Class Differences

by Sonnet Graham

Tuesday March 7, 2006

"People would rather talk about sex than money." That’s what my literature professor told her class two weeks ago. If this campus is any indication, it would appear that she’s right. Sarah Lawrence takes to liberal ideology, well, like a fish takes to water. There is no battle for equality that we shy away from, whether it is championing ethnic studies, contesting homophobia or ending genocide. We have entire weeks dedicated to increasing sexual awareness. And yet, there is a very noticeable absence of class discussion at Sarah Lawrence.

Class, for the purposes of this article, refers to your monetary wealth only. I realize that such things as education, debts, inheritance and geographic location can also affect class, but since we’re all getting the same education from the same place (the implication being that we’re all being exposed to the same cultural opportunities) class is an issue of money only—and it’s a big issue.

As students, the majority of us are self-declared progressives, but we all seem to have our dirty little secrets. We will fight for equal treatment regardless of sexuality, but students are up in arms when editorials on race are published. If we’re an establishment of learning, why are we so opposed to learning the politics of prejudice? Classism—for lack of a better word—is the only form of discrimination that is completely silent and unchecked on this campus.

And why should it be checked? After all, money is how we define ourselves in a capitalist society. The American Dream consists of becoming financially independent and securing a better future for your children than you had, or in other words, being able to rise in class on your own merit; it’s an economic system based on mobility.

However, the feasibility of this dream is becoming less of a reality. According to the New York Times, throughout the 1990s 40 percent of American families remained at the same income level. That’s an entire decade with little economic fluctuation. Moreover, 39 percent only moved one quintile, so 70 percent of current American families never achieved the American Dream. That means that if you’re rich, chances are you are going to remain so. Money is necessary to ensure self-reliance, health and education, and there is nothing wrong with having plenty of it. Our society measures success in greenbacks.

But students here have a tendency to forget that liberalism is a luxury. We can fight homophobia or teach inmates poetry because we’re already privileged. It’s easy to go to Washington, D.C. for protests when your mother is refilling your bank account every month. I had a friend bitterly complain about this situation last week. She told me that she was fed up with spoiled students who didn’t have to work their way through school, that unlike some, she has to hold down a job for her expenses. By this she meant living expenses, her parents pay her tuition in full.

Later, when I told that same girl I was here on student loans, she responded, "Oh, I thought you were middle class." I am. In fact, if one goes by the Times statistics I mentioned earlier, I am in the top percentile of the upper middle class. And yes, I will have well over $150,000 of debt when I graduate from this school, and I will be paying it back for the rest of my life. Not my parents; me. Why? Because I can’t afford to attend this school without loans, and my parents, who are in the second highest socioeconomic sphere in America, can’t afford to pay for it either.

You might think, given that fact, that the Times made a mistake in placing me at the top of the upper middle class. If so, I suggest you re-examine where you fall in relation to the rest of America. If you’re not here on a substantial need-based scholarship, you are at least upper middle class. If your parents are paying your tuition in full, you’re one of the wealthiest people in America—actually, one of the wealthiest people on the planet.

Last week, the Phoenix asked students if they thought socioeconomic class was an issue at SLC. Eleven out of the 14 students quoted said flat out that it was, and some went on to say that there was a definite divide on campus between the "haves" and the "have nots." If this is true, our campus’ classism needs to be addressed now. At the risk of sounding like a Sarah Lawrence stereotype, we are members of a global community. If you can only associate with people in your own socioeconomic class, you’re going to have a very limited and sterile life.

However, I don’t believe that social divide exists. I don’t think it exists in theory because, as mentioned above, we’re all pretty well off by global standards. I don’t think it exists in practice because students on this campus are too intelligent and decent to isolate themselves based on variances of monetary fortune.

What needs to be addressed is the seeming Social Darwinism to which certain students ascribe. I find that certain students, upon raising an economic issue, will immediately launch into a lecture on why they’re entitled to their wealth. I know this is hard to swallow, but I don’t believe anyone is entitled to riches. You may earn wealth, you may be lucky enough to inherit wealth, but that doesn’t mean you have the right to hold it over someone’s head that you fly off to a different part of the globe for every school break.

Nor do I need to hear that you’re a stronger person for having worked three jobs. Strength, like success, cannot be measured by monetary gain. It’s ridiculous to measure yourself against someone by what you’ve overcome. Eventually, we’ll all be comparing who has more dead relatives.

So don’t be defensive. It’s not the money—or lack thereof—that’s the problem. It’s the lack of dialogue surrounding it. I’ve noticed on this campus that when I try to talk about money with someone, I either receive a sob story or a defensive rant on why money shouldn’t be an object. But money is an object. One of my friends recently bragged, "I never think about money," to which another replied, "That’s ‘cause you’ve got it." True, your socioeconomic class doesn’t necessarily define who you are, but how it causes you to act does make a difference in how others view you.

We need a middle ground on this campus. I would like to see sob stories turn into something productive, perhaps an open dialogue. It is easy to generalize wealthier acquaintances as being spoiled, but if you are honest and frank about finances, maybe you’ll find they’ve got viable solutions for making our school’s economic disparities less overwhelming. Getting on someone’s back just because they’ve got a trust fund doesn’t make you a better survivor, and it absolutely doesn’t make you the better person.

Even more so, I’d like to see some of those defensive rants turn into open ears. Just by listening, you might realize how often students fight tooth and nail to be able to go here. If it weren’t for scholarships and loans, this school would lose some of its best poets, artists and student leaders. You would never meet people who have the power to enrich your life in unexpected ways. Because believe it or not, not having wealth presents as unique a perspective as having wealth. After all, it may be that the girl sitting next to you in class is wearing $20 jeans because her father is a rancher, and she happens to bring in cattle every summer. How many hours would a richer student have to spend at equestrian practice to reach that level of skill?

This school is largely homogeneous when it comes to socioeconomic class. That’s something that needs to be changed, but it’s not a change that can happen quickly, especially when our endowment is one of the smallest in the nation. It is up to the student body to make the most of what diversity we have, which is surprisingly present once you open up enough to look for it.

I’m not asking anyone to apologize for being wealthy, or compensate for the fact that they aren’t; I’m just saying it would be nice if we talked about money the way we talk about sex. Then, maybe, when you’re asked if socioeconomic class is an issue on campus, you’ll be able to say no.