Yes, this is a striking stat. But it doesn't tell us that college is losing its value. It tells us that more people are going to college -- and not enough are finishing.
Everybody is looking for the next big "bubble". Maybe it's bonds. Or tech stocks. Or ... college? With tuition soaring and job prospects not, a growing chorus thinks higher education might just be too big not to fail. The calculus is simple. If college costs keep rising, but job prospects don't improve, eventually higher education won't be worth it. Pop goes the campus bubble -- or so the story goes.
That brings us to one of the more inauspicious recent headlines. For the first time ever, the majority of the unemployed have attended some college. Does this mark some kind of inflection point? Is it time to ditch the classroom for the office? Not exactly.
First, the gory details. The chart below from Business Insider shows the twenty-year educational trend among the jobless. (Remember: This shows what percentage of the jobless have ever set foot on a college campus -- or not. It doesn't show what percentage of high school grads or college enrollees are out of work).
This is not as bad as it looks, and it doesn't mean what you might think.
Here are the three numbers that tell us why: 7.9, 7.6 and 4.0. Those are the unemployment rates among people 25 and older for high school grads, for college dropouts, and for college graduates -- all courtesy of the Bureau of Labor Statistics.
The chart above isn't a story about a college degree no longer paying off. The chart above is a story about more people going to college, but not nearly as many more people finishing college. As my colleague Jordan Weissmann recently pointed out, only 56 percent of those who start on a bachelor's degree finish within six years. Only 29 percent of those who start on a associate's degree finish within three years. And consider that this is happening while college enrollment is at an all-time high. Too many students are getting the worst of both worlds: debt without a degree. Their finances get worse, but their job prospects don't get much better. That's how we get a world where most of the unemployed have attended at least some college.
But there's something of a chicken-and-egg problem here. More students would finish school if they could afford it. That's certainly not the only reason our college dropout rate is so high, but it's certainly one of the reasons.
In other words, the high cost of college is disguising the payoff of college. There still aren't many better long-term investments than a college degree. Graduates have lower unemployment. They earn more. And the gap between what college and high school graduates make is only growing. But you know what they say about the long-run. It can be awfully hard to get there when the short-run costs are so high. That's why reining in college tuition is so critical. It will both help young graduates struggling with the terrible economy, but also help more people become young graduates.
Of course, it's not obvious how we can do this. If we knew, we'd be doing it. But it's worth remembering: That's how you win the future.
Hillary Clinton’s realistic attitude is the only thing that can effect change in today’s political climate.
Bernie Sanders and Ted Cruz have something in common. Both have an electoral strategy predicated on the ability of a purist candidate to revolutionize the electorate—bringing droves of chronic non-voters to the polls because at last they have a choice, not an echo—and along the way transforming the political system. Sanders can point to his large crowds and impressive, even astonishing, success at tapping into a small-donor base that exceeds, in breadth and depth, the remarkable one built in 2008 by Barack Obama. Cruz points to his extraordinarily sophisticated voter-identification operation, one that certainly seemed to do the trick in Iowa.
But is there any real evidence that there is a hidden “sleeper cell” of potential voters who are waiting for the signal to emerge and transform the electorate? No. Small-donor contributions are meaningful and a sign of underlying enthusiasm among a slice of the electorate, but they represent a tiny sliver even of that slice; Ron Paul’s success at fundraising (and his big crowds at rallies) misled many analysts into believing that he would make a strong showing in Republican primaries when he ran for president. He flopped.
My view on the Hillary Clinton email “scandal,” as expressed over the months and also yesterday, is that this is another Whitewater. By which I mean: that the political and press hubbub, led in each case on the press’s side by the New York Times, bears very little relationship to the asserted underlying offense, and that after a while it’s hard for anyone to explain what the original sin / crime / violation was in the first place.
The Whitewater investigation machine eventually led, through a series of Rube Goldberg / Jorge Luis Borges-style weirdnesses, to the impeachment of Bill Clinton, even though the final case for removing him from office had exactly nothing to do with the original Whitewater complaint. Thus it stands as an example of how scandals can take on a zombie existence of their own, and of the damage they can do. The Hillary Clinton email “scandal” has seemed another such case to me, as Trey Gowdy’s committee unintentionally demonstrated with its 11-hour attempted takedown of Clinton last year.
If passion is a job requirement, says the writer Miya Tokumitsu, employees have little room to complain about mistreatment at work.
It’s been said in many places and by many luminaries: Do what you love.
But what does this phrase actually mean?
Miya Tokumitsu, a contributing editor at Jacobin magazine and author of the new book Do What You Love And Other Lies About Success and Happiness, criticizes the pervasiveness of this idea in American work culture. She argues that “doing what you love” has been co-opted by corporate interests, giving employers more power to exploit their workers.
I recently spoke with Tokumitsu about work myths and why we should pay attention to them. The following transcript of our conversation has been edited for clarity.
Bourree Lam: Your book started as an essay, “In the Name of Love,” (which was later republished by Slate) that really touched a nerve with people. What were you talking about in that essay and why are people so drawn to it?
Republicans may have a lock on Congress and the nation’s statehouses—and could well win the presidency—but the liberal era ushered in by Barack Obama is only just beginning.
Over roughly the past 18 months, the following events have transfixed the nation.
In July 2014, Eric Garner, an African American man reportedly selling loose cigarettes illegally, was choked to death by a New York City policeman.
That August, a white police officer, Darren Wilson, shot and killed an African American teenager, Michael Brown, in Ferguson, Missouri. For close to two weeks, protesters battled police clad in military gear. Missouri’s governor said the city looked like a war zone.
In December, an African American man with a criminal record avenged Garner’s and Brown’s deaths by murdering two New York City police officers. At the officers’ funerals, hundreds of police turned their backs on New York’s liberal mayor, Bill de Blasio.
Thenew Daily Show host, Trevor Noah, is smooth and charming, but he hasn’t found his edge.
It’s a psychic law of the American workplace: By the time you give your notice, you’ve already left. You’ve checked out, and for the days or weeks that remain, a kind of placeholder-you, a you-cipher, will be doing your job. It’s a law that applies equally to dog walkers, accountants, and spoof TV anchormen. Jon Stewart announced that he was quitting The Daily Show in February 2015, but he stuck around until early August, and those last months had a restless, frazzled, long-lingering feel. A smell of ashes was in the air. The host himself suddenly looked quite old: beaky, pique-y, hollow-cheeky. For 16 years he had shaken his bells, jumped and jangled in his little host’s chair, the only man on TV who could caper while sitting behind a desk. Flash back to his first episode as the Daily Show host, succeeding Craig Kilborn: January 11, 1999, Stewart with floppy, luscious black hair, twitching in a new suit (“I feel like this is my bar mitzvah … I have a rash like you wouldn’t believe.”) while he interviews Michael J. Fox.
The championship game descends on a city failing to deal with questions of affordability and inclusion.
SAN FRANCISCO—The protest kicked off just a few feet from Super Bowl City, the commercial playground behind security fences on the Embarcadero, where football fans were milling about drinking beer, noshing on $18 bacon cheeseburgers, and lining up for a ride on a zip line down Market Street.
The protesters held up big green camping tents painted with slogans such as “End the Class War” and “Stop Stealing Our Homes,” and chanted phrases blaming San Francisco Mayor Ed Lee for a whole range of problems, including the catchy “Hey Hey, Mayor Lee, No Penalty for Poverty.” They blocked the sidewalk, battling with tourists, joggers, and city workers, some of whom were trying to wheel their bikes through the crowd to get to the ferries that would take them home.
The Islamic State is no mere collection of psychopaths. It is a religious group with carefully considered beliefs, among them that it is a key agent of the coming apocalypse. Here’s what that means for its strategy—and for how to stop it.
What is the Islamic State?
Where did it come from, and what are its intentions? The simplicity of these questions can be deceiving, and few Western leaders seem to know the answers. In December, The New York Times published confidential comments by Major General Michael K. Nagata, the Special Operations commander for the United States in the Middle East, admitting that he had hardly begun figuring out the Islamic State’s appeal. “We have not defeated the idea,” he said. “We do not even understand the idea.” In the past year, President Obama has referred to the Islamic State, variously, as “not Islamic” and as al-Qaeda’s “jayvee team,” statements that reflected confusion about the group, and may have contributed to significant strategic errors.
I coined the term—now I’ve come back to fix what I started.
O reader, hear my plea: I am the victim of semantic drift.
Four months ago, I coined the term “Berniebro” to describe a phenomenon I saw on Facebook: Men, mostly my age, mostly of my background, mostly with my political beliefs, were hectoring their friends about how great Bernie was even when their friends wanted to do something else, like talk about the NBA.
In the post, I tried to gently suggest that maybe there were other ways to advance Sanders’s beliefs, many of which I share. I hinted, too, that I was not talking about every Sanders supporter. I did this subtly, by writing: “The Berniebro is not every Sanders supporter.”
Then, 28,000 people shared the story on Facebook. The Berniebro was alive! Immediately, I started getting emails: Why did I hate progressivism? Why did I joke about politics? And how dare I generalize about every Bernie Sanders supporter?
Rand Paul, once viewed as the frontrunner, is leaving the Republican race after never gaining much momentum. So is Rick Santorum.
The story of Rand Paul’s presidential campaign, which he’s suspending today, is one of unfulfilled expectations.
Paul, a first-term senator from Kentucky, entered the race with high hopes. In January 2014, my colleague Peter Beinart deemed him the Republican frontrunner. A few months later, in October, Time named him “the most interesting man in politics.” But voters never seemed to agree, and he limped into Iowa trailing in the polls, and he ended up tallying less than 5 percent there—better than Jeb Bush, but still not a figure that set him up to compete down the road.
It’s understandable why Paul’s presidential prospects once seemed so bright. The nation was in the midst of what appeared to be a “libertarian moment.” Liberals and conservatives alike were joined in their backlash against an overweening security state, revealed by Edward Snowden. Newfound skepticism about the police fit in, too, and Paul was talking about the GOP’s dire need to reach out to minorities like no other candidate. The Tea Party, which had helped him upset an establishment candidate in the Kentucky Senate primary, was still a major force. His 13-hour filibuster of CIA Director John Brennan’s nomination won widespread acclaim. While rivals like Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio either alienated colleagues or flailed, Paul was consolidating the support—unexpectedly—of Mitch McConnell, the powerful Senate majority leader and fellow Kentuckian. Paul was also expected to bring in the organizational energy and know-how that his father, former Representative Ron Paul, had built over many years.
Students need to learn the value of slowing down and focusing on one task at a time—and teachers can help them do it.
This weekend, my son undertook his weekly backpack cleanout, dumping wadded papers, overdue permission slips, graded homework, and some ghastly lunch remnants on our living room floor. He handed me the pile of papers he thought I’d want to see, and there, in his wadded homework, my professional and personal life collided.
One of his assignments asked him to select the proper meaning of a word in a sentence such as:
They could see the school from the glass-bottom boat.
a. a place for learning b. a group of fish
He’d selected, “a.” When I asked him why he picked “a,” he admitted that once he read the entire sentence, he knew the right answer, but he was eager to get it over with.