America’s educators are being priced out of their communities − these cities are building subsidized teacher housing to lure them back

Jeff Kruth, Miami University and Tammy Schwartz, Miami University For much of the 20th century, teaching was a stable, middle-class job in the U.S. Now it’s becoming a lot harder to survive on a teacher’s salary: Wages have been stagnant for decades, according to a study from the Economic Policy Institute, and teachers earn 5% less than they did a decade ago when adjusting for inflation. That’s one reason why there’s a widespread teacher shortage, with tens of thousands of positions going unfilled. At the same time, according to a 2022 report from the Annenberg Institute at Brown University, there are more than 160,000 underqualified teachers in the classroom, meaning they don’t meet full certification or credentialing standards. This issue has become particularly acute as housing costs have risen sharply across the country over the past decade. Why become a teacher if it means you’ll struggle to put a roof over your head? In response, many states and cities, from California to Cincinnati, are exploring ways to attract and retain teachers by developing education workforce housing – affordable housing built specifically for public school teachers and staff to make it easier for them to live near where they work. In doing so, they seek to address aspects of both the teacher shortage and housing crisis.

Fertile land for housing

As professors of architecture and education and as directors of an urban teaching program at Miami University in Ohio, we work to make it easier for students to pursue teaching careers – and that includes addressing affordable housing issues in communities where they work. A key element of this work involves collaborating with local education agencies to either build, subsidize or find housing for teachers. Local education agencies are tasked with the administrative functions of a school district, and they often own large tracts of land. This land can be used to build new school buildings or community health clinics. But it can also be used to build housing – a particularly attractive option in cities where land can be scarce and expensive. California has been at the forefront of these efforts. The state’s school districts own more than 75,000 acres of potentially developable land. Meanwhile, more than one-third of the state’s public school employees are rent-burdened, meaning they spend more than 30% of their income on housing costs. California’s Teacher Housing Act of 2016 set up a framework for local education agencies to build and develop housing on their land. Since then, education workforce housing complexes have been developed across the state, ranging from San Francisco’s Shirley Chisolm Village to 705 Serramonte in Daly City, California.

The nuts and bolts of education workforce housing vary. It can be financed by traditional sources, such as private philanthropy and government funds. But it can also be funded through financial tools such as certificates of participation, which allow outside investors to provide funding up front and later receive a return on their investment through rental income. In some cases, teachers are offered reduced rents for just a few years as they start their careers. In others, they’re given the opportunity to purchase their home. Third party management companies often oversee the projects, since local education agencies usually aren’t interested in property management. This also reduces the potential for any direct disputes between employer and employee. Many programs require only that residents be employees of the school district when they enter the program, meaning if someone leaves their job, they will not be displaced. In April 2025, UCLA’s CITYLab and the Center for Cities and Schools published a study highlighting some of the benefits and challenges of nine educator workforce housing projects built in California. The complexes ranged in size, from 18 to 141 dwelling units, with heights that ranged from two to six stories. The researchers found that tenants were largely satisfied with their living situations: They paid rents at far below market rate, and they praised the apartment design. They also highlighted their shorter commutes.

From tiny homes to factory conversions

Since 2020, educator housing has been proposed or developed in Arkansas, Colorado, Florida, Nevada and South Carolina. In Fort Stockton, a small, rural town in West Texas, the school district bought a motel in 2022 and converted it into teacher housing. In Arizona, the Chino Valley Unified School District built tiny homes for its teachers in 2023, renting them at US$550 per month.

In Baltimore, more than 775 teachers have recently been housed thanks to initiatives such as the Union Mill project, an 86,000-square-foot historic building converted into teacher apartments that range in price from $700 to $1200 per month. Teacher housing does more than give educators an affordable place to live. It can forge lasting relationships. A recent assessment of teacher housing in Los Angeles found that the community spaces and programs offered on site strengthened bonds among the residents, leading to friendships and working relationships that lasted for years.

Building community in and out of the classroom

Here in Cincinnati, our own graduates now working in schools also benefit from affordable housing options. Through a partnership between Miami University and St. Francis Seraph, early career teachers from our TEACh and Urban Cohort programs have access to affordable housing. In 2024, the Archdiocese of Cincinnati converted an old church property in Cincinnati’s Over-the-Rhine neighborhood into teacher apartments, which recent graduates can rent at a reduced rate. Most young teachers otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford living in this area.

“I wouldn’t be able to spend my beginning years as an educator in the community without access to affordable housing,” Nicholas Detzel, a graduate teacher now living in the converted space, told us in an interview. “Living in the community has been an amazing experience and helps you know your students on a completely different level,” he added. “It has also helped me relate to students about knowing what is going on in our community.” Teachers like Detzel who live in Over-the-Rhine can walk or take public transportation to the local schools where they work. Perhaps more importantly, they can better understand the world of their students. They can learn the streets that students avoid, the parks and community spaces that become popular after-school hangouts, and what community organizations offer summer programming. Ultimately, teachers grounded in the life of the community can build relationships outside of the walls of school that contribute to more trust in the classroom. Providing affordable housing for teachers and staff also helps retention rates, particularly as many younger teachers leave the profession due to low pay and burnout. Teacher housing programs are still in their infancy. There are roughly 3.2 million public school teachers nationwide, and there are probably fewer than 100 of these developments completed or in progress. Yet more and more districts are expressing interest, because they help alleviate two major concerns affecting so many American communities: affordable housing and a quality education. While the need for affordable housing spans both lower- and middle-class families, teachers or not, forging alliances between schools and affordable housing providers can serve as one path forward – and possibly serve as a model for other trades and professions. Jeff Kruth, Assistant Professor of Architecture, Miami University and Tammy Schwartz, Director of the Urban Cohort, Miami University This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

2025’s words of the year reflect a year of digital disillusionment

Roger J. Kreuz, University of Memphis Which terms best represent 2025? Every year, editors for publications ranging from the Oxford English Dictionary to the Macquarie Dictionary of Australian English select a “word of the year.” Sometimes these terms are thematically related, particularly in the wake of world-altering events. “Pandemic,” “lockdown” and “coronavirus,” for example, were among the words chosen in 2020. At other times, they are a potpourri of various cultural trends, as with 2022’s “goblin mode,” “permacrisis” and “gaslighting.” This year’s slate largely centers on digital life. But rather than reflecting the unbridled optimism about the internet of the early aughts – when words like “w00t,” “blog,” “tweet” and even “face with tears of joy” emoji (😂) were chosen – this year’s selections reflect a growing unease over how the internet has become a hotbed of artifice, manipulation and fake relationships.

When seeing isn’t believing

A committee representing the Macquarie Dictionary of Australian English settled on “AI slop” for their word of the year. Macquarie defines the term, which was popularized in 2024 by British programmer Simon Willison and tech journalist Casey Newton, as “low-quality content created by generative AI, often containing errors, and not requested by the user.” AI slop – which can range from a saccharine image of a young girl clinging to her little dog to career advice on LinkedIn – often goes viral, as gullible social media users share these computer-generated videos, text and graphics with others. Images have been manipulated or altered since the dawn of photography. The technique was then improved, with an assist from AI, to create “deepfakes,” which allows existing images to be turned into video clips in surreal ways. Yes, you can now watch Hitler teaming up with Stalin to sing a 1970s hit by The Buggles. What makes AI slop different is that images or video can be created out of whole cloth by providing a chatbot with just a prompt – no matter how bizarre the request or ensuing output.

Meet my new friend, ChatGPT

The editors of the Cambridge Dictionary chose “parasocial.” They define this as “involving or relating to a connection that someone feels between themselves and a famous person they do not know, a character in a book, film, TV series … or an artificial intelligence.” These asymmetric relationships, according to the dictionary’s chief editor, are the result of “the public’s fascination with celebrities and their lifestyles,” and this interest “continues to reach new heights.” As an example, Cambridge’s announcement cited the engagement of singer Taylor Swift and football player Travis Kelce, which led to a spike in online searches for the meaning of the term. Many Swifties reacted with unbridled joy, as if their best friend or sibling had just decided to tie the knot. But the term isn’t a new one: It was coined by sociologists in 1956 to describe “the illusion” of having “a face-to-face relationship” with a performer. However, parasocial relationships can take a bizarre or even ominous turn when the object of one’s affections is a chatbot. People are developing true feelings for these AI systems, whether they see them as a trusted friend or even a romantic partner. Young people, in particular, are now turning to generative AI for therapy.

Taking the bait

The Oxford Dictionary’s word of the year is “rage bait,” which the editors define as “online content deliberately designed to elicit anger or outrage by being frustrating, provocative, or offensive, typically posted in order to increase traffic to or engagement with a particular web page or social media content.” This is only the latest word for forms of emotional manipulation that have plagued the online world since the days of dial-up internet. Related terms include trolling, sealioning and trashposting. Unlike a hot take – a hasty opinion on a topic that may be poorly reasoned or articulated – rage baiting is intended to be inflammatory. And it can be seen as both a cause and a result of political polarization. People who post rage bait have been shown to lack empathy and to regard other people’s emotions as something to be exploited or even monetized. Rage baiters, in short, reflect the dark side of the attention economy.

Meaningless meaning

Perhaps the most contentious choice in 2025 was “6-7,” chosen by Dictionary.com. In this case, the controversy has to do with the actual meaning of this bit of Gen Alpha slang. The editors of the website describe it as being “meaningless, ubiquitous, and nonsensical.” Although its definition may be slippery, the term itself can be found in the lyrics of the rapper Skrilla, who released the single “Doot Doot (6 7)” in early 2025. It was popularized by 17-year-old basketball standout Taylen Kinney. For his part, Skrilla claimed that he “never put an actual meaning on it, and I still would not want to.” “6-7” is sometimes accompanied by a gesture, as if one were comparing the weight of objects held in both hands. British Prime Minister Keir Starmer recently performed this hand motion during a school visit. The young students were delighted. Their teacher, however, informed Starmer that her charges weren’t allowed to use it at the school, which prompted a clumsy apology from the chastened prime minister.

Throw your hands in the air?

The common element that these words share may be an attitude best described as digital nihilism. As online misinformation, AI-generated text and images, fake news and conspiracy theories abound, it’s increasingly difficult to know whom or what to believe or trust. Digital nihilism is, in essence, an acknowledgment of a lack of meaning and certainty in our online interactions. This year’s crop of words might best be summed up by a single emoji: the shrug (🤷). Throwing one’s hands up, in resignation or indifference, captures the anarchy that seems to characterize our digital lives. Roger J. Kreuz, Associate Dean and Feinstone Interdisciplinary Research Professor​, University of Memphis This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.