According to common Pio knowledge and confirmed by a revealing recent New York Times report, we are a remarkably wealthy school.
The report included many shocking statistics on DU’s state of income inequality. Among the most important: 65 percent of our student body comes from the top 20 percent of American earners. A whole 14 percent of us come from the top one percent, compared to a measly 9.3 percent from the bottom 40 percent.
The median yearly income for families of students at DU is $163,000. Mine is often less than $40,000.
At DU, I’m one of those 9.3 percenters hiding in plain sight. I am a student who has been filling out zeroes on FAFSA forms for years and my experience transferring has made my situation even worse.
I took a risk and a huge loan to come to DU. In fact, I turned down a full ride from my previous college because of how miserable I was there and how challenged and fulfilled I am here. My divorced parents can offer me zero financial support and I don’t have a choice about how many shifts I work at my part-time job.
This quarter, Winter Carnival has served as a brutal, personal reminder of the effects of income inequity on our campus culture. The opportunities to participate in a school-spirit-imbued tradition, bond with friends and try winter sports for the first time are exciting, especially for first-years and transfers. However, a frustrating alienation arises when poor students are constantly reminded of how incredibly affordable the subsidized weekend of skiing is, but they know it is still a sacrifice.
With the $75 scholarship I was awarded, I was able to reasonably buy a half-day lesson/lift ticket package along with a tubing ticket. I put down about $40 to make up the difference for those tickets, then $52 to cozily lodge with nine other companions and $22 for a ski rental for the day. I then spent just under $100 on necessary gear (which is apparently an absolute steal) and factored in cash for food and gas for the weekend.
It was all possible, but I was forced to use my allotted student loan money for the quarter to finance the weekend. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to pay my rent.
It wasn’t too much of a stretch for me to attend Winter Carnival, and I’m actually immensely grateful to the DU Programing Board (DUPB) for the work they clearly did in making this DU tradition possible for all students, regardless of income, but my heart hurts knowing that some of my peers will have to quietly resign to staying home while the other 90 percent of the school is able to take part in a storied campus tradition solely because of their family’s financial position.
This extends to Denver’s ski culture in general, as well. Though I’m perfectly happy finding my own cheap fun, there’s still a distinct out-of-place pang every time someone from home innocuously asks if I’m hitting the powder. If only they knew that it would only take an entire extra month’s rent for me to rave about it like my peers…
Is it not unsettling that the Carnival and skiing are campus cultural institutions, made possible only by the wealth of the student body? Far be it from me to complain about a $35 lift ticket, but I can speak to the discomfort of my impoverished peers and I know how easy it must be for most of the school to attend.
It might be unrealistic to ask for lower prices or a different school tradition or a new, cheaper winter sport to become the dominant hobby of my Colorado school. What I ask is for you, the 90 percent of my peers in the top 60 percent, not to take Winter Carnival, skiing and other aspects of your campus culture for granted.
As The New York Times report has demonstrated, the cost of our school may mean that we won’t be able to avoid the stigmas and cultural patterns of a wealthy population. You can, however, look for opportunities to recognize your poorer friends and find ways to accommodate them in your weekend fun, making them feel less alienated. All 9.3 percent of us will appreciate it.
