Humanity readily divides itself, and in recent history, few fault lines have been as enduring as socioeconomic status. At Vassar College, as with most colleges, one’s financial background often determines who can matriculate just as surely as grades or test scores. Students are typically divided into two categories—those on financial aid and those who are not—and it is too easy to assume that all aid recipients overcome the same forms of hardship. Yet that assumption—treating “being on aid” as a blanket proxy of economic struggle—obscures far more daunting forms of inequality, both within our borders and across the globe.
Even within the aid‑recipient group, the spectrum of what students actually pay is enormous: According to Vassar, around two-thirds of students receive financial aid, and the average scholarship award is $51,508 per year, which covers about 56.27 percent of Vassar’s full cost of attendance. That total cost amounts to $91,520, including $70,050 for tuition, $18,240 for room and board, $980 in fees and $2,250 for books and supplies.
It can be assumed that some students have a significant portion of their tuition covered, with up to 75 percent funded, while others receive much less, with only 15 percent of their tuition covered. That means one student might pay $22,880 a year, another $77,792, and some bear the full $91,520 price tag. These figures represent a drastic range of economic realities—from families stretching every dollar to cover modest loans, to those cushioned by generational wealth. Recognizing this spectrum is the first step towards an honest conversation about privilege, need and the true meaning of “hardship.”
I have noticed a growing trend among students: amplifying minor financial struggles to craft narratives of hardship—a phenomenon I call “adversity cosplay.”But this is not just a harmless storytelling quirk. When students equate a modest gap in their family’s ability to pay with grinding poverty, they inadvertently trivialize the lived experiences of those who face true financial precarity every day. Globally, only 6.7 percent of people hold a college degree, according to research from Harvard University and the Asian Development Bank. Meanwhile, 8.5 percent of the world’s population lives in extreme poverty, as reported by the World Bank. These figures remind us just how rare it is to even step foot in a college classroom—let alone one at an elite institution. It is important, however, to acknowledge that the challenges faced by individuals attending college, particularly at prestigious institutions, can still be significant and multifaceted. Simply having access to higher education does not negate the struggles that many students endure along the way.
I believe education is a fundamental human right, and that every individual should have access to higher learning. At the same time, I recognize that disparities in educational access and quality lie at the heart of many of the world’s most persistent inequalities.
Brian S. Lowery, The Walter Kenneth Kilpatrick Professor of Organizational Behavior at Stanford Graduate School of Business, explains that the more people focus on highlighting their personal “overcomings,” the less likely they are to acknowledge the unearned advantages that paved their way. In practice, this means well‑intentioned students often spend more time crafting compelling origin stories than they do examining the very structures that distribute opportunity so unevenly.
As the child of two public educators, I fall squarely into America’s middle-income bracket and rely heavily on financial aid to attend Vassar. Even so, my family’s economic status far surpasses that of the vast majority of the global population. Perspective matters, and the relatively privileged students at Vassar should honestly reflect on themselves and their place in the world, especially as they prepare to become the next generation of leaders tasked with confronting the urgent challenges of our time.
While some financial aid recipients at Vassar might worry about covering a few thousand dollars in loans, millions of Americans—and billions worldwide—face the impossible choice between rent or medicine, or sending a child to school at all. This reality underscores the urgent need to expand access to education, and also highlights something deeper. We must not lose sight of the even more dire, immediate human rights crises that demand action, because the right to learn means little without the right to live with dignity.
Places like Vassar have a unique platform and responsibility to reshape how we talk about economic adversity. Instead of fostering a culture where students compete over who has “struggled more,” institutions like Vassar can cultivate spaces for dialogue—both within and beyond the campus—grounded in empathy with those who lack privilege, whether or not they have access to elite education. These initiatives could include peer-led workshops on global poverty, student activism that holds policy makers accountable and efforts to divest from institutions or practices that exacerbate global human rights violations—including Vassar itself.
On a personal and institutional level, students can use their relative privilege not just to amplify individual narratives of hardship, but to drive collective action. This could mean volunteering with local food‑security initiatives, advocating for increased state and federal support of need-blind admissions or working to end legacy admissions—both of which would help reduce financial inequities in higher education. It could also involve campaigning for comprehensive debt-forgiveness policies that offer relief to all borrowers, regardless of background. Each of these efforts helps dismantle the barriers that separate access from opportunity, and charity from true justice.
True equity will not come from comparison, but from recognizing and dismantling the systems that sustain inequality in the first place. If we want the next generation of leaders to build an egalitarian world, we must teach them that their greatest tool is not a compelling personal narrative, but the courage to use their opportunities—and, when necessary, sacrifice their privileges—to expand access and justice for all. True merit thrives in diversity, not exclusion.
In embracing egalitarianism, we honor the true promise of education—not merely as a privilege to be earned, but as a universal right to be shared, and a powerful force against the injustices of a world driven by the desire for power and profit.