When I started working at Wisconsin Watch nearly two years ago, the 2024 election was quickly approaching. In my role as the sole staff photojournalist, I began collaborating with my colleagues deeply reporting investigations and explainers that held power to account and explored solutions to the biggest issues facing our state: health and welfare, government, education and employment, agriculture and the environment and justice and safety.
As my colleagues followed timely news hooks for their election coverage through breaking news and investigations, I wanted to spend more time with the people behind the headlines. That planted the seeds for Public Square, a series of profiles exploring the lives of voters from across the state — not just recording who they planned to vote for but understanding why and documenting the daily experiences that shaped their decisions.
Soon after I began working on the original series of voter profiles, we realized this project was about far more than a single election and would require more time, care and energy to give each story the attention it deserved. At the time — and still today — I was thinking a lot about how politically divided this country and Wisconsin can feel while also hearing about the decline of third spaces: public places beyond work and home where people gather and build community. As more of our lives moved online, those spaces seemed to shrink or be forgotten.
Public Square became a direct response to those questions about where people can still find connections, regardless of political identity. As I traveled across the state, we introduced readers to their neighbors and invited them to suggest who we should talk to next. As the series grew, we aimed to highlight the roles people play in their communities, explore the issues shaping their lives and pair those stories with portraits.
I photographed this project on medium-format film using a 1950s-era Yashica-D camera that produced square images — an approach that slowed the portrait process and helped me connect with each person I photographed. Pairing these images with the concept of meeting people where they gather and build community inspired the project’s name.
Over the last two years, this project has come to reflect Wisconsin Watch’s evolving mission: using journalism to help make Wisconsin communities stronger, more informed and more connected. As we report on the issues shaping people’s lives, we hope our work not only holds power to account but also helps people feel seen, better understand their neighbors and engage more deeply in civic life.
On Saturday, June 6, Wisconsin Watch will host a free, live outdoor exhibition and community conversation in Green Bay’s St. James Park. Large-format photography prints from Public Square will be displayed throughout the park alongside excerpts from reporting that provide context and insight into each story. I’ll moderate a panel discussion featuring local residents highlighted in the project’s images, with a Q&A to follow. Attendees will receive a free zine, and the installation will remain in the public park for three weeks following the event. You can sign up here.
If you’re in the area, I hope you’ll attend and spend some time reflecting on how you connect with your own communities. I’m excited to see you there.
Wisconsin Watch is a nonprofit, nonpartisan newsroom. Subscribe to our newsletters for original stories and our Friday news roundup.
Women and girls find refuge from trafficking inside a nondescript building on Morrow Street in Green Bay.
They can attend support groups, eat a warm meal, take a shower, get new clothes or access community resources.
But whatever they do, it’s their choice.
“(Case management) is designed to make sure that every single woman and girl reaches independence. It’s their way. It’s on their terms,” said Carly McClure, operations director for HER Alliance. “We are just here to offer the support needed along that way to help them become the best version of themselves.”
The nonprofit organization formerly known as Awaken has served 251 women and girls since June 2022, according to the organization’s most recent Impact Report. In addition to directly supporting survivors, HER Alliance offers education sessions for the community about the dangers of human trafficking.
“The uphill battle that everybody is facing in this position is, first of all, societal stigma,” McClure said.
In 2025, the organization provided 4,908 units of service. A unit of service, for example, could be a meal, a call to the warmline or a referral to a community resource, among others, McClure said.
Art made by trafficking survivors is seen at HER Alliance on April 30, 2026, in Green Bay, Wis. (Jen Zettel-Vandenhouten / Wisconsin Watch)
Community members in general tend to think trafficking starts with a stranger kidnapping someone, and while that does happen, it’s not common, McClure said.
“Trafficking begins with the grooming process. It’s happening to our children online more often than not now, and a trafficker is typically targeting someone that already trusts them,” she said. “So familial trafficking in Wisconsin is one of the highest forms of trafficking that we see.”
The intake process at HER Alliance happens in a quiet, private room with cozy furniture. The conversation is different for every person because needs vary, McClure said.
Generally, staff ask questions to learn if a person’s basic needs are being met:
Do they have safe housing?
Do they have access to food? Clothing?
Are they employed?
Are they in school?
Each person decides what support – if any – the person wants from HER Alliance, McClure said. Staff can connect people to community organizations to meet their specific needs, though local nonprofits also refer people to HER Alliance.
The Brown County Jail refers many clients. HER Alliance has a full-time outreach case manager who spends most of her time working with women and girls at the jail, McClure said.
Varying degrees of help
The organization operates what it calls a warmline – a 24/7 phone line staffed by a HER Alliance case manager. An important distinction, McClure said: The warmline is not a crisis line.
“The warmline is available for people to call if they need (nonemergency) help, or if they’re already in contact with us and have already had an intake (session) – that number is for their use,” she said.
Some people call the warmline just once, seeking advice or resources.
The programming area at HER Alliance, seen on April 30, 2026, in Green Bay, Wis., includes cozy furniture and homey touches meant to help trafficking survivors feel welcome in the space. (Jen Zettel-Vandenhouten / Wisconsin Watch)
Others seek additional help. HER Alliance offers weekly peer-to-peer support groups in a space that looks like a living room. There are couches, comfortable chairs, a TV, plants, a bookshelf and more.
Clients can schedule one-on-one appointments with a case manager, or drop in during designated hours depending on their needs.
A small kitchenette with a coffee station, a toaster oven and a refrigerator sits in the back of the building. Volunteers supply meals weekly, and frozen meals are always available.
Clients can take a shower in one of the facility’s two restrooms, or “shop” a small boutique filled with gently used clothing, outerwear and shoes. Women and girls who complete an intake session and receive services get a punch card to shop the boutique, McClure said.
“So if they have an interview coming up, or they’re going to school, or they just need new clothes, or they need new shoes, this is available to them throughout the year,” she said.
Getting involved
Carmen Van Schyndel first learned about HER Alliance in 2024, during a TAT Freedom Drivers Project event co-hosted by her employer, Breakthrough. She remembers walking through an exhibit in a semi-trailer focused on the stories of trafficking survivors and their experiences.
Prior to that, Van Schyndel thought human trafficking was something that happened in big cities like Chicago, not around Green Bay.
But the experience “hit home,” she said.
Art made by trafficking survivors is seen at HER Alliance in Green Bay, Wis., on April 30, 2026. (Jen Zettel-Vandenhouten / Wisconsin Watch)
Van Schyndel spoke with HER Alliance staff at the event and started learning more. She joined the organization’s Advisory Board and later its Board of Directors. She now serves as the board secretary.
She hopes to one day measure success by seeing the number of people HER Alliance serves decline. That will be a signal that the organization’s education, advocacy and community outreach efforts are making a difference.
“There’s still a need. There are still people that are not getting help who need it,” Van Schyndel said. “We still need to grow, but I think over time, as we really watch those numbers, I hope that those numbers go down, and those will be really good signs we’re making an impact in the community.”
What’s next?
HER Alliance acquired space next to its office in 2025, and it has big plans for it, McClure said.
The programming area that looks like a living room will move as a result of the expansion, and McClure said they plan to add a full kitchen with an oven – an upgrade from the kitchenette and the toaster oven they currently use.
“Now we’re kind of waiting on some grants to finish developing this space,” she said.
Find resources
If you or someone you know is a victim of human trafficking, contact HER Alliance:
Want to raise awareness about human trafficking, volunteer your time or donate to HER Alliance? Here’s how:
HER Alliance holds education sessions on human trafficking throughout the year, though they take a break in the summer. Email info@heralliance.org to learn when the sessions will start in the fall, or keep an eye on the HER Alliance events calendar.
This story is part of Community at Work, an ongoing feature series focused on community organizations that make a difference in northeast Wisconsin. Who should we feature next? Email jzvandenhouten@wisconsinwatch.org.
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Oshkosh resident Nikolas DeGroot started Groundfloor Democracy after seeking an informal place where community members could gather to discuss politics and local issues.
Run entirely by volunteers, Groundfloor Democracy hosts Politics in the Park events several times per month.
Organizers focus on fostering respectful discussions in person, which they say helps people connect with their neighbors and find what they have in common.
However, it’s been a struggle to attract participants to their gatherings.
The group plans to become a nonprofit organization and hopes to eventually host events in more Wisconsin cities.
On a late April evening, in an Oshkosh park bordering the shores of Lake Winnebago, Nikolas DeGroot and Elaine Koch arranged four fabric lawn chairs in a circle. They unfolded a small table and used it to prop up posterboard reading “POLITICS IN THE PARK” in bubble letters. Then they sat down and waited for curious passersby to notice.
During a time when Americans are increasingly polarized and politics can feel too tense a topic to broach in conversation, Oshkosh resident DeGroot wants to inspire his neighbors to tackle the topic head on — and handle disagreements thoughtfully.
“There’s a disconnect in the way that we relate to one another, on many different levels. I think that the internet has kind of become the public commons, and it does it really badly,” DeGroot said. “We all know it’s terrible. We all hate it, and yet that’s still like the place where the most discussion is happening.”
The antidote, he thinks, is simple: bring conversation about shared issues back in the flesh, in a public place neighbors frequent, and make sure it stays respectful.
That’s the gist of “Politics in the Park,” an event series where DeGroot and several helpers invite people to have civil conversations about politics and local issues at a public park. Through this, he hopes his neighbors can learn to connect again and chip away at the polarization driving people away from each other.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, getting people to take part in the initiative has proven difficult. Still in its infancy, the twice-weekly events this spring mark the series’ second year. Turnout has been sparse — typically, a handful of people stop by each event. The group, dubbed Groundfloor Democracy, hosted about 10 attendees at once at its peak.
But the conversations they’ve had have been encouraging, and they hope it’ll catch on soon.
“I want people to see that there is a big difference between debate and just regular conversation, and that we can get back to conversation,” said Emmy Carrick, who helps put on the events. “We want people to take away that regular conversation without yelling, without debate, without cameras — it’s possible.”
‘We’ll pull up some chairs, and we’ll just see’
As a political science student at the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh, DeGroot was eager to attend political and academic events on campus. But when he looked around the room at donors, university administrators, professors or students required to be present for a class, he felt out of place.
“As somebody who comes from a working-class background, I don’t see any people like me at events like this,” said DeGroot, who works two part-time jobs.
He started looking for other community organizations he’d be more aligned with. But he didn’t see any addressing his biggest concern: “How do we get people off of their devices and speaking in person again?”
“There’s a disconnect in the way that we relate to one another, on many different levels. I think that the internet has kind of become the public commons, and it does it really badly,” said Nikolas DeGroot, founder and executive director of Groundfloor Democracy. (Joe Timmerman / Wisconsin Watch)
He decided to take matters into his own hands.
“I was taking my son to the park every day after school anyway, for like two hours. So I was like, … ‘We’ll just set up a sign, we’ll pull up some chairs, and we’ll just see. We’ll just see what happens,’” he said.
He made Facebook posts to tell people when he was going to be outside and wanted to facilitate conversation. He let people talk about what was on their minds. A few visitors came the first couple times, but they sometimes struggled with what to discuss.
He started asking questions to guide discussion:
“If you could change one thing about your government (local, state or federal), what would it be?”
“What’s something you think we could fix if we just talked about it more honestly?”
“What’s one thing you’d like politicians to stop doing?”
“What gives you hope when it comes to politics or your community?”
“What do you think people get wrong about folks who vote differently than them?”
Meanwhile, DeGroot posted a callout for people to help him with the endeavor. Four board members now help him organize events, post on social media and try to grow Groundfloor Democracy’s turnout.
That includes Carrick, who discovered the project while surfing Reddit. She wanted to get involved because she feels like “we’ve never been more disconnected from our neighbors.”
“I like the premise of it because it was just something so low-stakes,” Carrick said. “With how polarized things are, it feels like any political conversation that you have is very high-stakes. I liked that this was just informal and welcoming.”
By the end of last spring, they’d had enough turnout to feel encouraged to continue. This year, the events are guided by a one-word prompt, such as “local,” “education” or “justice.” They ask participants what topics the words bring to mind and let attendees steer the conversation.
Continuing the conversation
Carrick’s favorite Politics in the Park event took place on an early April evening, when about 10 people attended. Two teens on their way to the bus stopped briefly to learn about the initiative. Another man wanted to discuss the Trump administration’s policies — an exchange that ended with him and Koch praying together.
“Nobody ever said whether they were a Democrat or Republican. We just talked,” Carrick said. “That was so refreshing to me. We didn’t talk about parties at all. We just talked about us and our lives and local issues and more of what brought us together.”
While discussion at the events has stayed civil to date, conversations about politics can often slide off the rails.
Their goal isn’t to avoid debate, but to encourage handling disagreements respectfully. For that reason, DeGroot took a 40-hour mediation training at the Winnebago Conflict Resolution Center to learn how to handle and dissolve conflict.
Groundfloor Democracy will host Politics in the Park events several times per month at parks in Oshkosh. The organization’s leaders aim to foster respectful discussion among community members about politics and local issues. (Joe Timmerman / Wisconsin Watch)
“A big part of that training was getting from the thing that somebody is saying to the underlying feeling that’s connected to what they’re saying,” DeGroot said. “It’s just trying to get to that little crumb at the center of like, why does this person feel so strongly about this particular thing?”
If needed, he will intervene to help the person see how those “big feelings” at the root of their argument overlap with the values of the people sitting with them, to help them see the similarities they share. Though he’s prepared, he hasn’t yet needed to interrupt a conversation.
Since it is a nonpartisan organization, DeGroot and other members are careful not to advocate for specific candidates, parties or policy positions. That’ll become especially important as they look to become an official nonprofit. The federal government prohibits these types of organizations from engaging in political campaign activity.
As time goes on, they also want to grow the initiative by hosting conversations in more Wisconsin cities or partnering with other local civic organizations.
They also want to find ways to raise funds — right now, everyone who helps out is a volunteer.
Mostly, though, they want more people to come talk about politics with them in the park.
“We can’t delete social media from the world, heal our nation’s politics overnight or anything like that,” Carrick said. “But we can set up some lawn chairs in a park and have a couple neighbors come out and just chat and get to know each other more.”
Learn about Groundfloor Democracy’s upcoming events here.
Wisconsin Watch is a nonprofit, nonpartisan newsroom. Subscribe to our newsletters for original stories and our Friday news roundup.
Wisconsin Watch reporters have to fill out a pitch form for every story. Yes, you read that right – they have to do paperwork.
The process means they have to do some reporting in advance to make sure the idea is solid, to see if other outlets have reported on the topic and, if so, to determine what will make their story different.
The goal is for them to have a strong idea about what the story is and who the story is for before they dive in too far.
Generally, our reporters aren’t covering school board or city council meetings like daily beat reporters. Wisconsin Watch focuses on investigative, enterprise and solutions journalism. Our reporters are looking for trends, sifting through reader tips and finding inspiration in their daily lives.
Miranda Dunlap pitched a story about a Green Bay group that produces a historical podcast about its neighborhood. Do you know where she got the idea? She spotted a QR code advertising the podcast while taking a walk.
Our journalism strives to live out our mission: using journalism to make Wisconsin communities strong, informed and connected. Every time I read a pitch, I ask myself, “How does this story fit our mission?”
There are myriad stories we could be chasing, but they’re not all worth our time. The pitch form helps reporters and editors keep our mission in mind and answer key questions before we spend too much energy reporting and editing a story that doesn’t serve our readers.
Journalists most often cover a specific area – or beat.
When I started in the industry, newsrooms typically had the following:
One or two local government reporters – one for county board, one for city hall.
An education reporter (like me!).
A few prep sports reporters.
A features reporter.
A few photojournalists.
A courts reporter.
A general assignment reporter.
Today’s newsrooms employ fewer journalists, which means reporters at daily publications often cover multiple beats.
Analytics have changed how we measure success for our work, and with it, some beats have shifted altogether.
I see more environmental coverage now than I did 15 years ago, which reflects growing interest from readers in that area.
Traditional outdoors coverage – what some call “bullets and hooks” reporting because of its focus on hunting and fishing – seems to be declining. Meanwhile, coverage of outdoor silent sports like biking, hiking and kayaking has grown.
Here at Wisconsin Watch, our beats are guided by our mission and values. Our journalists cover:
Investigative journalism is in our DNA, and our reporters are some of the best at it. They also report enterprise stories and solutions journalism.
Enterprise stories go deeper than something I would have covered as a daily education reporter. Think less about turn-of-the-screw school board coverage and more on trends emerging across the area or state.
Solutions journalism is rigorous, evidence-based reporting on responses to social problems. Every solutions story covers four pillars: a response to the problem, evidence that it works (or not), insights and limitations.
These kinds of journalism, especially investigations, tend to take more time to produce and are therefore more expensive.
But you can support journalism that makes a difference in the community. Subscribe to your local news outlet or contribute to Wisconsin Watch.
April 22, 1970, was no ordinary day in the bustling city of St. Louis. On this first Earth Day, streets filled with rallies, and lecture halls were packed with attendees. Most famously, rows of students marched through the streets wearing gas masks, protesting air pollution.
Around that time, John E. Franz was brewing up something dark in the depths of Monsanto’s St. Louis lab: glyphosate, an herbicide since linked to widespread environmental harm, cancer concerns and more than 100,000 lawsuits.
While other countries have regulated or limited glyphosate production, the U.S. has largely ignored the problem. In February, President Donald Trump issued Executive Order 14387 to promote the production of glyphosate and security for its producers.
The U.S. is increasingly dependent on glyphosate, and its overuse is becoming a serious concern. Amid the many environmental issues competing for attention, glyphosate deserves a prominent place this Earth Day, especially in Wisconsin.
Why Wisconsin? Glyphosate levels in groundwater aren’t being consistently monitored in the state’s highest-risk areas — its CAFO counties.
From fields to faucets
Wisconsin farmers apply millions of pounds of glyphosate each year, primarily to fields growing soybeans and corn — the state’s two biggest crops. Those crops are used to feed animals at Wisconsin’s 293 concentrated animal feeding operations, or CAFOs.
After animals eat glyphosate-treated crops, the chemical can reemerge in their manure. This is a problem, considering that mismanagement of CAFO waste frequently leads to groundwater contamination.
Seems like something that should be setting off red flags, right?
Monitoring falls short in Wisconsin
The Wisconsin Department of Agriculture, Trade and Consumer Protection (DATCP) oversees groundwater and surface water testing for agrichemicals. The agency monitors pesticides and agricultural runoff through a private well sampling program, a field-edge monitoring program and random well sampling conducted every five to 10 years.
However effective these programs may appear, a closer look at where Wisconsin’s CAFOs are located compared with where monitoring occurs reveals a stark mismatch.
The three counties with the most CAFOs — Manitowoc (25), Brown (22), Kewaunee (19) — are all located in the Northeast Lakeshore region, where none of DATCP’s 22 field-edge monitoring wells are located, according to a 2023 report, the most recent available. The state’s monitoring system misses areas at highest risk for aquifer contamination.
Unfortunately it gets worse. DATCP’s Targeted Sampling Program also does not cover the entire Northeast Lakeshore Watershed, and these sampling panels do not test for glyphosate or its byproducts, the agency’s most recent program report shows.
The solution? Advocacy
Glyphosate usage has increased 15-fold since the 1990s. It will continue to go unchecked if more research and monitoring aren’t conducted to track where this chemical ends up.
If you’re a private landowner with a well, write to DATCP and volunteer to have your well sampled.
Universities such as University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh and UW-Green Bay also play a role. DATCP already partners with both on research. Contact leaders of their water-related programs.
Why glyphosate still matters
To be sure, glyphosate is not the only problematic agrichemical. But it is by far the most widely used herbicide in U.S. agriculture, and its scale alone warrants closer monitoring of its spread in aquifers.
Still not convinced? Consider the many other contaminants that can leach into groundwater from CAFO manure — including other agrichemicals, pharmaceuticals, heavy metals and bacteria. Glyphosate is just one of many reasons stronger groundwater monitoring is needed in this region.
We’re not asking for much.
Glyphosate well testing is relatively inexpensive and should not strain government resources. Progress will depend on public pressure: Concerned citizens must keep pushing until stronger monitoring is in place across all at-risk areas of this beautiful state we call home.
Allison Gilmeister is a graduate student at Yale University studying religion and ecology. She grew up in Appleton.
Guest commentaries reflect the views of their authors and are independent of the nonpartisan, in-depth reporting produced by Wisconsin Watch’s newsroom staff. Want to join the Wisconversion? See our guidelines for submissions.
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High schoolers account for nearly half the student population at the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh – the largest number of dual enrollment students in the state.
As the traditional college-age population shrinks, dual enrollment courses have surged in popularity, transforming UW-Oshkosh’s identity.
Few high schoolers who take college courses at UW-Oshkosh decide to attend the university for their undergraduate studies, a trend officials are making efforts to change.
When University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh lecturer Paul Sager logs onto Zoom every Monday, Wednesday and Friday to teach his composition course, he asks his students to paste in the chat what emoji they feel like that day.
If it’s cold outside, they might send a snowflake, or if they’re feeling motivated, a rocket ship.
“They find that really fun and ice-breaking,” Sager said. “Feeling connected to your professor, I believe, is an extremely important part of being invested in a course, especially when it’s at the college level.”
That’s especially important for Sager, who has never met most of his students in the flesh, and likely never will.
At UW-Oshkosh, high schoolers make up nearly half of the student body. Many of them live hours away and never actually step foot on campus, instead taking the college courses from their high schools.
It’s an increasingly popular dynamic as dual enrollment classes — where high schoolers simultaneously earn high school and college credit — soar in popularity and the typical college-aged population shrinks. But UW-Oshkosh enrolls more high schoolers than any university in the state, an endeavor that’s transforming the college’s identity.
A person walks across campus on an overcast day at the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh on March 31, 2026, in Oshkosh, Wis. Nearly half of UW-Oshkosh’s student enrollment comes from high schoolers taking college courses. (Joe Timmerman / Wisconsin Watch)
The approach has helped UW-Oshkosh combat the big enrollment declines Wisconsin universities have seen in recent years.
But as more colleges tap into the dual enrollment trend, the state’s fourth-largest UW campus is facing stiffer competition for these students. On top of that, few of them currently continue their education at UW-Oshkosh after high school. College leaders want that to change.
“As the competitive landscape that we operate in gets more competitive, and as the number of total high school students in Wisconsin continues to go down, it’s going to be more important that we get more and more of these students to choose UW-O as their four-year solution, as well,” said Provost and Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs Edwin Martini.
Today, over 6,500 high schoolers get a jump start on college through the university’s Cooperative Academic Partnership Program, dubbed “CAPP.” In most cases, UW-Oshkosh authorizes qualified high school teachers — typically those with graduate degrees in their subject areas — to teach CAPP courses at their own schools.
University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh professor Paul Sager works at his computer in his office in between classes on March 31, 2026, in Oshkosh, Wis. Sager is one of five UW-Oshkosh professors who teach dual enrollment courses to high school students. (Joe Timmerman / Wisconsin Watch)
Just five UW-Oshkosh professors, Sager included, teach courses to high schoolers virtually. This allows them to reach more rural schools that otherwise lack access to dual enrollment courses, often because they don’t have qualified instructors or enough resources.
“Given the opportunity to teach these courses, I jumped on it … It’s definitely a calling,” Sager said.
The university charges high schools about half the typical tuition costs for the classes. Students considered economically disadvantaged by the state get added discounts. Each school district decides how it passes the cost of books and tuition onto students.
If students choose not to attend UW-Oshkosh after graduation, their credits can transfer to 200 other colleges.
Over the past decade, the number of students doing dual enrollment through UW-Oshkosh has nearly doubled. While that mirrors nationwide growth, UW-Oshkosh has leaned fully into the trend, hoping to attract as many students as possible across Wisconsin — and, in some cases, beyond.
“The simple truth is, if Oshkosh didn’t do it, somebody else would,” Sager said. “It’s something that I believe at Oshkosh they’ve really understood as not only a moneymaker, but just an opportunity.”
To attract students, program leaders call schools to tell them about the program and advertise at teacher conferences around the state. But largely, word of mouth and its status as the state’s oldest help win school leaders’ trust. CAPP is the only Wisconsin program accredited by the National Alliance of Concurrent Enrollment Partnerships, an organization holding universities accountable to offering dual enrollment courses as rigorous as normal college courses.
“We’ve had, more than ever, people reaching out to us to get involved,” said CAPP Outreach Specialist Sarah Adelson.
Today, 45% of UW-Oshkosh students are high schoolers, a phenomenon more common at community colleges than universities. Statewide, high schoolers are just 10% of university enrollment, compared to 1 in 3 community college students.
The dual enrollment growth has been, in many ways, a saving grace for the college.
Like other Wisconsin universities, UW-Oshkosh has lost thousands of traditional college students — those enrolling after high school graduation — over the past decade. Dual enrollment has helped offset that loss. Overall enrollment is down 9%, but without the high school students, enrollment would be down closer to 36%.
“For us, in part, it is a service. It is something that we’re proud of doing and providing these opportunities to students,” Martini said. “But we do consider our dual enrollment portfolio very much part of our strategic enrollment management portfolio.”
A shifting college experience
Walking across the UW-Oshkosh campus, it’s not immediately obvious how much the student body has changed in recent years.
Classrooms are still filled with what many would consider “typical” college students. Sidewalks bustle with students walking to class. Finding parking can still be competitive.
Teagan Massey-Plamann poses for a portrait outside Menasha High School on March 31, 2026. “(Dual enrollment classes are) just getting me in the mindset that I’m going to be doing more classes like this next year,” Massey-Plamann said. (Joe Timmerman / Wisconsin Watch)
But in recent years, as more students take classes without setting foot on campus, the university has undergone some noticeable changes: The campus-run bookstore closed. Satellite locations in Appleton and Fond du Lac shut down because of enrollment declines. During a budget crunch, leaders offered voluntary retirement to roughly 50 faculty. And three dorm buildings are slated for demolition, as they no longer need as much space to house students living on campus.
Teagan Massey-Plamann, a senior at Menasha High School, takes UW-Oshkosh’s dual enrollment courses from about 20 minutes away but has visited campus only once.
“It may not be the experience of being on campus and everything, but I still kind of get to see what the curriculums will look like, and how much studying I’ll need to do,” Massey-Plamann said.
As dual enrollment continues to expand, it raises broader questions about what will define the college experience. While the typical experience most think of is by no means dead, Sager said, it seems pretty rare nowadays.
“All of them, I think, also seek that personal connection with faculty and wanting to have an on-campus experience in one way, shape or form … I don’t know if there is a ‘definition’ for what a college experience even is anymore,” Sager said.
For some, the experience of being a professor has shifted, too — teaching high schoolers is a different task than teaching students a few years older, Sager said.
“It really is about trying to meet them at their level and understand that, and also apply a little bit of pedagogical changes, so that the assignments mean more to them, and they feel more invested in it,” Sager said.
Great colleges think alike?
When Massey-Plamann graduates from high school this spring, she’ll already have a head start on college, thanks to her UW-Oshkosh dual enrollment courses in statistics, calculus and biology.
“It’s just getting me in the mindset that I’m going to be doing more classes like this next year,” the aspiring art therapist said. “They’re not going to be just classes where I can just sit and do nothing because I get all my work done really quickly. It’s getting me prepared for that time management.”
That head start will save her both money and stress as she heads to St. Cloud State University in Minnesota to play softball.
Teagan Massey-Plamann gets ready to travel for a softball game on March 31, 2026. Massey-Plamann got a head start on her college coursework by taking dual enrollment courses through UW-Oshkosh. She plans to pursue a career in art therapy and play softball at St. Cloud State University in the fall. (Joe Timmerman / Wisconsin Watch)
Like Massey-Plamann, most UW-Oshkosh dual enrollment students don’t continue their education there after high school. Only about 10% do.
University leaders want to change that.
While Adelson said students historically “just come to us,” that’s changing as other Wisconsin colleges try to ride the dual enrollment wave. At the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay, high schoolers now make up about a third of enrollment. Just 20 miles away from UW-Oshkosh, half of the 8,000 students at Moraine Park Technical College are still in high school.
In response, UW-Oshkosh leaders are stepping up recruitment efforts — they’re offering classes other universities don’t, awarding at least $1,000 scholarships to those who enroll the following fall and funding more campus visits for high schoolers.
Freshman Hugh Thao of Appleton, left, asks University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh professor Paul Sager, center, a question after a first-year college writing class on March 31, 2026, in Oshkosh, Wis. (Joe Timmerman / Wisconsin Watch)
But UW-Oshkosh leaders acknowledge there don’t seem to be many students left to go after — the pool of college-bound students may already be tapped. CAPP Director Margaret Hostetler said their next push is for students who aren’t planning to attend college at all. They wonder if dual enrollment could change their mind.
The university is also ramping up advising services, pointing students toward courses that will actually benefit them in the future.
“We don’t want students just taking every single dual enrollment credit they can because that’s not necessarily saving them time or money,” Hostetler said. “To save time and money, you have to have a class that is going to transfer as a course that you will need in your field of study.”
They’ve ramped up marketing efforts to remind dual enrollment students that “they are Titans,” Martini said, mailing them branded T-shirts, banners and posters for teachers to hang in their high school classrooms.
“What we want is them to have a great experience, and then that builds their affinity with UW-O,” Martini said. “And then they say … ‘Now I want to go to Oshkosh. Now I want to be a Titan.’”
Miranda Dunlap reports on pathways to success in northeast Wisconsin, working in partnership with Open Campus. Email her at mdunlap@wisconsinwatch.org.
Wisconsin Watch is a nonprofit, nonpartisan newsroom. Subscribe to our newsletters for original stories and our Friday news roundup.
On a rainy Friday afternoon, I walked into the Manitowoc County Jail. I asked tentatively into the metal box at the door: “I’m here to see Randy Curtis?”
I was there to deliver a simple message. What I stumbled into was something much larger, a reality I had not previously fully understood.
Randy had missed a few shifts without calling in. His supervisor looked for him where we sometimes do when an employee disappears without a word: the inmate list at the county jail. Sure enough, there was his name.
Randy is a knockout pourer at Wisconsin Aluminum Foundry, doing hard physical work for $27.53 an hour – good money, the kind that, if you’re careful and nothing goes wrong, can be the beginning of something. He had spent years rebuilding his life in Manitowoc after a troubled young adulthood in Milwaukee. He had a girlfriend. He was saving for a car. Then an old legal matter surfaced, along with a small claims debt.
It is not uncommon for our employees to find themselves in jail. Often it’s a DUI, delinquent child support or drugs. The ones who don’t have money for bail spend weeks or months awaiting resolution. Usually in these situations we let the employment relationship expire.
But Randy’s supervisor called me: “We have to keep his job for him.” Of course we would. But how would we let him know? I pictured him in that cell, cut off from the outside world, assuming he had lost his job and maybe his apartment and girlfriend too, watching his precarious new life crash down.
I went to tell him myself.
From left, Sachin Shivaram, CEO of Wisconsin Aluminum Foundry, poses for a photo with Randy Curtis, a knockout pourer at the foundry. (Courtesy of Sachin Shivaram)
The corrections officer was polite but matter-of-fact. I could not see the inmate in person. To speak with him, I would need to create an account on a third-party video service, deposit money, schedule a window and wait.
I am a CEO. I work on computers all day. It still took me the better part of an hour to figure it all out.
The service was called CIDNET, operated by Encartele, a corporation in Nebraska. The site defaulted to a purchase of 150 megabytes at 30 cents per megabyte. That’s $45, before a “Data Security Token” fee and a 5% merchant surcharge on top. I put $10 on the account, enough for a few minutes. On Sunday evening I logged on, saw Randy on a small screen and quickly told him his job was waiting. He looked relieved.
I want to be fair. Someone has to pay for that infrastructure. The same logic applies to bank overdraft fees and payday loan rates. Even the $2.59 Snickers bar in our plant vending machine, nearly four times what my family pays at Costco, is bought by a worker without the time or transportation to shop elsewhere. Each of these charges is, on its own terms, defensible. Together they amount to something else: a compounding tax on not having enough.
Being poor, it turns out, is expensive.
Randy made it through. Another of our employees didn’t fare as well.
I’ll call him Michael. He had spent his entire life in America, brought here as a small child. He was a DACA recipient – a “Dreamer” – tantalizingly close to getting his papers in order for permanent residency, but first he had to navigate old speeding tickets, lawyer fees, court dates and filing costs. He had a newborn and two toddlers at home. He could not even afford a cellphone. Outside of work, he reached me through Facebook Messenger when he could find Wi-Fi.
The fees accumulated the way fees do: the lawyer, the filings, the court dates that cost him wages he couldn’t replace, the paid leave that drained away appointment by appointment. Everything was a small thing.
But Michael had no margin for small things.
The weight of it followed him onto the shop floor. He grew distracted, made mistakes — costly ones in a manufacturing environment — and we had to let him go. I think about that a lot.
The word I keep coming back to is margin. In business, margin is everything. The difference between a company that survives a bad few years and one that doesn’t is not always the size of the problem. It is the cushion beneath it.
Families have margins, too.
A salaried employee who gets a DUI posts bond and goes home. She takes a long lunch for a dental appointment and loses nothing. When life disrupts her, it disrupts her. When life disrupts Randy or Michael, there is no category called disruption. There is functioning, and there is collapse. A car breaks down, the flu strikes, child care closes unexpectedly — attendance points rack up, the job is suddenly in jeopardy, and the carefully assembled structure of a life starts to come apart.
What I find remarkable is not that Randy and Michael sometimes stumble. It’s that they hold everything together as long as they do, maintaining a level of daily discipline against a backdrop of distress that most of us will never be tested to match.
My 8-year-old and I have been reading about black holes. The closer you get, the more energy you need to escape – until escape becomes physically impossible. That is what I witnessed. Not a failure of will. A gravitational pull that compounds with every setback, every fee, every missed day.
There is a threshold, call it escape velocity, below which the system’s small relentless extractions become unsurvivable. My former college professor Lisa Dodson, who spent years embedded with low-income workers across the country, calls this the “house of cards” – the architecture of poverty where there is no redundancy, no reserve, no margin for the ordinary turbulence of a human life.
So what can we do? At Wisconsin Aluminum Foundry, we’ve introduced daily pay so workers can access wages as they earn them rather than waiting two weeks. We offer $400 per month in child care reimbursement, structured specifically to help newer, younger employees.
Most traditional benefits – vacation time, tenure-based wage levels, pension plans – naturally favor workers already on solid footing. Our most expensive benefit, health care, is the one our youngest and lowest-paid employees use the least. We can design benefit structures with that reality in mind, and we are trying.
These are imperfect responses to a structural problem. They are what one employer can do.
On policy, cash bail reform deserves serious attention. In theory, judges already weigh risk when setting bail. In practice, a $500 bail amount means freedom for one person and months in jail for another. A system that makes that distinction irrelevant might have kept Randy’s life from nearly unraveling.
The full set of public policy answers is beyond my grasp. But what I do know is that the national conversation about affordability — housing, gas, airfares — is largely about the middle class. Randy and Michael aren’t worried about buying a house. They are fighting for the basic foothold that most of us take entirely for granted.
My parents came to this country with very little and found the American Dream to be real. I believe it can still be real. Randy believed in it enough to leave Milwaukee and start over in a city where no one knew him. Michael believed in it enough to show up every single day while his entire future hung on a bureaucratic decision somewhere.
Just this week, JPMorgan Chase announced its “American Dream Initiative” aimed at strengthening small businesses, homeownership and economic mobility – a recognition that the American Dream is not self-sustaining and requires constant effort from institutions large and small.
At our holiday party earlier this year, my wife and I spotted Randy across the room — arm around his girlfriend, at a table full of co-workers, dressed in his best, laughing.
Michael messaged me last week. He’s been out of work for two months, getting by on his wife’s income. He said he’s going to reapply at the foundry. When he does, we’ll take him back.
Neither story is finished yet. They haven’t reached escape velocity. But they are defying gravity, every single day.
Sachin Shivaram is the chief executive officer of Wisconsin Aluminum Foundry in Manitowoc.
Guest commentaries reflect the views of their authors and are independent of the nonpartisan, in-depth reporting produced by Wisconsin Watch’s newsroom staff. Want to join the Wisconversion? See our guidelines for submissions.
A northeast Wisconsin anti-poverty nonprofit plans to close later this year amid serious financial challenges and the loss of a government contract.
For more than 50 years, Newcap has operated in 10 counties. It serves low-income residents and is funded primarily through state and federal grants.
The agency served more than 25,000 people in 2022. Its programs range from employment and job training to educational support, financial coaching, health and food assistance, housing services, home repair and case management, according to an annual report.
Housing advocates say Newcap’s closure could lead to northeast Wisconsin losing more than $2.7 million in federal funding and leave more than 100 households at risk of losing housing.
In a statement, Newcap interim Executive Director Deb Barlament said the organization has faced “significant financial challenges” in recent months and has implemented staffing reductions and other cost-saving measures in response.
“At this time, the organization anticipates closing its doors sometime this year,” Barlament stated. “A more specific timeline will be determined as we work through existing grant obligations and funder requirements.”
Barlament’s statement says the organization hopes to “responsibly wind down operations” and is “actively collaborating with other organizations and funders to help ensure that services continue to be available to the communities we serve.”
It comes after a 2025 financial audit by accounting firm Baker Tilly found the organization had a more than $2 million deficit in 2024. The audit raised “substantial doubt about the Organization’s ability to continue operating,” citing recurring deficits, negative cash flow and reduced liquidity.
The state is conducting “enhanced financial monitoring” of the nonprofit, which includes comprehensive financial and program reviews, as well as reviews of financial documentation.
In a statement, the Wisconsin Department of Administration said the state has been working with Newcap to address its use and repayment of Weatherization Assistance Program funds for the 2025-26 program year. The program provides home weatherization assistance to low-income individuals.
The audit shows that in 2024 Newcap spent about $5.1 million for weatherization programs.
“Approximately 28% and 26% of the Organization’s grants revenue and grants receivable, respectively, were generated by weatherization and emergency furnace programs funded by the Wisconsin Department of Administration,” the audit states.
On March 13, the DOA informed Newcap that it “could not in good faith” renew the nonprofit’s weatherization contract for the next program year “given the current financial situation at Newcap and outstanding funds the agency must repay,” according to the statement.
The statement does not specify why the agency needs to repay the funds, or the specific dollar amount of that repayment.
“Working with our federal partners to administer grant programs requires DOA to assess potential risks of grantees,” the statement read. “Though Newcap has recently taken steps to address overhead costs and operating cash flow, Newcap’s financial viability remains uncertain.”
The Department of Administration says it is working with Wiscap, a statewide network of anti-poverty nonprofits, and other agencies to ensure services continue to be provided in northeast Wisconsin.
Wiscap did not respond to requests for comment about what happens when a Community Action Program, or CAP, agency — like Newcap — closes.
Millions in funding at risk if federal contracts can’t be transferred
Carrie Poser is executive director of the Wisconsin Balance of State Continuum of Care, a nonprofit that coordinates housing and supportive services for individuals and families experiencing homelessness across 69 of Wisconsin’s 72 counties.
She said Newcap administers four U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development grants, which provide support services to 134 households across its 10-county service area, with 84 of those in Brown County.
Poser said local service groups want to take over those federal housing grants. But she said HUD officials in Milwaukee and Washington, D.C., have told her they are not processing grant transfers.
That puts the 134 households currently using those programs at risk of losing their housing and becoming homeless, she said.
“We have humans that, for no fault of their own, look at returning to homelessness that we can prevent,” she said. “It’s not because we don’t have agencies. It’s not because we don’t have the ability to do the work.”
If those grants aren’t transferred, she said more than $2.7 million — including more than $1.6 million in federal funding to Brown County — could be permanently lost from the 10 counties Newcap serves.
“It will be harder for those communities to ever get new money in this way again,” Poser said. “It’s just harder to get a grant once you’ve lost one by HUD.”
She said Wisconsin Balance of State Continuum of Care plans to move forward with filing paperwork with the federal government necessary to transfer the grants, but she isn’t sure if the effort will be successful.
The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development did not respond to questions about the potential loss of federal funding to northeast Wisconsin.
Laurie Styron is executive director of CharityWatch, a Chicago-based independent charity watchdog. She said Newcap serves a large geographic area, so its closure is likely to put more strain on other area nonprofits and agencies that provide similar services.
“Help that someone in need may have received from Newcap could become fragmented and require people who are already struggling to seek out services from different agencies, rather than just one,” she said. “The remaining providers in the area could see longer wait lists and reduced quality of care.”
Newcap is also closing three year-round homeless shelters, two in Green Bay and one in Shawano, by March 31, Barlament said via email.
Tara Prahl is chair of the Brown County Homeless and Housing Coalition and director of social services for the nonprofit Ecumenical Partnership for Housing. She said Newcap’s closure, including the loss of two homeless shelters in Green Bay, could have “a significant impact to our community,” especially if the government funding Newcap was receiving doesn’t remain in the area.
“All of our homeless service providers are at capacity,” she said. “This is only going to hit a little bit harder for those that are already feeling this.”
Prahl also said Newcap’s closure makes it more important for the Brown County community to take steps to address homelessness and its housing shortage.
In Shawano, Newcap provided one of only two homeless shelters in the community. Shawano Area Matthew 25, or Sam25, provided the other.
Kendra Brusewitz, executive director of Sam25, said her shelter is only open from mid-October to mid-May as an overnight emergency shelter. She also said Sam25 has often partnered with Newcap.
“They help service the homeless families in our community year-round, so if we were full we could connect with them and get (people) services over there, or vice versa,” Brusewitz said. “Not having that partnership is a concern.”
CEO placed on leave no longer employed by Newcap
Newcap’s announced closure also comes after the organization placed its former CEO Cheryl Detrick on administrative leave in February.
Detrick was placed on leave amid reports from WLUK-TV alleging the organization misused taxpayer dollars.
Two Democratic Green Bay-area state lawmakers issued statements last month calling for an investigation into the organization’s use of taxpayer funds.
In Barlament’s statement, she said Newcap is aware of “questions regarding accountability for what has occurred” at the nonprofit. She said the organization is “committed to doing everything we can to address the situation and move forward responsibly.”
U.S. Reps. Tony Wied, R-De Pere, and Bryan Steil, R-Janesville, sent a letter on March 12 to the secretary of the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development calling for a federal investigation into Newcap.
“Money that should have gone towards helping Wisconsinites find safe and stable housing may have instead padded executive salaries and funded staff outings,” the federal lawmakers wrote.
Poser said she’s contacted Wied and Steil’s offices for help getting HUD funding transferred from Newcap to different nonprofits but has not received a response.
She said she’s reached out to the rest of Wisconsin’s congressional delegation for assistance in persuading HUD to allow for the transfers.
“We absolutely need a nonpartisan show of support around this issue,” she said. “Folks in need are in need regardless of what political party they belong to.”
Wisconsin Watch was founded 17 years ago to fill a gap in statewide investigative reporting as newsrooms cut back on that work. Since then, those gaps have only widened — especially in local communities. That’s led us to expand: joining forces with Milwaukee Neighborhood News Service and now launching our northeast Wisconsin bureau, because the region deserves strong, independent journalism and a newsroom that listens as much as it reports.
This is home.
I started as Wisconsin Watch’s northeast Wisconsin editor in August, joining Jessica Adams, director of partnerships for northeast Wisconsin, and Miranda Dunlap, our northeast Wisconsin pathways to success reporter. Since then, I’ve had the chance to reacquaint myself with my native Door County and the surrounding region.
From big cities like Appleton and Green Bay to small rural communities, people are asking for clearer information about the systems that affect daily life, along with coverage that connects problems to action. We know that because northeast Wisconsin residents have said so in listening sessions and conversations across the region.
Mental health access, housing and homelessness continue to rise to the top, alongside confusion about how local government works and how residents can get involved. Many residents have asked for reporting that explains budgets, decision-making and available programs in plain terms, while also reflecting the experiences of communities that are often overlooked.
There is also strong interest in news that builds connection, corrects misinformation and highlights both accountability and everyday efforts that make a difference.
That’s what we aim to deliver through Northeast News — a newsletter shaped by and for the people who live here. Launched this week, it’s the first product of our regional bureau, built around community connection, accountability and public participation.
Delivered every other week to start, subscribers will get more than headlines. They will receive reporting that explains how local decisions affect daily life, investigates powerful institutions, and highlights the people and ideas moving this region forward. Subscribers also get a direct line to the newsroom — to share questions, tips and story ideas that help guide the work.
More than 110 northeast Wisconsin residents helped name the newsletter. Northeast News prevailed over options that included The NEWsletter, NEWsflash, Northeast Dispatch and NEW Notes.
Residents submitted creative write-ins, too — from The Weekly Cheddar to Northeastern Exposure.
Borrowers who go through microloan programs in Appleton and Madison work with local banks to set up accounts. (Courtesy of unDraw.co)
Click here to read highlights from the story
St. Vincent de Paul-Madison started a microloan program in 2023 and has so far made nearly $100,000 in loans to 50 people.
Word spread about the program, and leaders at St. Vincent de Paul-St. Thomas More Conference in Appleton decided to implement a similar initiative.
People must meet several criteria to be eligible for a low-interest microloan.
The local St. Vincent de Paul chapter financially supports the loan, and borrowers work with a partner bank to establish a bank account, get the funds and go through financial education.
However, the effort is not without risk. The Madison organization has had people default on their microloans, though leaders declined to say how many.
Mary T. had a $2,500 balance on her credit card. It came with a 26.9% interest rate.
“I wanted to be responsible and pay off my loan … but it was so hard to get it paid off,” the Madison resident said.
Then, she heard about St. Vincent de Paul-Madison’s microloan program. If she qualified, the organization would pay the credit card loan and Mary would then pay back St. Vincent de Paul on a loan with a 4.3% interest rate through a local bank.
“It’s July 2027 that I’ll have it paid off,” Mary said. “It was not hard to go through the paperwork, and they were so nice to me throughout the whole process.”
Mary is one of about 50 people helped by St. Vincent de Paul’s microloan program since it started in late 2023. The Madison organization launched its initiative to help people living in poverty manage a one-time bill or pay off high-interest payday loans.
“People get trapped in these loans,” said Julie Bennett, CEO and executive director of St. Vincent de Paul-Madison. “They take out a loan to help with a car repair, for example, and the interest just grows. They then need another loan or need to extend the loan because they can’t pay the interest, and it just spirals.”
Since St. Vincent de Paul-Madison started its microloan program, the organization has made nearly $100,000 in loans, and word has spread. The St. Vincent de Paul-St. Thomas More Conference in Appleton launched its microloan program in February.
“The first microloan we made was for someone who had an auto title loan with a 305% effective interest rate. He had a $1,500 loan, and we were able to get him down to a 5% interest rate,” Bennett said.
Finding an alternative to payday loans
The Madison organization’s leaders learned about microloan programs offered by St. Vincent de Paul conferences in Columbus, Ohio, and Dallas, Texas, after attending national events. Members thought it was a great program they could bring back to Wisconsin, which has some of the highest average payday loan interest rates in the nation. A report from The Pew Charitable Trusts found state residents pay an average of $395 in fees and interest when repaying a $500 loan after four months, for an interest rate of 338%.
As the Madison organization’s leaders worked on the 2019-2022 strategic plan, Bennett said creating a microloan program was included on the to-do list. They looked at other microloan programs and struggled at first to understand the complexity of banking. St. Vincent de Paul-Madison created a task force that included financial representatives who helped them understand how the loan process would work. Representatives from local organizations that work with those living in poverty also joined the task force.
While St. Vincent de Paul-Madison provides the money for the loans, its leaders must partner with financial institutions to process the loans and help create a positive lending experience for the borrower’s credit report. The Bank of Sun Prairie signed on as the organization’s first banking partner in 2023, with Lake Ridge Bank joining in 2025.
“We needed a financial partner to take care of all the loan documentation and to make sure the loan was on (the borrower’s) record,” Bennett said. “If they pay off the loan successfully, it looks good on their credit record and gives them something to build on.”
Microloan recipients must meet several requirements to qualify, including being a Dane County resident, having a monthly household income at or below 300% of the federal poverty level, being willing to have a bank account and having a monthly debt-to-income ratio under 47%.
As part of the program, loans range from $400 to $2,500. Borrowers receive low-interest rates between 4% and 8% and set up flexible repayment plans over two years through local banks.
“We see the microloans as an alternative to payday loans for people who need money but have no other source to go to,” Bennett said. “We also see the microloans as a way to pay off those payday loans, which cause immediate and long-term harm to borrowers since the interest rates keep going up.”
Borrowers also receive financial education and support to help them avoid similar situations in the future. Bennett said St. Vincent de Paul-Madison wanted to provide that education with a sensitive approach. The University of Wisconsin-Extension’s Financial Education program developed training for the microlending team so they could have sensitive, discreet conversations.
“No one likes talking to strangers about their money, and it’s even harder when their financial condition is precarious,” she said.
The microloan program carries some risk for St. Vincent de Paul-Madison. If borrowers default on their loans, the organization is on the hook for paying them off. Unfortunately, that has happened, though Bennett declined to share how many people have defaulted.
To Mary, being able to get her interest rate to a predictable and manageable number was vital.
“I just know how much I need to pay without the total … going up all the time, with the interest … growing,” she said. “I felt I was never making any progress with the payments. Now, I can see when it’s all going to be paid off, and I know I’m going to get it done.”
An example to others
The Madison team paid their experience forward, and leaders from an Appleton organization took notice.
Karen Rickert, a member of St. Vincent de Paul-St. Thomas More Conference, heard Bennett speak about Madison’s microloan program at an event. In her years as a volunteer, Rickert saw many people caught living paycheck to paycheck. A woman who was hit with a car repair bill and turned to a payday lender stuck with Rickert.
“The repair costs were more than what we could help with. She couldn’t go to work because she didn’t have a working car. She couldn’t take her kids to school because she didn’t have a car. She eventually had to take out one of those terrible payday loans,” Rickert said. “I felt terrible about it, but it sprung me into action.”
Members from the Appleton organization met with Bennett and learned as much as possible about the Madison group’s microloan program. They put their bylaws and plans together.
The next step? Raising $20,000 to serve as security for the loans. Thanks to a grant and donations, they nearly doubled their goal.
Nicolet Bank signed on as the financial institution. Rickert said the organization has several volunteers who used to work in finance and banking. They “walk hand-in-hand with our borrowers through the process to help address any issues before they become a problem,” she said.
For organizations looking to start their own microloan programs, Bennett and Rickert recommended talking to groups with their own initiatives and being prepared to ask a lot of questions. The St. Thomas More Conference learned a lot by talking with the Madison organization and others as they put their microloan program together, Rickert said.
“It was a lot of work and took us a while to get it going, but it was worth it,” she said.
With everything in place, the Appleton organization made its first microloan in February.
“It’s amazing to see this all come together and now we’re able to help people get loans at a reasonable rate and help steer them away from payday loans,” Rickert said. “We’re helping them get a step ahead.”
Reading Time: 5minutesClick here to read highlights from the story
Jobs for data centers happen in three phases: development, construction and operations.
The largest numbers of workers are on site when a data center is being built, experts said.
The number of long-term jobs a data center brings depends on the size of the facility.
It’s difficult to measure the ripple effects data centers have on the economy; however, experts say local businesses can benefit from producing components and products for data centers.
Data center technicians will be in high demand as more facilities come online.
As data center developers stake out land in Wisconsin communities, much debate has surrounded whether the computer-packed warehouses will deliver economic benefits locally.
Waves of opposition and concerns about land, water and electricity use routinely follow data center proposals, while supporters echo that the centers will create jobs and help the economy.
But what jobs? How many of them? And will they last?
To answer those questions, Wisconsin Watch talked to three professors:
Xiaofan Liang, who specializes in urban and regional planning at the University of Michigan.
Scott Adams, a University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee labor economist.
Dijo Alexander, who specializes in information technology, digital transformation and artificial intelligence at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.
Here are some takeaways.
What kinds of jobs do data centers bring?
Data center jobs fall into three major categories that represent phases in their creation:
Development
Construction
Operations
A data center first needs people to plan for its existence. Developers, engineers, designers and planners lay that groundwork.
“The data center industry as an ecosystem is pretty big … When they first introduce a data center to a place, they have to figure out the design standard, how to construct all kinds of facilities, how it connects to city systems,” Liang said.
Then, developers must hire heaps of hands-on laborers to construct the gigantic warehouses from the ground up — the largest portion of workers needed in creating and operating a data center. Among other professions, this includes electricians, plumbers and pipefitters, carpenters, structural steel and iron workers, concrete workers and earth drillers.
Laborers and construction workers are needed in high numbers to build data centers like this one in Beaver Dam, Wis., experts said. (Joe Timmerman / Wisconsin Watch)
The job boom from early phases fizzles out once the building is complete, Liang said.
“(During) construction time, you usually have a lot more jobs — maybe 10 times in magnitude more so than operations,” Liang said.
Operations jobs, fewer in quantity, are largely “unglamorous,” Adams said.
Some of these roles have relatively low barriers to entry, such as maintenance workers and security guards. Meanwhile, electricians and HVAC workers are needed, considering that power and cooling are data centers’ “two most important inputs,” Adams said.
Adams echoed a popular analogy likening data centers to warehouses full of rotting bananas that need constant cooling and replacing.
“You need banana technicians, more or less, that take the rotted bananas out and replace them with new bananas,” Adams said. “Now, granted, they’re much more expensive bananas in there, and they’re doing a whole lot, and it requires a little more expertise. But again that expertise, by and large, can be developed pretty quickly.”
Those workers will be data center technicians — people who install servers, replace hardware and cables, monitor systems and notice when things break down.
How many jobs do data centers bring?
The number of jobs created depends on a data center’s size, Liang said.
That can initially mean thousands of jobs at gargantuan developments like in Mount Pleasant. Microsoft says it has employed 3,000 people to construct the location, compared to 500 full-time workers once the plant is operating. But these numbers are expected to climb as the company constructs a cluster of additional centers at the site.
Not all of these workers will be local. Given the temporary high demand, the projects will likely need out-of-town construction laborers who travel to the area and don’t stay long term.
Smaller projects will employ far fewer people. For a typical data center, Microsoft estimates it hires about 50 full-time employees. What those numbers mean for the local area depends on the community’s size.
“In a bigger city, like Atlanta, it’s like a drop in the ocean, right? It doesn’t really affect much,” Liang said. “In a rural area, in a smaller town, hundreds of jobs … are a big deal.”
What about the trickle-down economic benefits?
A sizable new employer entering communities could ripple across other nearby industries, though Liang notes this is hard to measure.
“(A data center) just has such a big infrastructure need that trickles down in many different ways,” Liang said. “Now we need expanded utility infrastructure, grid, fiber, water, all these things. Construction of these infrastructure, even though it’s not directly related to (a) data center, could increase local employment in those areas.”
Inside a data center are “cabinets after cabinets of steel frames holding computers” that need to be built, Alexander said. This can boost local manufacturing, especially the metal fabrication industry.
Wisconsin manufacturers have already begun cashing in on the construction boom nationwide. As Wisconsin Watch previously reported, just three Wisconsin companies alone have amassed more than $1 billion in equipment sales — such as motors, generators and cooling systems — to data centers.
“The data center market is booming,” says Chief Operating Officer Erik Thompson of Modular Power & Data, who is shown in Cudahy, Wis., Feb. 25, 2026. He is standing next to rows of switchboards, which will be used to help power data centers. On the day of Wisconsin Watch’s visit, 42 of the switchboards were set to be sent out. (Trisha Young / Wisconsin Watch)
Massive developments like Microsoft’s in Mount Pleasant can potentially lead to a “tech corridor,” a cluster of warehouses and manufacturers near the data center they serve, Alexander said.
“If we take the initiative and if we bring a few big enough component manufacturers, we can create locally created components for these data centers to consume,” Alexander said. “It’s like if you have a big restaurant or food manufacturer here, you will have agriculture around there, because it is easy for you to bring your produce for their consumption. Just like that. ”
The trend could also activate industries like nuclear power, Adams said. Building data centers in conjunction with nuclear reactors to generate their power would fuel even more construction and energy jobs, he added. In Kewaunee County, an energy company wants to rebuild Kewaunee Power Station, a defunct nuclear power plant, anticipating energy demand from AI and data centers.
In more rural communities or near smaller data centers, the trickle-down effects could prove more modest — perhaps a few new restaurants and housing units, Adams said.
Alexander also noted the effects could also be less concentrated, with growth spilling into neighboring cities as employees work at the center but live elsewhere.
But will enough permanent jobs be created to sustain the growth sparked during the early labor-intensive development phase? That’s unclear, Adams said.
“We don’t have a firm enough grasp about the indirect effects in the longer term,” Adams said. “Short run, that’ll be great. Longer run, can we sustain the new development that might happen around these? I don’t know the answer to that. I think if the power generation side of it comes in connection with them, there’s more of a chance that that will work.”
Who are data center technicians?
Data center technicians are perhaps the most novel job introduced by the data center boom. The roles are more specialized than others needed inside the warehouses.
Job postings for data center technicians at Microsoft’s Milwaukee location say the workers will be “preparing, installing, performing diagnostics, troubleshooting, replacing, and/or decommissioning equipment under the guidance of more experienced data center colleagues.”
The posting states the job requires a high school diploma, knowledge of computer hardware and some experience with IT equipment. Pay for lower-level technicians ranges from $23 to $36 per hour, with more experienced workers making up to about $48 per hour.
Adams said likely candidates will include engineers and computer coders and people now entering college with their sights on data center work. Microsoft and Gateway Technical College in Kenosha launched a “Data Center Academy,” preparing students to work in data center operations. Adams believes partnerships like this will become more common.
Are these good jobs?
You can use the interactive table below to explore many of the jobs data centers are expected to create, including wages, employment totals and required education.
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It’s midmorning in late February, and Bruce Smith is regaling two ice fishing buddies when a tug on his line interrupts the story.
“There we go!” he shouts as a shimmering 23-inch whitefish appears through a hole in the ice. “That’ll make a nice filet.”
No sooner has Smith tossed it into a cooler than his buddy Terry Gross reels in another one. Five minutes later came another bite, then another, until by 10:30 a.m. the trio had hauled in 15 fish — halfway to their daily limit, even after putting several back.
Once written off as too polluted to support many whitefish, the shallow, narrow bay in northwest Lake Michigan has produced an unlikely population boom in recent years, even as the iconic species vanishes from most of the lower Great Lakes. The collapse has dealt a blow to Michigan’s environment, culture, economy and dinner plates.
Oddly enough, nutrient pollution from farms and factories may help bolster the bay’s whitefish population, spawning a world-class recreational fishing scene while helping a handful of commercial fisheries in Michigan and Wisconsin stay afloat despite the collapse in the wider lake.
“This is a paradise,” Smith said. “The best fishing I can ever remember, for the species I want to catch.”
Terry Gross, 63, hauls in a large whitefish in the ice fishing shanty he shares with Ed Smrecek, 73. Both men are from Appleton, Wis. (Daniel Kramer for Bridge Michigan)
As scientists work to understand what makes Green Bay unique, their findings could aid whitefish recovery efforts throughout the Great Lakes. Michigan biologists, for example, have drawn inspiration from Green Bay’s sheltered, nutrient-rich waters as they attempt to transplant the state’s whitefish into areas with similar characteristics.
“Having places they (whitefish) are doing well … gives us context for the places that they aren’t doing well,” said Matt Herbert, a senior conservation scientist with the Nature Conservancy in Michigan. “It helps us to figure out, how can we intervene?”
But lately, sophisticated population models have shown fewer baby fish making their way into the Green Bay population, prompting worries that Lake Michigan’s last whitefish stronghold may be weakening.
A Great Lakes miracle
Not long ago, it seemed impossible that a fishery like this could ever exist in Green Bay.
Before the Clean Water Act of 1972 and subsequent cleanup efforts, paper mills along the lower Fox River — the bay’s largest tributary — dumped toxic polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs) into the water without restraint while silty, fertilizer-soaked runoff poured off upstream farms.
Southern Green Bay was no place for “a self-respecting whitefish,” said Scott Hansen, senior fisheries biologist with the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources.
Lake Michigan’s much larger main basin, meanwhile, was full of them.
Commercial fisherman Todd Stuth’s business got 80% of its catch from the open waters of Lake Michigan before the turn of the millenium. Now, 90% comes from Green Bay.
How did things change so dramatically?
Invasive mussel shells are more common than pebbles on a Lake Michigan beach near Petoskey, Mich. (Kelly House / Bridge Michigan)
First, invasive filter-feeding zebra and quagga mussels arrived in the Great Lakes from Eastern Europe and multiplied over decades, eventually monopolizing the nutrients and plankton that fish need to survive. Whitefish populations in lakes Michigan and Huron have tanked as a result.
Fortunately for Wisconsin and a sliver of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, Hansen said, “Southern Green Bay kept building.”
In the late 1990s, scientists began spotting the fish in Green Bay area rivers where they hadn’t been seen in a century. Soon the species started showing up during surveys of lower Green Bay. By the early 2010s, models show the bay was teeming with tens of millions of them.
It’s not entirely clear what caused the whitefish revival, but most see cleaner water as part of the equation.
A decades-long restoration project has cleared away more than 6 million yards of sediment laced with PCBs and nutrient-laced farm runoff from the Fox River and lower Green Bay. Phosphorus concentrations near the river mouth have declined by a third over 40 years — though they’re still considered too high.
“Pelicans are back, and the bird population seems to be thriving,” said Sarah Bartlett, a water resources specialist with the Green Bay Metropolitan Sewerage District, which monitors the bay’s water quality. “And now we have this world-class fishery.”
Hansen’s theory is that back when whitefish were still abundant in Lake Michigan, some wanderers strayed into the newly hospitable bay and decided to stay. Or maybe they were here all along, waiting for the right conditions to multiply.
Either way, the bay has become a lifeline for whitefish and the humans that eat them.
“I feel very fortunate that the bay is doing as well as it is,” said Stuth, who chairs the state commercial fishing board.
As commercial harvests in the Wisconsin waters of Lake Michigan plummeted from more than 1.6 million pounds in 2000 to less than 200,000 pounds in 2024, harvests in Green Bay skyrocketed from less than 100,000 pounds to more than 800,000.
The bay has also become more important to fishers in Michigan, which has jurisdiction over a portion of its waters.
While the state’s total commercial harvests from Lake Michigan have plummeted 70% since 2009 to just 1.2 million pounds annually, the decline would be steeper were it not for stable stocks in the bay. Once accounting for just a sliver of the catch, the bay now makes up more than half.
Vytautas Majus, who lives in Chicago, left the city at 2 a.m. to be on the ice fishing for whitefish by 7 a.m. Behind him, the horizon is dotted with ice shanties and anglers also hoping to land a whitefish. (Daniel Kramer for Bridge Michigan)
A recreational ice fishing scene has sprung up too, with thousands of anglers taking to the ice each winter, contributing tens of millions to the local economy.
Ironically, the bay’s lingering nutrient pollution may be helping to some extent – a dynamic also seen in Michigan’s Saginaw Bay.
Nutrients like phosphorus and nitrogen are the building blocks of life, fueling the growth of aquatic plants and algae at the base of the food web. Plankton eat the algae, small fish eat the plankton, and big fish eat the small fish.
Unlike the main basins, where mussels have hogged nutrients and starved out whitefish, polluted runoff leaves the shallow bays with more than enough for the mussels and everything else.
Some have even suggested Michigan and its neighbors should start fertilizing the big lakes in hopes of giving whitefish a boost, Herbert said, but “there’s the question of feasibility.”
First, because the lakes are far deeper and wider than the bays, it would take vast quantities to make an impact. And while excess nutrients may help feed fish, they could also cause oxygen-deprived dead zones, harmful algae blooms and other serious problems.
Green Bay is already offering other lessons for Michigan, though.
Inspired by whitefish’s return to the bay’s rivers, biologists including Herbert are trying to coax Michigan whitefish to spawn in rivers that connect to nutrient-rich river mouths like Lake Charlevoix.
The hope is that if hatchlings can spend a few months fattening up before migrating into the mussel-infested big lake, they’ll stand a better chance of surviving.
Scientists in Green Bay are also tracking whitefish movements, hoping to figure out where they spawn and what makes those habitats special. That kind of information could prove useful to recovery efforts throughout the Great Lakes, said Dan Isermann, a fish biologist with the U.S. Geological Survey.
Living in ‘the good old days’
“We’re really lucky to have what we have here,” said JJ Malvitz, a commercial fishing guide who owes his career to Green Bay’s whitefish resurgence.
But he lives with fear that “the good old days are now.”
Stocks have shrunk by half since the mid-2010s, according to population models fed with data from DNR surveys and commercial and recreational harvests. The adult whitefish seem to be fat and healthy. But for reasons unknown, fewer of their offspring have been making it to adulthood.
It’s possible the bay’s population is just leveling off after a period of strong recruitment, Hansen said, “but we want to be vigilant.”
A recent string of lackluster winters adds to the concern. Whitefish lay their eggs on ice-covered reefs. When that protective layer fails to form or melts off early, the eggs can be battered by waves or enticed to hatch early, out of sync with the spring plankton bloom that serves as their main food source.
While this winter was icier than most, climate change is making low-ice winters more frequent.
“Whitefish are a cold-water species, and we know that’s not where the trends are going,” Hansen said.
Time to cut back?
So far, Wisconsin officials haven’t lowered Green Bay’s annual whitefish quota of 2.28 million pounds, evenly split between the commercial and sport fisheries. Commercial boats are limited to fish bigger than 17 inches, while recreational anglers are limited to 10 fish a day of any size.
A group of ice fishermen grill hot dogs outside an ice shanty on Green Bay in late February. (Daniel Kramer for Bridge Michigan)
But during a recent presentation to the state’s Natural Resources Board, Hansen said it’s time to start keeping closer tabs on the population.
“If these trends continue,” he said, “we need to have some more serious discussions amongst ourselves about lowering the exploitation rates.”
Malvitz, the guide, believes it’s time for commercial and recreational anglers to collectively agree to harvest fewer fish. He would be satisfied with a five-fish limit for recreational anglers along with smaller quotas for the commercial fishery, which harvests far more fish.
The bay’s whitefish reappeared quickly and unexpectedly, he said. Who’s to say they couldn’t disappear just as fast?
“I don’t want to be standing on the shore in five years saying ‘remember when,’” he said.
Stuth, the commercial fishing board chair, isn’t ready to accept tighter quotas in the bay, but said population models should be closely watched. If the declines continue, he said, cuts may be on the table.
“A very conservative approach is going to be necessary,” he said. “Because it’s our last stronghold. If that goes away, what do we have?”
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