Crossing the Cafeteria

We’re ready to rewrite the narrative.

Our last post ended by saying we were sitting with some discomfort. We’re now done wallowing and ready to talk about what to do next.

In “Hall of Mirrors,” we made the case that we’ve been telling a story that isn’t supported by the evidence. It was about credentials as an equity play, bachelor’s degrees as risky, and “alternative pathways” as expanding opportunity. We got some lovely responses, and also some pointed ones. (We read everything. We remain unpersuaded. But we’re eager to keep talking to the people who pushed back hardest.)

The point was not to create a permanent state of discomfort; it was to take a step toward crafting a better narrative.

Because if the story we’ve been telling is wrong, then we need to revise it. That’s going to require us to understand how the old story got written in the first place, to rethink the design of pathways, and to consider who’s been left out of our coalition.

So that’s what this post is about. We have three chapters for you. The first is a selective and opinionated history of how we ended up here. The second offers an expanded vision for pathways. And the third introduces some new friends we think the pathways movement needs to make. (Yes, we’re being literal. We’re going to name names, or at least sectors.) Let’s start rewriting.

Chapter One: In Which We Recount a Very Short History of Some Important Things

Here’s the thing about the story we’ve been telling: it wasn’t just wrong, it was also utterly lacking in originality. (And yeah, that’s in spite of all of our claims about innovation.) Versions of that story have been shaping education systems in the U.S. for more than a century.

The pattern that shows up when you click through the timeline is what sociologists call “educationalization.” That’s the tendency to take problems that are fundamentally economic or political in nature and reframe them as problems to be solved through education. Wages are flat? Workers need more credentials. Employers aren’t hiring? Workers must lack the right skills. Income inequality is growing? People need more education so they can get better jobs. The solution is always more and different education. This is a cycle that’s been repeating for more than a century, and it’s informed many of the core concerns of the pathways movement.

Beyond what it tells us about educationalization, this history could provide fodder for approximately seventeen more blog posts. (Subscribe now! Operators are standing by.) For now, three threads that the timeline can’t fully capture and that are still pulling at us today:

1. The tension between youth development and career preparation that we’ve been talking about is far from new.

Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. Du Bois had this very debate at the turn of the twentieth century. Washington, who founded and led the Tuskegee Institute, which focused on what was then called “industrial education,” saw pathways to economic opportunity as a pragmatic strategy for addressing Black Americans’ critical need to gain a foothold in an economy that systematically excluded them. Du Bois argued that Washington’s vision for industrial education threatened to reinforce racial inequities by putting a ceiling on Black Americans’ aspirations. Instead, he advocated for higher education, at least for the “Talented Tenth,” with an emphasis on the liberal arts, which he viewed as the best avenue for achieving increased political power and civil rights. This was a debate that was not simply about curriculum or philosophies of education. It took place against the backdrop of an education system that served as a tool to reinforce second-class citizenship for Black Americans, and was, at its core, about different visions for securing economic opportunity, citizenship, and power in a system designed to deny them.

About a decade after Washington and Du Bois debated the role of education in advancing racial equity, John Dewey and David Snedden had a related debate, this one focused on the intersecting issue of class. Snedden, Massachusetts’ first state commissioner of education, argued that education should respond to economic needs by training “the rank and file” to be efficient “producers.” Dewey, a philosopher and education reformer, argued for an approach to education that develops the whole person and doesn’t separate vocational education from the liberal arts. (Remember that point about not separating the two. We’ll come back to it in just a bit.) Snedden won. Not because his arguments were better, but because his message about utility and efficiency resonated in an era when major corporations had outsized economic and political influence. The Smith-Hughes Act of 1917, which established federal funding for vocational education, institutionalized Snedden’s ideas with the backing of a broad coalition of advocates.

Even as we say the pathways movement is building something new, we’re working within a tradition that has been sorting young people—by race and by perceived economic function—for more than a century.

Same As It Ever Was — Normal Gets Us Nowhere, Blog 6

2. Embracing career-focused education created a credential race.

By pushing demand both upward and sideways, credentialism contributes to what we’re calling “credential inequality,” a phenomenon that parallels income inequality—both conceptually and in terms of real economic outcomes. If we center pathways strategies on credential and degree attainment, we’re setting up a race we cannot win.

Designing education around economic needs has a predictable result: credentialism, a pattern in which the competitive advantage of any given credential, including degrees, erodes as more people obtain them. That’s because, in a labor-market context, credentials are what social scientists refer to as positional goods, meaning that their economic value hinges on the fact that only some people have them. (Those of us who are not social scientists might just call them status symbols.) If everyone has a given degree or credential, it’s no longer useful as a way of distinguishing oneself in the eyes of employers, so it loses value.

Credentialism matters because of the way it creates a seemingly endless expansion of degrees and credentials while constantly changing the rules of the game. As more people earn a given credential, they exert upward pressure on the credentialing ecosystem so that a different, more-difficult-to-attain credential becomes required in place of the one that’s become common. Credentialism explains why, in the 1950s, when just over a third of Americans had a high school diploma, that diploma opened doors to jobs that paid family-sustaining wages—and why, now that 92% of Americans are high school graduates, more than 80% of good jobs require postsecondary education. The upward spiral is a slow process, but very real.

And it exists alongside a much faster-moving dynamic: a market response to increased demand that rapidly expands the number of credentials on offer while promising to make credential attainment easier. Remember those 1.5 million sub-baccalaureate credentials we talked about in our last post? Yeah. And what’s more, sociologist Tressie McMillan Cottom has documented how the “credential gospel” makes the pursuit of credentials of dubious value seem like a rational choice and encourages people—especially those far from opportunity—to attain those credentials, including through enrollment in programs offered by predatory institutions, particularly for-profits.

By pushing demand both upward and sideways, credentialism contributes to what we’re calling “credential inequality,” a phenomenon that parallels income inequality—both conceptually and in terms of real economic outcomes. If we center pathways strategies on credential and degree attainment, we’re setting up a race we cannot win.

3. Just when those who had been excluded from higher education started to gain meaningful access, public investment waned.

We’re finding this one hard to unsee now that we’ve seen it. Essentially, in the 1970s, the promise of higher education both expanded and contracted at the same time. The rights movements of the 1960s and 70s fought for and won access to institutions of higher education that had long been exclusionary. Their victories drove legal and systemic changes, including the growth of affirmative action policies in higher education and the passage of Title IX. Women’s undergraduate enrollment surpassed men’s in the late 1970s, and the number of undergraduates of color roughly doubled between 1976 and 1990.

Increasing access coincided with decreasing public investment in higher education. States’ commitment to funding higher education began to erode in the 1970s, with each subsequent recession producing steeper funding cuts. The country’s largest public higher education system, the California community colleges, which had been tuition-free since its creation, began charging students in 1984. At the federal

level, the 1972 reauthorization of the Higher Education Act (in the very same legislation that included Title IX) shifted federal student aid from grants to institutions to loans to individual students, helping to reframe higher education as an individual responsibility and consumer marketplace instead of as a public good. Since the mid 1970s, loans have increased from 20% to 60% of federal student aid.

In other words, those who fought for access to higher education arrived on campus just as the conditions that made that access meaningful were pulled away. It’s a dynamic that contributed to the “is college worth it?” debate playing out today. The federal shift from grants to loans was a major contributor to the issues of cost and debt behind much of that debate. And research has documented what looks a lot like white flight in higher education: as enrollment of students of color increases at an institution, enrollment of white students declines. We know from labor market research that when women enter professional fields in large numbers, the work remains the same, but those jobs are devalued and pay drops; it’s not hard to imagine a similar dynamic at play in perceptions of higher education. Together, these things set the stage for a cultural backlash against higher education that the pathways movement didn’t create, but has responded to and, in some ways, amplified.

These three threads aren’t just historical footnotes. Debates about who deserves what kind of education, growing credential inequality, and the deliberate contraction of public investment in higher education just as its doors opened wider are all foundational to the story we’ve been telling. Which means the new narrative has to start from a different place entirely.

Chapter 2: In Which We Reconsider What We’re Actually Doing (and Why)

Here’s a shocking revelation: we work in education because we believe in education. We believe that people learn important things in high school and college. We believe that some of those things—about history, literature, science, art, ethics, how to argue, how to listen—have value that can’t be reduced to a line on a resume. We believe that opportunities to explore, build relationships, wrestle with new ideas, collaborate with people different from oneself, and cultivate a sense of purpose matter. We’re reasonably confident that we’re not the only people in the pathways movement who chose to work in education because we believe in it.

So it might seem a little strange that we’ve spent so much of our time advocating for strategies that implicitly suggest education is an inconvenience standing between young people and jobs. Short-term credentials focus on building and assessing technical skills as quickly as possible to accelerate career entry. Stackable credentials attempt to modularize education into a series of discrete transactions, each with measurable labor-market value. Our strategies are the logical outcome of a conceptual framework centered on education’s economic value.

We think it’s time to rebuild our strategies so they reflect our beliefs. The question isn’t whether education should prepare people for careers; that’s always been one of its goals. For example, medieval universities taught logic, rhetoric, geometry, astronomy, and music theory—and they taught theology and law to prepare people for careers. (This is the part of the blog where Kyle wanted to add a lengthy digression about why guilds bring him joy. Charlotte put her foot down.) Those universities were among the most elite institutions of their time. That tradition survived, but we don’t call it vocational education.

When the pathways movement talks about career-connected learning, we’re almost always talking about the other kind of vocational education: the stripped-down version that prioritizes efficiency over exploration and uses language about ROI to insist that the young people furthest from opportunity need to finish their educations and get jobs as quickly as possible.

This is where our old friend John Dewey from Chapter One comes back into the narrative. Dewey argued that you can’t separate vocational and liberal arts education without creating the conditions for what he called “social predestination.” Our current elite version of career-focused education avoids exactly the separation Dewey warned against. Law school, medical school, Ph.D. programs: all have an explicit vocational focus, all require bachelor’s degrees that include a grounding in the liberal arts, and all integrate broad intellectual formation—medical ethics, legal reasoning—alongside career preparation. Nobody stripped the liberal arts out of the pathway to becoming a doctor or lawyer. But when the pathways movement talks about career-connected learning, we’re almost always talking about the other kind of vocational education: the stripped-down version that prioritizes efficiency over exploration and uses language about ROI to insist that the young people furthest from opportunity need to finish their educations and get jobs as quickly as possible.

The debate isn’t about vocational education versus liberal arts (or the closely related false choice between credentials and bachelor’s degrees). It’s about who gets the version that includes both and who gets left out.

What might it look like in practice to build pathways that have a dual focus on career preparation and developing the whole person? We don’t have a playbook, but we do have an outline:

Real bachelor’s degree options baked into the design of pathways. Bachelor’s degrees need to be a real choice available to all who want them. The evidence for their value makes this non-negotiable. The young people being steered toward “alternatives” are disproportionately those for whom degree access matters most. This doesn’t mean defaulting to an assumption that all young people will pursue bachelor’s degrees immediately after high school. A young person might go straight to a four-year institution, or earn a credential, or work for a few years, and then pursue a degree. Someone else might start with a bachelor’s degree and add a technical credential later. The point is that the pathway to a degree stays open—at age 18, at 25, and at 35—and that earlier choices don’t foreclose later ones. This doesn’t mean every young person should get a bachelor’s degree. It means every young person should be able to.
Credentials that function as waypoints, not endpoints. If a credential doesn’t stack, doesn’t transfer, and doesn’t provide a meaningful earnings boost, then it’s not a waypoint or a good first step. It’s a dead end with better marketing. Stackability should be a condition of public investment (as it is in Workforce Pell). If a credential doesn’t demonstrably lead somewhere, then it doesn’t deserve public funding or a place in the pathways we build.
Exploration that is a core part of career preparation, not a luxury. We’ve talked before about how linear pathways can narrow choice and pressure young people to make early decisions. That’s both developmentally inappropriate and, frankly, bad design. What we’re talking about is something different from navigation supports that help young people make their way through existing systems more efficiently. Exploration, mentorship, exposure to different fields and ways of working, and the space to change one’s mind are not inefficiencies that we should try to streamline or smooth out. Pathways that prioritize youth development have to make room for young people to try things (yes, even if they turn out to be wrong) and change their minds without falling behind. In other words, our strategies should treat the messy process of growing up as the point, not as a problem.
Career-connected learning that recognizes young people aren’t simply workers in waiting. There is nothing about a pathway that requires it to be purely instrumental. Health sciences pathways can include bioethics and community health advocacy. An HVAC or manufacturing pathway can include labor history. An IT pathway can include critical analysis of AI governance and safety issues. In short, all pathways could include the kind of career-connected learning that is already a feature of elite vocational education. This kind of integration shouldn’t imply a bachelor’s or graduate degree program—it can and should be part of career-connected learning at the high school and sub-baccalaureate levels, too. That’s part of how we build pathways true to this expanded vision without defaulting to “bachelor’s degrees for everyone.” And to be clear: the point here is not to reduce the humanities and liberal arts to an avenue for cultivating the durable skills that employers want. The point is to support broad intellectual formation and the development of critical consciousness.
Measurement that’s focused on outcomes that matter. Our old story measured success by credential completion rates, enrollment numbers, and first-job placement. Those metrics reflected back the story we wanted to see in the funhouse mirror. If we’re serious about a new narrative, we need data and accountability systems that ask different questions. Do credentials stack in practice or just on paper? Do transfer pathways lead to bachelor’s degree completion? Are outcomes equitable? Are young people reporting that they had real choices, real information, and the ability to change course? We don’t have all the answers to these questions yet—and the pathways metrics we’ve been using aren’t even asking them.

Chapter One was about how other people’s interests shaped what we’ve built. The design principles here are about what it would look like to build based on what we actually believe—and based on what young people need.

Chapter 3: In Which We Seek New Friends

An expanded vision for pathways adds up to a pretty complex design challenge. The good news is that we’re not the only ones thinking this way, so we don’t have to tackle the challenge alone or start from scratch. The Commission on Purposeful Pathways—a group of national pathways leaders—recently called for pathways that intentionally cultivate purpose, belonging, and social capital. This is a real shift for the pathways movement that’s aligned with the arguments we’ve been making throughout this blog series. But this vision won’t implement itself. Building pathways that develop the whole person, not just the worker, will require us to work in new ways with new partners.

There are many people and organizations already working on various parts of the design challenge. This would be an excellent time for us to (finally) listen to our own refrain about how pathways shouldn’t be

Adding new voices and perspectives to the national pathways coalition can help us break out of limiting historical patterns and envision new strategies.

an add-on or an exercise in reinventing wheels, but should instead align and leverage existing work across systems and silos. We’re not proposing to just tack new ideas onto existing structures. We’re proposing a redesign that incorporates proven strategies from across fields like youth development, college access, and postsecondary reform.

Our longtime friends in the pathways movement—K-12 districts, community colleges, workforce development boards, intermediaries, employers—have already built a lot of important strategies and infrastructure that are still very much needed. But the pathways movement has also built some things that haven’t worked the way we hoped they would. Adding new voices and perspectives to the national pathways coalition can help us break out of limiting historical patterns and envision new strategies.

It’s time to make some new friends. Here are some of the perspectives we think need to be part of the conversation—starting, as we’ve proposed before, with young people themselves.

Young people and youth development experts

Why we should be friends: Young people have a lot to say about their aspirations for their own futures and what thriving means to them—but we’ve been slow to ask, and our questions haven’t always been the right ones. Developmental science has a lot to say about how young people grow, learn, make decisions, and build identities, but we haven’t often tapped into that expertise when designing pathways. If we’re serious about designing pathways aligned to the needs of young people, then we need to learn from the people who know what that requires.

Why we aren’t already friends: We talk about young people constantly and have been diligently designing what we think will work for them (and employers), but have rarely designed pathways with them. And our focus on labor-market information and employer input has overshadowed other important design inputs. That’s left us largely disconnected from the experts in youth development and the science of adolescence, community-based youth organizations, and youth organizing groups whose work should be informing ours.

What we could do if we hung out together: We could build youth advisory structures so young people have real seats at the table instead of just offering youth token representation when we need to put together a conference panel. We could look to insights from developmental scientists to shape pathways design the same way we currently use the expertise of labor economists. We could integrate youth-serving community-based organizations as core pathways partners, not afterthoughts.

College access organizations

Why we should be friends: They’ve spent decades directly tackling the problem we’ve been building a detour around: getting students to and through a full range of postsecondary options that includes bachelor’s degrees. They know what the barriers are—and have a set of strategies to address them. They’ve built advising infrastructure, financial aid navigation support, and near-peer mentoring models.

Why we aren’t already friends: Different funding streams, different conferences, and different vocabularies. We’ve been talking about industry-recognized credentials and youth apprenticeships while they’ve been talking about FAFSA completion and summer melt.

What we could do if we hung out together: Pathways leaders could partner with college access organizations to intentionally embed proven college access strategies in pathways designs. We could develop advising models that help young people understand the risks and benefits of both credential and degree options. We could jointly advocate for the funding and policy changes needed to make bachelor’s degrees more accessible.

Baccalaureate-granting colleges and universities (yes, including the selective ones)

Why we should be friends: We can’t write a story that includes pathways to bachelor’s degrees without the institutions that grant them. Public four-year institutions—including many open-access institutions—enroll a larger number of undergraduates than any other type of postsecondary institution. It’s a little odd that we’ve been talking about college readiness and not talking to the institutions where a plurality of students enroll. And if selective institutions aren’t part of our work, we’re tacitly accepting that they’ll remain the province of the privileged: students from the top one percent of families by income are 77 times more likely to attend elite colleges than students from the bottom 20 percent.

Why we aren’t already friends: The old version of our story said that what they have to offer is scary and out of reach. Our “alternative pathways” strategies have been trying to build something that allows us to avoid them.

What we could do if we hung out together: We could fully engage these institutions as postsecondary partners in pathways design conversations. We could collaborate with them to map pathway programs of study that lead to and through bachelor’s degrees as well as credentials and to create strategic dual enrollment options that enable young people to earn college credit that counts toward bachelor’s degrees. And we could partner directly with baccalaureate-granting institutions in the design and implementation of the pathways-aligned models many are already working on, or we could join collaborative efforts such as the University Innovation Alliance, which is already engaging a coalition of public universities. Meanwhile, highly selective private institutions are also building impressive models that suggest entry points for engagement: NYU’s School of Professional Studies, Boston College’s Messina College, Brandeis University’s career-connected approach to the liberal arts—but we need far more, and the pathways field should be actively cultivating them, offering our support, and sharing the knowledge we’ve built over years of doing this work. and

College affordability and public reinvestment advocates

Why we should be friends: If we’re committed to equitable pathways strategies that truly put all postsecondary options on the table, then we need to address the affordability problem, which is more solvable than our narrative suggested, especially if we work in coalition with the experts on the topic. Net tuition at public institutions has been declining. States are reinvesting, and college promise programs already exist at some level in all 50 states. Almost 1,000 colleges, including both public institutions and selective private ones, now offer free tuition based on family income, and the number continues to grow. The question isn’t whether college can be made more affordable. It’s whether we’re going to help make it happen.

Why we aren’t already friends: We’ve treated the cost of bachelor’s degrees as a permanent barrier. That’s understandable—it’s a real challenge, and the political path to addressing it is hard. But it also means we’ve been advocating for the investment of billions of dollars in credential infrastructure while an entirely separate movement has been working to bring down cost barriers to the postsecondary options with the strongest evidence base. The two efforts should be reinforcing each other instead of operating in parallel.

What we could do if we hung out together: Pathways leaders could join college affordability advocacy coalitions. State pathways strategies and policy agendas could include public reinvestment as a core component of pathways work. Credential quality frameworks could account for the comparative cost of credentials versus the degrees they’re offering alternatives to.

Postsecondary reform leaders, including those focused on guided pathways, transfer, college completion, and student success

Why we should be friends: Getting students to college is only half the problem. Once they’re there, they need support to ensure they succeed, and many postsecondary systems and institutions are still working to build systems that support students. If credentials and associate’s degrees don’t actually connect to bachelor’s degrees (in practice, not just in theory), then pathways will continue to have dead ends. Yet the proportion of transfer students who successfully complete bachelor’s degrees remains stubbornly low. Learners land in applied workforce programs that don’t connect to further education. Advising systems aren’t built to help students navigate across institutional boundaries. And the interventions that have the strongest evidence—like structured programs of study, intensive advising, simplified pathways to completion—are still the exception rather than the norm. As is this case for college access, there are multiple major national conversations and movements already focused on these issues—and they’ve built and are working to scale proven strategies. But much remains to be done, and the pathways movement can support this work while learning from it.

Why we aren’t already friends: These movements live primarily inside postsecondary systems, while the pathways movement has tended to focus on what happens within high schools more than on what happens within colleges. Postsecondary partners are often at the pathways table primarily as “dual enrollment providers.” The postsecondary reform movement has been constrained by the divide between the “academic” and “workforce” sides of community colleges and has tended to focus on the academic side, while it is often postsecondary leaders on the workforce side who are most closely connected to the pathways movement. In other words, we’ve been working on adjacent pieces of the same puzzle with remarkably little coordination.

What we could do if we hung out together: We could develop transfer and articulation agreements and strategies that ensure all credits earned through dual enrollment count toward programs of study with the potential to lead to bachelor’s degrees. We could align education-to-career pathway design with guided pathways structures inside community colleges to create a seamless student experience. We could jointly work to scale the student support and completion infrastructure (e.g., CUNY ASAP, Unlocking Opportunity, Achieving the Dream, the Student Basic Needs Coalition) that the evidence says works—particularly for the learners furthest from opportunity.

Civic educators, advocates for humanities education, and democratic engagement organizations

Why we should be friends: Our rewritten narrative is about pathways that develop the whole person instead of focusing on narrow technical skills. That’s easier to say than do. Civic education organizations, humanities and liberal arts advocates, service-learning networks, democratic engagement groups, and others have deep expertise in the kinds of learning that foster critical consciousness and broad intellectual formation and that we’ve been arguing need to be intentionally integrated into pathways.

Why we aren’t already friends: We’ve viewed civic and humanistic education as outside our scope. We do career preparation; other people do the other stuff. The economic frame we’ve been using for pathways made this seem like a natural division of labor—and reinforced a false binary.

What we could do if we hung out together: We could co-develop curricula that embed ethical reasoning, civic engagement, and critical analysis within career contexts, not as standalone add-ons but as core content. We could build program quality frameworks that measure developmental and civic outcomes alongside economic ones. We could jointly support pathways-focused educators who want to teach this content, but haven’t been trained to do it.

That’s a lot of new friends (especially for the introverts among us). But some pathways leaders have already crossed the cafeteria. They’ve been building relationships for years with college access organizations, four-year institutions, community-based youth organizations, and others. Their experience is an asset, and we should elevate it and learn from what’s worked and what hasn’t rather than starting every new partnership from scratch. We don’t think all of these new friendships will emerge overnight, and we don’t have all of the answers about what they should look like or what we’re going to do when we hang out together. But we’re convinced that we need new co-authors for our rewritten narrative.

That’s a lot of new friends (especially for the introverts among us). But some pathways leaders have already crossed the cafeteria. They’ve been building relationships for years with college access organizations, four-year institutions, community-based youth organizations, and others. Their experience is an asset, and we should elevate their experience and learn from what’s worked and what hasn’t rather than starting every new partnership from scratch. We don’t think all of these new friendships will emerge overnight, and we don’t have all of the answers about what they should look like or what we’re going to do when we hang out together. But we’re convinced that we need new co-authors for our rewritten narrative.

Epilogue: In Which the Authors Request Your Assistance

Wanna be our friend?

We’ve heard you have to put yourself out there to make new friends. So here we are. If you’re a potential new friend—or an old friend who wants to talk about what the new narrative means for your work—we’d love to chit chat. You can schedule time to hang out with us whenever it’s convenient for you.

The old story had a good run. It was built on the genuine conviction that young people deserved better economic opportunities and that education could help make them real. That conviction hasn’t changed. What has changed is our understanding of what acting on our convictions looks like.

The new narrative will be messier and more complicated than the old story. It’ll involve more characters and more tension, with fewer tidy resolutions. It will also be more equitable and more likely to lead somewhere worth going.

It starts from something we already believe: education develops capable, critical, engaged human beings, and career preparation, done well, has always been part of that larger project. The old story served some interests well—just not young people’s.

This post is part of All4Ed’s Normal Gets Us Nowhere series, which seeks to ask hard questions, spotlight fresh data and thinking, challenge longstanding assumptions, and offer new approaches that go beyond tinkering in order to contribute to the development of the next generation of pathways strategies. We don’t have all the answers about the right approach, and we are committed to working with both long-time pathways leaders and those new to the conversation to identify and test new ideas and strategies. If you’re working to build better pathways systems, we’d love to learn more and think about how we can work together, so please get in touch! 

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