This is a chapter from The Latin America Red Pill (2024) by Fergus Hodgson. An audio version, as of July 2025, is available via Audible and the Impunity Observer.
Note: this account comes from 2017–2018, but I am writing it in 2024. I had a Poets & Quants interview in 2019 about the case, so I am somewhat drawing on that.
After moving on from the PanAm Post in 2016, I debated what to do next with my life. In particular, I wanted to go beyond journalism and add more practical value. Since I loved economics, I looked to finance, a subfield of applied economics.
That led to a search around the world for graduate programs in finance, and eventually I stumbled across the Master of Finance (MFIN) at Francisco Marroquín University (UFM) in Guatemala City. Beyond UFM’s libertarian inclinations—which motivated founder Manuel Ayau (1925–2010), whom I admired—this program had many advantages. I had been to UFM before and could move to Guatemala without any visa challenges, at least for the duration of my studies. There was also no tax on foreign income.
Further, the MFIN had a doble titulación with Tulane University in Louisiana. That means you graduate simultaneously with degrees from two different universities. At the time I was not familiar with this approach, but I had lived in New Orleans and assumed Tulane to be relatively rigorous.
Apparently, the doble titulación is commonplace among Latin American universities, and that should have been a red flag. Typically, students want more prestige from an Anglo-American or European university. Sometimes the lesser programs align with the very top schools in Latin America, such as the Catholic University of Chile.
However, the existence of the doble titulación begs the question: why do Latin Americans strongly prefer the branding associated with universities from outside the region? Further, how desperate are the more prestigious universities to make a buck that they partner with much less selective programs?
Little did I know, but I was soon to find out. I got more of an education than I bargained for.
Warning Signs
People in Guatemala whom I respect and trust suggested this was a risky move, although I did not understand why. One UFM professor told me that the university was going through a lackluster era. A local who had worked at UFM told me she knew of an American who had recently begun studies at UFM and then left abruptly.
However, the MFIN program would allow me to strengthen my Spanish, and at half the price of studying at the Tulane campus (US$33,000 versus about $61,000). It all seemed like an ideal fit and even too good to be true. The MFIN director (who soon resigned from UFM) interviewed me and welcomed me to the UFM Business School (Escuela de Negocios). With admission in hand and an apartment sorted within walking distance, I was eager to get started with readings and classes.
I must admit that the technical Spanish spoken in finance classes was beyond what I was accustomed to, and it was awkward because I knew all the students understood my English. Often, I would approach lecturers during or after class and get clarification in English.
However, I soon also became aware of a serious problem: everyone else knew each other, and they coordinated their quizzes and assignments, both during and after class. I was the lone non-Hispanic, and I can only remember there being one or two Latinos not born in Guatemala, out of perhaps 40 students in the cohort.
Coming to a Head
Cheating—or collaboration, if we are being charitable—seemed to be taken for granted. I told one of the professors that everyone was copying each other on the quizzes, and she shrugged. She already had a lot on her plate.
I tried to brush this aside, but it became too much. We went to New Orleans to complete a semester-long class in three days at the Tulane campus. This seemed like a charade to me.
I have since learned that many business schools offer hypercondensed classes with minimal educational value. Retention falls markedly with lecture time, especially after 45 minutes, so this is an unhelpful way to learn. It works great if you are trying to cram in credits and care not for the material.
We received a take-home exam that was due in two weeks. The Tulane lecturer warned against cheating, but I thought he must have been joking. Did he seriously believe the students would heed the warning? To be frank, the exam was difficult, and I struggled with material that was not familiar to me. There had been no tutoring or small-group discussions for this class, so I was a bit lost.
Meanwhile, I noticed people were bringing their exams to class and working on them together, right in front of the other lecturers. This was far from a one-time occurrence, so eventually I got my phone out and photographed people passing around copies of the exam.
At this point, I expressed my concerns to the Tulane lecturer and asked to speak with the dean of Tulane’s Freeman School of Business. I also met with the UFM Business School dean and the rector.
Initially, these men welcomed my feedback, although from memory I only got to speak with the assistant dean at the Freeman School. However, they swiftly realized they would not have a program if they cracked down, since nigh everyone appeared to be cheating. Although the Tulane lecturer sympathized with me and did not like the situation, he did not want to proceed with attempting to punish anyone.
A UFM instructor, familiar with my concerns, told me that he and his peers were aware of the widespread cheating. They believed letting such people in was a business necessity: the school needed the tuition. This particular instructor also said pushing back against cheating would make other Guatemalan universities not want to hire him.
The dean of the UFM Business School saw me as the problem and offered to assist with transferring me to a school in Spain. A move to Spain did not interest me, and I asked whether I could finish out my MFIN with Tulane at the New Orleans campus. Even if everyone was cheating at UFM and degrading the value of the degree, at least at Tulane I believed I would get a better learning environment. However, neither side was willing to accommodate such a move.
The Final Straw
This was all happening as one of my classes back in Guatemala City was finishing up. We went into the final exam one evening, but the professor was feeling ill. He stayed with us for a while, but then he asked how close people were to finishing. Since no one was done, he said he would leave and people could hand in the exam at noon the next day.
As soon as he left, the students went right to work collaborating on the exam. Apparently, a couple of people had copies of last year’s exam, and they were helping the rest, since it was the same exam.
That was more than I could take, so I walked out and never returned to a UFM class. If I could not take the program seriously, how could I expect anyone else to?
Moving On
Unfortunately, the timing was awkward, being early 2018 by then: too late for me to easily get funding for top US programs that year. Some solid programs admitted me but not with sufficient funding to make it prudent. I remained in Guatemala, worked on other endeavors, and prepared to enter business school in 2019.
Fortunately, my GMAT (business-school exam) result proved high enough for me to receive three full-tuition scholarship offers to study finance at Boston College, Johns Hopkins University, and Rice University. They were the best schools I had applied to, and Boston College also offered a stipend to cover my living expenses. Other schools were writing to me with offers and encouraging me to apply, including one ranked in the top 10 in the United States.
In the end, I opted for Rice, felt vindicated, and graduated with my MBA in finance in 2021. Unfortunately, my rural background meant I had no idea about the scholarships on offer from US business schools. Further, I had underestimated my capacity to get admitted to top programs. With hindsight, I would have approached the business-school endeavor much differently.
A Few Take-Home Lessons
As you can guess, I did not leave with positive feelings towards UFM, although I still have honorable, impressive friends working there. I had hoped to support what I believed to be a bastion of classical liberalism. In the end, UFM spat me out, and Tulane turned a blind eye.
The doble titulación appears to be a low-effort money-maker for Tulane. Presumably, the university, which has been on a downward slide for many years, is desperate for cash and willing to dilute its brand value by selling degrees abroad. Tulane’s Freeman School actually cheated on its own exams, metaphorically speaking. For at least five years (2007–2011), the Freeman School faked admission and test numbers to artificially improve its standing on the US News & World Report rankings.
When my interview with Poets & Quants was published in 2019, some people said I had made it up. Someone translated the interview to Spanish and published it all on an X thread, so that sparked plenty of finger pointing.
However, most Guatemalans I met wondered why I was surprised at all. Some laughed about the story, since they were all too familiar with similar patterns. Libertarian friends from Latin America sighed and said UFM, despite noble origins, had been Latinized.
In a low-trust society such as Guatemala, people perceive cheating very differently. They go along to get along and are inclined to see you as foolish for sticking to the rules or caring about academic standards. For most of them, that is all they know.
That is one reason why I do not blame any one person, although I wish the business-school deans had been more helpful. The students and faculty were working in a difficult, style-over-substance scenario that disincentivized integrity. Their pragmatism was predictable and stemmed from deeper cultural challenges. Locals are not going to change for one or even a cluster of new arrivals, so do not expect them to.
Although I could have helped the UFM Business School raise its profile and compete internationally, there appeared to be little interest in the idea. The students and faculty touted the notion that the school was number-one in Guatemala, which did not impress me. UFM fails to make the top 250 universities in QS Latin America rankings and comes 49th in Central America.
My experience in the school was somewhat of a microcosm of the broader Guatemalan (chapín) society. While you might think the professional and wealthier classes would be eager to welcome foreign entrepreneurs and investors, that is not typically the case. When you are at the top, you want to stay there and preserve the status quo. Outsiders are disruptive to the economy and the social hierarchy.
Anyone thinking of moving to start a business or study in Guatemala should go in with his eyes open. Even if we ignore the traffic, pollution, and crime, Guatemala has customs that keep her poor. In particular, overcoming and not getting tainted by corruption is a tremendous challenge. A friend and rule-of-law advocate there warned me I would struggle to rise without compromising myself. Then, if you do become successful, you will have a target on your back and require even more comprehensive security.
Revealed rather than stated preferences are incredibly telling. Guatemalans sing “Soy chapín de sangre, vas a respetarme” with vigor (I am Guatemalan by blood; you will respect me), but they move or study abroad when they can. They do not trust their own institutions and, as a general rule and default position, nor should you.
This is copyrighted material from The Latin America Red Pill (2024), published with permission from the author.
