I tend to blog about social issues that are regional, national, or even international in scope. But last spring, I wrote an OpEd for our school newspaper broaching a very uncomfortable topic for our tiny boarding school community: Classism. It has sparked numerous conversations since then and my hope is that these discussions will help make our school a little more welcoming and inclusive.
The (slightly edited) text is below, for any who may be curious.
When Jose C. was a freshman, a classmate from his history class made a comment about how Jose didn’t deserve to be at our school because he was receiving financial aid. According to Jose, the clique this classmate belonged to ordered food frequently, went skiing on weekends, and dined at the most expensive restaurants in the area. Their extravagance ensured that their friendships were limited to those who could afford such activities.
“I never felt close to them because they made it clear that they were different and higher in their socioeconomic class,” Jose said.
Unfortunately, Jose isn’t the only student to have experienced elitism at our school. Amongst this summer’s spate of posts on Instagram accounts designed to capture anonymous accounts of racism, sexism, and homophobia on campus, nearly 30 of the posts mentioned similar issues. If you’re a financial aid student, you know that classism is alive and well at our school. But until the rest of the community feels comfortable talking about it, we cannot come together to solve it.
There is an undeniable stigma around needing financial aid at our boarding school. Many students on financial aid don’t want people to know that they aren’t full-pay students because they are afraid others will look down on them. It is that very stigma which prevents students from being able to talk about the problem. How do you talk about classism when our culture prefers to pretend that class doesn’t exist and considers talking about money to be impolite?
At my public elementary and middle schools, I felt privileged. My family didn’t qualify for a free school lunch, we didn’t share a home with other families, and I was not scared my parents would be taken by ICE. We lived in a single family home in one of the city’s nondescript and decidedly middle class neighborhoods. But when I arrived at boarding school as a student on a generous scholarship, I became increasingly aware of the class divide and as a financial aid student, I felt ashamed.
During my freshman year, I didn’t disclose my status as a financial aid student to anybody -- not even to my closest friends. When classmates assumed that I was full-pay because I was from San Francisco and have fair skin, I didn’t correct them. I could “hide” my status because many of my classmates assume that white is a synonym for rich and that all students of color are on financial aid. I still feel embarrassed when I recall an incident on the bus ride home to San Francisco when an older student made a disparaging comment about the San Francisco neighborhood we were passing through on our way to the drop-off spot. I wish my 14-year-old self had had the courage to tell them that I lived just four blocks away.
The head of financial aid for our school is one of the unsung heroes on our campus. In addition to her role as an admissions officer, she advocates for financial aid students and makes sure they have everything they need. But when she has tried to host a support group for students receiving financial aid in the past, people have been too ashamed to show up. She also told me that some financial aid students don’t even know that their family’s tuition is subsidized. Parents would rather hide the fact that their family receives financial aid than celebrate that the school has chosen to invest in their child’s education. That is how ingrained this shame is.
But why should needing financial aid be a source of shame? If your family can’t afford our school’s tuition -- or has to make great sacrifices in order to pay it -- there is no need to be embarrassed. The median income in the United States is only a few thousand dollars more than our tuition and expenses. Therefore, a family can be fairly wealthy by U.S. standards and still not be able to afford tuition. An effect of the boarding school “bubble” is a distorted view of what it means to be wealthy and what it means to be poor. Only at an elite school like ours would a student whose family can afford $60,000 in tuition consider themselves middle class.
A few years ago, our school’s fundraising team analyzed data on financial aid students as part of a campaign. First and foremost: financial aid students should be proud of themselves for gaining admission. In the 2016-2017 admissions cycle, only 9% of students applying with financial aid were admitted. In contrast, the acceptance rate for full pay students was 16%. I am glad I gained admission and am very grateful to the families who donated the financial aid funds that make my education possible.
Racism, classism, and homophobia don’t exist in isolation. Many students’ experience at our school is shaped by the cumulative burden of more than one of these. An Instagram post dated August 6th, 2020 reads: “I feel like being on scholarship along with being a student of color on campus makes you feel like all your actions are in a spotlight.” Classism and racism affects families, too. From another post: “After graduating, my parents shared with me the extreme discomfort they experienced at parent/school events because they are POC coming from a different background not being at the same socioeconomic bracket as the other parents.”
It can feel daunting to take on these issues, which pervade the world outside of our school, too. But we are a small community -- around 500 strong (including faculty and staff). We might not be able to change the world, but if we all make a concerted effort, we can make a difference here.
First, we need to normalize talking about socioeconomic status. Pretending that classism doesn’t exist won't make it go away. Students at Georgetown Day School in Washington D.C. founded Students for Socio-Economic Awareness, which gives the community a space to talk about how socioeconomic differences impact their lives at school. We should too. This is a conversation that should involve everyone at the school. We need to be aware of our own biases and prejudices and seek to understand experiences that are unlike our own.
We also need spaces where financial aid students feel comfortable discussing challenges, sharing experiences, and exchanging tips. (Here’s one: If you need to sell back your textbooks at the end of the year, do so early. The bookstore only buys back a certain amount. I learned that the hard way.)
Students at Marin Academy in San Rafael, Calif., and University High School in San Francisco, Calif., founded the Financial Aid Affinity Group and the Financial Aid/Socioeconomic Status Affinity Space (FASES), respectively, with the same goal.
Our school encourages us to go beyond our comfort zone academically, athletically, on horseback, and in the great outdoors. Let’s go beyond our comfort zone socially, too, and cultivate friendships with those who don’t share our backgrounds. I know it is possible because I myself have benefited greatly from a social circle that spans the socioeconomic spectrum. It saddens me that some students might deprive themselves of that experience -- or feel shut out from it.
Perhaps this can be the pandemic’s secret gift to our community: Since no one is allowed to go skiing on weekends or to patronize the town’s fine dining establishments, there’s no excuse for not befriending students who can’t afford such outings -- and no reason to make up excuses for not going just because you don’t want your friends to know you can’t afford it.
If you are ready to engage in this conversation, please reach out. I am especially interested in convening financial aid students to talk about these issues and support each other. And if you don’t feel ready or able to participate quite yet, know that I’m always available to talk.
Here’s the bottom line: no one at our school should feel like they have to hide a part of who they are in order to feel like they belong. Each of us need to be mindful of how our actions and words might inadvertently be hurtful, make someone feel like an outsider, or might make them feel like they can’t be their true selves. If we succeed, we will have a community where students are thriving academically and socially because their energy is devoted to education, friendships, hobbies, and interests rather than maintaining appearances or handling micro-aggressions -- a community of less pretense and more substance.
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