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My work experience—spanning six decades and a wide variety of jobs—illustrates why the claims of working-class authenticity that are prized in today’s politics are so fraught.
Most politicians pledge to work for the working class, or sometimes for working families, a less Marxist-sounding label. Meanwhile, scholars struggle to define the category. I won’t assess the political posturing or adjudicate definitional disputes, but my work experience—spanning six decades and a wide variety of jobs—illustrates why the claims of working-class authenticity that are prized in today’s politics are so fraught.
Once upon a time, the working class was understood as people in capitalist economies who don’t own the means of production and must sell their labor to owners. But as economies grew more complex, anomalies piled up. What about managers who aren’t owners but make lots of money doing the bidding of owners? What about technical employees whose specialized skills give them bargaining power? What about small-business owners of modest means who hire employees? Turns out there are lots of “contradictory class locations.”
I’ve never been a manager, had any specialized technical skills, owned a business, or made big money, but my class status is rife with contradictions and conundrums.
My paternal grandfather, an immigrant from Denmark, was a blacksmith in a small town in North Dakota, but my father had no interest in the family trade. After a lackluster college career on the GI Bill, he got a job as an insurance adjuster—a white-collar working-class job for which he wore a shirt and tie to the office but got paid like a laborer. My mother, whose family had a similar trajectory, stayed at home with four kids until we were all in school and then took a series of low-paid office jobs.
No matter what my job or level of pay, I knew I was a worker who didn’t own or control capital. I also knew I had a pretty cushy life compared with most working people.
Although I didn’t realize it at the time, money was tight in our family. I didn’t get shiny new things, and family vacations were low-budget affairs that involved staying with relatives or in a borrowed camper. We always had a house and ate regularly, and I didn’t feel poor, but I knew the difference between myself and the affluent kids at school.
By the time I was in high school, my father had moved into a sales job and was making more money—enough that he could join the cheaper of the two country clubs in town. He quit bowling in a league (a working-class activity) and focused on golf (the appropriate middle-class game). In modest ways, he transcended his working-class roots, financially and socially.
Our family’s class status changed but not our working-class respect for hard work. As soon as we were old enough, my siblings and I earned money. In North Dakota before snow blowers were common, I had ample opportunities to shovel snow profitably. In the summer, I carried golf bags at the fancier country club in Fargo. Once I turned 16, I bagged groceries and worked in a building supply warehouse unloading trucks. To pay college tuition, I bused dishes and set up tables for hotel banquets.
After college, I worked as a journalist, starting at a small weekly newspaper that paid poorly. While covering a county government meeting at which the income levels for subsidized housing were set, I realized that on my “professional” journalist’s salary, I qualified. Eventually, I worked my way up to bigger newspapers and better pay, and after graduate school I settled into a comfortable middle-class life as a professor.
No matter what my job or level of pay, I knew I was a worker who didn’t own or control capital. I also knew I had a pretty cushy life compared with most working people. I was a working-class guy, sort of, but one with a Ph.D. and more autonomy than most.
Whatever my class status, I retained a sense of obligation to work as hard as I could at whatever job I had. During my 26 years as a professor at the University of Texas at Austin, I never took a sabbatical. UT didn’t offer the regular research leaves common at other universities, and I never chased the outside grants that allow professors to take time off. I taught a full load, sometimes with a voluntary overload class, without feeling oppressed. When other professors were shocked that I never had even one sabbatical semester, I pointed out that no one I knew outside of academia thought they had a right to be paid for time off. I liked teaching and had time to write books in the summers—a pretty sweet deal.
I retired at 60, even though I still loved teaching, because I wanted to get out before I burned out. Because I’ve always been frugal, at least in comparison with my middle-class peers, early retirement was financially feasible. That’s also part of my internal sense of class—I don’t have expensive habits and hobbies. Because I grew up not-poor but not-affluent, my expectations were modest. Reactions to childhood economic circumstances vary—some kids yearn for expensive things, and others make it a badge of honor to not need them. Backpacking through Europe on summer vacation was never on the agenda when I was young, and tourist travel doesn’t appeal to the elderly me. I covet not coveting much.
Today I live outside a small town in New Mexico, the kind of place realtors call “rural residential.” There are a few other retirees and professionals on our road, but most of my neighbors are without a doubt working class—tradespeople, laborers, small farmers, and ranchers. I met many of them through the acequia association, a communal irrigation system that is maintained through shared labor. I take pride in working as hard as anyone on ditch-cleaning days and joining every work detail, not just the one I’m obligated to show up for. Most people here don’t ask about what job I retired from, and if they do, I say that I had been a teacher. They probably assume I taught public school, which is viewed as an honorable job. I don’t admit that I had been a university professor unless pressed for details, because it feels uppity.
The unfairness of capitalism doesn’t negate the importance of a strong work ethic.
I came out of the working class. I never aspired to be in the owning class but lived comfortably as an educated professional. Today, I can pass as working class when I show up in my 30-year-old pickup with a shovel and saw. I live on my Social Security check, but I have a retirement account to draw on for emergencies.
Have I ever been “authentically” working class? I don’t know what criteria to use to make that call. I continue to oppose an economic system that creates wealth inequality and undermines community life, a radical working-class politics. But I also advocate for the strong personal work ethic that I think is needed to enhance community life, a value often considered conservative. Both things are important to me.
A final story about that balance, from a friend who ran a nonprofit that employed teenagers from economically depressed neighborhoods to work on a small farm and also took on college-student interns. One year he was telling the interns that one of the goals of the organization was to foster a strong work ethic in those teenagers, and an intern cautioned him: “Telling people in poor communities they have to work hard is a tool of capitalism.” My friend was exasperated. Yes, rich people often accuse poor people of being lazy, lecturing them about working harder to get out of poverty. But the desire to work hard at productive tasks is healthy, no matter what the economic system. The unfairness of capitalism doesn’t negate the importance of a strong work ethic.
In my new book, This I Don’t Believe, I write that we all need opportunities to prove to ourselves that we are competent to run our own lives. One way I’ve done that is by taking work seriously, learning to do work well, and being proud of my work—all part of the core of a working-class identity, even if I’m not part of the working class. It’s my way of trying to live honestly in my contradictory class location.
"This proposed rule would fundamentally alter Head Start and break the promise that America has made good on for decades to offer the children born furthest from opportunity with the best our country has to offer in early childhood education.
Advocates for early education and vulnerable children are denouncing a new rule issued Thursday by the administration of President Donald Trump that would severely weaken the Head Start program relied on by families and communities nationwide.
"At a time when the US faces the highest rate of child poverty of any major country, how does Mr. Trump respond?" asked Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.), in response to the rule. "Instead of expanding access to early childhood education, he is moving to dismantle Head Start and the standards that keep its 700,000 kids safe. How cruel."
Head Start—created as a federal program in 1965 and "designed to prepare America’s most vulnerable young children to succeed in school and in life beyond school"—has been an ongoing target of the Trump administration, which has moved to eviscerate the program's funding and voiced support for scrapping it completely.
Speaking with NPR, journalist Coral Davenport, who reports for the New York Times, explained that early childhood educators fear the changes being proposed represent the most sweeping changes—more like "erasure" than "reforms"—to the program since its founding:
The Trump administration is proposing a major overhaul of Head Start, with new guidelines that could fundamentally change how the program is run nationwide.
Launched in 1965 as part of President Lyndon Johnson’s War on Poverty, Head Start serves 700,000 children ages three to… pic.twitter.com/YsDgM4OzX7
— PBS News (@NewsHour) August 6, 2026
The Children's Defense Fund (CDF) warns that the new rule, published in the federal register by the US Department of Health and Human Services, represents a new attack on Head Start that would "dismantle the program from the inside out."
The rule, according to the CDF, will result in the "stripping away of most of the quality standards that define what children and families actually receive" when they are part of the program, "including the requirements that ensure children are safe and supported, that hold programs accountable to the families they serve, and that guarantee the comprehensive services children need to arrive at kindergarten ready to learn."
In a letter stating their opposition to the attack, CDF—joined by EdTrust, Legal Defense Fund, NAACP, National Center for Learning Disabilities, National Urban League, The Arc, and UnidosUS—warned that Head Start "will exist in name only, offering unequal services based on where the child lives," if the rule is finalized.
According to the coalition:
The proposal strips away most of the quality standards that define what services children and families actually receive, including the requirements that ensure children are safe and supported, that hold programs accountable to the families they serve, and that guarantee the comprehensive services children need to arrive at kindergarten ready to learn. We urge the administration to withdraw it.
Over the past year, the administration has delayed funding that programs depend on to keep their doors open, cut the federal staff who support them, and proposed eliminating Head Start entirely. Each of these moves has created uncertainty for the providers who run these programs and the families who count on them. We oppose this latest attack on Head Start, which will harm the children and families the program was built to serve.
The signers of the letter called on the administration to rescind its proposal and said Congress must "stand behind Head Start and reject these changes so that we maintain the promise of Head Start for future generations."
Democratic lawmakers in the US House and Senate joined Sanders in slamming the move.
"Trump is trying to destroy Head Start—and he's hoping you won't notice," said Sen. Patty Murray (D-Wash.). "He's gutting basic standards and protections for over 700,000 kids, after he already tried and failed to defund the program altogether. We need to speak up and SAVE Head Start."
Trump is trying to destroy Head Start—and he's hoping you won't notice.
He's gutting basic standards & protections for over 700,000 kids, after he already tried and failed to defund the program altogether.
We need to speak up and SAVE Head Start. pic.twitter.com/zDgGqFxVaC
— Senator Patty Murray (@PattyMurray) August 6, 2026
"Head Start is not just preschool," said Rep. Mike Levin (D-Calif.) in a social media post. "For hundreds of thousands of children from low-income families, it is where they learn to read, receive basic health screenings, get support for disabilities, and begin kindergarten with a real chance to succeed."
The regulations that govern Head Start, which Trump's HHS now wants to eliminate, said Levin, "are the difference between children getting the care and support they need or being left to fall through the cracks. Why on earth would anyone want to take that away from them?"
As Murray noted, "this rule is not final," meaning there remain avenues to defeat it.
When a previous Trump memo detailing the desire to eliminate Head Start leaked, said Murray, "we got loud and he backed off. We can protect Head Start again, but it's going to take all of us speaking up and taking a stand for our kids."
How a leaked high-stakes exam exposed capitalism’s broken promise—and why standardized testing keeps igniting struggle.
They called them cockroaches.
It was meant to reduce them—to make millions of young people seem small enough to squish and contemptible enough that no one would mourn their extermination.
But instead of crushing them, the insult only made them multiply.
Every blow from a police lathi—a long, heavy club used by Indian police—brought more bodies into the streets. Every attempt to scatter them revealed how many there were. What authorities dismissed as an infestation became an uprising powerful enough to drive India’s education minister from office and deliver one of the sharpest popular rebukes yet to Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s rule.
When the questions themselves go up for sale, it is not only the examination that is compromised. The promise collapses with it.
At the center of the revolt was a test that promised merit and delivered betrayal.
India’s National Eligibility-cum-Entrance Test, or NEET, determines admission to undergraduate medical programs. More than 2 million young people took the examination, often after their families had sacrificed for years to pay for specialized coaching. The test presents itself as an impartial judge: Everyone receives the same questions, the same clock, and the same numerical verdict.
Then the questions were leaked and reportedly sold in advance.
Young people told to outstudy one another discovered that some contestants might simply have purchased the finish line. The test promised an even starting line, but the marketplace had filled some lanes with hurdles and cleared others for the wealthy.
Their fury grew into weeks of mass protest that forced Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan to resign on July 25, 2026.
The movement took its name from a remark by Chief Justice Surya Kant comparing unemployed young people to “cockroaches” and “parasites.” Abhijeet Dipke, a Dalit activist from one of India’s historically oppressed caste communities, seized the slur and sent it crawling back toward those in power. “What if all cockroaches came together?” he asked online.
From that question emerged the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP)—a name that mocked Modi’s ruling Bharatiya Janata Party, or BJP.
The great Indian writer and activist Arundhati Roy celebrated the CJP members as “young roaches riding in on the rain,” as protesters poured into Delhi beneath the monsoon skies. Their numbers were formidable, but so was their irreverence. When police aimed water cannons at them, young people dared the officers to turn them on—then danced in the spray. The state brought water cannons into the streets to produce fear. The protesters transformed the streets into a stage and danced in the spray.
In a Democracy Now! interview, Roy described a movement alive with “mockery and humor,” “dancing,” and “singing”—a rebellion defined by “exuberance.” Protesters joked that fleeing police lathi attacks was helping them maintain their running streaks on Strava, a fitness-tracking app. They turned footage of the chases into video-game parodies and posted mock influencer-style “get ready with me” videos and “fit checks” featuring helmets, goggles, and homemade protective gear. One demonstrator held a placard declaring, “Every joke is a tiny revolution.”
That creative humor—an intelligence no standardized test could measure—was not an escape from struggle, but rather one of the movement’s weapons. They met contempt with laughter, intimidation with choreography, and isolation with an expanding circle of solidarity.
The uprising forced Modi to announce a national task force to overhaul the examination system, while the government proposed stronger penalties for exam fraud. The Cockroach Janta Party also secured commitments to compensate families of students who died by suicide amid the crisis and withdraw criminal cases against protesters.
While no single event explains a suicide, movement leaders linked the deaths to the despair produced by a system that made one examination appear capable of determining an entire life—then revealed that the exam could be bought.
Near the main protest site in New Delhi, students erupted in celebration. Dipke reportedly fell to his knees, raised his fist, and declared, “We have done it.” He called the result “a victory for the people of India” and “a defeat for the dictator.”
But the government did not accept defeat quietly. The movement called off its demonstrations after officials agreed to its central demands, including withdrawing criminal cases against protesters.
Within days, however, the Cockroach Janta Party reported that students and protesters were again being detained and arrested in several states. Movement leaders accused the government of violating the agreement and threatened to return to the streets.
The government subsequently announced that most Delhi protesters would face no further action. But organizers warned that closing proceedings was not the same as formally withdrawing the cases—and that the movement would resume if the government again broke its promises.
The government had retreated—but only far enough to gather itself for another attack. After officials agreed to withdraw cases against protesters and promised that no punitive action would follow, authorities began detaining and arresting students across several states, with Muslim and Dalit participants reportedly among those singled out. At least 100 people were arrested, many on stringent non-bailable charges, as the movement accused the government of backtracking on its agreement. By then, however, the students had done more than expose an examination leak. They had opened a crack in the façade of the system itself.
Why would a compromised examination provoke an uprising powerful enough to force out a cabinet minister—and frighten the government into trying to seal that crack through repression? Because a high-stakes test is never merely a collection of questions. It is a promise about how society works. It tells young people that wealth, caste, language, and power do not matter—that the future belongs to whoever studies hard.
When the questions themselves go up for sale, it is not only the examination that is compromised. The promise collapses with it.
Whether in India or across the world in the United States, standardized testing is one of capitalism’s most effective laundering machines. It takes a dirty hierarchy built through unequal access to wealth and education, scrubs away its history, and returns the result stamped with a single word: merit.
Every high-stakes testing system tells young people some version of the same story: Work hard, follow the rules, outstudy everyone else, and a high score will make the future yours.
For the millions of students taking NEET in India, that promise carries enormous weight. The examination is presented as the great objective referee, capable of determining who deserves entry into medical school. It supposedly does not care about a student’s family income, caste, gender, language, region, or access to private coaching. Everyone receives the same questions, the same time limit, and a score that appears to settle who is prepared to advance.
But a society does not become equal merely because it administers the same test to people who have been given profoundly unequal lives.
These scandals expose corruption, but they also reveal a deeper fiction: that a standardized examination can transform unequal access to wealth, schooling, language, and preparation into a neutral ranking of merit.
Some NEET applicants attend well-funded schools and spend years in expensive private coaching programs. Others learn in overcrowded classrooms, study in regional languages, work after school, care for siblings, or worry about whether their families can afford another year of preparation. “Everywhere you look, you can see the desperation of young people in this country,” Shree Kumar Verma, a 19-year-old NEET student studying in Kota—the center of India’s exam-coaching industry—told The Guardian. “Being at Kota is either going to bring you success or totally break you down; it’s all or nothing here.” Some students enter the testing center trained specifically to defeat NEET. Others arrive carrying every burden that caste, poverty, geography, and educational inequality have already placed on their backs.
Standardized tests convert these unequal conditions into a clean numerical hierarchy and then present the result as a neutral measure of individual merit. This is the central function of what I call the testocracy: a social class of elites that uses standardized testing to make inequality appear earned.
The NEET leak laid bare the crudest form of class privilege: Students with enough money or the right connections could allegedly purchase the questions outright. It was corruption in a form no one could mistake.
The scandal has a close parallel in the United States. In 2019, federal prosecutors exposed Operation Varsity Blues, a sprawling college admissions scheme in which wealthy parents paid consultant William “Rick” Singer to fraudulently secure places for their children at selective universities. Some arranged for stand-ins to take the SAT or ACT or paid corrupt proctors to change answers after the exams. Others bribed college coaches to designate their children as recruited athletes, sometimes fabricating athletic résumés and staging photographs of students participating in sports they did not actually play.
The scandal provoked outrage because wealthy families had purchased test scores and admissions outcomes outright. But affluent families routinely buy educational advantages that remain perfectly legal: elite schools, private tutoring, test preparation, admissions consultants, and access to universities that favor donors and children of alumni.
The comparison with NEET is striking. In both scandals, public outrage erupts when wealth abandons even the pretense of fairness and simply buys access to education and opportunity.
These scandals expose corruption, but they also reveal a deeper fiction: that a standardized examination can transform unequal access to wealth, schooling, language, and preparation into a neutral ranking of merit.
The camouflage of inherited advantage as individual merit is not an accidental flaw. It is rooted in the white supremacist, colonial, and eugenic history of standardized testing—a system designed to translate racial and imperial hierarchies into the seemingly neutral language of scores.
British colonial rule imposed a standardized examination system on India, reorganizing education around centralized curricula, externally controlled tests, and official credentials. Historian Jana Tschurenev describes the resulting culture as centered on “memorisation, examination, and technocratic management.” British authorities expanded schooling not to achieve equality, but to prepare most colonized people for subordinate positions while opening a narrow path to government employment and elite credentials.
A decisive turn came with Thomas Babington Macaulay’s 1835 Minute on Indian Education. Macaulay admitted that he knew neither Sanskrit nor Arabic, yet declared that “a single shelf of a good European library was worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia.” His contempt expressed the racist logic of British policy, which treated European knowledge as universal and Indian intellectual traditions as inferior. Whatever opportunities English education later offered some people excluded by India’s caste hierarchies, the colonial policy itself was designed to elevate the language and culture of the rulers. Mastery of that culture became increasingly essential to credentials, employment, and social advancement.
Wood’s Despatch of 1854 further centralized the system. The universities established in Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras in 1857 were modeled after the University of London and operated largely as examining and affiliating institutions, prescribing curricula, administering tests, and conferring degrees. Teaching became organized around examinations controlled by colonial authorities.
The Indian Civil Service (ICS) examination made the colonial function of testing especially clear. Indians could formally compete to enter the elite administrative corps that governed their country, but the examination was held only in London and structured around subjects associated with elite British schooling. British officials argued that the examination should secure candidates trained in the “highest and best form of English education”—a principle they said would be sacrificed if the test were also offered in India.
The effective exclusion of most Indian candidates became an early nationalist cause. At its founding meeting in 1885, the Indian National Congress demanded that the exam also be offered in India. The dispute exposed the contradiction of colonial meritocracy: Britain proclaimed an open competition while designing it to reward those with the wealth to travel to Britain and the greatest access to the colonizer’s language, schools, and culture.
A related system of race and class sorting developed in the United States, and the use of standardized tests gave that hierarchy the appearance of objective measurement. As Rethinking Schools has written:
Standardized tests first entered the public schools in the 1920s, pushed by eugenicists whose pseudoscience promoted the "natural superiority" of wealthy, white, US-born males. High-stakes standardized tests have disguised class and race privilege as merit ever since.
Beginning during World War I, psychologists administered the Army Alpha and Beta intelligence tests to more than 1.7 million military recruits. The tests sorted soldiers and were then used to make sweeping claims about the intelligence of entire racial and national groups.
Eugenicist psychologist Carl Brigham drew on the Army test results in his 1923 book, A Study of American Intelligence, to promote the supposed superiority of “Nordic” people and the inferiority of Black people and immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe. Warning that “the decline of American intelligence” would accelerate “owing to the presence here of the negro,” he called for public action to prevent what he described as racial deterioration. Three years later, Brigham helped develop the Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT), turning a system shaped by military classification and eugenics into a gatekeeper for higher education.
By the 1920s, standardized tests were also sorting millions of children into academic, remedial, and vocational tracks. They disproportionately directed white and affluent students toward universities and professional careers while steering Black, immigrant, working-class, and disabled children toward lower-paid positions in a racially stratified economy. Testing was essential for reproducing hierarchy and making it appear deserved.
Black intellectuals organized an early counterattack against this racist testing regime. Reflecting on the rapid spread of psychological testing after World War I, W.E.B. Du Bois wrote:
It was not until I was long out of school and indeed after the [First] World War that there came the hurried use of the new technique of psychological tests, which were quickly adjusted so as to put black folk absolutely beyond the possibility of civilization.
Du Bois was part of a larger movement of Black scholars challenging the tests’ methods, assumptions, and political uses. In 1924, educator Horace Mann Bond systematically dismantled Brigham’s claims, exposing the supposed science behind intelligence testing as an instrument of “propaganda and encouragement for prejudice.” Bond urged Black intellectuals to understand how the tests were constructed and used so they could resist efforts to portray Black people as incapable of exercising the full rights of citizenship.
Du Bois and Bond understood that the tests converted the consequences of segregation, poverty, and unequal schooling into supposed evidence of Black inferiority. The state denied Black children equal resources, measured the predictable results, and then used their scores to restrict access to advanced education and professional work.
The colonial testing system in India and the eugenic testing system in the United States were not identical. But both converted the language, culture, and advantages of dominant groups into supposedly universal measures of merit.
The openly colonial and eugenic language eventually became less acceptable, but the sorting machinery survived. “Racial fitness” became “aptitude.” Assertions of British and white superiority became supposedly universal “standards.” Claims about racial differences in intelligence became claims about an “achievement gap.” This year marks the SAT’s 100th anniversary—a century after its creation by eugenicists, it is still used to rank and sort young people for unequal opportunities.
High-stakes tests become politically explosive because they ask young people to place their faith in a promise our economic and political system cannot keep.
Capitalism produces enough wealth to house, feed, clothe, and educate everyone, but concentrates that wealth at the top. Education is celebrated as the “great equalizer,” yet schools operate within—and help reproduce—this unequal order. Education may help some individuals move within the hierarchy, but it cannot abolish a hierarchy the economy depends on. Standardized tests manage this contradiction by ranking young people, rationing scarce opportunities and presenting the results as merit rather than economic design.
When a test carrying the weight of a young person’s future is exposed as corrupt, arbitrary, or rigged, the promise of meritocracy can collapse into rebellion. In India, a leaked medical entrance examination sent masses of young people into the streets. In the United States, resistance to high-stakes testing grew into what organizers called the Education Spring. Though these movements confronted different systems, both revealed how supposedly neutral exams ration opportunity, discipline educators, and disguise inequality.
The protesters unlearned the lesson the testocracy had taught them. They had been told to view millions of other students as competitors standing between them and their futures. In struggle, they discovered one another as comrades.
I learned something about resisting the testocracy at Garfield High School in Seattle. In January 2013, teachers voted to refuse to administer the district-mandated Measures of Academic Progress test, known as the MAP. We were not opposed to assessing students. We opposed a test disconnected from much of our curriculum, costly in time and resources, and increasingly used to rank teachers rather than improve learning.
When the district threatened us with a 10-day suspension without pay, students and parents joined the struggle. Families opted out, students urged classmates to refuse the exam, and educators at other schools joined the boycott. By the end of the school year, the boycott forced the district to end the required use of the MAP in Seattle high schools.
The boycott became one of the brightest sparks of the Education Spring, the largest revolt against standardized testing in US history. The uprising carried the critique of Occupy Wall Street into public schools. Occupy had exposed how the wealthiest 1% manipulated political and economic institutions; the Education Spring challenged the use of testing, austerity, and privatization to reorganize education around corporate interests.
Across the country, hundreds of thousands of families opted out of state exams; students organized walkouts; and educators challenged testing mandates through resolutions, rallies, and boycotts. In New York alone, more than 200,000 students refused the state’s Common Core exams in 2015. The Garfield teachers did not create this movement alone, but our refusal helped spread a dangerous question: What if we simply stop cooperating?
The Education Spring and the NEET revolt both erupted because high-stakes tests compress vast social conflicts into a single score. An exam can determine whether a student graduates, enters medical school, receives a scholarship, or is shut out of a profession. It can also rank schools, punish educators, and justify closures. Resistance has since helped push a growing number of states to abandon standardized exams as high school graduation requirements.
Standardized tests become detonators because they promise fairness while making life-altering decisions among people never given equal opportunities. When that promise collapses—through leaked questions, racial disparities, corporate profiteering, or educationally useless exams—the test reveals itself as more than an assessment. It becomes a symbol of the system deciding who advances and who is left behind.
The testocracy tells young people they must defeat one another for access to a scarce future. Resistance begins when they recognize that the real obstacle is not the person sitting beside them, but the system forcing them to compete for what should be a right.
The Cockroach Movement did more than expose a corrupted examination. It exposed a society that tells young people their futures depend on defeating one another while the wealthy purchase every imaginable advantage—and sometimes the answers themselves.
A fairer NEET would matter. But no perfectly guarded test can make an unequal society just. India remains scarred by poverty, caste oppression, concentrated wealth, and repression. The United States is likewise defined by mass poverty amid extraordinary wealth, racial inequality, and attacks on dissent.
A fairer competition for scarcity does not end scarcity. A cleaner testocracy remains a testocracy.
The cockroaches have come together. The rest of us must decide whether we will keep competing for our assigned places in an unjust world—or join them in creating one in which every child has the chance to flourish.
But struggle is the greatest teacher. Young people who entered the streets demanding a fair exam learned that the corruption ran deeper than a leaked test. They learned how wealth and power shape the institutions governing their lives—and that institutions presented as immovable can be forced to retreat.
The Cockroach Movement did not end that repression. But it showed that even a government accustomed to surviving mass dissent can be forced to concede.
Most important, the protesters unlearned the lesson the testocracy had taught them. They had been told to view millions of other students as competitors standing between them and their futures. In struggle, they discovered one another as comrades. Their power did not come from defeating the student beside them, but from uniting in solidarity.
The government called them cockroaches because it believed they were small, disposable, and easy to crush. But cockroaches are legendary survivors, said to be capable of outliving even a nuclear apocalypse. These young people came through the monsoon rain, danced beneath the water cannons, and transformed an insult into a warning: The powerful may build the machinery of destruction, but those they despise may yet survive them.
Power wants the isolated student hunched over a standardized test, stomach knotted and nerves frayed, believing every failure belongs to them alone. It fears the moment that student looks up, sees millions carrying the same burden, and realizes that the failure belongs to the system.
The cockroaches have come together. The rest of us must decide whether we will keep competing for our assigned places in an unjust world—or join them in creating one in which every child has the chance to flourish.
That is the test our movements must pass.
Because AI does not recognize national borders, its governance cannot remain confined within them.
Humanity faces no shortage of challenges. Wars continue to claim lives, climate change threatens the stability of our ecosystems, and growing economic inequality undermines social cohesion. Now another transformative force has entered the global stage: artificial intelligence.
Unlike previous technological revolutions, AI is not simply another tool. It has the potential to reshape economies, education, science, healthcare, communication, and political decision-making. Properly governed, it could become one of humanity’s greatest allies in addressing the crises we already face. Poorly governed, it could deepen inequality, intensify geopolitical rivalry, and create entirely new existential risks.
This is why governments, scientists, and international organizations are increasingly debating not only how AI should be developed, but who should govern it.
A remarkable convergence is emerging across very different parts of the world. Despite profound political and cultural differences, major international initiatives increasingly describe AI as a technology whose significance extends far beyond commercial innovation.
At the India AI Impact Summit in New Delhi in February 2026, participating nations adopted the New Delhi Declaration on AI Impact, calling for human-centered, inclusive, and accessible artificial intelligence guided by the principle of Sarvajan Hitaya, Sarvajan Sukhaya—”Welfare for all, Happiness for all.”
Only months later, at the 2026 World Artificial Intelligence Conference in Shanghai, Chinese President Xi Jinping proposed an international AI governance framework based on four principles: openness and shared benefit; security and meaningful human control; inclusion through learning among civilizations; and solidarity through multilateral governance. China increasingly presents AI not merely as an industry, but as foundational infrastructure capable of shaping civilization itself.
A third initiative emerged from a very different direction. On July 16, more than 200 Nobel laureates, scientists, diplomats, and global leaders signed the Rome Declaration, calling simultaneously for a coordinated slowdown in the development of frontier AI and the verifiable elimination of nuclear weapons. Their concern is that humanity is approaching two technological frontiers whose interaction could prove catastrophic.
That concern was captured during the Rome conference, organized by the International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear War (IPPNW), the Global Nobel Assembly, and the Vatican. In an interview afterward, former IPPNW President Dr. Ira Helfand summarized the challenge in six words:”Don’t Let AI Get the Bomb.”
The slogan captures perhaps today’s most urgent AI governance challenge: preventing artificial intelligence from becoming integrated into nuclear command-and-control systems. Delegates warned that combining autonomous decision-making with nuclear weapons would dramatically increase the risk of accidental or unintended nuclear war.
The United States, meanwhile, has largely approached AI through three priorities: maintaining technological leadership, fostering commercial innovation, and strengthening national security. This strategy has fueled extraordinary investment and rapid technological progress, but it also raises an important question: Can competition among corporations and geopolitical rivals coexist with the international cooperation required to govern a technology that transcends national borders?
Taken together, these initiatives reveal something remarkable. India emphasizes human welfare, China stresses multilateral coordination, the Rome Declaration warns of existential risk, and the United States prioritizes innovation and strategic leadership. Although they differ substantially in emphasis, each recognizes that artificial intelligence has become too consequential to be treated as merely another commercial technology.
Yet none fully answers the central political question. If AI is becoming a global cognitive infrastructure, who should legitimately determine the rules under which it develops? Should they be negotiated primarily among governments? Set by technology companies? Driven by military priorities? Or should the people whose lives will be transformed by these systems have a meaningful voice in shaping them?
The economic trajectory of AI also remains uncertain. Hundreds of billions of dollars are flowing into chips, data centers, and computing infrastructure, while predictions of rapid, large-scale job displacement remain largely speculative. Similar forecasts accompanied earlier technological revolutions—from the internet to autonomous vehicles—yet history suggests that technological transformation often unfolds more gradually, and in less predictable ways, than initial expectations.
History also reminds us that foundational technologies rarely develop along a single path. During the early internet era, proprietary systems appeared poised to dominate. Yet open-source software, especially Linux, ultimately became the backbone of much of the world’s digital infrastructure. AI may evolve similarly, with proprietary and open-source models coexisting and competing for influence.
The central question, therefore, is not simply who will build the most powerful AI, but who will establish the principles governing humanity’s emerging cognitive infrastructure.
Roads shape how people move. Electrical grids shape how societies generate and distribute energy. The internet transformed how humanity exchanges information. Artificial intelligence may become the infrastructure through which humanity increasingly learns, creates, communicates, and even makes collective decisions. If that is the case, the challenge before us is no longer merely technological. It is ethical, political, and civilizational.
Every major infrastructure eventually required public institutions, shared rules, and democratic accountability because its effects extended far beyond its original creators. A global cognitive infrastructure should be no different. Because AI does not recognize national borders, its governance cannot remain confined within them.
This may become humanity’s first truly global democratic challenge. Will the rules be written primarily by governments, military establishments, and technology corporations? Or will they emerge through meaningful participation by scientists, educators, workers, artists, civil society organizations, and citizens across every continent?
Just as previous generations fought to establish human rights, democratic institutions, and international law, ours may be called upon to establish the principles that govern intelligence itself. Those principles should rest on human dignity, transparency, shared knowledge, international cooperation, and a commitment to the well-being of all humanity.
The question is no longer simply how we regulate artificial intelligence. It is who will govern the cognitive infrastructure through which humanity increasingly exercises its collective intelligence. The answer will shape not only the future of AI, but the future of civilization itself.
This article was first published on Pressenza and is also available in Spanish.
The protests have yet to produce lasting institutional change, yet they have already demonstrated the capacity of young people to organize and exercise self-determination over their own political future.
Through a meme and a movement, Indian students have once again mobilized, this time in response to Chief Justice Surya Kant’s comparison of unemployed youth to “cockroaches” and “parasites” attacking the system. This remark led to the creation of the Cockroach Janta Party, or CJP, a mass-scale satirical movement with a mission to amplify the “voice of the lazy & unemployed.”
The political movement was fueled by compounding grievances. The precipitating factor was the leak of a medical entrance exam paper and irregularities in the government’s on-screen marking system forced millions of students to retake exams. But discontent has been building up for some time because of surging unemployment rates and a deepening disillusionment with the government. Student suicides associated with increasing academic pressure have reached as many as 13,000 a year.
Matters escalated further when hunger-striking activist Sonam Wangchuk was forcibly removed from a student protest site in Delhi and hospitalized by authorities. Tear gas and baton charges on student protesters catalyzed a countrywide youth uprising that would culminate in the resignation last week of the Modi government’s education minister.
Apart from material grievance, the student movement was ignited by what philosopher Axel Honneth argues is a form of moral indignation. Widespread feelings of injustice have changed the nature of emancipatory struggles from rational economic interests to ones that are personal and emotional. Framing students as parasites through dehumanizing language, rather than as citizens facing systemic and institutional barriers, strips them of political dignity and represents them as inferior and shameful in addition to diverting attention from the state’s own policy failures.
Across South Asia, contemporaneous youth-led, digitally organized uprisings have taken place in quick succession. Sri Lanka’s Aragalaya protest in 2022 forced the resignation of both the president and the prime minister. Bangladesh’s student-led movement in 2024 against a quota system in government jobs, compounded by rising authoritarianism, led to the resignation of Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina after 15 years in power. And in Nepal, a country where nearly 56% of the population is under 30, a generation disproportionately affected by economic precarity and a housing crisis, a Gen Z protest in 2025 toppled Prime Minister K.P Sharma Oli within days of a government ban on social media.
These cases mark different points on the spectrum of outcomes. Protesters in Sri Lanka and Nepal converted disruption into institutional turnover, resulting in the installation of new elected governments following the uprisings. Young people in Bangladesh toppled a government but have struggled to translate that disruption into a stable institutional order. In India, CJP called off its protest after the government met its three immediate demands—the education minister’s resignation, withdrawal of criminal investigations against protesters, and compensation for the families of students who died by suicide following the leak. However, the settlement remains contentious, as CJP raised concerns that the government was not honoring its commitments, with a spokesperson warning that the protest would resume if punitive action against student protesters continued.
Youth uprisings matter, then, not simply as sudden, spectacular action but as a means of amplifying the voice of a demographic majority and reshaping the terms of legitimacy and accountability between citizens and the state.
The movement’s broader charter—a new Public Examinations Act, reform of national examination bodies, a students’ rights charter, a national aspirant welfare fund, and permanent parliamentary oversight of examination authorities—is due to be taken up in a further round of talks with the government. The protests have yet to produce lasting institutional change, yet they have already demonstrated the capacity of young people to organize and exercise self-determination over their own political future.
The United Nations estimates that the world is home to 1.3 billion young people, more than half of them living in low- and lower-middle-income countries. Almost half of South Asia’s 1.8 billion people are under the age of 24, giving the region the world’s largest youth labor force until 2040.
Yet political power across South Asia remains generationally divided with the average age of Indian parliamentary representatives at 56. In Sri Lanka, only 4 of 212 MPs are under 30, while in Pakistan it’s just 7 of 311.
These figures expose a widening generational gap between aging political elites who have long monopolized legislative power and a younger generation that has grown up in the digital age expecting greater accountability but experiencing political marginalization. A related tension is a growing disconnect between economic liberalization and meaningful employment opportunities and social mobility for a generation of youth pursuing higher education.
In India, a democracy of 1.4 billion people, youth representation in the country’s legislative politics remains strikingly narrow along lines of age, gender, and caste. Over the past few decades, the share of young MPs aged 25-40 in the lower house of India’s parliament has fallen from 30% to just 10%.
Youth uprisings matter, then, not simply as sudden, spectacular action but as a means of amplifying the voice of a demographic majority and reshaping the terms of legitimacy and accountability between citizens and the state. These movements have galvanized global solidarity around regional struggles. They have been made increasingly possible by digitally mediated technology and decentralized, leaderless organizing.
Central to the profound historical shifts in social movements is the emergence of the internet as a space for dissent. Sociologist Manuel Castells frames the internet as a “hybrid space of autonomy” where cyberspace and physical urban space merge into a new kind of social location for political actions. These networked movements, Castells argues, are characterized by spontaneity, virality, decentralization, and ad hoc collaborative deliberation with no single leader.
As the CJP movement tweeted, filmed, and Instagrammed in real time, its networked visibility diversified participation and displaced the state and the traditional media’s monopoly over the narratives of its violence and police brutality. However, Zeynep Tufekci cautions against the fragility of networked movements, which mobilize with extraordinary speed but often lack the internal capacities, leadership structures, negotiating experience, and resilience that older movements built over years of slower political organization.
Their activism reflects a wider shift toward collective action that is increasingly contentious, globalized, and proactive.
Although digital movements enable horizontal mobilization and egalitarian participation in emancipatory struggles, post-uprising outcomes often remain uncertain. Social movement scholars have noted a recurring pattern. Movements built on decentralized coordination excel at forcing concessions or toppling governments, but they struggle to convert that same horizontal structure into hierarchical institutional governance. This leaves established political actors better positioned to reassert control during the transition, making it harder for movements to transcend regime change and translate initial disruption into long-term democratic transformation that the participants demanded. Nevertheless, these movements have expanded democratic possibilities by opening up new locations of collective belonging, political self-expression, and altruism.
In the end, the collective benefits of a social movement can outweigh the success or failure of a challenger’s program because social movements have many influences, both tangible and intangible, that go beyond the explicitly stated goals. In CJP’s case, these benefits include the representation of youth voices and the democratic rights of the country’s largest demographic group. Their activism reflects a wider shift toward collective action that is increasingly contentious, globalized, and proactive. In a larger sense, this contributes to a more participatory polity where Indian citizens exercise political rights and shape political outcomes directly.
"If the president continues to treat our economy like a schoolyard game, our students and their families will pay the price."
Even as President Donald Trump continues dismissing Americans' concerns about affordability heading into the 2026 midterm elections, a study released on Monday reveals that US parents are about to pay a hefty premium to ensure their children are prepared for school this fall.
A joint analysis from Groundwork Collaborative and The Century Foundation finds that a typical basket of school supplies costs nearly 8% more than it did last year, with typical school lunch items costing 11% more.
Lunch boxes have posted the largest yearly price increase, as the analysis estimates they will cost nearly 27% more this year than in 2025. Other items whose prices have soared include one-subject notebooks (23% yearly increase), index cards (22%), and notebook paper (20%).
Trump's illegal war with Iran, which has caused fuel prices including diesel to surge higher, has played a large role in increasing prices, as have his tariffs on foreign imports, the report notes.
The increase in diesel has been particularly troublesome for the price of food, the analysis points out, as the fuel is used both by farmers to power their agricultural equipment and by delivery trucks that ship food to grocery stores.
When it comes to the tariffs, the report points to Newell Brands—the company that makes Sharpies, Paper Mate, Elmer's glue, and other school supply staples—which has been hit with a $174 million tax bill thanks to Trump's policies and has consistently raised prices over the last year.
The report also points to changes made to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) made in Republicans' 2025 budget law that will make it harder for low-income kids to qualify for food assistance this school year.
Lindsay Owens, president of Groundwork Collaborative, said Trump's policies are forcing parents "to worry about whether they can afford to buy what their students need to be successful in the classroom."
"If the president continues to treat our economy like a schoolyard game, our students and their families will pay the price," said Owens. "When report cards come this year, Americans will give Trump an F.”
Janelle Jones, senior fellow at The Century Foundation, noted that school supplies aren't luxuries for families, but rather "the baseline for a kid to show up ready to learn."
"When notebooks and paper are up over 20%," Jones emphasized, "we’re not just squeezing family budgets, we’re setting students up to fall behind. We know where this leads: lower test scores, more kids repeating grades, and worse outcomes well into adulthood."
"Don't mistake the beginning for the end," said the Cockroach Janta Party, which vowed to press for further reforms and government accountability.
India's Cockroach Janta Party ended its five-week multi-city protest on Saturday after the youth-led movement's key demand—the resignation of Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan—was met.
“We have done it,” CJP spokesperson Saurav Das told a jubilant crowd at New Delhi's Jantar Mantar. "Pradhan has sent in his resignation, which means that our first demand has been met."
Das said that the protesters' second main demand, the withdrawal of criminal investigations targeting CJP members, was also met. However, members and supporters of the movement noted that some cockroach protesters remain in detention and vowed to continue pressing for their release.
Pradhan's resignation is the first such surrender to public pressure during the 12-year tenure of Hindu nationalist Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi.
“Considering the situation at Jantar Mantar and elsewhere in the country, and so that anti-national forces do not take advantage of the circumstances, national unity is maintained, no student’s future gets entangled in legal complications, and our children can focus on their studies and building their careers, I have submitted my resignation," Pradhan said in a statement.
Pradhan's tenure was marred by repeated leaks of National Eligibility Entrance Test (NEET) papers in a scandal that has upended the lives of millions of students by forcing them to retake the grueling exams and delaying their university admissions. CJP organizers said more than 20 students have killed themselves over the matter.
The now-ex education minister had dismissed the protesters as “the B-team of terrorists.”
On Sunday, Modi said he would authorize the creation of an examination reform task force headed by Nandan Nilekani, co-founder of Indian tech giant Infosys.
“The government of India is continuously taking various measures for the future of students," the Bharatiya Janata Party prime minister said in a video posted on social media. "However, we must look to the future. Our examination system needs to be reliable and transparent, and it must make maximum use of technology."
The protest movement began in May after Chief Justice of India Surya Kant reportedly compared unemployed young people to “cockroaches.” The protesters, led by political strategist Abhijeet Dipke, satirically reclaimed the slur as the symbol of a movement that has grown into a broader challenge to Modi’s increasingly authoritarian rule, which has seen mounting repression of protest and dissent, including restrictions on journalists and activists, and the use of "lawfare" to target critics.
Last week, tens of thousands of youth-led protesters marched in New Delhi, where they were met and attacked by police batons and tear gas. Indian media reported thousands of injuries.
The mood was markedly different following Pradhan's resignation.
"Cockroaches won!" many CJP members and supporters said.
Others added, "Democracy Won!"
"This is democracy," said the CJP.
"Now that the cockroaches have won their first battle, may they win many more," Tavleen Singh, a columnist for The Indian Express, wrote on X. "May they become a real political party in the near future."
Sonam Wangchuk, an environmentalist whose hunger strike was a focal point of the cockroach protests, was released Sunday from a Gurugram hospital, where he had been recovering from his 26-day fast since Thursday.
Emboldened by the CJP victory, members of the Communist Party of India (CPI)-affiliated All-India Youth Federation and All-India Students' Federation marched on the Chennai residence of Tamil Nadu Gov. Rajendra Vishwanath Arlekar demanding the abolition of the NEET. According to Indian media reports, police detained more than 200 of the demonstrators.
"The struggle will intensify," said CPI.
"Don't mistake the beginning for the end," echoed CJP.
Asked Sunday what's next for the cockroach movement, Dipke told an ANI reporter that "we will soon share the next strategy."
"This has just ended yesterday," he added, "please give us a little time."
“It’s just shocking to see that the people we elected have turned a blind eye to youth dying," said one protester.
Indian protesters rallying Monday in New Delhi under the banner of the youth-led Cockroach Janta Party were brutally attacked by police as they marched toward the country's Parliament demanding the resignation of the country's education minister and denouncing the right-wing government of Prime Minister Narendra Modi.
Tens of thousands of protesters took to the streets of the Indian capital despite police bans, barricades, internet shutdowns, and a heavy security presence. Police, some of them in plain clothes, attacked the overwhelmingly peaceful demonstrators with baton charges and tear gas. Delhi police are controlled by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP)-ruled central government.
The Wire reported that thousands of people were injured—some seriously—by police. Despite video footage and photos showing officer brutality, Delhi Police denied "sporadic use of violence" against protesters.
The protesters are seeking the resignation of Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan following repeated leaks of National Eligibility Entrance Test papers that have upended the lives of millions of students by forcing them to retake the grueling exams and delaying university admissions. Protest organizers say more than 20 students have killed themselves over the matter.
Late last month, Pradhan dismissed the protesters as "the B-team of terrorists."
“Already more than 20 students have died by suicide, but this government is not done yet," Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) founder Abhijeet Dipke said on social media. "This government has resorted to hooliganism now.”
Protester Rhythm Katoch told The Guardian on Monday: “They are calling this protest illegal, they are calling us anti-national. But I am 22 years old, and I am standing here to fight for our education system, for the rights of the young people, and for our democracy. Is it too much to ask for the government to listen to us?”
The CJP and other student groups have been leading hunger strikes at the Jantar Mantar, an 18th-century astronomical observatory designated as the protest site. Three students from the leftist All India Students' Association ended their fast on Monday, while environmentalist Sonam Wangchuk, who has been on a hunger strike since June 28, was taken by authorities on Saturday to Safdarjung Hospital, where he continues his fast.
“I am touched and moved by how the youth have held on to peace despite provocation,” Wangchuk said Monday.
The movement began in May after Chief Justice of India Surya Kant reportedly compared unemployed young people to “cockroaches." The protesters satirically reclaimed the slur as the symbol of a movement that has grown into a broader challenge to Modi's increasingly authoritarian Hindu nationalist rule, which has seen mounting repression of protest and dissent, including restrictions on journalists and activists, and the use of legal measures to target critics.
On Monday, protesters chanted “Go, Pradhan, Go, Saat Mein Modi Ko Bhi Lo! (Take Modi along with you too!),” banging plastic bottles on the ground to keep the beat.
“It’s just shocking to see that the people we elected have turned a blind eye to youth dying… because of their incompetency,” Sajal, a 22-year-old law student, told The Straits Times.
Another protester, yoga instructor Jyoti Rajput, told The Associated Press that she joined the demonstration because “this rotten system refuses to take action.”
“It cannot see the pain of students, and that’s why so many people have joined this movement,” she added.
Amid Monday's demonstration, CJP leaders met Union Minister JP Nadda at his Delhi home.
"The minister assured us he will discuss this at the appropriate level,” CJP spokesperson Saurav Das said on social media. “However, no commitments have been made so far.”
Responding to the brutal crackdown, Amnesty International India board chair Aakar Patel said in a statement that “the images and reports emerging from the protest at Jantar Mantar show how peaceful dissent is being suppressed in India."
“The role of the authorities is to protect and facilitate peaceful protests, not to suppress them," he continued. "The right to freedom of peaceful assembly is recognized under international human rights law and the Indian Constitution."
"The Delhi Police’s actions raise serious questions about whether their response met the requirements of legality, necessity, and proportionality under international human rights standards," Patel added. "We call on the Delhi Police to exercise restraint and immediately cease the use of unlawful force against peaceful protesters. Authorities must ensure that all allegations of unlawful conduct, including the reported excessive use of batons, tear gas, and stone-throwing by police personnel, are promptly, independently, and impartially investigated.”
One legal advocacy group said the rule change "will be costly, cause chaos, and cut legal immigration."
The Trump administration on Thursday finalized sweeping new visa restrictions that immigration advocates and higher education professionals say will make it significantly more difficult for international students and journalists to study and work in the United States.
The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) said it is replacing the long-standing "duration of status" system—which allowed students to remain in the country as long as they complied with the terms of their visas—with fixed admission periods that generally cap student and exchange visitor stays at four years.
Foreign journalists, meanwhile, will see their visas limited to 240 days, while Chinese journalists will face an even shorter 90-day limit. Visa holders will have to apply for extensions if they need more time.
NEW: The Trump admin finalized a regulation which makes the largest changes to the student visa process in 50 years, along with changes to rules for exchange visitors and international journalists. 🧵on some of the most consequential changes set to go into effect in September.
[image or embed]
— Aaron Reichlin-Melnick (@reichlinmelnick.bsky.social) July 16, 2026 at 12:09 PM
Homeland Security Secretary Markwayne Mullin claimed that “for nearly half a century, the outdated 'duration of status' system has compromised national security and created an environment ripe for immigration fraud."
"For decades, foreign students have been admitted into the US indefinitely, allowing thousands to abuse our immigration system by perpetually enrolling in courses to avoid having to leave the US," Mullin added. "By implementing clear, finite limits on these visas, the United States is reclaiming its ability to properly screen, vet, and monitor individuals within our borders."
However, Todd Schulte, president of the bipartisan political advocacy and lobbying group Fwd.US, warned that “these new restrictions will only make it harder for international students and researchers to complete their studies in the US and contribute their education to the US workforce after graduating."
"These changes will hurt America’s global competitiveness, hinder businesses’ ability to hire US-educated talent, impose significant and unnecessary costs on universities and students, and increase the workload for federal agencies already struggling with backlogs and delays," Schulte added. "This rule will create more bureaucratic backlogs and delays and help grind the legal immigration system to a halt.”
"Have these people no understanding of how life works?"
The American Immigration Lawyers Association said the rule change "will be costly, cause chaos, and cut legal immigration."
David Bier, the immigration studies director at the libertarian Cato Institute, told Reuters that "international students, many of whom will have spent years in the USA, will now have just 30 days to find an employer to sponsor them or immediately be turned into illegal immigrants. Have these people no understanding of how life works?"
Fanta Aw, executive director of NAFSA: Association of International Educators, said in an interview with The Washington Post that “DHS’ decision to end duration of status is a misguided and unnecessary policy shift that injects uncertainty, bureaucracy, and fear into a system that has long worked effectively."
To be clear, take the $1K that Trump wants to give newborn kids—I mean, why not? But never put another dime in an account like this.
I’m serious, and this is not just my disgust with everything Trump. There is no good reason for the overwhelming majority of people in the country to ever put a dollar in a Trump account for their kids.
To be clear, I’m not in favor of tax-sheltered accounts in general. They strike me mostly as a very inefficient way to accomplish public goals, in this case making education more affordable. The more efficient route would be to have more public funds go to support public colleges and community colleges.
The tax-sheltered account route also favors higher-income people. Over a quarter of households owe no income tax, meaning they would get no benefit whatsoever from putting money in a tax-sheltered account. Another 20 percent are in the 10 percent bracket, meaning the account would just save them just 10 cents on every dollar invested. By contrast, the highest income households save 37 cents on every dollar invested in a tax-sheltered account.
In addition, tax-sheltered accounts put a lot of money in the hands of the financial industry. Tens of billions of dollars go to the people and companies who administer these accounts, creating a pointless layer of wasteful bureaucracy.
To be fair, the Trump accounts limit fees to 0.1 percent of assets, far lower than is charged by many accounts. This is an important point. People can get low-cost funds in other accounts also. Stock index funds generally have the lowest fees, and most people would be wise to take advantage of them. People will tell you that they will beat the market, but most won’t, and you’ll just end up wasting money in higher fees and trading costs.
But that has nothing to do with individuals’ decisions on where to put their money. For better or worse, Trump accounts exist. The question is whether people will be helping their kids by putting money into them. And, as I said above, the answer for almost everyone is no.
The main reason is that we already have 529 accounts for the purpose of saving for a kid’s education. The big difference between the accounts for this purpose is that it is possible to withdraw money from a 529 account, if it’s needed, where it is not possible to withdraw money from a Trump account for any reason, until the kid turns 18.
People do pay a penalty for taking money out of a 529 early, but at least they can have access to it if they need it. And unexpected events do happen. People can lose a job, have serious medical expenses, or get divorced. These and other unanticipated situations can require people to dip into whatever savings they have. With a 529 plan, they can use the money if they really need it. With a Trump account, they are out of luck.
It is important to recognize that withdrawals for non-education purposes are fairly common. A recent study by Vanguard found that 2 percent of accounts had an unqualified withdrawal in an average year. If an account is open on average for 20 years, this would mean that 40 percent of accounts have an unqualified withdrawal. People don’t expect bad things to happen, but they do.
Also, since the penalty is based only on the earnings portion of the 529 plan, not the whole sum in the plan, in most cases it is likely to be small. Suppose someone pulls $5K out of a 529 plan, where earnings are currently 40 percent of the money in the plan. That means they would pay taxes on $2,000, plus a penalty of 10 percent. If they are in the 10 percent bracket, their taxes would be $200, and their penalty would $200. If they were in the zero bracket, say because they had lost their job, they would only pay the $200 penalty. That compares to being unable to touch their money at all in a Trump account. (The money in a 529 is not taxable at all if used for educational purposes. The earnings in a Trump account are taxable.)
It’s also worth mentioning that it’s not even possible to change asset allocations in a Trump account. Suppose your kid is 17, one year too young to make a withdrawal. If you’re worried there is an AI bubble likely to burst, and you would rather have your money in Treasury bonds, you’re out of luck. Trump accounts won’t let you make the switch; you have to go down with Elon Musk and the rest of the market.
The silliest argument given by proponents of Trump accounts is that they can be rolled over into an IRA to allow for lifelong wealth accumulation. So can the money in 529 accounts, up to a ceiling of $35,000.
The Trump gang makes a big issue of the $35,000 ceiling, but this is something only elite types with lots of money would care about. Very few people ever accumulate more than $35,000 in a 529 account, and the vast majority of people who do will find some education-related expense that would reduce the value of the account to less than $35,000. Remember, even food and housing can count as education-related expenses.
But let’s say someone ends up with an amount over $35,000 that they can’t use for education-related expenses. Suppose they have $40,000 that they want to roll over into an IRA. In this situation they would have to pay a 10 percent penalty on the amount over $35,000. That would be $500 on the $5,000 difference.
They would also have to pay taxes on the $5,000. The beneficiary is the one receiving the money, so they would be paying the tax. Since they are just beginning their working career, they likely have a relatively low income. This means they will almost certainly be in the 10 percent or 15 percent tax bracket, and quite possibly the zero bracket.
So, this is the bad scenario that Trump account proponents say it is important to avoid, and therefore skip a 529 and put your money in a Trump account instead? That seems pretty whacky, and why you need to fire your financial adviser if they suggest putting money in a Trump account.
To be clear, take the $1K that Trump wants to give newborn kids. It would be a much better use of tax dollars if we provided food and medical care to kids from low-income families than giving out $1K checks to millions of families that don’t need it. But you aren’t going to change the policy by turning down the money. If it bothers you, donate the money to a good cause, but do take the money and don’t ever put another penny in a Trump account.