From 2019 to 2021, male undergraduate enrollment dropped by 10.2 percent, according to the National Student Clearinghouse, compared to 7.8 percent among women. Among Black men, however, enrollment fell by 14.8 percent overall, and a whopping 23.5 percent among those enrolled in two-year schools. Latino male enrollment similarly slumped: by 10.3 percent overall and by 19.7 percent among community college students.
Read more at Newsweek…
Advanced College is a for-profit school in South Gate, California, a Los Angeles suburb that’s 95 percent Hispanic. Photos on Google Maps show a one-story beige building with a small parking lot. A banner on a car stereo store next door announces, “No Credit Needed.” Two doors down, there’s a crematorium, and across the street, a burger shop. Advanced College offers only seven programs, according to its website, including a credential in “computerized accounting” (tuition and fees: $13,573), a certificate in phlebotomy ($3,500), and a certificate in vocational nursing ($35,000).
The Department of Education’s College Scorecard reports that the school had only 31 students and a mere 52 percent completion rate as of July. And despite the name, just 43 percent of Advanced College’s students earn more than they would with just a high school degree. The school is under the dreaded “heightened monitoring” by the Education Department for “financial or federal compliance issues.”
Nevertheless, Advanced College is among the approximately 1,000 “eligible training providers” as of July 22 (and more than 5,700 programs) approved by the state of California to receive training funds under the Workforce Innovation and Opportunity Act, the federal government’s largest workforce development program.
I interviewed 25 workers with STEM degrees about the trajectories of their careers. The experiences of the women and minority workers I interviewed could not be more different from the experiences of the white men who spoke with me.
White men spoke of having mentors, robust professional networks and ample opportunities for advancement. Women and workers of color spoke of social isolation, disparate treatment and dead ends.
Is it any wonder that STEM fields continue to have a problem with diversity? Read more from my report for AEI here.
In The Merit Myth, In The Merit Myth: How Our Colleges Favor the Rich and Divide America, veteran researchers Anthony P. Carnevale, Peter Schmidt, and Jeff Strohl argue that America’s top colleges and universities uphold a biased infrastructure that props up students from the one percent of U.S. families to the detriment of everyone else.
Read my review of this important book for Washington Monthly here.
The 2020 Democratic primary has seen no shortage of big, ambitious ideas—the nationalization of health care via “Medicare for All,” free college, free child care, and the cancellation of student debt, just to name a few.
But there’s one big idea still missing: how to fix the stark and growing disparities between the parts of the country that are prospering and those that are falling behind. Regional inequality is perhaps the greatest challenge to America’s economic and political future, but 2020 candidates have yet to tackle, let alone acknowledge, the problem. It’s an omission that could have long-term substantive consequences for Democrats.
Since President Donald Trump took office in 2016, numerous analyses have pointed to a widening gulf—political, economic and demographic—between red and blue America. On the one hand are the rising fortunes of educated, urban Democratic districts. On the other is the steep decline of formerly industrial, Republican districts in rural America and the heartland.
The latest to highlight this trend is a new report from Mark Muro and Jacob Whiton of the Brookings Institution, which underscores how deep this schism has become over the past 10 years.
Originally published in Governing, July 2019.
In 1901, a Colorado Springs dentist named Frederick McKay noticed many of his patients had peculiarly mottled brown teeth — but far fewer cavities than the norm. The cause, Dr. McKay determined after years of investigation, was high levels of natural fluoride in the town’s water. His discovery eventually led to the widespread fluoridation of public water systems across America and a dramatic decline in tooth decay over the past 70 years.
Numerous studies have shown the protective effects of adding fluoride to water, especially for kids, and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention hails community water fluoridation as one of the 20th century’s top 10 public health achievements. State and local budgets have benefited too, thanks to lower public expenditures for dental care.
Unfortunately, a significant number of localities are now undoing their investments in fluoridation, thanks to a small but vocal minority of anti-fluoride activists using pseudo-science to trump data. The result has been the spread of misinformation about fluoride’s benefits, as well as higher costs for both taxpayers and families.
According to the anti-fluoridation Fluoride Action Network (FAN), more than 200 communities in the United States and Canada have rejected public water fluoridation since 2010, from small towns such as Sheridan, Wyo., to bigger jurisdictions such as Bucks County, Pa. In Portland, Ore., residents have voted down fluoridation four times since 1956, most recently in 2013. In 2018, at least 13 communities put water fluoridation on the ballot, while many other localities debated the issue at the city council level without a public vote.
Like anti-vaccinators, anti-fluoride activists rely on spurious medical research to argue fluoridation’s hazards. FAN, for instance, blames fluoride in water for everything from cancer to diabetes to low IQ to, ironically enough, tooth decay. “I’ve got a list as long as your arm of different claims,” says dentist Johnny Johnson, president of the pro-fluoride American Fluoridation Society. None of these claims, however, is backed up by valid science or facts.
One thing that is backed up by facts? Fluoridation saves money — for consumers as well as governments. A 2016 Health Affairs study estimated the nation’s net savings from fluoridation to be nearly $6.5 billion a year from avoided dental costs. Conversely, ending fluoridation can be costly. One study in New York found that residents in non-fluoridated counties were 33 percent more likely to undergo dental procedures, while a Louisiana study found that Medicaid-eligible kids in non-fluoridated communities were three times more likely to get dental treatment than kids in fluoridated areas and at twice the cost.
Dentist David Logan witnessed these impacts firsthand in Juneau, Alaska, where voters ended fluoridation in 2006. The immediate effect, he says, was an increase in cavities among his adult patients, “specifically in older adults where the root surface gets exposed.” Today, his colleagues are seeing many more cavities in kids and at “levels they haven’t seen before in their practicing career.”
All of this is expensive. Logan, now executive director of the Alaska Dental Society, notes that simple fillings cost about $175 in his community, while crowns cost upward of $500. “It’s a very significant amount,” he says, “especially when that cost is disproportionately borne by the public through Medicaid.”
A 2018 study of Juneau’s Medicaid records found that since the end of fluoridation, Juneau’s kids undergo one more cavity-related dental treatment per year than before, at a cost of $300 per child on average. The study also found the highest costs among children under 7, who’ve had no exposure to fluoridated water.
Logan is hopeful this study will help bring fluoride back to Juneau. But he admits he was badly outgunned 12 years ago by the opposition. “You don’t have to have facts. All you need is something sexy to say,” he says. “We had people with lots of letters after their names, but we didn’t put a face on it and got crushed.”
Next time, he says, he’ll be ready, as should all localities where anti-fluoride activists have made a stand. At stake is not just the integrity of science but public budgets and public health.
Continue reading at Governing
Originally published in Governing, May 2019
In the midst of record low unemployment, many states are nonetheless struggling with ongoing skills gaps — shortages of workers with the right skills for in-demand jobs.
At the start of 2019, according to the Department of Labor, as many as 7.3 million jobs remained unfilled. These included a substantial number of “middle-skill” jobs requiring some schooling beyond high school but not a four-year degree. They were in fields such as health care, IT, welding and truck driving. The American Trucking Associations, for instance, reported a shortage of 50,000 drivers in 2017.
One reason these gaps exist is underinvestment in career and technical education. Of the more than $139 billion in annual federal student aid spending for higher education, just $19 billion goes to career and tech ed. Students generally can’t use federal Pell Grants to fund short-term, non-college-credit training programs, such as for welding certifications and commercial drivers’ licenses. Federal dollars under programs such as the Workforce Innovation and Opportunity Act are typically limited to the lowest-income workers.
Two states, however, have programs that show how valuable occupational credentials can be. Already, these initiatives are generating big returns by raising workers’ wages, closing skills gaps and driving economic development — and at a price much cheaper than “free college,” another higher-ed funding idea that’s gained popularity in recent years.
In Virginia, the state’s New Economy Workforce Credential Grant Program covers two-thirds of the cost of a credentialing program, up to $3,000 per student. It’s a pay-for-performance model, so community colleges and other training providers don’t get paid until a student completes a class and obtains an approved credential aligned with the state’s annual “hot jobs” list. So far, about 8,000 Virginians have earned credentials through the program since its launch in 2017.
In Iowa, the Gap Tuition Assistance Program pays tuition, books and fees for lower-income students pursuing credentials from approved programs. In 2018, about 2,400 students applied, and 1,000 were accepted. The program boasts an 89 percent completion rate.
Both programs aim to reach workers who don’t qualify for federal aid. “Back in the days when a welding class was going to cost an individual $4,000, someone who was struggling to make ends meet would not come to us,” says Elizabeth Creamer, vice president of the Community College Workforce Alliance in central Virginia. “Now they can.”
Funding credential attainment has been a smart investment in these states — for workers, for businesses and for the public purse. “These are great programs for moving somebody who could be a public burden or isn’t really on track for a good career into getting the skills they need in a high-demand area,” says Jeremy Varner, administrator of the Division of Community Colleges and Workforce Preparation for the Iowa Board of Education. “It’s giving folks economic opportunity they otherwise wouldn’t have and at the same time meeting the very profound industry labor market needs that exist.”
In Iowa, which allocates about $2 million to the program annually, workers who earned a credential and found a job in a new industry increased their wages an average of 37 percent, according to the state’s analysis. Workers who moved from agriculture to manufacturing raised their wages by as much as 138 percent.
In Virginia, Creamer says her graduates see average wage increases of between 20 and 45 percent as they go on to good-paying jobs at regional powerhouses such as Amazon, Altria and DuPont. Results like these are one reason Virginia is growing its investment from $4.5 million in 2017 to a projected $13.5 million by 2020. The program has also encouraged the state’s community colleges to build better partnerships with local businesses so they can produce the talent companies need. “We’re not just training and hoping someone gets a job,” says Creamer. “We know they will.”
Originally published in Governing, March 2019
An ambitious group of seniors from Oregon’s Portland State University devised a creative plan in 2012, dubbed “Pay Forward, Pay Back,” to deal with spiraling college costs and student debt. In exchange for deferred tuition, students would contribute a chunk of their post-graduation earnings to a fund for future students, ultimately creating a self-perpetuating pool of aid passed from one generation to the next.
Unfortunately, Pay Forward, Pay Back quickly hit the wall of fiscal reality. Despite the embrace of legislators, the state’s Higher Education Coordinating Commission concluded that the deferred tuition plan was unaffordable, costing as much as $20 million a year for 20 years to benefit just 1,000 students annually.
Yet interest in new ways to finance college remains very strong, especially as average in-state tuitions at four-year public universities have roughly tripled since 1998, total student debt topped $1.5 trillion in mid-2018 and state grant aid has stayed flat.
Rather than look to public money, however, some states are exploring novel alternatives to traditional student debt, ideas that would rely on private and philanthropic financing. Of particular interest are so-called income share agreements (ISAs), which proponents argue has the sex appeal of Pay Forward, Pay Back, but poses less risk to the public purse. Six states considered ISA-related legislation in 2018, according to the Education Commission of the States. In 2019, California could launch the nation’s first statewide ISA pilot.
Perhaps the nation’s best-known ISA program so far is a private one. Purdue University’s Back a Boiler program, begun in 2016, allows students to get a grant toward tuition. The grant is to be repaid as a fixed share of post-graduation income for a certain number of years, depending on major and projected earnings. For example, a computer science major with a $26,000 ISA grant would pay 7.3 percent of his or her income for seven years. If this student makes the expected median salary, total payments should be slightly cheaper than a traditional student loan.
The biggest benefit, though, is if the student’s career plans don’t pan out or the economy craters. Under a traditional loan, interest and principal would accrue regardless of borrower hardship. But ISA holders are unburdened by that risk. “This idea of shifting risk from student to school is one of the beautiful ideas behind ISA,” says Mary Claire Cartwright, vice president of information technology at the Purdue Research Foundation, which administers Back a Boiler. “We’re telling students, ‘You’re going to get a great job when you graduate, and if you don’t, we’re here to catch you.’”
So far, Purdue has issued $6.5 million in ISA contracts to more than 750 students, many of whom, Cartwright says, are first-generation students. And according to tech startup Vemo, which administers ISAs, more than 30 universities now have them, as do coding boot camps and trade schools.
While ISAs and other innovations are no silver bullet, states could benefit from experimenting with loan alternatives. First, they could expand their arsenal for making college more affordable, especially if lean budgets disallow expanding grant aid. Second, states could benefit from graduates’ economic success if schools have an incentive to ensure students get jobs to pay back their commitments.
In California, a bill by Republican Assemblyman Randy Voepel to establish an ISA pilot at the University of California system failed to make it past the state Senate last session, but unanimously passed the Assembly. Supporters are optimistic, and its success could pave the way for other state experiments. Federal legislation to recognize and regulate ISAs also enjoyed bipartisan support last Congress and is set for reintroduction this year as well. All this could mean good news for future students.
Originally published in Governing, January 2019
Azavea is a 65-person software development company based in Philadelphia. Its business is helping governments and nonprofits use geospatial data to achieve various public goals, such as improving traffic flow or reducing pollution. Many would call Azavea a dream employer. It shares its profits with its workers, buys locally, pays generously for training and allows employees to spend 10 percent of their time on personal projects. “We’re very much a people-first, employees-first company,” says CEO Robert Cheetham.
A growing number of firms are, like Azavea, on the leading edge of corporate reforms to make American businesses better stewards of the environment and worker well-being. They are so-called benefit corporations, whose charter explicitly allows them to pursue purposes other than sheer profit. Many are also certified, meaning they’ve met strict standards set by the nonprofit B Lab. More than 2,600 certified “B Corps” operate globally, according to the group, including such well-known brands as ice cream maker Ben and Jerry’s, women’s clothier Eileen Fisher and crowdfunding platform Kickstarter.
Now, an increasing number of governments are facilitating the growth of benefit companies. At least 34 states and the District of Columbia have passed laws — most of them within the past six years — that allow companies to organize as legally recognized benefit corporations. Legal status confers a potentially significant advantage for a company: protection from shareholder liability if executives fail to maximize profit in pursuit of other goals.
Thirty-four states, including the District of Columbia, have passed laws recognizing benefit corporations. Another six are currently considering such legislation.
(Source: B LAB)
One state that affords such protection is Pennsylvania, but the city of Philadelphia goes even further. It offers a tax credit of up to $8,000 for sustainable businesses — either those certified or those that can show they meet similar standards of social and environmental responsibility. Christine Knapp, director of Philadelphia’s Office of Sustainability, said the city launched the sustainable business tax credit in 2012 on a pilot basis, limiting it to 25 companies and capping the credit at $4,000. Growing demand led to the credit’s expansion in 2015, and while the current credit is capped at 75 businesses on a first-come, first-served basis, further expansions could come when the credit is reauthorized in 2022. “We want to recognize the businesses leading by example,” she says, “but also encourage other businesses to take some action.”
Andrew and Jenn Nicholas, husband-and-wife co-founders of the graphic design firm Pixel Parlor, say the credit has been a big help to their 10-person company. “It’s a challenge to be profitable and provide benefits to our employees,” says Jenn Nicholas. “Every tiny bit helps, and it feels like somebody is looking out for us when the general climate [for small businesses] is the opposite.”
At the much bigger Azavea, the credit has had a smaller bottom-line impact. Still, says Cheetham, “symbols matter. It’s a powerful symbol when you’re going to other businesses and trying to attract them into the city.”
For state and local governments, this business-led reform is well worth encouraging. Research has shown that benefit companies are a boon for workers and their communities and could encourage a much-needed shift in national corporate culture — away from the single-minded focus on shareholder profit. In short, benefit corporations are a refreshing countertrend that could ultimately prove more effective than prescriptive efforts to regulate corporate behavior. They prove, says Anna Shipp, executive director of Philadelphia’s Sustainable Business Network, that “an equitable society and a thriving economy are not mutually exclusive but interdependent.”
But some businesses, according to Shipp, may need a little encouragement to refocus their mission on doing good. Laws to recognize benefit corporations’ legal status is the first step, she says; following Philadelphia’s lead with a tax credit could be the next catalyst.
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Emboldened by their new majority in the House of Representatives, Democrats are understandably eager to exercise their power.
Some House members believe the way to do that is with an aggressive, sharply partisan agenda aimed at both calling out President Trump for his egregious behavior and demanding immediate action on longshot legislation such as single-payer healthcare.
A new survey commissioned by the Progressive Policy Institute (PPI) and conducted by Expedition Strategies suggests that’s a terrible idea. To win in 2020, Democrats should resist the urge to turn the House into the new headquarters of the anti-Trump resistance or to initiate battles over legislative priorities favored by party liberals that have no hope of passage.
Anne Kim