Lumina Foundation is working to increase the share of adults in the U.S. labor force with college degrees or other credentials of value leading to economic prosperity.
After months of speculation, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security has publicly released its plans to limit how long international students can stay in the United States—a proposal that advocates say will only add to the uncertainty and chaos that this group is already facing.
Currently, students can stay in the country as long as they are enrolled at a college or university. However, the proposed rule would permit students to remain in the country for the length of their program, with a maximum limit of four years. This duration is insufficient for students to complete a doctoral program, and it is shorter than the average time required for a student to finish a bachelor’s degree.
Stephanie Rolin, a mental-health services researcher, found out last month that a journal had accepted her latest paper for publication. But there was an asterisk. Community Mental Health Journal was requiring her to fork over about $4,400—a fee that she hadn’t budgeted for and one she says she cannot afford.
The journal’s parent company, Springer Nature, was levying the charge in response to Rolin’s funder, the National Institutes of Health. In effect, she’d been caught in a battle between one of the world’s biggest publishers of scientific research and the world’s biggest sponsor of biomedical research. Ironically, the fight is over how to make research free.
Two decades ago, Stanley Andrisse was sentenced to 10 years in prison. Last month, he earned tenure at the Howard University College of Medicine.
People like Andrisse are often considered redemption stories, not faculty material. But what if lived experience with injustice is not a liability but a credential? What if the strength it takes to rebuild a life is the very evidence of excellence that tenure is meant to recognize? Andrisse explains more about his journey from a formerly incarcerated Black man to a tenured professor at one of medicine's most prestigious Historically Black Colleges and Universities in this essay.
From Historically Black Colleges and Universities in the South to state flagships in the Midwest, from community colleges in New Jersey to Ivy League institutions in New England, students and faculty poured into New York City last Thursday with a singular purpose: to stand with the Rev. Al Sharpton in defending diversity, equity and inclusion programs under siege.
The "March on Wall Street" drew thousands to Manhattan's Financial District, but among the clergy, laborers, and community leaders were hundreds of higher education advocates who had traveled from every corner of the nation, transforming the demonstration into an unlikely convergence of campus and community activism.
Imagine discovering that someone has stolen your identity and used it to enroll in college, collect thousands of dollars in federal financial aid, and then vanish—leaving you to clean up the mess.
This isn't a hypothetical scenario. It's happening thousands of times across America as fraudsters exploit weaknesses in the student aid system, turning what should be a pathway to education into a sophisticated criminal enterprise.
Florida has a long history of centralized state control of its public colleges and universities and an abiding commitment to keeping tuition low, especially for in-state students of modest means.
By organizing around a governing board, Florida leaders have standardized policies and practices across all universities, which set the conditions for students to excel, give presidents the ability to lead difficult change without fear of campus retribution, and most importantly, empower every university in the system to provide the state’s citizens with a high-quality learning experience.
