From Rachel Toor
I am writing this on the plane heading home after attending a board meeting where, as an invited observer, I expected tight-lipped smiles, awkward banter, and tired marketing buzzwords.
What I got felt—this is going to sound cheesy as all get-out—like a family reunion. But with data. And PowerPoint slides. And people I genuinely liked.
When presidents come into the IHE office, they tell us about the unique and innovative things they’re doing.
Almost everyone boasts about access and affordability. Those who humblebrag about exclusivity still insist that hardly anyone pays full sticker price.
We hear about applied learning, internships, workforce development. Every campus is student-centered, mission-driven, and committed to the principles of the words we’re no longer supposed to say. And on their campuses, all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the— You know the rest.
Often, presidents ask, “Why does the media only cover bad news? Where are the positive stories?”
That is, I think, a reasonable question.
The conversations get most interesting when presidents stop reciting talking points and get real about their challenges—and what they’re actually doing to address them. But it’s rare to hear something truly unique, let alone radical.
So when I noticed that The Sandbox was getting a lot of attention from someone I didn’t know at a place I’d never heard of, I asked Doug Lederman about Michael Horowitz and the Community Solution Education System.
“Oh,” Doug said. “That’s interesting. He created a system of private nonprofit institutions.”
“A consortium?” I asked.
“Not exactly. It functions like a public university system, but it’s all private nonprofits.”
Huh?
I didn’t get it. So I reached out and started talking to Chancellor Michael Horowitz and his chief of staff, Shari Mikos. And emailing. And texting. And sharing documents.
The system now includes six institutions that retain their own identities. Most are in the helping and healing professions: psychology, counseling, social work, early childhood education, chiropractic and osteopathic medicine, and many others. They have started nearly 50 new academic programs in the last five years with a focus on market demand from prospective students and employment trends. This system does the work of serving those learners who are not well supported by traditional colleges.
Each institution has its own board and is also governed by a system board. Some trustees serve on more than one. The colleges aren’t owned by the system but work in deep collaboration. They share services—HR, IT, finance, enrollment services, legal, marketing—all the back-end operations that often bloat overhead and take time and money away from students.
This model isn’t without precedent, Horowitz says, though it can be challenging at first to grasp. He explains that health-care systems and Catholic universities have long used a similar “sole member” structure, where oversight of bylaws, trustee elections, and finances lives with a central entity. Public university systems often do the same, operating with a single board for multiple campuses. And while early conversations with accreditors required a lot of explaining, Horowitz says WASC embraced the approach from the start, and in recent years NWCCU and COCA have approved two of the institutions joining the system.
What I wanted to know is why don’t more colleges, universities, graduate, and professional schools want to join?
I mean, everyone says they know things aren’t working and seeks to collaborate. But the reality is that change is painful and hardly anyone wants to give up control (or even share it)—especially board members who think they know best (and who went to that college in a different century).
Joining this system means adapting to the mindset baked into the culture—what Horowitz calls radical cooperation. Each institution retains ownership and fiscal responsibility; they each chip in for shared infrastructure—costs are proportional and, yes, still expensive. But economies of scale and added capacity make it more cost-effective than trying to do it all alone. Institutions get access to resources—talent, tech, and services—they couldn’t afford or manage on their own.
But while that all is great in principle, it’s still a hard sell. Academics hate thinking about higher ed as a business. The worst insult faculty can lob at an administrator? Corporate-minded. Most traditional presidents still see themselves as scholars first, not entrepreneurs. It’s the model we inherited.
But is it still the one we need?
The chancellor, board chair, and vice chair told me they’ve had a lot of dates—with nearly 200 institutions expressing interest. But most of those conversations come when a school is circling the drain, which is not a great time to start making long-term plans. This system doesn’t do bailouts. It’s not buying up campuses for parts or real estate. It brings in only institutions that are financially viable.
Horowitz took what was good from the for-profit higher ed model (leaving behind the predatory ickiness), grabbed people-focused strategies from restaurateurs he admired—visioning from Ari Weinzweig of Zingerman’s Deli and mission specificity from Rick Bayless of Frontera Grill—leaned on the team mentality of athletes, and cared not a whit about the traditional and snobby ways of higher ed. He’s a risk-taker and a relationship-builder.
Everyone I talked to—presidents, board members, and staff—was clear-eyed about higher ed’s challenges. They had the calm of people who bought generators before the storm; they’ve already made changes so many others are still resisting.
Still, I kept asking myself, “Is this too good to be true? What am I missing?”
The Community Solution presents one answer to some of higher ed’s big, thorny problems. But it’s not a model that will work for everyone. It’s not scalable for institutions that aren’t ready to give up autonomy and buy into something bigger than themselves. And it requires a mindset shift that goes against the frog-and-the-scorpion nature of higher ed.
When I debriefed with Doug while waiting for my flight—following the Chatham House rule and keeping confidences—I told him that, for the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful about higher ed.
He asked the hard question, as usual: “Hopeful about higher ed, or about this system?”
I want to believe it’s both.
This is just one solution. But seeing something bold, functional, and unapologetically different—treating higher ed as a business and a public good? That felt exciting.
“We are disruptive without being destructive,” the system’s chief academic officer told me over drinks.
That’s the kind of good-news story I want to read—and the T-shirt I want to wear.
