In the 1990s, being a low-income student of color in the Ivy League was incredibly challenging. We were a small minority in a place of privilege, always aware that the institution was not built for us. While the wealthy white students could proudly wear their college sweatshirts and have their alumni parents as visitors, we were determined to create a different future. We believed that someday, our children would have the opportunity to wear those sweatshirts themselves and attend our alma mater. We were rewriting the history of these prestigious schools and dreaming that our children would continue the legacy.
However, legacy admissions are now facing criticism. Lawyers for Civil Rights filed a lawsuit against Harvard over its legacy admissions policy, claiming it violated the Civil Rights Act of 1964. The Department of Education initiated an investigation, which could lead to a settlement or a lengthy court battle. The Departments of Justice and Education have also published a letter advising universities on their admissions practices, encouraging them to expand access and diversify their student bodies. Legacy admissions, in particular, are highlighted as a practice that benefits privileged students and reduces opportunities for others. As a response to this shifting landscape, many colleges are voluntarily scaling back their legacy admissions policies.
Personally, I chose not to have children, but I have witnessed my friends of color joyfully taking their children to college reunions and dressing them in campus attire, eagerly anticipating their future enrollment. One friend, a first-generation Latina from a low-income background who attended Brown with me, is determined to ensure her child gains admission to Brown as well. And now, many alumni, both publicly and privately, are questioning why the door is being closed now that we are finally on the inside.
The movement against legacy admissions gained traction quickly for understandable reasons. Affirmative action has long been a target of conservatives and racists who sought to dismantle a system they perceived as disadvantageous to qualified white students while benefiting minority students. After the Supreme Court’s decision, well-intended administrators and activists turned their attention towards legacy admissions as a form of counterattack. They view it as a symbol of the privileged white establishment, and something they can actively change. However, eliminating legacy admissions is merely a symbolic gesture that does not solve the core problem in higher education. On a practical level, it is unlikely to significantly increase access for disadvantaged students. Instead, it may simply result in wealthy children attending different prestigious universities.
Furthermore, this attack on legacy admissions may unintentionally harm the very groups it aims to assist. The loss of affirmative action would be significant as it has made a tangible difference in transforming campuses, particularly within the Ivy League. The percentage of Black, Hispanic, and multiracial students in the Ivy League has more than doubled since 1980. This transformation has the potential to impact future legacy applicants, as demonstrated by the growing number of non-white legacy applicants. Yet, the focus of the conversation surrounding legacies largely ignores these families and their experiences.
The media and the Biden administration’s failure to address this aspect raises important questions about their understanding of diversity. Do proponents of education equity only value Black and Latino students in the Ivy League if they come from poverty or are first-generation college students? Should our voices and experiences as minority groups only be considered valid in those circumstances? Or is it possible that advocates for change are simply unaware of the existence of alumni like us?
The stereotype of a legacy admit as a privileged white student is understandable given the history of legacy admissions. The policy originated in the 1920s out of anti-Semitism and xenophobia, aiming to curb the growing number of Jewish students entering elite colleges. While the motivation behind defending legacy admissions as preserving “campus culture” has evolved, the historical stigma remains. This, along with concerns about wealthy alumni influencing admissions through donations, have contributed to the current scrutiny and calls for dismantling legacy admissions.
However, as someone who is both a minority alumna and a new trustee of my alma mater, I find the timing of this scrutiny ironic and painful. Affirmative action has been eliminated, but for the children of minority alumni, legacy admission remains a vital pathway to college. It may be flawed and accessible to only a select group, but it still serves as a pipeline. It would be unwise to abruptly eliminate it, especially without giving admissions officers time to adjust to the absence of affirmative action.
Some may argue that preserving legacy admissions perpetuates a form of diverse elitism. While I understand this concern, dismantling legacy admissions alone will not solve the broader issue of wealth and privilege disparities in America. It also fails to address the innate desire in a capitalist society to covet exclusivity, whether it be in luxury goods or elite institutions. Unless the Ivy League becomes public, the desire for what only a few can have will persist.
With that said, it is worth questioning whether our fixation on the inner workings of the Ivy League is misplaced. While these institutions symbolize privilege and success, they are just one aspect of the larger educational landscape. Perhaps our efforts would be better spent focusing on promoting equality within all facets of higher education, including community colleges and public universities.
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