What Now (Part II, Higher Ed)
Dear friends,
Working freelance means that I have a wide-angle view of what's happening in universities nationwide, since I'm typically working with a handful of institutions at any given moment. Usually I love that about my work; it helps me notice patterns that I might not see otherwise. Right now, though, sitting with that landscape view is really tough.
My previous post focused on what's happening in K-12 education right now, with an understanding that what happens in the nation's public schools also has a huge impact on higher education. This isn't a comprehensive look at everything universities are facing right now; there's too much happening too quickly, and other sources have better factual accounts. But this is what's on my mind.
Like K-12 education, higher education gets some of its funding from the federal government—not a ton, but the margins are slim, especially at chronically underfunded public institutions. Some of this money comes in the form of grants from federal funders like the NSF, NIH, NEH, NEA, and IMLS, all of which is now at risk. But the majority of federal funding for higher ed actually goes to students, not institutions, in the form of financial aid.
Nearly 7 million students—a full third of all postsecondary students—rely on federal Pell grants to go to college. While the average grant size is modest (less than $5,000), losing that funding means closing doors to higher education and meaningful employment pathways. Even just thinking of CUNY, losing Pell grants would be devastating to so many students who are charting their own paths, often the first in their families to go to college. While Pell grants have not been affected yet, people are understandably concerned that financial aid could be next on the chopping block.
In addition to defunding and disintegration at a systems level, we're also seeing alarming attacks on individual students based seemingly on their political views, even though the right to protest and dissent is enshrined in the first amendment. ICE seems to be specifically targeting students who have expressed support for Palestine—even if they are legal residents of the U.S. or valid visa holders, in a wild overreach of power, as we have seen in the cases of Rumeysa Ozturk, Yunseo Chung, Mahmoud Khalil, and others. I cannot stress enough that this is happening to people who are in full compliance of immigration requirements. It's extremely scary.
All of this is creating a huge amount of anxiety at all levels, from students to senior administrators. International students wonder whether they're safe here. Students on financial aid wonder if they should find jobs instead of continuing their degrees. Institutions are nervous about what the future holds; grants they had already secured are being canceled in some cases, and prospects that once seemed strong are now fading into distant possibilities. Public and private universities alike are implementing hiring freezes and pauses on non-essential spending as they weigh the risks on the horizon. On a personal level, it's also bad for me—institutions aren't likely to bring in outside support when budgets are this lean, and in some cases they may not even be able to pay outside contractors for work like mine, so new contracts are hard to come by.
Beyond all these tangible effects, there's another risk that I think could be just as damaging as the loss of funds: demoralization. All of these sudden changes and the environment of fear they create are incredibly destabilizing. So many people in and around higher education are deeply mission-driven; the salaries have never been high, but people believe in the work. This is especially true for higher ed workers who have long focused on access and inclusion, and whose work is now most sharply under threat. I'm seeing friends lose their jobs, lose access to research data, watch projects that have had powerful results go dark.
As one example, I recently worked on a grant proposal for an NEH summer institute with Full Spectrum Features, a longterm nonprofit client. A version of the institute was successfully funded in the past, and the updated version that they're proposing is innovative, thoughtfully designed, and rich with historical context and nuance. The topic? Equipping K12 teachers to teach about Japanese American incarceration and resettlement. It's a super important part of US WWII history that is rarely taught in most public schools. Teaching about it is inherently justice-oriented; how could it not be? Trying to strip any language about race, equity, and justice so that the proposal would comply with recent executive orders was wrenching. As my collaborator reminded me, we were also watching in real time as the websites for Japanese American historical monuments were pulled offline—a literal erasure of US history.
Combine everything that's happening at the K-12 level and in higher education with the dismantling of IMLS and the devastation that will mean for public libraries and museums, and what are we left with? Our country's entire infrastructure for education, for independent learning, for cultural heritage, for curiosity and exploration is being gutted. It's unconstitutional, and it's heartless.
Still, the work continues. I know that at times like this it's essential to pick a lane, stay focused on community, and take action; it's all too overwhelming otherwise. For me, I've been leaning into engagement in the NYC public school system; I'm running for re-election on the CEC, where I have organized know-your-rights workshops for families and have been advocating at the city level for greater transparency and accountability. My commitment in this space means I can't always jump into other kinds of support, but this is where I feel I can have an impact.
Your engagement might look different. Maybe there's a mutual aid collective in your community that you could become a part of, or a volunteer organization that supports a local cause you care about. Maybe you commit to participating in demonstrations. Maybe for you resistance simply means leaning into the people and things that bring you joy.
There are also many actions you can take without leaving your house. A friend recently re-shared this list of actions you can take besides protesting or voting (by, I think, Mariame Kaba) has a wealth of ideas. For academic friends reading this, please consider signing this statement defending higher education as a pillar of democratic society. And always: call and write to your reps.
Thanks for reading. In solidarity,
Katina
