I saw, at Cooper Union, how a conversation that started with education could grow into something much, much larger. During the tuition crisis, the school’s board of trustees made an early concession, promising that no one currently enrolled would be affected. Current students nonetheless felt betrayed. Won Cha, whom I’d taught the previous year, had taken a personal leave in the fall of 2012, but spent nearly the entire semester helping to fight the tuition policy. For him, it was deeply personal: he was the son of an immigrant nail salon worker, yet Cooper had let him “think about ideas and political issues” and study art. “It was liberating,” he told me.
And after years of protests, lawsuits and bureaucratic stalling, he and his Cooper comrades won. In 2018, Cooper Union agreed to the terms of a new plan: It could continue to temporarily charge its students up to $22,275 per year, half the cost of tuition, but would have to go free again in a decade. “The reason we took up arms and organized and worked with the faculty was because we realized that the ethos and soul of the school was disappearing,” Won said.
Today, some 45 million Americans carry $1.6 trillion in student debt, and tens of thousands of people defrauded by for-profit colleges are still owed compensation. More than a dozen states, from Tennessee to Rhode Island, have recognized the depth of the crisis and moved to offer some tuition-free college; bills for various kinds of grants and fee relief are pending in half the states. Free higher education is popular not only with Democrats, but with 41 percent of Republicans.
As the sociologist Tressie McMillan Cottom once observed, the “debate about free college tuition does something extremely valuable. It reintroduces the concept of public good to higher education discourse.” And not just education: Medicare for all, a jobs guarantee, basic income and free child and elder care — each of these, like college for all, has moved from peripheral fantasy to organizing campaign to policy platform.