I initially wrote this letter to class of 2014 on their graduation day, but never managed to publish it. Perhaps it is for the best: graduation is a special day, a day to bask in your accomplishment, to sit in the sun, nurse your crushing hangover, and silently curse the Taiko drums. Perhaps it is better suited for the falling leaves and crisp, serious air, for a new semester and a new class at Wes.
It’s not a happy letter, but nor is it one of blame; this one’s on all of us. The pride that filled me on graduation day lingered for several years — I had a bumper sticker, a hoody, the usual things. Sadly, that pride was for a place that no longer exists. It was for a school that admitted students based on merit, not their parents’ bank account. As you all know, beginning with the class of 2017, now sophomores, Wesleyan began considering ability to pay as a criterion for admission. Rejected applicants, unable to meet the hefty price tag of a Wesleyan education, are now left to wonder whether they were insufficiently talented or insufficiently wealthy. Admitted students can now reasonably question whether they truly earned their spot.
A Pernicious Narrative
I am constantly surprised by the number of Wes alumni who take this monumental change to University policy as a matter of course. “We couldn’t afford it,” they tell me, invoking a fuzzy math, shocking in its ignorance. President Roth, who revoked need-blind admissions for transfer and international students the year I graduated, has managed to spread this narrative even as he publicly acknowledges its fiction. He does this by putting “need-blind” in scare quotes, glibly promising a commitment to economic diversity by shunning “admission criteria that correlate with wealth” (as if only SATs correlate with wealth—never mind that wealth itself is now a criterion), and reiterating the school’s commitment to “meet full need,” which is sort of a sick joke, if it can decide that the needy aren’t admitted at all.
As he couches the discussion of need-blind admissions in the jargon of financial stability, he intentionally conflates the two, perpetuating this desired fiction. How easily we submit to the technocrats! It’s logistics, you see. We just can’t afford it anymore.
Let me be clear: a need-blind admissions policy is not something that costs money. The school’s financial aid budget, now bolstered by the hugely successful This is Why campaign, is what it is; it’s capped, both bureaucratically and literally — which means that eliminating NB moves Wesleyan no closer to “sustainable affordability,” (whatever that means). Need-blind admissions are not financial aid. But the narrative is persistent: a seemingly simple explanation that perhaps does not sit well with many alumni, but at least pays due diligence to the realist roots of their neoliberalism. The alumni responded to the elimination of NB with a huge outpouring of financial support.
Let us begin this new academic year by acknowledging the “can’t afford it” narrative for the red herring it is, and discussing instead the merits of NB, the challenges of offering financial aid, and the future of Wesleyan.
De Jure v. De Facto
It would be silly to deny that Wesleyan and its peer institutions have long been stomping grounds for the rich. As the sixth most expensive school in the country, at $60,214 per year for 2013–2014, a year of Wesleyan costs 1.2 years of median U.S. household income. The poverty line for a family of four is $23,850; one Wesleyan education, theoretically, can support a family for 10 years.
Something as expensive as Wesleyan will always divide the haves and the have-nots. The spate of recent philosophizing on the value of college is unlikely to do much to reign in the bubble, if indeed it is a true bubble. College tuition has risen 400% relative to inflation in the last thirty years, yet it seems unlikely the top tier will ever pop: the 1% and the .01% will always be willing to pay for their children to join the club.
It’s an old question, then: what’s in a name? Wes may have had NB admissions, but it was and has always been a haven of the wealthy. The truly poor never apply: college, if it’s in the cards, is an evening or at least a local proceeding. And middle-income students are rare as well: one can only take so much crippling debt. What’s really changed?
Yet need-aware admissions are morally repugnant. Wesleyan is de facto a place of privilege — but in making it de jure as well, President Roth has trampled on the ideals so often taught, learned and lived at Wesleyan. His decisions says: Wesleyan is not a place for poor people, nor should it be.
Put simply: I don’t think it’s a very good idea for an incoming freshman to take on $200k of debt to attend Wesleyan, but I’m damn sure I want them to have the option.
Names Matter
A perverse pleasure of being a Wesleyan alum: lots of people have never heard of it. Among those who have (read: rich, college-educated), Wes connotes lots of positive things. But with the many people who’ve don’t know it, you can avoid the inverse judgment, often a set of pejorative assumptions about the crass decadence of expensive schooling, some of which are perfectly reasonable. It’s always a pleasure to watch a friend of mine squirm when people ask her where she went to college (she has the grace to be slightly embarrassed by her Harvard degree). The power of a name is one of the most ancient epistemological questions; in the modern era, it often manifests as the power of a brand.
If you’re reading this, you’re a student, an alum, a parent, a pre-frosh. I don’t need to explain why names matter. Your encounters with academia have, at a bare minimum, convinced you that language has power. Language has power. Language has power.
It matters that we no longer bear a NB label. We are now explicitly legitimizing the status quo. Elite colleges are one tool that the elite use to solidify and pass down their status — and we’re OK with that. Don’t worry though, we’re still committed to providing as much financial aid as possible: such is the duty of the liberal elite.
Poor students considering an application to Wes: feel condescended to yet? You should. Deltas and Epsilons need not apply.
More Than Just Language
Beginning last September, the character of Wesleyan began to change. Before, we were a community of the wealthy; now it is a community of everyone-knows-everyone-else-
What did Wesleyan gain with this decision? That’s hard to say. The best answer, I think, is the luxury to plan the financial aid budget, its expenditures and investments, over a longer arc. A long timeframe for financial planning is certainly a worthwhile goal, and it is one that is achievable within the context of NB admissions. As the FA budget is capped each year, the FA office should have no problem investing the $300+ million raised by This is Why to provide a stable aid budget, with plenty of safety margin for off-years. No excuse remains for the continued abrogation of NB.
What Now?
It’s difficult to retain the noble idealism of college. Real life intrudes, with bills and crazy bosses, mice and landlords and uncertainty. Lots of uncertainty. The ills of the world are legend and manifest, and it’s easy to feel powerless.
Here’s what I propose: let someone, perhaps an aspiring lawyer, found The Ethical Wesleyan Fund. A trust, it will hold alumni donations in escrow until Roth reinstates NB admissions, and then require a commitment from the school to spend the money on financial aid and to maintain NB (it should be noted here that donations to the Wesleyan Fund or the This is Why campaign bear no such restrictions). How big would such a fund need to grow before Roth decides the costs outweigh the benefits?
If you have the funds, and are thinking fondly of the amazing students who were sitting next to you on graduation day, give to the Ethical Wesleyan Fund. But don’t give straight to Wesleyan, because your donation will support an institution that no longer aspires to be available to everyone. It never was for everyone, but the aspiration helped define who we were and where we wanted to go. It bred a generation of socially concerned business leaders, artists, activists. The lofty ideals that we screamed from Foss Hill and whispered in Olin shall carry the bitter taste of hypocrisy unless we use what little power we have, amplified together, to right this wrong and pay forward the Wesleyan experience to those who have earned it, not those who pay cash.
Jacon Mayer is a member of the Class of 2010.