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Frustrated with the flood of news articles and opinion pieces that were skeptical of minority students' “imagined” campus microaggressions, the author of this book set out to provide a detailed account of how racial-ethnic identity structures Black and Latinx students' college transition experiences. Tracking a cohort of more than five hundred Black and Latinx students since they enrolled at five historically white colleges and universities in the fall of 2013, the book finds that these students were not asking to be protected from new ideas. Instead, they relished exposure to new ideas, wanted to be intellectually challenged, and wanted to grow. However, the book argues, they were asking for access to counterspaces—safe spaces that enable radical growth. They wanted counterspaces where they could go beyond basic conversations about whether racism and discrimination still exist. They wanted time in counterspaces with likeminded others where they could simultaneously validate and challenge stereotypical representations of their marginalized identities and develop new counter narratives of those identities. This critique of how universities have responded to the challenges these students face offers a way forward that goes beyond making diversity statements to taking diversity actions.

How do you get students to engage in a historical episode or era? How do you bring the immediacy and contingency of history to life? This book shares the secret to award-winning success in the classroom, which encourages role-playing for immersive teaching and learning. Combating the declining enrollment in humanities classes, this innovative approach reminds us how critical learning skills are transmitted to students: by reactivating their curiosity and problem-solving abilities. The book provides advice and procedures, both for the use of off-the-shelf commercial simulations and for the instructor who wishes to custom design a simulation from scratch. These reenactments allow students to step into the past, requiring them to think and act in ways historical figures might have. Students must make crucial or dramatic decisions, though these decisions need not align with the historical record. In doing so, they learn, through action and strategic consideration, the impact of real individuals and groups of people on the course of history. There is a quiet revolution underway in how history is taught to undergraduates. This book hopes to make it a noisy one.

This book, a history of Cornell University since 1940, examines the institution in the context of the emergence of the modern research university. It examines Cornell during the Cold War, the civil rights movement, Vietnam, antiapartheid protests, the ups and downs of varsity athletics, the women's movement, the opening of relations with China, and the creation of Cornell NYC Tech. It relates profound, fascinating, and little-known incidents involving the faculty, administration, and student life, connecting them to the “Cornell idea” of freedom and responsibility. With access to all existing papers of the presidents of Cornell, the book is a respectful but unvarnished portrait of the university. The history of Cornell since World War II, the book suggests, is in large part a set of variations on the narrative of freedom and its partner, responsibility, the obligation to others and to one's self to do what is right and useful, with a principled commitment to the Cornell community—and to the world outside the Eddy Street gate.

Since the early 1990s, the federal role in education—exemplified by the controversial No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB)—has expanded dramatically. Yet states and localities have retained a central role in education policy, leading to a growing struggle for control over the direction of the nation's schools. This book explains the uneven development of federal involvement in education. While supporters of expanded federal involvement enjoyed some success in bringing new ideas to the federal policy agenda, the book argues, they also encountered stiff resistance from proponents of local control. Built atop existing decentralized policies, new federal reforms raised difficult questions about which level of government bore ultimate responsibility for improving schools. The book's argument focuses on the role played by civil rights activists, business leaders, and education experts in promoting the reforms that would be enacted with federal policies such as NCLB. It also underscores the constraints on federal involvement imposed by existing education policies, hostile interest groups, and, above all, the nation's federal system. Indeed, the federal system, which left specific policy formation and implementation to the states and localities, repeatedly frustrated efforts to effect changes: national reforms lost their force as policies passed through iterations at the state, county, and municipal levels. Ironically, state and local resistance only encouraged civil rights activists, business leaders, and their political allies to advocate even more stringent reforms that imposed heavier burdens on state and local governments. Through it all, the nation's education system made only incremental steps toward the goal of providing a quality education for every child.

Throughout the twentieth century, local control of school districts was one of the most contentious issues in American politics. As state and federal regulation attempted to standardize public schools, conservatives defended local prerogative as a bulwark of democratic values. Yet their commitment to those values was shifting and selective. This book demonstrates how, in the decades after World War II, suburban communities appropriated legacies of rural education to assert their political autonomy and in the process radically changed educational law. The account unfolds on the metropolitan fringe, where rapid suburbanization overlapped with the consolidation of thousands of small rural schools. Rural residents initially clashed with their new neighbors, but by the 1960s the groups had rallied to resist government oversight. Suburban conservatives carved out new rights for local autonomy, stifling equal educational opportunity. Yet the book also provides insight into why many conservatives have since abandoned localism for policies that stress school choice and federal accountability. In the 1970s, as new battles arose over unions, textbooks, and taxes, districts on the rural–suburban fringe became the first to assert individual choice in the form of school vouchers, religious exemptions, and a marketplace model of education. At the same time, they began to embrace tax limitation and standardized testing, policies that checked educational bureaucracy but bypassed local school boards. The effect, the book concludes, has been to reinforce inequalities between districts while weakening participatory government within them, keeping the worst aspects of local control in place while forfeiting its virtues.

Are colleges and universities in a period of unprecedented disruption? Is a bachelor's degree still worth the investment? What, exactly, is higher education good for? This book challenges the rhetoric of America's so-called crisis in higher education by investigating two centuries of college and university history. From the community college to the elite research university—in states from California to Maine—the book engages a fundamental question confronted by higher education institutions ever since the nation's founding: Do colleges and universities contribute to the common good? Tracking changes in the prevailing social ethos between the late eighteenth and early twenty-first centuries, the book illustrates the ways in which civic-mindedness, practicality, commercialism, and affluence influenced higher education's dedication to the public good. Each ethos, long a part of American history and tradition, came to predominate over the others during one of the four chronological periods examined in the book, informing the character of institutional debates and telling the definitive story of its time. The book demonstrates how two hundred years of political, economic, and social change prompted transformation among colleges and universities—including the establishment of entirely new kinds of institutions—and refashioned higher education in the United States over time in essential and often vibrant ways.

This book argues that Clark Kerr, Gaylord P. Harnwell, and other post-World War II academic leaders set the American research university on a new course by creating the instrumental university. With its emphasis on procedural rationality, organized research, and project-based funding by external patrons, the instrumental university would provide technical and managerial knowledge to shape the social order. Its leaders hoped that by solving the nation’s pressing social problems, the research university would become the essential institution of postwar America. On this view, the university’s leading purposes included promoting economic development and coordinating research from many fields in order to attack social problems. Reorienting institutions to prioritize these activities had numerous consequences. One was to inject more capitalistic and managerial tendencies into universities. Today, those who decry universities’ corporatizing and market-driven tendencies often trace them to the rise of neoliberalism in the 1970s. This book suggests that a fuller explanation of these tendencies must highlight their deeper roots in the technocratic progressive tradition that originated in the 1910s, particularly the organizational changes within universities that this tradition spawned from the 1940s onward as part of the instrumental university.

Using a risk management framework, the book discusses the landscape of U.S. higher education and faculty employment decisions. Topics include institutional differences, challenges facing colleges and universities, the erosion of academic standards, administrative bloat, changing promotion and tenure standards, sexual harassment, and Title IX concerns about campus safety. Attention is also given to the manner in which faculty members are hired and mentored and the decision-making biases that affect the way in which faculty members are granted promotion and tenure. The social psychological aspects of faculty employment decisions have been largely ignored in the literature, and we attempt to shed some light on these issues as we deconstruct promotion and tenure decisions. Traditional legal concepts of contract and employment law are examined as they pertain to hiring, promotion, and tenure decisions along with the cherished, but changing, ideals of free speech, academic freedom, and collegiality that have altered how faculty must deal with the rising tensions of political correctness on campus.

College students today display disturbing levels of stress, depression, and other psychological conditions. The reasons for this rise in mental health problems are many, from increased reliance on electronic technology, the related prevalence of social isolation, and anxiety regarding societal ills. College and university counselling centers are challenged to address student demand for psychological services, with many counseling directors having to reduce the number of visits for non-crisis patients to cope with the increasing number of clients. While more serious mental health problems will continue to be addressed through intensive counseling, medications and, in extreme cases, hospitalization, the majority of young people can positively impact their mental well-being by simply spending time outside in nature. A large body of scientific evidence verifies that time spent in natural settings can lower young people's stress levels, anxiety, blood pressure and heart rate, and improve memory and cognitive functions. College Nature Rx programs encourage students to spend time in nature and to develop greater appreciation for the natural world. We present a step-by-step formula for how such programs can be constructed, sustained, and evaluated, and profile four progressive Nature Rx programs at American colleges. In a final chapter, we argue for the need for such programs to the future health and strength of such institutions.

Do business schools actually make good on their promises of “innovative,” “outside-the-box” thinking to train business leaders who will put society ahead of money-making? Do they help society by making better business leaders? This book asserts that they do not and they never have. In throwing down a gauntlet on the business of business schools, the book examines the frictions, conflicts, and contradictions at the heart of these enterprises and details the way business schools have failed to resolve them. Beginning with founding of the Wharton School in 1881, the book measures these schools' aspirations against their actual accomplishments and tells the full and disappointing history of missed opportunities, unmet aspirations, and educational mistakes. It then poses a set of crucial questions about the role and function of American business schools. The results are not pretty. Posing a set of crucial questions about the function of American business schools, the book is pugnacious and controversial. It argues that the impressive façades of business school buildings resemble nothing so much as collegiate versions of Oz. It pulls back the curtain to reveal a story of failure to meet the expectations of the public, their missions, their graduates, and their own lofty aspirations of producing moral and ethical business leaders.

It has long been assumed that college admission should be a simple matter of sorting students according to merit, with the best heading off to the Ivy League and highly ranked liberal arts colleges and the rest falling naturally into their rightful places. Admission to selective institutions, where extremely fine distinctions are made, is characterized by heated public debates about whether standardized exams, high school transcripts, essays, recommendation letters, or interviews best indicate which prospective students are worthy. And then there is college for everyone else. But what goes into less-selective college admissions? Ravenwood College was a small, private, nonprofit institution dedicated to social justice and serving traditionally underprepared students from underrepresented minority groups. To survive in the higher education marketplace, the college had to operate like a business and negotiate complex categories of merit while painting a hopeful picture of the future for its applicants. This book is a snapshot of a particular type of institution as it goes about the business of producing itself and justifying its place in the market. This book documents what it takes to keep such an institution open and running, and the struggles, tensions, and battles that members of the community tangle with daily as they carefully walk the line between empowering marginalized students and exploiting them.

This book is a story of continuity and transformation. Cornell medical school has been a leader in education, patient care, and research—from its founding as Cornell University Medical College in 1898, to its renaming as Weill Cornell Medical College in 1998, and now in its current incarnation as Weill Cornell Medicine. The book situates the history of Cornell's medical school in the context of the development of modern medicine and health care. It examines the triumphs, struggles, and controversies the medical college has undergone. It recounts events surrounding the medical school's beginnings as one of the first to accept female students, its pioneering efforts to provide health care to patients in the emerging middle class, wartime and the creation of overseas military hospitals, medical research ranging from the effects of alcohol during Prohibition to classified partnerships with the Central Intelligence Agency, and the impact of the Depression, 1960s counterculture, and the Vietnam War on the institution. The book describes how the medical school built itself back up after nearing the brink of financial ruin in the late 1970s, with philanthropic support and a renewal of its longstanding commitments to biomedical innovation and discovery. Central to this story is the closely intertwined, and at times tumultuous, relationship between Weill Cornell and its hospital affiliate, now known as New York-Presbyterian. Today the medical school's reach extends from its home base in Manhattan to a branch campus in Qatar and to partnerships with institutions in Houston, Tanzania, and Haiti. As the book relates, the medical college has never been better poised to improve health around the globe than it is now.