The Great American College Scam – Part I: Hopeless Majors

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A student once asked me if she should take Linguistics as her major. Now, I am a math professor, so this might have seemed like an odd inquiry—but it wasn’t.

I know how much you like linguistics, she said. But my question isn’t about the subject itself. It’s about my career.

Ah, I see. You’re wondering if you’ll be able to get a job and pay the bills once you graduate.

Well, that too, she said. But paying bills isn’t my top priority.

Another spoiled American kid, I thought. What can you do? Still, I was curious.

Then what is your priority? I asked.

Well… how to put this into words? I wonder, once I graduate, will I be able to pursue this career? I mean, who hires linguists?

Good question. She asked me who hires linguists, but I couldn’t even answer who hires mathematicians—the very students majoring in my department. Sure, I knew about a few star students and their career paths, but neither I nor any of my colleagues knew what had happened to the hundreds (and hundreds) of “regular” graduates. Which is kind of crazy if you think about it. Boeing engineers are keenly aware of the performance and sales records of the planes they work on. Similarly, university professors should know about the career paths of their students. After all, our “product” is the students. Parents who pay the tuition, as well as taxpayers who cover the rest of the cost, are under the impression that our “product” satisfies certain standards. Yet, very few professors know anything about these issues.

This is because most of us have convinced ourselves that we are above such “trivial” things like students’ jobs and career paths. We tell ourselves that we are “absent-minded professors,” not industry engineers.

Besides, universities have splendid and well-staffed administrations, so surely someone is tracking these numbers. Someone must be responsible for the “quality control” of our product (i.e., students’ career paths). That said, the student who asked me about Linguistics was one of the best in my class, so I decided to do some snooping. I owed her that much.

In my department, we had a designated undergraduate “advisor.” But that was Tom, a semi-retired professor in his own world, working on his book. I didn’t even bother asking him. There was no way Tom would know anything. However, at the college level, I managed to find an entire office (and even a deputy dean) whose title was Undergraduate Advising. Since this was the College of Science, I phrased my question accordingly: Who does better career-wise, chemistry majors or physics majors?

The guy there didn’t know. This was unnerving, so I asked a more concrete question.

Look, in the math department, we have a Statistics major and a Pure Math major. What should I tell my students? Which career path offers better salaries or employment opportunities?

Ha? A good question, he replied.

That’s when I lost it.

Are you freaking kidding me?! Good question? That’s your job, you moron. You should know the answer.

At that moment, his human resources training kicked in. In a calm and condescending tone, he explained that answering these types of questions wasn’t in his job description. His department was there to guide students with course requirements. In other words, students are supposed to choose their majors on their own, and then he (and his team) can tell them what courses to take, when to take them, and what the grade cutoffs are.

In other words, these three stooges had a job that consisted of reading the university website. And I’m not kidding. All of that information is publicly available—you can check it yourself. So, no help from these schmucks.

Still, the situation intrigued me. What is the career path for a student majoring in Linguistics? Or Statistics? Or Mathematics? What percentage of them work in their chosen field, and what percentage are flipping burgers at McDonald’s? These are basic and simple questions. Students have the right to know the answers. If for no other reason, then because they’re paying our salaries. But try as I might, I couldn’t find the answers. My university simply didn’t share—or worse, didn’t have—such information. Then again, my institution isn’t exactly a bastion of higher learning, so I figured other, “regular” universities would do better. They should have websites and data to help me with my task.

So, I rolled up my sleeves and started searching. I randomly picked a few dozen universities across America, some highly ranked and others not. Then I started digging. After all, data mining is what I do for a living. I know how to handle massive and confusing datasets. And these datasets were massive and confusing. There’s an ocean of information available. These universities will tell you about the hundreds of majors they offer, about their cafeterias, student living costs, student/professor ratios, state prizes and grants, buildings and facilities, and glorious campus life… An endless stream of information. But nothing—absolutely nothing—about the employment records of their graduates.

Some of the more prestigious institutions proudly advertise the percentage of students who graduate on time, but they never disclose what happens to those students afterward. Are they flipping burgers, or do they have decent careers? What majors perform better, and which do not? What is the average student debt level for specific majors at particular institutions? That information is nowhere to be found.

Out of more than thirty randomly chosen universities, and after spending hours combing through their websites, I couldn’t find anything remotely close to answers to these questions.

How bizarre is this? The very reason these institutions exist is to educate a new generation of Americans so they can advance their careers and contribute to society. Yet none of the thirty-plus institutions I checked provided specific information about the career paths of their graduates. At best, you get general statements and maybe a mention of a few famous and distinguished alumni.

Clearly, something odd is going on. Think about it: I had a bright student making one of the most important decisions of her life—choosing a career path. She was exceptionally talented and could have pursued any major she wished—Linguistics, Mathematics, Anthropology, you name it. She also knew that not all majors would provide the same opportunities. So she asked the most obvious and critical question: What are the career outcomes for different majors at this particular university? And yet, neither I nor any university in America could offer her a specific answer.

It was then I realized that American universities—and the American government—are deliberately hiding this information. How do I know this? Think about it: American universities employ experts who conduct countless statistical studies on every imaginable topic. Want data on bird migrations? Done. Want data on coffee consumption in a random city during a random decade? Done. Almost any topic, whether about society or a natural phenomenon, has been studied and documented by university researchers.

But if you want a peer-reviewed study comparing different majors across colleges, you’re out of luck. If you’re looking for research on questions like, What are the outstanding student loans for different majors? What percentage of graduates from a specific college are unemployed?—well, good luck finding it.

However, if you want to know the migratory paths of Atlantic turtles, you’re in luck. It seems American universities care more about turtles and birds than about the students graduating from their institutions.

An obvious question presents itself: Why are universities hiding this information? This is followed by an equally obvious answer:

If such a comprehensive and detailed study were conducted, it would reveal the truth about the dismal career paths of students graduating from various universities with certain majors. This information would result in severe funding cuts, and many people would lose their jobs.

So, ask yourself a simple question: What university administrator would be crazy enough to support such a study? This is precisely why not a single American university is conducting such research. They know very well that some majors lead to successful careers, but they also know that many others produce graduates who end up unemployed or underemployed. Everybody knows this, but they pretend otherwise. That is why these studies do not exist—so universities can claim ignorance.

The situation is not unlike the one we faced with tobacco companies some years ago. Remember, the tobacco industry was immensely profitable and churned out large profits for decades. While anecdotal evidence of “some health issues” related to consuming tobacco accumulated, the industry brushed it off. More specifically, they refrained from conducting research that could prove or disprove these claims. They used ignorance as a defense: We never knew it was harmful to smoke, they said.

Universities are using the same approach. There is a growing body of anecdotal evidence indicating that some college majors—and some universities overall—are harmful to students. These institutions produce degrees with little value, leave many Americans burdened with debt, and contribute to financial struggles that often lead to bankruptcy, depression, and a host of other health issues. But do I have proof to back up these claims? I do not. Do I have concrete data linking certain college majors to economic and health troubles? I do not. Why? Because there are no studies! And this is precisely why I compare universities to the tobacco industry.

Universities employ the same tactics as tobacco companies once did. They ask: What kind of nonsense is this about the connection between health issues and college majors? Do you have any study to back this up? Of course, you don’t—because the very institutions conducting countless studies on countless topics have conveniently “forgotten” to examine the connection between college majors, universities, and employment records. They don’t disprove this connection; they simply refuse to address it.

It’s not just universities to blame. The American government is complicit as well. Don’t believe me? Check for yourself. The National Center for Education Statistics, a primary statistical agency of the U.S. Department of Education, (their words not mine) maintains a website with extensive information on all U.S. colleges. Each institution has thousands of data records available. If you click on “Majors,” you’ll find an avalanche of additional data points. Yet, within this flood of information, you will find nothing—absolutely nothing—about the salaries, employment, or unemployment rates for graduates of these colleges. There’s no information about outstanding student loans or any financial details related to specific majors or colleges. That information remains hidden.

So, dear reader, what should I tell my student? Should I tell her to cross her fingers, pick a major she likes, and hope for the best? And if it turns out that 80% of students graduating with that major at her university are unemployed (or underemployed), well… what can I do? I could pretend it’s not my problem—after all, that’s what my colleagues do. Let me be absolutely clear: I know for a fact they do this. They pretend it’s not their problem. I have even been told—quite bluntly—to stop rocking the boat and to stop worrying so much about students’ career paths. I was told - They’ll do alright. They’re smart kids. Besides, if we lose our majors, our department will lose funding.

But I cannot stay silent. I understand that many wonderful fields of study, like my beloved linguistics (as well as abstract mathematics), heavily depend on students majoring in these disciplines. I understand that, but I cannot accept that our careers are built on the suffering of others. What kind of person accepts the paycheck knowing it was paid for by a struggling student who was deceived into taking out loans and earning a degree with dismal career prospects?