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.
President Donald Trump had barely returned to power last year when Hector F. Ruiz, a veteran civil rights lawyer for the U.S. Department of Justice, shared a directive with his team that some found chilling. He told them that he had been instructed to open investigations into more than a dozen universities. Within months, Ruiz and 17 of his team’s lawyers had quit.
Trump officials pressed forward despite the exodus, and the sweeping campaign that followed provided the country with an early glimpse of a broader crusade of retribution against political rivals and perceived enemies that has become a driving force of Trump’s second term.
Four Catholic Hispanic-Serving Institutions are banding together to form a new resource-sharing partnership, with the goal of expanding bilingual coursework, travel opportunities, and academic programs for underserved students across their campuses.
The institutions—University of the Incarnate Word in Texas, University of Mount Saint Vincent in New York, Dominican University in Chicago, and Universidad del Sagrado Corazón in San Juan, Puerto Rico—are geographically far apart. But ideologically, they’re neighbors: All are century-old universities founded by nuns in bustling metropolitan areas, and all enroll at least a quarter of Hispanic students and disproportionately serve low-income and first-generation learners.
States are stepping up to create or expand graduate loan programs in a scramble to help students who face a fiscal cliff as the Trump administration prepares to limit federal loans.
With the federal government set to impose caps this summer that could leave future doctors and educators without enough funding to cover college costs, state-based lenders anticipate their loans will be in greater demand. But an expansion in the market comes with its share of challenges, some of which could shut out students with the greatest need.
As a first-generation student, Malik Johnson entered college thinking success meant getting in. During the course of his education, he quickly learned that success means staying in—and growing through the process. Education isn’t just about grades or degrees; it’s about access, equity, and understanding the systems that too often leave first-generation students to figure things out on their own, he says.
In this perspective piece, Johnson shares his journey to and through college—and the strategies and supports that can make a difference for first-generation students.
Ever since thousands of officers from U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement arrived in Minnesota last month, Adam Farah has been careful to stick to the skyways and tunnels that connect buildings at Augsburg University and the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities.
Farah is a freshman at Augsburg, a psychology major, and Somali. He doesn’t want to take the chance of being picked up by ICE, even though he’s an American citizen and the risk should be small. But for many, this is what it feels like to be a student in Minnesota right now.
Fausto Lopez is a biology major at California State University, San Bernardino, working toward a goal of becoming a doctor. But he's not just any biology major. Lopez was incarcerated at 16 years old and ordered to spend seven years in a juvenile facility. But before he had even finished half of that time, he completed high school, got an associate degree, and applied to attend a four-year college. And last year, he was accepted.
How did this young man find the drive and support to propel him to such academic success? And do other incarcerated young people have the same opportunities?
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