Raul, a child of Dominican immigrants, did everything right in high school: he was an honors student, and, along with his sister, would be the first in his family to earn a high school diploma. And his hard work, it seemed, had paid off: he was admitted early decision to his dream college with a full scholarship.
In her new book, When Grit Isn’t Enough: A High School Principal Examines How Poverty and Inequality Thwart the College-For-All Promise (Beacon Press, 2017), Linda Nathan describes the moment Raul burst into her office, waving the offer of admission: “He thrust the letter into my hands and collapsed into a chair, his dark eyes filling with tears. Tears of joy. Tears of disbelief. As I read the letter, Raul kept repeating, ‘I didn’t dare to dream that this could happen… But it did! And I can go!! I can really go!’”
As it turned out, though, Raul couldn’t go. After spending the summer preparing for the start of his freshman year—registering for classes, doing pre-orientation readings, connecting with his future classmates on Facebook—he learned that his “full” scholarship didn’t cover housing. He took out a loan, but realized that the financial obstacles would be overwhelming. After just a semester, Nathan tells us, Raul was back at home, working a minimum wage job, “depressed, ashamed, and angry.” He returned to his old principal’s office to seek her advice: “I’m not going to be another statistic!” she describes him saying. “Another Hispanic without a college degree. That isn’t me!”
But, as Nathan makes clear, Raul’s story is more often the rule than the exception. Through both anecdote and analysis of national data, Nathan demonstrates that obstacles to college completion for poor students are legion and deep, systemically created and systemically perpetuated. These obstacles are compounded, she argues, by assertions of well-meaning educators like her that a college degree is attainable.
Nathan describes how her naïve optimism worked against her students’ best interests. As headmaster, she writes, she repeatedly told students, “All of you will graduate from high school. And all of you will continue on to either college or a career.” In retrospect, though, Nathan fears this type of messaging may have been counterproductive. Did she put students at risk by perpetuating “false promises” that as individuals they have the capability to overcome systemic obstacles such as poverty, lack of social capital, and racial prejudice? Ultimately, she comes to no clear conclusion—but the book that results from her attempts to answer the question is well worth a read for teachers, students, and policymakers.
Did she put students at risk by perpetuating “false promises” that as individuals they have the capability to overcome systemic obstacles such as poverty, lack of social capital, and racial prejudice?
Nathan conducted interviews with eighty alumni about their experiences after high school. She identified five predominant “false promises” made by high school educators and counselors: 1) “Money doesn’t have to be an obstacle,” 2) “Race doesn’t matter,” 3) “Just work harder,” 4) “There is a college for everyone/everyone can go to college,” and 5) “If you believe in yourself, your dreams will come true.” Each truism is explored in a separate chapter, describing its presence in liberal ideology, how students’ experiences reveal it to be deceptive, and offering concrete policy solutions.
Implicit throughout Nathan’s multifaceted argument, and rooted in individual student’s stories, is a fierce criticism of the idea that talented, ambitious, low-income students of color must compromise or even give up on plans for higher education. This country has made it all but impossible for poor adolescents to finance and succeed in college, she argues. Nathan’s criticism of society’s cruel paradox is scathing; at one point, she notes:
"The assumptions Americans make about low-income black and brown students in urban settings are often tied to bedrock myths about how this nation works (fairly and equitably), and who those kids are and what they need. Sometimes we believe “those kids” need punitive and remedial support—because we see them as not the same as white middle-class students. Yet, at other times, our educational system prefers to see them as the same, and ignores that they may need additional resources, guidance counselors, financial assistance, and so on."
Nathan argues that, “as long as their stories are seen as individual as opposed to representative of the larger issues in higher education, the less likely it is that there will be true changes.” Indeed, the poignancy of her students’ stories help make this the main argument of the book. Her criticism of the way the concept of “grit” has been stripped of nuance by urban educators is particularly damning: “All of this talk of grit seems to sidestep the real issue: there are institutional inequities embedded within American education,” she writes. “It’s not that grit is unimportant; it’s just not sufficient.”
Nathan’s stories show us how educators’ message that everyone can go to college is naive and even cruel. The fact that message isn’t true, however, is the real cruelty.
Emily Kaplan is a writer and public school teacher in New York. Her website is emilykaplan.net. Follow her on twitter at @emdashkap.