By Helen Schultz, Staff Writer, Emerson College
When I was a senior in high school, we played a game in my college counseling class.
Each student was handed a set of index cards. They made up the student’s description as a candidate for admission.
PARENTS ARE ALUMNI.
NATIONAL MERIT SCHOLAR.
DONATED A BUILDING.
LETTER OF RECCOMENDATION FROM A FAMOUS PERSON.
Some cards sent you forward and some sent you back – sort of like the collegiate version of Chutes and Ladders.
There were a few other cards as well:
MINORITY.
OVERCAME ADVERSITY.
COLLEGE ESSAY ON LIFE-CHANGING EVENT.
As we left the room one day, I watched as one girl crumbled up her index. “Bullshit,” she hissed as the torn of shreds of lined paper fluttered into the trashcan.
That spring, when decisions were sent out, I ran into that same girl. She was upset about about another student being been accepted to a prestigious university. This same student had experienced various traumatic events during our time in upper school, and it was common knowledge that she’d chosen to include this information in her Common App. I mean, how could you not? When you’re facing down your demons day in and day out, getting sick, and having to miss class, you’re probably going to have to mention that. “You know what?” she fumed. “If I’d had the same sob story as her l, I would’ve gotten into that school.”
Recently, an article in the Wall Street Journal sparked an avalanche of comments similar to what this girl complained about. But the thing is, this isn’t the first time that I’ve heard these comments. “It should’ve been me.” “If only I’d been black.” “If I’d lived in foster care, I’d have that spot.” Et cetera, et cetera.
I too was rejected from one of those Brand Name Schools. And you know what? There is probably a girl standing in my place who may have come from a poor family. Or may have a good “sob story.” Or may be a minority. But here’s the thing: she deserves the leg-up more than I ever will. She will not go home to a family with a stable financial background or connections that will help her to get an internship this summer. She may have to work three jobs and take out five loans to come back next semester. But every time that she does something good on campus or earns some sort of privilege, people won’t attribute it to her all-nighter or her determination to get that A. They’ll say it’s because of affirmative action.
To anyone who might have gotten the thin envelope this spring, from one rejectee to another: there are going to be a lot of things that people will tell you in the coming weeks. “The right school is the school that chooses you.” “It won’t matter once you get there.” “Plenty of great people go to their second choice school.” And I’m going to second all these things: while Emerson was tied with said other school, I, too felt bummed out and weird about not getting into that Ivy-covered fortress that is the Top Ten School. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention grace in the face of defeat, respectfulness towards those who reviewed your application, and a general distaste for the sour-grapes approach to life. But here is the thing that they won’t tell you: that being white and being wealthy and having connections (I see that your aunt writes for the Wall Street Journal, and I assume that she had a hand in getting this op-ed to the right people) is something that you should acknowledge. Affirmative action helps to make our society a fairer place. Next year, perhaps you will end up in a city like mine, where you can see white women starting to clutch their purses as black men walk off the T. You’ll start to realize that the many advantages that you receive in your life tower over any affirmative action that ever may have bumped your application. You will start to think of the color of your skin, and the privileges you get by just being white.
Helen has contributed to sites such as Broadway.com and Her Campus and is currently pursuing a degree in Writing, Literature & Publishing at Emerson College. She enjoys long walks on the beach, eating her feelings, and pretending that she's Beyoncé's best friend.
When I was a senior in high school, we played a game in my college counseling class.
Each student was handed a set of index cards. They made up the student’s description as a candidate for admission.
PARENTS ARE ALUMNI.
NATIONAL MERIT SCHOLAR.
DONATED A BUILDING.
LETTER OF RECCOMENDATION FROM A FAMOUS PERSON.
Some cards sent you forward and some sent you back – sort of like the collegiate version of Chutes and Ladders.
There were a few other cards as well:
MINORITY.
OVERCAME ADVERSITY.
COLLEGE ESSAY ON LIFE-CHANGING EVENT.
As we left the room one day, I watched as one girl crumbled up her index. “Bullshit,” she hissed as the torn of shreds of lined paper fluttered into the trashcan.
That spring, when decisions were sent out, I ran into that same girl. She was upset about about another student being been accepted to a prestigious university. This same student had experienced various traumatic events during our time in upper school, and it was common knowledge that she’d chosen to include this information in her Common App. I mean, how could you not? When you’re facing down your demons day in and day out, getting sick, and having to miss class, you’re probably going to have to mention that. “You know what?” she fumed. “If I’d had the same sob story as her l, I would’ve gotten into that school.”
Recently, an article in the Wall Street Journal sparked an avalanche of comments similar to what this girl complained about. But the thing is, this isn’t the first time that I’ve heard these comments. “It should’ve been me.” “If only I’d been black.” “If I’d lived in foster care, I’d have that spot.” Et cetera, et cetera.
I too was rejected from one of those Brand Name Schools. And you know what? There is probably a girl standing in my place who may have come from a poor family. Or may have a good “sob story.” Or may be a minority. But here’s the thing: she deserves the leg-up more than I ever will. She will not go home to a family with a stable financial background or connections that will help her to get an internship this summer. She may have to work three jobs and take out five loans to come back next semester. But every time that she does something good on campus or earns some sort of privilege, people won’t attribute it to her all-nighter or her determination to get that A. They’ll say it’s because of affirmative action.
To anyone who might have gotten the thin envelope this spring, from one rejectee to another: there are going to be a lot of things that people will tell you in the coming weeks. “The right school is the school that chooses you.” “It won’t matter once you get there.” “Plenty of great people go to their second choice school.” And I’m going to second all these things: while Emerson was tied with said other school, I, too felt bummed out and weird about not getting into that Ivy-covered fortress that is the Top Ten School. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention grace in the face of defeat, respectfulness towards those who reviewed your application, and a general distaste for the sour-grapes approach to life. But here is the thing that they won’t tell you: that being white and being wealthy and having connections (I see that your aunt writes for the Wall Street Journal, and I assume that she had a hand in getting this op-ed to the right people) is something that you should acknowledge. Affirmative action helps to make our society a fairer place. Next year, perhaps you will end up in a city like mine, where you can see white women starting to clutch their purses as black men walk off the T. You’ll start to realize that the many advantages that you receive in your life tower over any affirmative action that ever may have bumped your application. You will start to think of the color of your skin, and the privileges you get by just being white.
Helen has contributed to sites such as Broadway.com and Her Campus and is currently pursuing a degree in Writing, Literature & Publishing at Emerson College. She enjoys long walks on the beach, eating her feelings, and pretending that she's Beyoncé's best friend.