In the global push to digitize learning, the term "open" has become synonymous with progress. But not all forms of openness are created equal. Massive Open Online Courses (MOOCs) were initially hailed as a democratizing force, breaking down barriers and expanding access to education worldwide. Yet beneath the surface of this promising rhetoric lies a more complex and troubling reality.
Are MOOCs really the open learning platforms we were promised? Unlike truly open-access education, MOOCs are commercialized, proprietary platforms that often prioritize profit over pedagogy.
When MOOCs were first launched in the early 2010s by institutions like Stanford, MIT, and Harvard, they promised a revolution in global education. Platforms like Coursera, edX, and FutureLearn offered free courses from top universities, using the language of access, inclusion, and global empowerment. Millions of students enrolled, governments jumped on board, and the hype cycle was in full swing.
However, the model quickly evolved into a commercial ecosystem. Courses became “freemium,” certificates came with a price, and platform algorithms were designed to maximize engagement and, ultimately, monetization.
A 2024 study published in Open Praxis examined MOOCs on the Bilge portal, noting persistently low completion rates, even after adjusting for engagement. This research underscores the long-standing issue of high dropout rates in MOOCs.
Another study focused on 2.3 million learners across 174 MITx courses, and concluded that MOOCs disproportionately attract older, male, and highly educated individuals—those who need open-access education the least, and are often the ones benefiting the most.
Today’s MOOCs are governed by the logic of platform capitalism. Their management is highly centralized, their content curated by institutions, and their design prioritizes scalability and data-driven personalization over deep, critical engagement.
Behavioral data is mined to enhance user “stickiness” and convert free users into paying customers, echoing the broader patterns of surveillance capitalism. MOOCs promise global education, but in practice, they often act more like Software-as-a-Service (SaaS) companies, optimizing for growth and profit rather than true educational access.
The knowledge provided is predominantly Western, English-language, and linear, with limited adaptability for local contexts. Rather than transforming education, MOOCs simulate traditional classroom structures on a digital interface.
One significant issue with MOOCs is that they frequently export Western knowledge without providing meaningful local context. This reinforces a form of digital neocolonialism, where the dominant knowledge systems are Anglo-American. Scholars like Walter Mignolo have referred to this as the "coloniality of knowledge."
Courses on global development, education, or health are often designed from elite Global North perspectives, with minimal representation from the Global South or Indigenous knowledge systems. This creates an educational model where learners are socialized into accepting one dominant way of knowing, while local traditions are sidelined or completely ignored.
Language is another significant barrier. Over 80% of MOOCs are taught in English, which excludes millions of learners in the Global South who lack high-level proficiency. Even in multilingual initiatives like India’s SWAYAM or France’s FUN MOOC, the pedagogy often mirrors colonial-era educational models—top-down, exam-driven, and institutionally controlled.
In contrast to MOOCs, true open-access education emphasizes community, flexibility, and cultural relevance. Rooted in the tradition of knowledge commons, it encourages community-led curriculum design, multilingual resources, open licensing, and peer-to-peer pedagogy. It values learner agency over credential scalability.
Around the world, national MOOC platforms have adopted different strategies to expand access and assert cultural influence. While each platform differs in form and intent, they share a common thread: each reflects not only a pedagogical model but also a political agenda—embedding specific values, epistemologies, and power dynamics into digital learning.
The case studies above reveal a deeper structural tension: while national MOOC initiatives have succeeded in broadening access and localizing content to varying degrees, their true impact depends not just on the technical infrastructure but on the degree of epistemic autonomy they provide.
The central question is not just what MOOCs deliver, but how they structure the act of learning itself.
Beneath the surface of open access lies a hidden curriculum that promotes values of self-optimization, competition, and credentialism. Learning is reframed as a solitary race toward certification, with gamified metrics and milestones replacing deeper inquiry. Critical thinking is often sidelined in favor of completion rates, and engagement is funneled through algorithmically managed forums that prioritize speed over reflection.
The result is a pedagogy of scale—broad in reach but often shallow in depth, optimized for distribution rather than discovery.
To move beyond this limited model, we must reimagine digital education as a relational, co-created space that values learning as a public good, not a product. This means shifting from passive consumption to active participation.
If openness is to be liberatory, it must go beyond mere technical access or enrollment figures. It must involve shared power, voices heard, and futures co-authored.
MOOCs are not inherently harmful, but neither are they inherently emancipatory. Too often, they provide accessibility without equity, scalability without cultural sensitivity, and instruction without participation. In doing so, they risk deepening the very inequalities they claim to address.
Reclaiming openness means re-centering education around human relationships—between teachers and learners, and between communities and knowledge systems. It means designing platforms that are accountable not just to venture capital or institutional prestige, but to the plural and evolving needs of learners worldwide.
If openness is to have any real pedagogical or moral weight, it must mean more than free enrollment. It must mean power shared, voices heard, and futures co-authored.