What We Bring with Us 

At a recent talk at Villanova University, the author and commentator David Brooks told students, “Know what you want. Want it well and want the things that are truly worth wanting.” The advice was not original to Brooks but rather to St. Augustine, who believed that knowing what you’re passionate about is critical in a world where human beings are driven more by desire than by reasoning.  

Interpreting the wisdom of St. Augustine is, in many ways, the raison d’être of Villanova. The Catholic university in Pennsylvania is considered the world’s premier institution for Augustinian scholarship. Pope Leo XIV is among its graduates. But while Villanova’s Augustinian roots run deep, one might ask: What does the work of the late fourth century Christian theologian really mean to a modern university with 21st century students? 

This is the underlying question behind a new character education initiative at Villanova called Pilgrim Virtues. The name refers to a central pillar in Augustine’s work — that human life is a pilgrimage. The program seeks to highlight what is distinctly Augustinian about character education at Villanova and share that with the campus community as well as others working in this field.  

“I think the character movement has really tapped into something real, something essential in higher education, and we wanted to become a part of that from our own distinct tradition.”

The initiative began two years ago with a Capacity-Building Grant from the Educating Character Initiative (E.C.I.) at Wake Forest University’s Center for Leadership and Character. In 2025, Villanova received an Institutional Impact Grant of $822,258 from Wake Forest to build out an institution-wide series of character education programs, aligned with Augustinian teaching, both curricular and co-curricular. The idea was to coordinate, catalyze and accelerate the many character education activities that were taking place within three areas at the university: the Department of the Humanities, the Honors Program, and the Augustinian Institute. 

“I think the character movement has really tapped into something real, something essential in higher education, and we wanted to become a part of that from our own distinct tradition,” said Anna Moreland, who heads the Honors Program. 

Moreland and her colleague Michael Tomko, the chair of the Humanities Department, are the driving force and guiding spirit behind Pilgrim Virtues. Moreland’s sought-after “Shaping Initiative” course series (“Shaping a College Life,” “Shaping a Work Life,” and “Shaping an Adult Life”) helps students transition to college and walk through the experience intentionally, thinking deeply about their professional callings and their life beyond campus. 

Courses in the Department of Humanities study the questions that matter most for living a good and deeply human life.  Indeed, much of the work Moreland and Tomko were doing in their classrooms already bore the imprint of both Augustine’s teaching and the character education movement. They were curious about how to connect the two and scale the work so that it touched everyone on campus. But the challenge included engaging an audience that may only be tangentially aware of, or influenced by, the saint himself. First year students are required to read Augustine’s seminal work, “Confessions,” but for many, that will be their only exposure. And while Villanova is a Catholic university, a good percentage of the students are not, or are not practicing. 

To explore all of these considerations more deeply, Moreland did something unusual in higher education: She looked outside her university for partners. There, she “stumbled” upon the E.C.I. “We work in our silos so effectively that sometimes we reinvent the wheel,” she said. “But through the E.C.I., I realized there are all these good people around the country who are doing similar work. What we needed to do was get to know one another.” 

Moreland and Tomko drew on the expertise of the E.C.I. to examine other character education customs, including the more recognized Aristotelian tradition. In doing so, they quickly realized they had something to offer as well as to gain. “Through our work with the E.C.I., we were able to bring the Augustinian framework — those insights and experiences — to the broader field of character education,” Tomko said. 

The leaders believed that the examination of what Villanova had to offer required introspection and input from a wide cross-section of the university. Fortunately, the Capacity-Building Grant Villanova received covered a faculty and staff workshop pilot that would be the first foray into bringing diverse voices together on campus to revitalize Augustine’s teachings in a meaningful and visible way. The method they used was emblematic of the tradition they were reawakening.  

“We were drawing on the knowledge and inspiration of this group we had assembled,” Tomko said. “We not only had ideas but also the practical experience of how to live well in community.” Moreland said coming together to understand what it meant to teach character at an institution like Villanova was the most profound experience she had had at the university. “We brought our whole selves to those conversations,” she said. 

An important voice in the discussions was Paul Camacho, the associate director of the Augustinian Institute at Villanova and an associate professor of philosophy in the Humanities Department. The institute exists to promote the study of Augustine and his legacy within the pedagogy at the university. As an Augustinian scholar, Camacho helped clarify the distinctions within traditions. 

“A lot of what has emerged in character education is based on Greek philosophy, which sometimes presents a list of virtues that could be somehow obtained like credentials, as Benjamin Franklin famously attempted in his virtues checklist,” Camacho said. “Augustine reminds us that virtue is not something that you acquire but rather is a dramatic and dialogical narrative unfolding across the whole of your life.” 

St. Augustine of Hippo was a Late Antique philosopher, theologian, and bishop known for his insights into the human condition and one’s relationship with God. He argued that human beings are fundamentally desiring rather than reasoning creatures and that we are shaped by what we love. Augustine’s pilgrimage through life, his self-examination and conversion as captured in the “Confessions,” is perhaps his defining characteristic. 

“Augustine believed the good that we are striving for is always something that’s in process, always on the move, and always in relationship with other people,” Camacho said. “The task of being human is never really accomplished.” 

It was this journey through life that resonated most with the Villanova community and its students navigating their own education and personal growth. In identifying the pilgrimage theme, the initiative’s leaders explored what virtues would be critical for students traveling this road. If, for Augustine, love is the beginning and the end, what do you need along the way? 

“Augustine believed the good that we are striving for is always something that’s in process, always on the move, and always in relationship with other people.”

The five virtues they arrived on are: humility, forgiveness, patience, wonder, and conviviality. While the first three are more easily understood, wonder and conviviality, as seen through an Augustinian lens, merit definitions. Wonder, for Augustine, was an impassioned search for beauty “so ancient and so new,” as written in “Confessions.” Conviviality, from the Latin term con-vivere or ‘to live together’ binds its members in a common project, toward a shared goal.

The Journey Continues 

As the early work of the initiative laid the philosophical groundwork for the pilgrim virtues, the Institutional Impact Grant is bringing theory to practice. The new grant covers a series of programs, courses, lectures, and fellowships that are all ultimately student-facing. This fall, a new course called “Augustine the Pilgrim,” to be led by Camacho, will follow the footsteps of Augustine’s life, culminating in an actual pilgrimage to Italy. 

The faculty and staff workshop pilot is now an established program with a waiting list. The year-long workshop supports professors and practitioners in incorporating the virtue framework into classrooms and co-curricular activities. In bringing together diverse professionals from all areas of the university, the workshops have yielded positive results, both intended and unintended.  

Sunny Gaye Hallowell, a professor in Villanova’s nursing school, often wondered what the world was like for her colleagues in the humanities. She felt her students, while proficient at the scientific material, had limited opportunities to connect the meaning of nursing practice to who they were becoming as adults. When she heard of the Pilgrim Virtues workshop, she was the first to sign up.

“In my discipline, we teach to competency-based learning objectives. We give students challenging questions and case studies, so they can develop necessary skills to become amazing nurses,” Hallowell said. “But what are we doing in the classroom to cultivate a human being? I wanted to blend art and science to help students explore the human experience of health and healthcare through the eyes of both patients and providers, and to help them form a professional identity.” 

Hallowell said attending the workshop and learning the virtues gave her the language and structure to do that. Exposure to colleagues across multiple disciplines was an added benefit. “The chance to cultivate a classroom where we can walk through the virtues to think and engage independent of our own disciplines has been transformative,” she said. “It has given us a point of connection as faculty, and it has introduced me to colleagues and friends that reinforced the presence of an academic community I belong to.”

An important goal of the initiative is the direct engagement of students, both through the classroom and through programs like Augustinian Ambassadors, which was introduced through the Capacity Building Grant. Modeled after the faculty and staff workshops, the Augustinian Ambassadors program brings together interested students to deepen their understanding of Augustine’s teachings through texts and reflection. 

Kate DiLella was one of the first Ambassadors and will continue in the program this upcoming year. The rising senior was originally drawn to the Ambassador role because of her Catholic faith and interest in deepening her understanding of Augustinian character, and she believes the program has the potential to benefit anyone on campus. “Many of the students in the program seem to have a similar idea of what we are striving for, but through studying St. Augustine, we are reminded that life is a pilgrimage and part of the beauty is that we can’t foresee all the bumps that will come along the way.”

Once they have become reintroduced to Augustinian virtues, Ambassadors are expected to encourage their peers to participate in numerous ways. The well-attended David Brooks lecture was one option. The hope in offering these character-building onramps is that students may be particularly receptive to them at this point in their lives. 

Camacho has a theory on the subject based on what he sees as most prevalent in today’s students: a desire for security. “The culture, their parents, the job market are all telling them, ‘Everything is precarious out there.’ So the decisions they are making are based on fear,” he said. “But when you do that, you become smaller. You are no longer curious, and your relationships with other people become temporary.” 

Camacho said the pilgrim virtues offer another way of relating to the unknown. “These virtues tell us we are all on this journey together. If we are willing to grant that we fall short and that other people fall short and have the humility to accept that, we can loosen up a bit. Character formation isn’t another checklist of perfection but instead this wonderful opportunity to expand our attention to become curious about the world and what we love.” 

Asked if she believes that exploring the kinds of questions that lead to character development is unusual for students of her generation, Kate DiLella said, “I think questions about life and purpose and who we are and who we are called to be are likely on more students’ minds than it may seem, and through Educating Augustinian Character, students are guided in how to think about these bigger questions in life.”

You can reach LearningWell Editor Marjorie Malpiede at mmalpiede@learningwellmag.org with comments, ideas, or tips.

Mental Health Access Is More than an Appointment

A young person can have a counselor’s number saved in her phone, a clinic ten minutes from campus, and an insurance card that covers the visit — and still not go. Some young people go to counseling or therapy once, sit across from someone who doesn’t understand their language, culture, or lived experience, and never return.

That gap between a service being available and a young person being willing to use it is a part of “access” that is frequently overlooked.

We tend to measure access by supply: how many providers, how many appointment slots, how short the waitlist. Those things matter. But for young people, especially those from underserved and under-resourced communities, access is also a feeling. It’s whether they feel or believe the person across from them can be trusted. Whether the space feels like it was built with them in mind. Whether reaching out will be met with understanding rather than judgment. A service you don’t feel safe using is not, in any meaningful sense, accessible.

More than 7.5 million young people from underserved and under-resourced communities in the United States are struggling with their mental health and emotional wellbeing, which amounts to more than one in five. Three-quarters of mental health conditions emerge by age 24, during the period when young people move through the transitions that shape the rest of their lives: adolescence into higher education, college into the workforce. The care that could help isn’t reaching them evenly. Black and Latinx youth are 14 percent less likely than their white peers to receive treatment for depression. Just 8 percent of the lowest-income communities have a mental health specialist at all.

That gap between a service being available and a young person being willing to use it is a part of “access” that is frequently overlooked.

These disparities reflect a set of systems that were never designed for underserved or under-resourced patients. Cost and logistics put care physically out of reach, while a shortage of professionals who share their communities’ language and lived experience makes it harder to trust the care that does exist. Stigma — a major barrier to care — makes the first step towards help seem harder. Too often, the models that mental health care is based on feel disconnected from the realities young people actually live. When care doesn’t reflect who someone is, “available” and “usable” turn out to be very different things.

Belonging is a protective factor in its own right. Research points to a consistent set of protective factors: a strong sense of self, supportive relationships, and, above all, a sense of belonging that help young people stay well and navigate challenges as they arise. Culturally responsive care is what activates protective factors. It’s the difference between a young person being treated as a case and being seen as a whole person in the full context of their family, culture, and community.

What does that look like in practice? It starts with mental health professionals who come from the communities they serve and bring cultural fluency into the room. Quality mental health care treats identity and community as strengths to draw upon. It means meeting young people where they already are in peer communities, on campuses, in the spaces they already trust, so the first conversation doesn’t require a leap of faith into an unfamiliar system.

For colleges, employers, funders, and community organizations, these expectations reframe the work. The goal is to add capacity and more counselors and to build an environment that young people will trust enough to use. That means investing in a workforce that reflects the communities it serves and designing programs alongside the young people and their families. It also means treating belonging as a real outcome of care.

When care is built around trust and grounded in culture, young people show up, stay in care, and achieve better healthcare outcomes. The challenge is to build services in a way that makes them worth walking into.

This work requires collective action from schools, providers, families, funders, and young people themselves committed to the same vision: that every young person is supported by people and places that understand them.

Access is the door. Trust is what gets someone to walk through it.

If you or a young person you know is struggling, support is available. Text STEVE to 741741 to reach a crisis counselor, or call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

Dr. Annelle Primm is senior medical director of The Steve Fund, a leading nonprofit dedicated to promoting the mental health and emotional wellbeing of young people from underserved and under-resourced communities.

Love Things That Don’t Love You Back

I pole vaulted in high school. For your reference, I stand a mere one inch above five feet, and I’ve got the build of a gymnast rather than a jumper. I was atrocious. I skewered myself semi-regularly, and my most spectacular failure involved a nine-foot pole ending up in some seven different pieces. 

I absolutely loved it. 

When I moved across the country before middle school, and then again before high school, and then again to college, my mom said the same thing every time: “Join things.” Importantly, she forgot to tell me to be good at them. I became a pole vaulter, debater, figure skater, choir singer, volunteer, and even a defensive end on a flag football team. (Let us remember again that I am 5-foot-1.) I met my people in these activities and found the things I loved, outcomes not at all correlated to my natural aptitude. 

The third time I started over, I was alone, beginning my freshman year at the University of Pennsylvania. I had my formula down. I threw myself into everything I could: a capella, spoken word poetry, club figure skating, chamber choir, consulting clubs, campus tours, tutoring. Two weeks later, I was bawling into the phone telling my mom I had chosen the wrong school. No matter how hard I tried, what angle I approached from, I was rejected from everything. 

This was new for me. Not because I had been talented at everything I had tried before, but because I had never encountered such high barriers to extracurricular activities. I had only ever needed two things: a willingness to walk in the door, and a willingness to fail on the way to being better. At Penn, that was not enough. In fact, those skills weren’t even recognized. 

In an institution that prides itself on education, the true learning that inevitably involves failure was nowhere to be found.

Trust me, I ran the gauntlet in terms of getting in: Four rounds of interviews, 10 essay questions, and a name-drop-who-you-know competition were the bare minimum. But I could never figure out the system. I spent my entire freshman year activity-less. Woe was me. But it was less my personal experience with a lack of extracurriculars that discouraged me, and instead the broader attitude towards failure — or even just non-perfection — within the Penn community. It was truly frowned on to be bad at anything. Embarrassing, actually. In an institution that prides itself on education, the true learning that inevitably involves failure was nowhere to be found. I was incredibly disappointed to be surrounded by brilliant, qualified, astounding peers, none of whom were excited to leap into something they weren’t already good at. 

That is not to say, however, that I blame those peers. The atmosphere of the East Coast, Ivy League schools, and higher education in general, carefully avoids promotion of failure. In a school where everyone already seems to have a head start — something that “got them in” — you’re better off leaning into where you’re already talented rather than playing the field to find something new. Consulting clubs who work for real clients need students who know what they’re doing. Firms start recruiting sophomore year. Connections are made from the first time you set foot on campus. No one has time for failure. This is compounded by the fact that all 10,000 Penn students absolutely ran the schools they came from, and no one wants to go from the top of the stack to the bottom. Starting all over is not only intimidating but terrifying in this peer group, comprised of people who are no longer impressed by anything you’ve ever done. 

These are the conditions, unfortunately, that pose a problem for someone like me, who happens to enjoy things that she’s terrible at. I don’t mind being the first person to fall down and laugh at themselves, and I like improving almost more than I like succeeding. I’ve always been “coachable” rather than talented, well-rounded rather than a prodigy. I’m a math major while simultaneously being someone whose worst subject was always math. I started teaching myself the piano because I can’t read music for my life. In every group I had belonged to before college, I just needed to be brave enough to take the first step — fall the first time. Then, inevitably, others who were just as eager as I would follow. At Penn, I took that step, embarrassed myself, and ended up alone. People turned the other way. If something already comes naturally, if you’re already praised for it, why try anything that wouldn’t get you the same results? 

My closest friends at Penn are a Japanese pop star, a Wharton student who has yet to be rejected from anything, and an influencer. In that friend group, I’m the “well-rounded” one. I’m the only one without a trademark. And you know what? I think well-rounded-ness is underrated. I think failure is underrated. 

At a school of 10,000, people have incredibly diverse experiences and natural aptitudes. This diversity conceals the fact that no one has reached outside of their comfort zone to find something new. 

I love the University of Pennsylvania, and I am consistently awed to be surrounded by such a diversely talented peer group. But I wish more students loved things that didn’t love them back. Auditioned for a play in college with no theater experience. Sang at an open coffee house for no personal gain other than a fun time. Chose classes based on their interests instead of their future G.P.A. It’s not their fault that these things seem intimidating. As we get older, I believe people tend to mistake talent for adventurousness. At a school of 10,000, people have incredibly diverse experiences and natural aptitudes. This diversity conceals the fact that no one has reached outside of their comfort zone to find something new. 

Every year, thousands of students apply to elite institutions, all with their own astonishing applications. From admission onward, students feel a continuous pressure to excel. Trying something new means falling behind. Stepping out of your comfort zone means ostracizing yourself from peers who all have “found their lane.” We are 18 years old when we arrive on campus. Screw the lane. 

As I head into my sophomore year, I am proud to say I have learned absolutely nothing. (Kidding, kidding. I learned incredibly valuable lessons.) But I’m not going to change my formula. I will continue to throw myself into things I am generally worthless at and then get better. 

Grace Burke is a rising sophomore at the University of Pennsylvania studying math and sociology. She’s originally from Denver, Colorado.

The Grading Game

This spring, Harvard announced its decision to begin limiting the number of A’s faculty can grant in any given class. Starting in 2027, only 20 percent of students in a course, plus four additional ones, will be eligible to receive the top mark. 

The move is the result of long-standing concerns about the rise of grade inflation at America’s oldest college. Since the pandemic, Harvard students have been more likely to receive an A than any other grade. In the 2024 to 2025 year, more than 60 percent of grades were A’s, up from around 25 percent in the 2005 to 2006 year. 

The upwards trend of A’s is undeniable, and not just in Cambridge. But where there’s less consensus is about what, if anything, to do about it. The debate is complicated because the crux isn’t really how many A’s is too many, but whether the modern grading system as a whole is functioning as it should. And answering that question first requires settling another: What is the purpose of grading? 

Jack Schneider, the director of the Center for Education Policy at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, has a few ideas on this topic. His 2023 book, “Off the Mark,” which he co-authored with Ethan Hutt of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, explores the various goals of academic assessment, as well as new ways of approaching it.

According to Schneider and Hutt, there are three central purposes of grading: motivation — to incentivize students to complete their work and do their best; communication — to provide feedback on student performance for students and others, like employers; and synchronization  — to be able to compare students across programs and institutions.

Each of these functions of grading has importance, Schneider and Hutt suggest. The trouble is, there may not be any one system that can accomplish them all. “We don’t think that trying to assess student learning is the problem,” the pair writes. “We think the problem is that our present technologies are too clumsy for the work we want them to do.”

In other words, landing on a single approach to grading requires some weighing of priorities. Focusing on one function, Schneider said, may well end up undermining others.

This is the problem Schneider imagines Harvard encountering. The cap on A’s elevates a particular purpose — distinguishing between students — but also opens up new vulnerabilities. It could de-motivate students who no longer see the point in striving towards A’s that feel unattainable. It could give students information about their learning relative to their peers, but not necessarily beyond that.

“Not even 50 percent of a class should achieve extraordinary distinction, if those words are to have meaning.”

Harvard would contend there’s more to gain from distinctions than to lose. By raising the standard for excellence, refined distinctions send students stronger messages about what they’re truly good at or, more often, when there’s room to grow.

“Not every student can achieve extraordinary distinction,” said Alisha Holland, a government professor at Harvard who served on the subcommittee that helped craft the new grading policy. “Probably not even 50 percent of a class should achieve extraordinary distinction, if those words are to have meaning.”

Others struggle to see the point in these distinctions at all. For Peter Felten, the executive director of the Center for Engaged Learning at Elon University, the most important part of grading is communicating quality feedback to students. Comparing or ranking students, by contrast, doesn’t signify much.

In an ideal world, Felten said he could even let go of traditional grading altogether. “Personally, I think grades are not particularly effective means of feedback. They’re too blunt. They’re not formative enough. And they tend to be a single mark in time.”

In many ways, people’s stances on grading tend to come down to whether they think it’s possible to motivate learning intrinsically, or just extrinsically. Can students be inspired without the promise of outside recognition, like grades? What would it take for them to be driven more by a personal desire for knowledge and growth? 

In the age of A.I., the prospect of intrinsic learning takes on additional weight. After all, students who don’t see the value of working for the sake of broadening their minds seem more apt to offload their burdens to a robot helper.  

The truth is, of course, that students are extrinsically motivated, as well as quite clear-eyed about that fact. The most energizing reason to perform well in a class, many students agree, is to earn the type of grade that will look good on their transcript. 

One rising Harvard junior offered her thoughts on the recent grading policy change on the condition of anonymity. Generally more than any other concern, she said, her peers are worried about the way the cap on A’s will affect their future. 

“At the end of the day, that’s, I think, why people care so much about their grades,” she said. “It’s not necessarily about how confident it makes them feel or things like that or how validated they feel because they got an A versus an A minus. I think it’s, ‘How is this going to set me up for success?’”

Arbaaz Karim, who graduated from Harvard this spring, affirmed that grades were always most important to him in so far as they informed his competitiveness for an uncompromising job market. Since May, he’s relocated to San Francisco to work at Mercor, the startup helping major AI labs train their models and currently looking at a $20 billion valuation.

“In a perfect world, of course we would want learning to be the main priority,” Karim said. “But unfortunately the way that the real world is going to work is that jobs and employers or even grad schools are going to be looking at your academic history and how well you did.”

Peter Felten is perhaps daunted but not defeated by what he recognizes to be students’ more extrinsically-minded goals. He said his role, however herculean, is to help cultivate the sense that the learning process is as meaningful as any results. 

“I wouldn’t say, ‘This class is hard, and not very many of you are going to get an A,’” Felten said. “I’m going to say, ‘This class is hard. You’re going to learn things. You’re going to think. You’re going to develop skills and capacities that you didn’t have before.’”

“The best courses I’ve ever taught, students earned A’s because they cared, not because they were going to get an A.”

Felten is willing to lower the emphasis on grades in favor of lifting up the importance of the course content itself. He still wants students to strive at the highest level, but he wants them to do it for the right reasons. He knows this shift isn’t impossible, nor futile, because he’s seen it happen and felt the impact in real time.

“The best courses I’ve ever taught, students earned A’s in that course because they were working so hard and they cared so much and they did such good work — because they cared, not because they were going to get an A,” Felten said.

The work of intrinsic motivation is notably more difficult for both faculty and students. Teachers need to think through the kind of materials and assignments that will immerse students deeply and challenge them thoroughly. Students won’t find shortcuts or workarounds for engagement.

Jack Schneider maintains it’s never going to be a single, standardized grading rule or system that places the ultimate emphasis on learning while motivating students at the same time. That’s why he’s reluctant to call grading a problem, as opposed to a dilemma. 

“Problems have solutions,” he said. “But dilemmas can only be managed.” 

You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at mames@learningwellmag.org with comments, ideas, or tips.

The Future of Holistic Higher Education with John Volin and Dan Currell

On this episode of LearningWell Radio, John Volin, the president of Gustavus Adolphus College, and Dan Currell, a Gustavus trustee, pair up to discuss the major changes coming to higher education and what they might mean for colleges and universities that prioritize personal growth and development.

You can reach LearningWell Editor Marjorie Malpiede at mmalpiede@learningwellmag.org with comments, ideas, or tips.

The Students Are Why We Are Here

Starting next month, Angela Lindner will lead the LearningWell Coaliton, taking over from the capable hands of Keith Buffinton. Like Buffinton, Lindner is an engineer. She has recently retired from the University of Florida, where she was the director of the Engineering Leadership Institute and vice provost for undergraduate affairs, as well as an associate professor.

Like all organizations, the LearningWell Coalition, the publisher of LearningWell magazine, is a reflection of the people who drive its mission, and in this interview, Lindner gives us a window into how she might make her mark. She describes her body of work in student-centered education, her perspective on higher education’s most pressing problems, and what drew her to the work of the Coalition — including the memorable way she was introduced to it.

The LearningWell Coalition is a growing network of colleges and universities — large and small, public and private — dedicated to ensuring that every student is prepared to flourish in work and in life. Through collaboration, networking, and access to evidence-based practices, they help institutions create and scale initiatives and opportunities to prepare students for lifelong flourishing.

LW: Welcome to the Coalition, and congratulations on your retirement from the University of Florida! 

AL: Thank you. Yes, it’s retirement in the sense that I’m emeritus status there, and I may come back and teach a class periodically, but it’s no longer my work to do. It’s bittersweet, but I’m a big proponent of allowing the next generation to lead and do great things and make mistakes, just like we did. There’s far too many faculty who stay way too long, and it’s blocking the ability of younger people to come in and lead.

LW: It’s worth noting that you’ve been teaching at the flagship school in the state that’s been at the epicenter of recent political pressure and change. What has that been like?

AL: That’s a great starting point for a conversation about these big topics of “Where are we headed in higher education?” — especially in states like Florida. The change is rapid. In that sense, we’re going through so many changes — forced changes. At the University of Florida, our nose is right out there. We’re going through a third presidential search attempt right now as we speak, and it’s very critical to many disciplines and to faculty. It’s existential. 

I went to the College of Charleston, which is a city that cannot hide its history. And that’s the beauty of Charleston — it’s right out there, right? I left college fully believing in the liberal arts education and what that truly means, opening your mind to many different ideas, and sifting through the core values that you had from your family and your faith tradition — to be more accepting and to understand inclusion was not a bad word. 

LW: What were your pre-U.F. days like? What drew you to academia?

AL: I worked at the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency in Ann Arbor as a chemical engineer from 1986 to 1989, followed by working as a project engineer at General Motors Corp. in Warren, Michigan from 1989 to 1991. I had an “epiphany” moment in my car on a commute home from G.M. one day: I wanted to teach and mentor undergraduate students. I was seeking a purpose higher than making profit for my company. That is when I nurtured the resolve to visit the University of Michigan’s campus to meet with two environmental engineering faculty members, who ultimately admitted me into the Ph.D. program. Ironically, given the tensions that are swirling in the U.S. Department of Education today, I was admitted to the University of Michigan with a scholarship from the D.O.E. for women pursuing doctorates in engineering. I suspect this scholarship would not be allowed today.

LW: How did you get to the University of Florida?

AL: I’ve been at the University of Florida since 1998. I chose U.F. as my career home because the faculty in the Department of Environmental Engineering Sciences, especially the chair, Dr. Joe Delfino, exhibited a strong care for their undergraduate students. I was convinced this was the best place for me to pursue my solidified purpose in undergraduate and graduate education. The moment I decided to accept U.F.’s offer was when I received a packet from Joe that included a hand-written note affixed to a sheet of paper saying, “We covered this in our faculty meeting today.” The sheet of paper had text that reminded the faculty that the student is the reason why they were at U.F. I have cherished that original piece of paper throughout my career at U.F., and it followed me into my associate dean role in the U.F. college of engineering and onto my role in the U.F. provost’s office. 

LW: What first put the LearningWell Coalition on your radar?

AL: There are seminal moments in in one’s life that they remember exactly where they were when something happened. This was one of them for me, actually. I was in my garage at home on the exercise bike back in early June 2023, listening to [former editor of Inside Higher Ed] Doug Lederman on his podcast interviewing this Rick Miller [president emeritus of Olin College]. I knew about Olin because I come out of engineering, but I was fascinated by what Rick was saying about the work of the Coalition and the core values of higher education. I immediately went into the Coalition’s website and found out how to contact them through an online form. University of Florida has a project called U.F. Quest, and it aligns so beautifully with the language that was shared in this podcast. And I’m still on the bike, and I’m writing, “How can I talk to you about becoming a member?”

Within hours I get an email response, and that week, we were on Zoom together, Rick and the executive director Keith Buffinton and I. And I just sort of laid out the whole situation we were in at the time with U.F. Quest and with our general education in the state of Florida. I left that call with a deep, profound sense of calmness that we have advocates outside of the state of Florida that will help us to tell the narrative of U.F. Quest and the transformational impacts. They get it. 

From there, it’s been just an incredible, tremendous relationship between the University of Florida and the Coalition. I can’t emphasize enough the importance of having that external validation of what we were doing. Which is why I think expanding the membership of the Coalition is so critical. 

LW: Is that one of the key priorities as you step in as E.D.?

AL: It’s one of them. And also, how do we recognize and measure the goodness of the initiatives that are going on in the member institutions? I’m excited to see the numbers double and see its role expand, not just next year, but 10 to 15 years from now, because I think it’s going to take us that long for higher education to really be able to ask the right questions — to take a good internal look at ourselves, at why higher education has lost public trust and what we should be doing to prepare the whole student for the evolving world.

LW: Let’s talk about that issue of public trust. This is a critical time in higher ed and redefining people’s expectations of it. What role can the Coalition play during this realignment?

AL: That’s a good question. A critical element of the work of the Coalition is to keep asking questions. Higher education is out of equilibrium right now and for many different reasons. Being out of equilibrium is a journey of going from order, to disorder, and reorder. Higher ed is on that path now, and the Coalition, I believe, provides this other place to discuss what we all agree is the mission of higher ed, or should be. For us, it is keeping the personal and professional development of students at the center of all we do. 

“I think with A.I. upon us, my hopeful side — which comes out most days — believes that all of this is going to force us to ask some fundamental questions: What is the purpose of higher ed? What does it mean to be an educated human?”

I think with A.I. upon us, my hopeful side — which comes out most days — believes that all of this is going to force us to ask some fundamental questions: What is the purpose of higher ed? What does it mean to be an educated human? How do we have that conversation, and agree? I believe that’s what higher ed is for — to form and shape and at least point students in a direction of being able to impact humanity and the world in positive ways. It goes back to core values. What’s our unifying principle? I do think we’re being asked that question, and I think the Coalition is going to play a major role in helping support institutions towards that goal. 

So yes, we’re in the disorder now. I can’t tell you how long it’ll last. I am confident that when we’re back in the reorder, whatever it looks like, we’re going to look back and be grateful for the disorder because there would be no other way that we would have gotten to the next place. 

LW: When we talked earlier, you mentioned the Gallup-Purdue Big Six, which correlates to lifelong wellbeing and career success. How can we continue to prioritize those pillars, like mentorship and belonging, when so much of the conversation has shifted to tangible R.O.I.? 

AL: No question some institutions of higher ed do it better than others. I come out of one of the largest public institutions in the country, which creates an environment with the biggest opportunity for nurturing the Gallup Big Six experiences. First, do they align at all, R.O.I. and the Gallup Big Six? The Big Six is implying that if you offer these experiences to undergraduate students, it means that they matter in the mission of your university. WhyBecause it means that faculty’s time spent on the formation of students, with students, is valued. Pure and simple, you cannot replace any faculty member with a machine or A.I. If you were going to fulfill the Gallup Big Six, a student must know a faculty member cares about me as a person, right? That’s what’s implied with the Gallup Big Six. Taking that further, one would assume that if that is of value to the institution, then the faculty — and tenure and promotion — are evaluated based on the amount of meaningful time they spend with the students. 

The other side of this is that we would have to assume — and it’s not a correct assumption, as we’re learning in the Coalition’s faculty learning communities — that faculty know how to do these things. Many of the faculty were students who did not have access to these principles in practice. We’ve just had two years of faculty learning communities, and I would say over half of the faculty that participated said they joined so they could learn how to connect with their students — how to keep the student at the center of their teaching. That shocked me. I just thought we were, you know, picking the low hanging fruit here. So we need to coach faculty on how to do these things.

What R.O.I. implies is that money leads. That’s what’s driving everything, right? And it’s corporatizing the institution. There is great value in making sure that that the institution uses the tuition dollars and state dollars and philanthropy dollars in a responsible way. But not without leadership that guides the community in shared values, hopefully including the value of spending time with our students — which by the way, short of time for the faculty, costs nothing, right?

We need to ask the same questions that we force our students to ask themselves. Why are we here? What’s our purpose? The answers to these big questions translate into where the money flows and how we evaluate our performance. That can translate to large class sizes where students’ hearts are not engaging because you’re swimming in this water of R.O.I. and you’re being rewarded for efficiency. But I also say, from a very hopeful side, that these aren’t polar opposites here — that if you look at it from like a long game perspective, R.O.I. is very much connected to having students who come out courageous and well-spoken with communication skills, with great ideas to go up and take leadership positions. 

LW: What is the wellness environment the Coalition is looking at right now? Are there ways the Coalition could shift the conversation about wellbeing? Does it need to be shifted? 

AL: One of the more promising happenings in higher ed is that we’re seeing the language of wellbeing used much more frequently and at the drop of a hat. At the individual level, at the program level, at the institution level and national level. I am concerned that if we just run so fast with the wellbeing terminology, we don’t have a shared sense of what it means. But I’m so excited that the Coalition is trying to lasso that — to have some pillars that define wellbeing and how we measure it, assess it. I see this as incredibly positive. Our students recognize this, and what is so remarkable about these students is they are determined that their career is not going to take over their life. We never thought about those things in my generation, but they’re dogged about it, and fearless. 

LW: Tell me more about that. What are they fearless about?

AL: They are standing up for their life balance even while they’re speaking to their future employers. Here’s one example: At the University of Florida, we brought in guest speakers who were current C.E.O.s or former presidents, and students would raise their hand and ask, “Working in a national lab, tell me about what you did to promote life balance outside of work. What did you do to promote families?” One guest lecturer was the former C.E.O. of a major defense company and very traditional, and she just point blank looked at him and said, “There is no balance. If you love your work, there’s no balance.”

You should have seen the student essays writing reflections on what they heard. They excoriated that. They all wanted photos with her, but the essays were just like, “No, we’re not buying this.” The students are pressing towards a life with wellbeing, and they use terms like balance — in engineering even! Even the guys were saying, “I want to have children.” So we cannot deny this. Students lead the way, whether we admit it or not. It’ll be a very interesting clash of cultures, I think, but I find it hopeful because their force is going to be much more powerful in the end. It’s the the sum of the parts, not just a takeover.

I’m a mosaic artist, and every part has meaning in mosaic art. If you leave one out, you know it’s not there. In higher education, there is no one part that feels entirely responsible for the outcome of the student. We need to have a unifying leadership to say, “Your part is here; your part is here.” If it’s successful, we see students coming out as full, whole persons who felt like they belonged in college. That’s kind of what I’m mulling on: how to create this mosaic where every part matters and contributes.

LW: I love that metaphor. And a mosaic artist! Tell us more about yourself. What do you like to do in your free time?

AL: Well, my husband and I rescue greyhounds. Since 2000, we’ve adopted 10 former racing greyhounds, and we now have two, and they’re from Ireland. So, we’re dog people. 

I used to be a marathon runner, an ultra-marathon runner, and I still like to run, but I’m much more reasonable now, and diversified. I do a lot of gardening. And every day my hands get dirty. It’s a good balance.

I’m originally from South Carolina and still consider it my home. I’ve been in the South most of my life. I understand the South very well. Growing up in a very segregated state, I have been through many of the events that I worry are being hidden or veiled in our teaching. My hometown is Orangeburg, South Carolina, and, in 1968, I was a kid at the time of the Orangeburg Massacre on the campus of South Carolina State College [now University]. Going through a tragedy like the Massacre in such a small town becomes part of your identity, and depending on how parents were at the time, you came out of it with one perspective or another. Thank God my parents were very good at being open and transparent about what was happening at the time. 

My mom, who completed high school, grew up very poor on a farm, where her parents, with only a middle school education, were South Carolina tobacco sharecroppers. And so these are the salt of the earth kind of people. My dad went to college because of the G.I. Bill after World War II. In my childhood home, education was something that you don’t waste, and that shaped my whole way of thinking — that college was a privilege and you didn’t waste it.

I still feel this way. Education is a privilege, and this is all the more reason not only that students should not waste the opportunity but also that our institutions of higher education must deliver on their commitment to their students.

Posted in Q&A

Focus and Flourish

This spring, a few months after starting at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Jane Laurence deleted all her social media accounts.

For years, she’d tried different strategies to limit her screen time, including taking intermittent breaks from various apps. But her habits continued to be consuming and compulsive. When she finally managed to wipe the slate clean, she was stunned by the amount of time freed up on the other side. “It felt,” she said, “like quitting a part-time job.”

It’s no secret that college students around the country are struggling to reclaim their time from technologies powered by the ability to capture and retain people’s attention. What’s less clear is how or whether institutions might be able to intervene in this slippery “attention economy,” which appears to be threatening engagement not only in the classroom but, well, everywhere.

At U.N.C., a new initiative called Educating for the Virtues of Attention (EVA) has set out to be that intervention. Unlike typical digital detoxes, EVA is less about eliminating the distraction than it is centering what’s truly worthy of our attention. The goal is to help students reflect on their habits of attention and build more intentional ones through opportunities for deep in-person engagement across campus. 

Funded by a nearly $800,000 grant from the Educating Character Initiative at Wake Forest University, which supports character education efforts at colleges and universities nationwide, EVA is rooted in the idea that the ability to pay attention is a critical character virtue and one in need of cultivating now more than ever. 

An inconvenient virtue

Today, conversations about attention tend to center ideas about technology and productivity. But long before the invention of the smartphones or concerns about short-form media content, philosophers were thinking about human attention as a character virtue.

Long before the invention of the smartphones or concerns about short-form media content, philosophers were thinking about human attention as a character virtue.

Michael Vazquez is a teaching assistant professor in U.N.C.’s philosophy department and has been one of the leaders of EVA since its launch a year ago. He explained how the understandings of attention promoted by two particular 20th century philosophers, Simone Weil and Iris Murdoch, underpin EVA’s guiding principles.

“I think one way to put it is they [Weil and Murdoch] both think there’s a reality and a world that’s much bigger than us, and attending is a matter of seeing that reality as it really is — the reality of other people, the reality of the world, the natural world, and so on,” Vazquez said. 

In other words, to attend is to be more active participants in the world outside ourselves. And the more we attend, the more likely we are to become people who understand and care about that existence beyond us. 

Of course, the fickle thing about virtues is that they’re famously difficult to acquire, not to mention maintain. That pattern holds true when it comes to developing attentional habits, which requires leaving the safety of our controlled internal reality to confront a far less predictable and potentially less pleasant one beyond. 

“They’re comfortable illusions, they’re self-reinforcing, and they tend to be convenient,” Vazquez said of our inward tendencies. “It is awfully inconvenient to build attentional habits that make you susceptible to the reality of other people because that challenges your assumptions, your desires, your projects.”

Still, there’s a silver lining. Attending may demand more work than not, but the payoff can be quite satisfying for those who manage it, especially young people less accustomed to trying.

“It turns out if you just put the phones away and you have analog experiences with other people, whether you’re looking at art together or reading a book, you tend to feel pretty good about it,” Vazquez said. 

Perhaps a single in-person experience isn’t enough to make us virtuous right away, Vazquez added, but there are reassuring signs that it’s still the way to deeper feelings of purpose and meaning. That attending can improve not only the lives of others but our own is what he called “the icing on the cake.” 

Campus arteries

Vazquez described EVA programming as having three pillars: faculty and staff programming, student curricular programming, and student extracurricular programming. 

For faculty and staff, the main activity is communities of practice. These are opportunities for educators who apply to come together and discuss, as Vazquez put it, “the place of attention in the classroom.”

While the parameters of these conversations are left purposely broad, Vazquez said faculty veer towards using the forum to talk about how they’re seeing students struggle attentionally, as well as to workshop possible interventions.

“Does it seem like students are more distracted?” Vazquez said professors ask each other. “Does it seem like these technologies are not enabling or facilitating but actually inhibiting what happens in the classroom? Longform reading, is it on the decline?” 

EVA communities of practice unite faculty to discuss attentional issues in the classroom. Photo courtesy of Michael Vazquez

One particular community of practice is designated for the instructors of a class called College Thriving. All first-years at U.N.C. are required to take this one-credit, intro-to-college course, which offers resources and strategies for academic success and, especially, personal wellbeing.

College Thriving is also the junction where EVA’s work with faculty and staff bleeds into efforts to impact student curricula. A major goal of the instructors’ community of practice is to think about ways to incorporate lessons and exercises around attentional habits into the course content. 

Devon Almond, a U.N.C. advisor and College Thriving instructor, helps lead the community of practice for his colleagues. He said there’s no single, standardized way the instructors are meant to bring attention-minded content into their class, nor is any staff member who teaches the course forced to be part of the discussion group.

But attention practices are important to Almond, who came to U.N.C. after working in an alternative college setting that focused on contemplative practices like meditation. That background has made him attuned to the prevailing culture at Chapel Hill that prizes constant movement and pressure to be productive. 

“There’s all of this noise and activity and socialization and competitive scarcity that comes at the expense of recognizing the stillness, the silence, the solitude, and the slowness that gives rise to a steadfastness,” Almond said.

The buzz of a college campus can be exciting, Almond added, but he likes to use College Thriving as an opportunity to encourage students to slow down. He often hosts sessions outside the typical classroom, like at the campus museum or planetarium, where students can observe new spaces with time and intentionality that are rare for their packed daily schedules. “The campus is our canvas,” he said. 

Attending may demand more work than not, but the payoff can be quite satisfying for those who manage it, especially young people less accustomed to trying.

Other class activities include a deep listening exercise for students to do in pairs, where one talks for four minutes straight and the other cannot interrupt or contribute in any way — just listen. And at the start of every class, students place a tented card in front of them that lists not only their name but their hometown and a few of the class themes and larger world causes they care about most. 

“It’s attending — it’s caring — to who and what is in front of you as well as what’s within you and the environments and the settings that create that,” Almond said.

The most focal component of EVA, though, is the extracurricular one. This involves both creating and incentivizing opportunities across campus for students to engage deeply with each other and new spaces and activities. 

At this point, EVA has forged partnerships with most of the “major arteries” on campus, Vazquez said. Last year, the events ranged from a professional Shakespeare production at the performing arts center to a guided exhibition tour at the art museum to a reflective exercise in the botanical garden. 

EVA activities place students in new environments to pause and reflect. Photo courtesy of Michael Vazquez

The point isn’t just to get students to participate in activities. Each event also features what Vazquez calls additional “scaffolding” to ensure the students understand exactly how they’re practicing attentional habits and why they’re important.

“Because you can go to the orchestra and you can have an intentional experience and you may even grow in your attentional capacities in some way or other, but you might not be able to name it yet,” Vazquez said. “You might not be able to think of attention as a skill that you can develop until you’re given a vocabulary.”

As for getting students to show up, EVA has cultivated a few strategies. For one, EVA events are accredited with a program called Campus Life Experiences. These include a variety of events, from resume writing workshops at the career center to open mic nights with the music department, of which all new U.N.C. students need to complete a certain number each semester. 

In terms of more intrinsic incentives, Vazquez said the most important is ensuring the main EVA activity is fundamentally interesting to students. That appeal, he added, requires that events are always free of cost and, of course, involve some kind of food. 

Carolina Unplugged

Now coming up on its second year, EVA will continue to run the main programming it started in the first, as well as build out some additional projects.

One of these additions will be Carolina Unplugged, another community of practice-style forum that will bring together groups of students to try out or reflect on different attentional efforts that counter time on their phones. 

Right now, Vazquez plans for one cohort of students to agree to use Bricks, which are physical devices that attach to smartphones to block distracting apps, throughout the semester and meet weekly to discuss the impact.

Another group he has in mind would similarly gather weekly but instead engage in in-person activities, like cooking or reading, that simply allow them to be present in each other’s company.

Jane Laurence, the soon-to-be-sophomore who recently deleted all her social media apps, is looking forward to being involved in Carolina Unplugged and EVA broadly as a research associate. She will assist Vazquez and the larger EVA data collection team working to both determine the program’s impact on students who participate and analyze general trends in how people approach and build attentional habits.

“I don’t think that these platforms are going away, so how can we develop better relationships around them? What types of people can or can’t?” Laurence said of her research interests. “What’s the impact of a community that’s trying to have different types of conversations about social media usage?” 

Another student, Diya Kayaleh, is a rising junior who will help coordinate the Carolina Unplugged groups. She, too, is especially excited to see how even smaller cohort-based work can influence the larger student body.

“Okay, there’s this group of people on campus doing something with attention,” she imagines even uninvolved students will begin to think. “What kind of reflection does that call within me?”

Often, Kayaleh added, she thinks there’s a tendency to underestimate the value young people place on in-person experiences and their desire to be active and offline.

“We want to collect those experiences, and there’s no reason that we shouldn’t,” she said. “It’s not that we’re so fundamentally broken or far gone that we can’t. We absolutely can.”

You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at mames@learningwellmag.org with comments, ideas, or tips.

Inclusive Education 

In the spring of 2019, word reached the inmates at M.C.I.-Shirley, a medium security men’s prison in Shirley, Mass., that Boston College was starting a bachelor’s degree program inside the facility. 

The prospect seemed unlikely to Nurudeen Alabi, who had been incarcerated for more than a decade, beginning when he was 17. He was first acquainted with the carceral system even earlier as a child, and felt fairly confident he understood how it worked at this point. A bachelor’s degree, and certainly one from the likes of B.C., prestigious by any standards, was not in the cards for guys like him.

“Being somebody that’s incarcerated, you have limitations,” Alabi said. “You’re limited to what you’re capable of doing, even though you could possibly do more. Just being in that mindset, I never thought college was anywhere near my future.”

It’s this very narrative that B.C. aims to break down. The B.C. Prison Education Program (BCPEP) is designed to provide incarcerated people a second, or sometimes first, chance at recognizing and cultivating the value they still have to offer the world. Grounded in the university’s most central principles, Jesuit values, the initiative has quickly distinguished itself based on just how far it’s willing to go to affirm the humanity of those others would prefer to ignore. 

Degrees earned through BCPEP come with no asterisk. The students are considered B.C. students in full and promised the same level of rigor as their traditional peers. They take many of the same classes, taught by the same longstanding professors. What’s more, any students who complete their prison sentence before their studies are guaranteed to be able to continue their program, post-release, on B.C.’s main campus in Chestnut Hill, Mass. 

“By Boston College just going in there, offering not a certificate but a real degree, helping them to realize that they matter, we are taking care of the whole person,” said Sister Jeanmarie Gribaudo, a B.C. faculty member whom one colleague described as the “den mother” of BCPEP. “I think that this is like hand in glove with the Jesuit mission.” 

The director of BCPEP, Patrick Conway, took the helm in 2021 while wrapping up his doctorate at B.C. on prison education policy and practice. He knows how rare it is for an institution to commit to this work as deeply as B.C., which has rallied support from the highest levels of the administration, as well as faculty, staff, and students across schools and programs clamoring to participate. He’s currently fielding a waitlist of educators hoping to get involved.

“There is a desire to go into these spaces, and not be putting yourself above the students who are there, but recognize that there’s a mutuality and the learning process goes both ways,” Conway said. He, too, attributes this enthusiasm to the power of the Jesuit tradition at B.C. and its motto, “Being men and women for and with others.” “It’s more than a slogan,” he said. 

For Alabi, it would take becoming one of the first students in BCPEP to fully shake his skepticism. Among the nearly 100 who applied to the inaugural cohort, he was one of 16 admitted. By the fall of 2019, he found himself sitting in his first class, Russian literature, and understood quickly that the professions of academic rigor had not been exaggerated. 

Today, BCPEP is the largest provider of higher education in prison in Massachusetts. Since Alabi’s cohort, another five have followed, and the admissions process for a seventh is now underway. To apply, students must have a high school diploma or its equivalent, in addition to writing a personal essay, taking a reading analysis test, and completing an interview. This past semester, for the first time, the program expanded to a medium security women’s prison, M.C.I.-Framingham, in Framingham, Mass. 

Of the 110 total students BCPEP has admitted so far, both men and women, around 20 have been released and moved over to the Chestnut Hill campus to continue (or complete) their degrees. In 2022, after 15 years in prison, Alabi became the first BCPEP student to go free. In 2025, he was the first to walk at commencement on the outside. This spring, he started a new job at the New England Board of Higher Education advocating for prison education expansion across the region. 

Granting opportunity

The road of prison education in America has been far from linear. Policy, like public perception, has had a tendency to flip flop on the question of whether education, and especially higher education, is a right or a luxury, as well as who is deserving of either. Is incarceration for punishment or rehabilitation? 

In the early 70s, incarcerated people became eligible for Basic Educational Opportunities Grants, now known as Pell Grants, for the first time. They could receive federal financial aid to put towards a higher education without taking out a loan or risking debt. And as students found a way to pay, the number of prisons with degree-granting programs shot up, from 237 in 1976 to 772 in 1990.

The boom didn’t last long. By 1994, President Clinton was ushering in a new period of restriction, eliminating Pell-eligibility for the incarcerated once again. Then, like now, many wondered why criminals should receive for free the kind of education many more lawful, middle-class folk couldn’t afford themselves. Rehabilitation for those who have committed heinous offenses can be a hard pill to swallow, especially for victims and their families. Programs started to shutter, like in New York, where nearly 1,100 incarcerated people earned a college degree in 1991, compared to 141 in 2011. 

At the same time, evidence was mounting for the most prevalently cited justification for prison education: reduced recidivism (and, thus, saved tax dollars). In 2013, the RAND Corporation published the definitive study on the matter, estimating those who participate in education programs to be 43 percent less likely to recidivate. By 2016, an Obama-era pilot effort had reinstated Pell grants for the incarcerated enrolled in certain partner colleges, or “experimental sites.” Those partnerships expanded under Trump, and in 2023, the Biden administration oversaw the return of Pell-eligibility for inmates across the board.  

As BCPEP wasn’t among the Pell-supported “experimental sites” when it began in 2019, it relied on other funding. The primary donors were an anonymous couple, who had ties to B.C. and were already supporting the Bard Prison Initiative (BPI) out of Bard College, a longtime leader in the prison education space. The couple helped engineer a relationship between B.C. and BPI, still affiliated today, which gave way to the original launch of BCPEP. 

As it stands, support for BCPEP continues to come from a mix of sources, including the anonymous donors who started it all, along with other individual contributors, private grants, and state and federal funding. Though more difficult, being forced to be self-sustaining from the beginning may have ultimately been a blessing. Even now, federal support is helpful but not the difference between the program’s survival and collapse. 

Patrick Conway, the BCPEP director, offered another benefit of more involved fundraising: It requires a greater investment of time and resources from the university, which in turn reinforces its value for the initiative. That buy-in, he said, keeps BCPEP from “being perceived as a very peripheral program, rather than part of the core mission.”

‘They read everything’

On the walls of the classroom at M.C.I.-Shirley hang all manner of B.C. swag. Photos of campus are posted beside pennants beside a picture one BCPEP student drew of the B.C. eagle. 

“I told them the first day that this was like an embassy,” said Susan Roberts, a veteran of the B.C. English department now dedicated to teaching at BCPEP in her retirement. “In this room, this is Boston College.” 

At the embassy, students all pursue an applied liberal arts degree, which involves two key components: a traditional liberal arts curriculum, with classic subjects like English, history, philosophy, and theology; and a “professional core,” spanning courses in entrepreneurship, design thinking, and strategic leadership, to map the liberal arts skills onto modern work environments. There are also non-academic offerings, including an annual 5K, reflective retreat, and classical music concert series. Soon, for the first time in Massachusetts, BCPEP will facilitate paid internships, with salaries of $25 per hour, for two students to work for the Alliance for Higher Education in Prison from inside M.C.I.-Shirley.

To ease the transition to college, students tend to take two classes their first term. From there, they’re guaranteed at least three per semester. In total, nine to 11 courses run usually any given fall or spring, Conway said, along with another three to five over the summer. Though pacing varies, the typical time to graduate sits around four and a half years, he added.

As advertised, the courses at BCPEP closely resemble those offered on the main B.C. campus. In the past, Roberts has taught Studies in Poetry and Apocalypse Narratives. She, like other colleagues, described basing the content on classes she’d taught in Chestnut Hill, while making adjustments to appeal more to potential interests of an incarcerated population.

Many BCPEP teachers reported being nervous, or at least uncertain, to be teaching in a prison for the first time. In the end, they were universally impressed with what they found. Intellectually, they said, the BCPEP students are on par with their traditional peers. In terms of their eagerness, the inmates tend to be legions beyond the reference point.

“They read everything. Everything you give them, they read,” said Brian Harrington, a B.C. alumnus and the former chief marketing officer of Zipcar. Now teaching entrepreneurship at BCPEP, he often brings guests into class to talk about their successful careers. Uniformly, he said, they tell him his students are the most engaged of any they’ve addressed.

Part of the students’ dedication to their education, Harington imagines, stems from their having the time for it. At the very least, prison is boring, BCPEP teachers and students agree. The hunger to learn is wrapped up in a desire, and a need, for engagement and stimulation of any kind.

“I believe my class gives them agency in a place where hopes and dreams are crushed most days.”

Of course, there’s something deeper going on, too. “I believe my class gives them agency in a place where hopes and dreams are crushed most days,” Harrington said. Especially given the practical aspect of his course, where students develop their own idea for a business, they might begin to imagine the possibilities for a future after prison. 

Anthony Baye graduated from BCPEP this spring and was released from M.C.I.-Shirley a few weeks later. Despite being free now, he spoke to a universal way the program, and particularly its professors, lift up students, no matter the length of their sentence.

“It’s just the level of care and respect that we get from faculty that matters most to me,” Baye said. “In prison, you feel like nothing you really have to say matters; you’re always going to be a second-class person. But when you’re in B.C., they treat you no different.”

It will come as no surprise to know there are still plenty of challenges with teaching and learning in prison. When BCPEP began, students had no access to technology and handwrote all their assignments. While there are now laptops that include Microsoft apps and a modified version of JSTOR, basic gaps in digital tools or knowledge remain a barrier. It’s difficult, Harrington said for instance, to teach modern marketing to students who have never seen or used Google Reviews. 

Susan Roberts added that students’ lives outside the classroom may impede their academic progress. One of hers was recently forced to withdraw after a prolonged period in solitary confinement. Others have missed class or been pulled out early because their lawyers came to visit. A few weeks ago, she submitted final grades for two students who never handed in the last assignment; she didn’t know why not. “There’s a whole infrastructure of the prison that we have no access to, and no interaction with, that can be very interruptive,” she said.

Tensions between the inmates can present another point of concern. In the early days of BCPEP, Baye said, those not involved or admitted could seem resentful of those who were and accuse them of thinking they were above the rest. In general, Nurudeen Alabi said being a BCPEP student made him feel vulnerable among the other incarcerated because they knew he needed to stay out of trouble. He didn’t want to be perceived as weak; he also couldn’t do anything to risk his spot in the program.

Over time, though, both Baye and Alabi reported feeling like BCPEP spurred a broad culture shift at M.C.I.-Shirley for the better. For one, as Alabi mentioned, wanting to be or remain in the program encouraged good behavior. For another, as the program grew, more and more students brought their education outside the classroom, continuing those conversations, and sharing content with others. 

“It went from guys talking about selling drugs or doing dumb stuff to, ‘Yo, what did you get on that paper? Oh, I’m so excited to talk about X, Y, and Z next week,’” Baye said. “It just changed the conversation and the tone and the mood around camp.” 

“Guys were talking about doing the right things — positive stuff — as opposed to all the B.S. that got guys there in the first place.”

Eagles Bridging the Gap

When Alabi was released in 2022, he was free but not unburdened.

He struggled in the transition back to a life on the outside that had changed drastically since he’d last known it as a teenager. He needed to find employment and housing. He needed to learn to drive and figure out how to afford a car and then insure it. He needed to learn how to pay taxes. He needed to learn how to use Google. “That Google helped a lot,” he recalled, with a laugh.

When it came to his education, a whole other host of specific changes and challenges emerged. He was still discovering Google, let alone mastering the whirlwind of online tools commonly used in college classes today. He needed to create an email address. He needed to know how to submit assignments through Canvas and post on discussion boards and take online classes and tests and search for library books. 

As the first of BCPEP’s students to make it onto the Chestnut Hill campus, Alabi navigated reentry largely on his own. B.C. had yet to build much in the way of infrastructure to support students’ transition, so he enrolled in a program at nearby Tufts University specializing in just that. 

Alabi recalled his hesitance to take full advantage of B.C. opportunities, even as Conway encouraged him to do so. “He’d always say, ‘This is your campus, too. This is your campus, too,’” Alabi said. “And I never understood why he’s saying [that]. In my head, I’m like, ‘This is not my campus. I’m just a visitor. I’m lucky to be here.’”

The arrival of one more student from M.C.I.-Shirley opened up Alabi’s experience. With a partner by his side, he felt more at ease using various resources, like the dining hall or the library. He started attending B.C. events, likes sports matches. “If it’s interesting, I’m gonna go and be part of the program, be part of the school,” he said.

As more BCPEP students have made their way over to Chestnut Hill, the structures and community of support have grown as well. Alabi serves as a mentor and guide to other formerly incarcerated students. There is a course dedicated in part to easing their transition, along with a team of BCPEP staff organized to look out for the students and ensure they’re on track. “I honestly think that what we do on campus is just as transformative as what we’re doing on the inside,” Conway said.

Deepening relationships between BCPEP and traditional B.C. students has been a particular focus of late. Alabi is one of the founders of a student group called Eagles Bridging the Gap, designed to connect the two groups. He said it’s been gratifying to see others seek to broaden their understanding of what the formerly incarcerated are really like.

Sister Jeanmarie Gribaudo described how having insight into the incarcerated experience will help all B.C. students help the world. “The kids from Boston College, they’re extraordinarily academically gifted, and they need to know about these issues because they’re going to be the ones in boardrooms and everything else, where they can speak up and make a difference,” she said. 

You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at mames@learningwellmag.org with comments, ideas, or tips.

Mental Health is Personal Health 

The Steve Fund is a non-profit organization that promotes the mental health and emotional wellbeing of young people, particularly those from underserved and under-resourced communities. Since its seminal report in 2016, identifying and addressing the unique mental health issues of this student population, the Steve Fund has been helping colleges, universities, and high schools strengthen cultures of belonging and build systems of care that support all students. Their Excellence in Mental Health on Campus framework has been utilized at 66 colleges and universities in 23 states, reaching over 1.1 million students. 

Part of the Steve Fund’s contribution to the field of college student mental health comes from the participation of a national network of Mental Health Experts, one of whom is Dr. Rae Lundy, the chief psychologist and director of counseling at Georgia State University. In this first article in a new content partnership series with the Steve Fund, LearningWell interviews Dr. Lundy about how her growth as a clinician aligns with the changing needs of her Black and Brown students. From her lived experience to her expansive body of work, Dr. Lundy explains why a culturally responsible framework for mental health and wellbeing is critical to helping all students flourish.  

LW: Tell us about your professional journey and how that tracks with the changing needs of students, particularly those from underserved and under-resourced communities? 

RL: I am currently at Georgia State University in Atlanta. We have about 54,000 students on six campuses. I’ve been in the role of chief psychologist and director of counseling for three years, managing psychiatry and what’s called student victim assistance. For me, and for many of my colleagues, this is a calling. I love college students. They’re in that developmental space where their identities are emerging, and they are kind of crystallizing who they are. 

I completed my training at the University of Notre Dame, where I studied identity and race, looking at how one’s racial identity serves as a buffer against discrimination. That was part of my lived experience, and I took that knowledge into my work. My first role was actually at a counseling center at a large P.W.I. (predominantly white institution), the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. As the only Black psychologist in the counseling center, all Black and Brown students were referred to me, and it was apparent that what I had studied in school, I was seeing in real time in terms of the concerns students were experiencing. On top of anxiety and depression, they were also experiencing issues of belonging and how the intersectionality of their identities impacted their academic functioning. It was a great training ground for this work, so after staying there several years, I went to North Carolina Central University, which was the start of a long stretch of me working at H.B.C.U.s (historically Black colleges and universities).

At North Carolina Central University, I found, like many of my fellow administrators at H.B.C.U.s, that I was carrying like five roles. My students were experiencing distress related to a number of different concerns, including financial concerns. Many of them were first-generation college students,and I felt this overwhelming need to be everything and all things to them. I was working in the counseling center, doing confidential work, but I was also doing a lot of outreach, meeting students where they were. I was an advisor for a student group. And in doing all of those things, it felt like there was this need to support mental health in a way that the institutions at the time didn’t understand. It was about stigma, which is looked at very differently today. 

The main thing we were doing is to try to get folks to have conversations about mental health. I was doing confidential one-on-one individual counseling, but really what I discovered was that expressive therapies and unique ways of reaching students were a better way of getting them to process and be open to having deeper conversations about how they were feeling. I had some tremendous success with that. We had an increase of students coming to the center. We did what we called interpersonal process groups: So maybe they didn’t want to talk about a specific thing, but they knew they needed and wanted to be around someone like my colleagues and me. 

It got me thinking about this idea I now lean into called C.R.I. — compassion, reflection, and intention. I began to share with folks that it’s okay to acknowledge and be compassionate towards yourself. We’re all compassionate towards our friends. Why would you not give yourself the same attention? This idea of C.R.I. was a way for me to have mental health in all spaces. Oftentimes, in the mental health field, we are going to our therapist location, or now we’re meeting virtually. For many college students, we need to bring down this barrier around the conversation, which is what I was really passionate and excited about. 

LW: Why was this engagement work particularly important for students, particularly those from underserved and under-resourced communities?  

RL: There is research to support that help-seeking behaviors of students, particularly those from underserved and under-resourced communities, are often psychologically and negatively reinforced. There is a sense that one might be punished for asking for help — or that it is a sign of weakness. For Black and Brown communities, asking for help can reinforce the idea that you’re not as smart as others. Did you really get here on your own? One might see why it would be more challenging to ask for support.

“For those from underserved and under-resourced communities, there is a sense that one might be punished for asking for help — or that it is a sign of weakness.”

Or if you think about it, if a student is a first-generation college student, if most in their family havenever had this experience before, who do they ask for help from? That’s true of all support in college. If you’re a first-generation college student and you’re asking about what you need to do to register for classes or find additional funding, but your parents and your grandparents have never done that, that becomes a barrier and a burden that they might internalize as something they have to handle on their own, while not really knowing what resources to turn to. That is why organizations like the Steve Fund are actively seeking to present themselves as resources for these students. 

When you talk about belonging and identity, so much of that is connected to performance, self-care, and wellness, but in some communities, you haven’t been given permission to take care of yourself because your identity is wrapped up in how much you’re doing for others. What emotional wellbeingand mental health ask of us is to be introspective, to connect, and to see what is going on internally within ourselves. Many times, Black and Brown students either haven’t been given that space, or we haven’t held space for them to do that. Another issue is exceptionalism, this idea that you’re articulate — for a Black or Brown person — or you’re smart — for a Black or Brown person. And that’s a lot to carry. 

Some of the most prevalent challenges you see are around anxiety. And that’s true of college students in general. But anxiety and depression manifest differently for Black and Brown students. Oftentimes, it presents as an irritable mood or what could be misinterpreted as the angry Black or Brown person. My recommendation has been for folks to ensure that we are being culturally responsive and informed as we are doing this work so that we have a good sense of: How does this particular mental health outcome manifest or look differently in varying settings? And then if we think about the concept of privilege, who gets to have emotional responses? Who gets to be expressive?  And if we think about your earlier question, you asked whether it’s okay for me to ask for help; if it’s not, then it’s probably not okay for me to appear sad. It’s probably not okay for me to appear uncomfortable.

LW: I can imagine that all of this experience was useful when you actually created a college counseling center from scratch, correct? 

RL: Yes. I was approached by the president of a smaller H.B.C.U. — Wiley College at the time, now Wiley University — in Marshall, Texas. They didn’t have a counseling center or any substantive mental health services for their students. After visiting the institution, I fell in love with the campus, with the students, and I thought, “No student should go without mental health support.” I soon discovered that Wiley was not unique. It was like many smaller institutions that just didn’t have funding. In years past, institutions may have thought they had the option of not investing in mental health. This was before universities realized that mental health is directly connected to retention. For smaller schools, retention is directly related to keeping the doors open.   

Once the link between retention and mental health was established, we were able to have open conversations around mental health, acknowledging that it’s not an afterthought or a second, third, or fourth priority when you’re thinking about academic success. If a student is not emotionally well, they can’t show up and be present in class. With that in mind, I was able to advocate for the students. I was initially a counseling center of one, and then we grew to be a fully functioning center. When I left, we had three additional staff, a training program, and a broad range of services.  

I eventually brought the knowledge gained from Wiley with me to Georgia State. I moved here for personal reasons, to become a caregiver to my elderly father. It was so interesting to end up here,which is his alma mater. 

LW: What have you found to be some of the most effective strategies to deal with the unique mental health challenges of Black and Brown students? 

NL: I believe leaning into forms of therapy and support outside of one-to-one individual counseling is particularly effective — things like group counseling, outreach experiences, ambassadorships, and opportunities for connection in what we call third spaces. We are creating other spaces outside of the classroom, outside of one’s home, that become brave and safe spaces for people to simply be and discover themselves. 

Group counseling demystifies, or challenges, the idea that I’m alone in experiencing things. Also, Black and Brown students have historically come from what we would consider collectivist cultures; these are backgrounds where you might have two or three generations living in a home. And so this idea around mental health is not just one-to-one individual counseling but also group counseling, some of which reinforces what has felt safe and healing and connecting for them in spaces that were safe,healing, and connecting before they got to college or university.

“I believe leaning into forms of therapy and support outside of one-to-one individual counseling is particularly effective.”

And then we think of expressive therapies. Movement is a beautiful way to release emotions and connect to oneself. In expressive spaces, the emphasis is not just on what clients are verbally saying but also how they are emoting. We look at somatic interventions, which really connect to the body, which again connect back to this idea of cultures where many Black and Brown communities use movement as a way to express themselves. 

I think a lot about meeting students and clients where they are. They may not be ready for traditional forms of treatment, but they are often on TikTok. Some of that information isn’t always accurate, but what if we have licensed, competent individuals who share it and can provide meaningful content onwellness strategies and wellbeing interventions? When this happens, students have agency to take in information in ways that are digestible for them. It’s true we have standardized, evidence-based treatments and a certain language within the mental health field, but by not engaging on platforms like TikTok, we miss a subset of the population in need of care, and often that population includes our Black and Brown students.

LW: That brings me to my next question. You are about to launch a new passion project, which is an app developed specifically for individuals of color. What is that all about?  

It’s called Amelia Sage, a wellbeing app for women of color. Amelia Sage combines artificial intelligence with the oversight of licensed clinicians. There will be wellness plans and daily interactions for participants to experience. And the app’s goal is to promote flourishing. I’ve been in the weeds recently, defining what it means to be well and recognizing that wellness is not without itschallenges. The work is grounded heavily in the dimensions of wellness. We look at social, intellectual, financial, and all areas of wellbeing; and within that framework, we promote whole wellbeing. We are currently finalizing details for a 14-day mental health wellness plan, and a primary goal is to share it with college students.  

All of this connects back to what the Steve Fund does by putting information and resources readily available at students’ fingertips. For good, bad, right, wrong, or indifferent — everything is at their fingertips. And so we want to make sure that what they are engaging with and really internalizing is information that’s going to help them be well and flourish.

You can reach LearningWell Editor Marjorie Malpiede at mmalpiede@learningwellmag.org with comments, ideas, or tips.

Posted in Q&A

Putting the Student in Student Affairs with George Abalekpor

On this episode of LearningWell Radio, George Abalekpor, a Georgetown graduate from the class of 2024, reflects on his experience over the last two years working inside the administration at his alma mater. As a Hoya Fellow, he has used his firsthand experience and insights into the Georgetown student experience to help guide the Division of Student Affairs.

In particular, Abalekpor has been focused on efforts and issues around student thriving. With LearningWell, he discusses some of the pressing concerns and potential solutions in this area, with an emphasis on the role of Hoya Fellows in bridging gaps between students and staff.

Listen now on Spotify or Apple Podcasts.

You can reach LearningWell Reporter Mollie Ames at mames@learningwellmag.org with comments, ideas, or tips.