My name is Shannon Zander. I am a first-generation student and an independent student, which means I receive no parental financial backing, making me solidly, undeniably, and sometimes soul crushingly working class. I don’t speak of it often except to those I am close to. But let’s talk. We clearly need to be talking about it on this campus. Because for me, privilege is not a concept I am allowed to address once a year at the Power and Privilege Symposium only to put down; it seeps into every facet of my life. I’d like to share what my life is like.

The classes I can afford to take are dependent upon whether the price of the books. Despite a deep love for calculus, I never enrolled in a class; I refused to even consider how much a textbook would cost. A factor in choosing a Classics major was that I knew books would be generally inexpensive. Even so, every semester is a struggle to purchase necessary course materials. But I’ve scraped by. I’ve had professors who have been kind enough to lend me their personal copies of books. I’ve found creative ways of getting books for free. But it is never as simple as walking into the campus bookstore. I understand that the money given by the markup on books goes to fund scholarships, but then those of us on scholarships cannot afford them. I remember my first year trying to peel the “used” stickers off my tattered books before my first class, feeling shame before I realized that most students purchase used books and many even deeply prefer them.

Even the library is not a haven from financial stressors. It’s a source of anxiety every time I see my goprint account dwindling. When a book I had returned was incorrectly reported as lost, the $90 replacement fee was a source of sheer panic. That would have meant weeks upon weeks of low quality food.

I did not go abroad, despite desperately wishing I could. The simple fact is that I couldn’t get a work visa and a student visa in another country. Every semester I must make enough money to return to Whitman. Travel is an infrequently luxury for me. I have not been home in over two years. Every break, when the campus empties, I remain. My every friend departs. My first year at Whitman, I spent my birthday, which falls over Spring Break, completely alone. Fortunately, I happen to find myself excellent company. Not only can I not afford a plane ticket, but I also cannot afford to take time off of work without falling behind on bills.

I was reelected as ASWC Senator, but I had to resign from the position I adored. I had to take a better paying job at a restaurant. At that job I was consistently looked down upon by my peers.Those who I thought were my friends would treat me as “the help.” I’ve been made to feel as if I am not an equal on countless occasions. I’d like to say I’ve become numb to it—it’s certainly happened enough times I ought to be—but it never stops hurting to be treated as if I am lesser. How can Whitman preach equality and inclusivity and yet still treat those in positions of service as lesser? I have heard this same experience can be the everyday reality of students who work for Bon Appetit. Bon App workers are often your peers; and even if they are not your peers, they are still your equals. I beg of you that you treat them as such.

I’ve rationed food, looking at my pantry and calculating calories and the days until I run out, making sure I’ll be able to make it until payday. I look at the $5 bars of chocolate in the Bookstore, knowing if I purchase one, that’s roughly 26 minutes of my life working a minimum wage job to pay for it. I cannot tell you how many meals I have eaten not because it was the food I desired but because it was all I had. But I have never gone hungry. There are many who cannot say the same. I am privileged.  

The prices at Cleveland let me know I am not welcome. The first time I ate there, I was struck by an overwhelming feeling: I do not belong here. The dining hall used to be one of the very few places in which I didn’t feel poor. There was a beautiful equality to the swipe system that we need to acknowledge that we just lost. I am glad that Whitman is not the kind of place to allow students to go hungry. But having to go to Kazi Joshua, hat in hand, to ask for more money is not the solution. Asking for money can come with a certain amount of shame, and I need the administration to realize this. It can be difficult admitting you need financial help. I would know. I’ve had to go to the administration for my every financial emergency. And no matter how hard I try, when I go in to ask for more money, it feels like I’ve failed in some way. There is an intense rhetoric on campus that it reflects poorly on your parents that they aren’t making six figures and able to throw money at your problems.

Yes, every dollar spent on financial aid is a dollar not spent on another resource. I get that, I do. But perhaps I could give my perspective as a student who is on financial aid. For every dollar I make to provide for myself, I exchange 5 minutes of my finite, human life. Those are 5 minutes that I cannot spend on academics, on advocating for this campus to be a better place, on developing friendships, on making sure I can take good care of myself. There are times I’ve worked 45 hour weeks during the academic year between my numerous part time jobs. But I’ve mostly been able to provide for myself, clothe myself, keep a roof over my head, and food in my stomach. I am deeply, undeniably privileged.  

It is not easy being here. I feel exhausted in the very way that a freezing cold wet rainy day sets in and chills you to your bone and is hard to shake. I work hard, but I won’t pretend that the exhaustion does not settle in and make itself at home. I won’t pretend the stress does not gnaw at me and affect every aspect of my life.  

I was content to graduate, having hidden from the world how different I am from the average student here. But I feel an ethical obligation to not remain silent, to not remain complicit. I share these things because I know many of my peers don’t have the slightest idea what it’s like. I share these things in the hope that those who cannot relate can nevertheless learn from my struggles. But most of all, I share these things in the hope that those who can relate know they are far from alone.

I hope the administration realizes that in attempting to cater to full tuition students, they are alienating the FGWC students already here and causing significant hardship for those who cannot afford restaurant prices for every meal. Honestly, $.99 for a single piece of toast? If the average loaf of bread costs $2.50 and contains an industry standard of 20 slices per loaf, it is a 700% markup. I have a difficult question to ask: are you now in the business of making a profit off your students?  And are the types of students that you really want here the kind who will base their decision of where to receive higher education off the dining hall?

I hesitate to be such a vocal critic because my success here and my continued existence here is dependent upon the generosity of the administration. But were I a high school senior again right now in 2019, if I had visited campus and saw the buildings which stand as a glaring testament to the administration’s new financial priorities, if I had to make the choice of where to attend college again, I would not choose Whitman College.