Sharde Miller’s “California teen describes his road from Compton to Harvard University” offers a powerful subtext about the American Dream as well as the enduring belief in education as the “great equalizer,” embodied by Elijah Devaughn, Jr.:
Devaughn grew up in a single-parent household in Compton, California, a city that has been plagued by gun violence and gang activity for decades….“Getting accepted into a prestigious university like Harvard, I think it means the world,” Devaughn said. “It means God is able. It means that hard work pays off. It means that, you know, struggles end.”
What if we unpack the label of “prestigious” by making an important caveat: Is Harvard University elite or selective?
As a point of reference, over the past three decades of high-stakes accountability in public education, schools have been annually labeled as excelling and failing; however, once we look beneath the A-F rankings, a strong and consistent correlation persists between schools identified as excelling or failing and the socio-economic status of the students [1] (as well as the racial and language demographics).
Consider also that for every year of the SAT being administered, average scores have fallen perfectly in correlation with parental income and parental years of education [2].
My university has begun gathering data to analyze our impact on students. The university is selective, having high standards for the academic backgrounds and achievements of students.
Some initial data are telling. When students with high preparation are compared to students with low preparation, extrapolating over four years of college, high preparation students are more successful, the gap with low preparation students widens during years two and three, and that gap never closes by year four (year one and year four gaps are about the same).
If we persist in suggesting that education is the great equalizer (despite ample evidence education does not, in fact, equalize) and a foundational mechanism of the American Dream, we must reconsider how and why we identify any schools as “prestigious.”
Alexander W. Astin’s Are You Smart Enough? seeks to examine if our prestigious and excelling schools are elite or merely selective. Astin exposes part of the problem with labeling colleges, for example, as “prestigious”:
The “quality” or “excellence” of a college or university is thus judged on the basis of the average test score of its entering students, rather than on how well it educates them once they enroll.
What is lost in the rush to ascribe success and failure to schools is, as Astin argues, the essential charge of any formal schooling:
On the contrary, the quality of our national talent pool depends heavily on how well colleges and university develops the students’ capacities during the college years. And this mean all students.
And thus, Astin asserts: “More parents need to be asking, ‘Why should an educational system invest the least in the students who may need the most in higher education?’”
Here, then, is the dirty little secret: “Prestigious school” (K-12 as well as colleges/universities) is a veneer for “selective,” not “elite” in terms of the educational impact but in terms of the conditions at those schools.
Public universities are less selective than private liberal arts colleges, and the former experience is distinct from the latter in, for example, faculty/student ratios and class size.
In other words, more academically successful students tend to be from more affluent and well educated parents, and then are afforded higher education experiences that are identifiably superior to relatively less successful students from lower levels of affluence and education.
Reconsidering how we label schools, the “selective” versus “elite” divide, is a first step in seeking ways to turn a tarnished myth (“education is the great equalizer”) into a reality.
Too often, “prestigious” and “elite” are code for “selective,” praising a college/university for gatekeeping, and not educating; too often, “excellent” and “failing” are code for student demographics, ranking K-12 schools for proximity, and not educating.
Testing, ranking, and accountability in the U.S. have entrenched social and educational inequity because, as Astin confronts, “there are two very different uses for educational assessment: (a) to rank, rate, compare, and judge the performance of different learners and (b) to enhance the learning process.”
We have chosen the former, pretending as well that those metrics reflect mostly merit although they are overwhelming markers of privilege.
Let’s return to Devaughn as a rags-to-riches story.
Late in the article, we learn Devaughn attended private school before his acceptance to Harvard—again bringing us back to the issue of opportunity and what we are learning at my university about well prepared students versus less prepared students.
Devaughn’s story should not be trivialized, but carefully unpacked; it does not prove what I think it intended to show. The American Dream and claims education is the great equalizer are, in fact, deforming myths.
Race, gender, and the socioeconomic factors of homes and communities remain resilient causal factors in any person’s opportunities and success:
All schools at any level must re-evaluate who has access to the institution, and why, and then focus on what impact the educational experience has on those students. Therein must be the evidence for determining excellence and prestige.
