Tuesday July 20, 2021
Opinion { www.dailyprincetonian.com }
page 10
DESIGN: GIAO VU DINH / THE DAILY PRINCETONIAN
To learn from Black voices and teach comprehensively, the Western HUM Sequence needs to radically change Mollika Jai Singh
Associate Opinion Editor
I
n my experience of the Western Humanities Sequence (WHUM) so far, I have been thrilled by ancient Greek plays and poetry, begun to explore deeply my relatively new interest in philosophy, and analyzed closely how the politics of ancient Rome and medieval Italy reflect great truths about human nature. Expressions of this type of intellectual growth are what one typically hears from a WHUM student and are a main goal of the sequence, a team-taught set of double-credit courses that spans two semesters, 2500 years of the Western world, and at least five disciplines: history, religion, philosophy, literature, and the arts. What you don’t typically hear from students, however, are the moments of discomfort. But this has also been a part of my experience in WHUM. I felt unimportant when Sappho’s sexuality was not discussed in our lecture or my precept. I felt disappointed when Mahatma Gandhi was not on the spring syllabus this year, as he
was last year (it’s one of the reasons I signed up for the course.) I also felt targeted when a student asked me personally about how Gandhi might fit into the Western canon. I was deeply disturbed when the Decameron detailed sexual violence against women, and it almost wasn’t discussed. I know I am not alone. When three of the four Black students in this year’s class dropped the sequence before the spring semester, and I increasingly felt the tokenization of the three Black writers we are reading in the spring, I decided someone needed to investigate the experiences of marginalized students in this class, beginning with Black voices. In order to understand the situation better, I talked to current and former WHUM students and faculty as well as facilitators from a fall 2020 optional discussion series. These conversations reveal that while WHUM has evolved to reflect the times it inhabits, there is much more left to do. Students of color often dropping the course after fall semester, lack of diversity in faculty, and anecdotal mishaps all point to this reality. In order to serve all students with a compre-
ELIZABETH MEDINA / THE DAILY PRINCETONIAN
hensive education of Western culture, especially in a way that makes Black students feel welcome, WHUM needs to radically improve. At first glance, the problem with WHUM appeared to me to be its syllabus, a monster of dozens of writers and texts, with just a handful of women writers and writers of color. But the culture
and pedagogy of the course have much to do with the student experience as well, beginning with the concept of the course itself. The official title of the sequence is “Interdisciplinary Approaches to Western Culture.” But students find that that may be a bit of a misnomer, given the particular focus on European writers with a hand-
ful of Americans sprinkled in. “I think that's because the invisible word that's in front of ‘the Western sequence’ is ‘the White Western HUM sequence,’” KiKi Gilbert ’21, a former WHUM student, said. Read the full article at linktr.ee/princetonian.
We should expect, not glorify, Princeton’s financial aid Andi Grene Columnist
The reality of imposter syndrome in the COVID-19 era Maisie McPherson Columnist
I
remember the first time I heard the phrase “imposter syndrome.” It was at one of the orientation events at the beginning of my freshman year, but as a newcomer to Princeton, everything else around me was so exciting that that new term flew over my head. I remember the first time I felt like an imposter. It was in MAT 100, and I had just failed the first quiz. Everyone told me to take this class because it was “Foundations of Calculus,” but I still struggled with it. McGraw did not even offer tutors specific to MAT 100 because it’s assumed that the material is digestible. I walked to my dorm from Fine Hall with tears streaming down my face, believing that this singular math quiz would determine the rest of my academic journey. This was the first time I truly felt like I had no reason to be at a school like Princeton — if everyone said this was supposed to be the “basic” and “easiest” math class at the University, then why did I have any business studying here? At a school like Princeton, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the accomplishments of our peers. It’s such a privilege to be surrounded by some of the smartest, most hardworking people in the country, but that privilege comes with a price. Imposter syndrome, defined as a “psychological pattern that causes people to doubt their successes, perceive themselves as terrible at things they’re great at, and experience unsettling fears of being exposed as an impostor,” is a little voice that nags each and every one of us. It’s not necessarily about performance in classes; it can also pertain to how productive you are in a day, how much work you can finish in a short amount of time, or even how little you sleep a night. I had not felt like an imposter at Princeton since that moment, until the COVID-19 pandemic came.
After three semesters of online learning, I feel more burnt out than I ever have before, like I do not belong at Princeton. Burnout among college students has been extremely prevalent during the pandemic, as some of the most important parts of college have been absent from collegiate life. Feeling like every day is the same, with only a two day “spring recess,” has taken a toll on every student and has made more of them doubt if they’re meant to be Princeton students. Even though I’m living in the same zip code as the University, I feel more disconnected from it than ever. I hope that, moving forward, the University realizes the toll the pandemic has taken on students and offers more mental health resources. I hope that imposter syndrome is recognized as one of the biggest problems students are currently facing and that a greater effort is made to combat it. The recent suicide of first-year Yale student Rachael Shaw-Rosenbaum is a tragedy; the University should realize that putting students’ mental health first is not something they can just “check off the box” for — it is a necessity. At a time when students, including myself, find themselves questioning their validity, highachieving universities should emphasize the importance of rest instead of adding to students’ stress. To the great Class of 2025, the class with the lowest acceptance rate in history, know that you are here because you belong here. You made it here during times when everyone has been questioning themselves. I’m sure at some point you’ll feel how I did in my MAT 100 class or how I’ve felt at times during the COVID-19 pandemic, but remember that you were accepted during the most selective year for a reason. We cannot wait to have you here. Maisie McPherson is a junior in the History department from Dana Point, Calif. She can be reached at maisiem@ princeton.edu.
W
hen my parents came to visit me over spring break, my father told me just how lucky I am to be attending Princeton. Not only am I lucky to call myself a student at an Ivy League, he said, but I am lucky to be going here for a price more manageable than almost any other university would have offered me nationally. There is an implicit sense of indebtedness that is associated with a generous financial aid package. Right before I saw my parents, I had a conversation with a friend who is also on financial aid, and who felt particularly beholden to the University for its generosity. However, the reality is that Princeton is not particularly generous for allowing its students to graduate without inevitable mounds of student loans; rather, our school has met the expectations naturally assigned to an institution of its financial power and capability. When gearing up to receive decisions in the winter of my senior year, I was under the impression that I should be endlessly appreciative of an aid package that did not send my parents and me into colossal debt. The average student debt accumulated after college is over $28,000, which neglects to take into account the interest that will inevitably accrue. When a middleclass American student accepts admission to a private university, they are essentially bound to that institution not only for the four years they will attend but for the years — sometimes even decades — that it will take for them to pay off their debt. There were few things that impressed me about Princeton as much as the fact that so much of the student body graduates debt-
free — 83 percent, to be exact. As long as my financial aid remains consistent, I will graduate without leaving my parents or myself any debt at all. My family often uses the word “incredible” to describe the money I am receiving. At an institution with an endowment of over $26 billion, it should not be a surprising act of flattery to receive a sufficient financial aid package. My father would identify this attitude as one of ingratitude. He juxtaposes my financial aid package at Princeton to what I would have received from Brown, which I spent significant time fawning over when initially solidifying my college list. To prove Princeton’s extraordinary charity, my father reminds me that Brown’s package would be at most half, if not less, than what I receive from Princeton. I argue that it is not benevolence that drives Princeton’s suitable aid, but rather a recognition of the obvious. In a world where most universities choose to look away from the clear financial need of their applicants, Princeton chooses to keep its eyes open. Financial aid is not about luck, as both my friend and my father claim — it is about necessity. Princeton has deemed my family, as well as many others (61 percent), in need of the aid it granted us. I am grateful that I have received the aid I have, but I refuse to remain as shocked by it as I was when I opened my acceptance letter. We operate within standards that have been exponentially lowered to meet the penny-pinching of most American colleges, but when one has chosen to attend a university with an endowment larger than the GDP of 48 percent of countries in the world, it is essential that we hold our school accountable to its resources and recognize that they have met, rather than surpassed, our standard for generosity. I am incredibly thankful for the opportunities that Princeton
offers its student body. Princeton opens doors for students that are constantly surprising and amazing. As I enter my third month on campus, these doors seem to grow wider and more numerous, complete with summer stipends worth thousands of dollars and countless compensated employment opportunities. The indefinite capabilities of Princeton to serve its student body only reaffirm that while we should be celebrating its commitments to making a superb higher education possible for so many, we must recognize that this is a commitment that Princeton is obligated to fulfill. I can say without a doubt that luck played a tremendous role in my admission to Princeton — there are thousands of qualified candidates who did not receive a spot at our University, but for some serendipitous reason, I was awarded a seat. I am, and will always be, hugely grateful to Princeton for letting me attend, and I believe that every Princetonian should feel equally so for the curious alignment of stars that landed us a spot at the nation’s top institution. Our admission to Princeton and our financial aid packages are two completely separate entities. Although we can, and should, feel honored to have been deemed deserving of a Princeton acceptance, only a gentle satisfaction is warranted in regards to aid. Princeton has the power to pave the path for a new metric of financial aid; we must normalize the notion that it is possible to end one’s obligation to higher education after the four years one has formally agreed upon. No one should be bound to mounds of debt for decades. Princeton’s recognition of that fact is not exceptional; it is expected. Andi Grene is a sophomore from Manhattan. She can be reached at agrene@princeton.edu.
COURTESY OF THE OFFICE OF COMMUNICATIONS
Morrison Hall, where The Office of Admission is located.
