllic world of yesteryear, I honestly never once thought to measure my education – or my intelligence, or my civic worth – by my starting salary after graduation. I had been making $78 a week at the bookstore, borrowing money for college, and charging meals and gas and cigarettes on a credit card. I just assumed that this pattern would continue forever. Even now, I am surprised that I didn’t just keep working at the bookstore, didn’t just keep shivering my way through the cold, lonely winters and hot, busy summers of what is colloquially known as “LBI,” didn’t just keep grifting my way to a full stomach.
When it comes to higher education, I’m not nostalgic for the way things used to be. I’m indebted to those who came before, to those who made this current "me" possible. I’m unhappy that we can’t do the same here and now for others. And I think the problem is quite clearly not about escalating salaries or administrative expansion.
Long after my redemption, I spent nine years teaching at a public university. For most of that time, I was running an interdisciplinary program at the very heart of the humanities. We were charged to grow an "honors-style" major, with small classes, lots of writing, and intense faculty and student interactions. In short, to create the experience of a small liberal arts college -- an experience I know well – within a 35,000-student university. Our capacity to grow was the result of a clever administrator, who – in the face of a statewide budget freeze – added on an additional fee for incoming students, and used that vast pot of money to shift growth toward the emerging interdisciplines. But this "honors-style" dream was chipped away slowly by the annual news reports of state budget cuts. We were pressed to create bigger courses, to put "fannies in the seats." We ended our enhanced foreign language requirement because it kept our major count down. We were encouraged to open up our enrollments, to create a big survey course at the front end of the major, a course that became so large that we had to trim off the writing requirement and give multiple-choice exams. We spent hours on assessment data, all required by the state higher education board, and less and less, as a consequence on students.
Not surprisingly, some of us left, hoping to find somewhere else something rather like what we’d experienced as young adults, some place where we could do for every student what had been done for us.
Wherever we are now, the stakes, for all of "us," in this higher education debate are high. Few students are ready, right at the start, to be inspired by a lecture on Plato. Most need help taking notes, or forming a thesis statement, or just thinking hard about anything. Still, every time a university has to add 500 students to the freshman class to make up for a budget cut without also hiring faculty, and every time an administrator – typically, a good person trying to save an institution – has to ask for a significantly larger lecture class without having the funds to beef up the support structure for students, we make stories like mine less likely.
When we describe the lecture as a delivery mode, as a site for Great Thinkers to Expound on Big Ideas, and not as the public expression of hundreds of miniature conversations in which one or two students work through material, and expression, and form with a single person, and we don’t emphasize the equal importance of those behind-the-doors sessions, we do damage to the representation of great teaching. We make it possible to believe that "big" is better. Without those conversations, it isn’t just the humanities that gets shortchanged – it is all of us.
Today’s jobs might not be yesterday’s, but they still require the ability to write and speak clearly, to analyze evidence and form opinions, to solve problems with research, to reach an informed opinion and to persuade others, through a presentation of logic or facts or material, that your opinion is worth their attention. This is what higher education is supposed to do. Fulfilling this mission requires an attention to scale, and a commitment to making it possible for faculty and students to work together closely. In the big and small publics – the great post WWII laboratories of social mobility, from which Brooks and his cohort are so greatly distanced – we simply can no longer teach these skills or create this scale of interaction. And if these centers of gravity fail, everything else will, too.
This should make ordinary Americans angry. It used to be that my story could be your sons' and daughters' story, but not any longer. Don’t blame the teachers in the classroom, though. They still work as hard as they can – they still drink too much coffee, still drive beat-up cars, still occasionally mismatch their socks – to deliver sparkling lectures, to rouse students to believe in the passionate study of humanity, to expand their intellectual horizons. And they try very hard to work closely with students in need, students with talent, and students who seem to want more. Don’t blame the administrators either. Most of them are simply trying to stave off the very worst consequences of this transformation. Blame the folks with the budget ax. And blame those who vote them in.
Matthew Pratt Guterl is professor of Africana studies and American studies at Brown University.
A tornado-like "significant wind event" hit Ursuline College, in Ohio, Saturday morning. The college announced that there were no injuries, but that several buildings sustained significant damage. The college was closed over the weekend to allow officials to assess the situation.
Ohio Representatives Robert F. Hagan and Mike Foley announced Tuesday that they would propose legislation, similar to a plan recently adopted in Oregon, that could eventually result in students paying no tuition while in college but agreeing to pay a percentage of their wages once employed after graduation. Like the Oregon law, the Ohio legislation does not create any immediate policy changes but would task the state's executive agency with developing a pilot program that would go before lawmakers for approval in two years.
Proponents of such legislation say it will help remove the cost barrier that might keep students from pursuing a college education and might make it easier for students to repay, since payments will be linked to income. “This is a unique opportunity for the state to actively address a real problem that has haunted so many young people for far too long,” Foley said in a news release. “The inaction on student loan debt is very real, and I think too many young people are wondering why their government has failed them in this regard.” Opponents have challenged the feasibility of such plans, as well as whether they put too much of the burden for paying for college on students, rather than governments and parents.