Early in Spring 2022, I had a conversation with my friend that stuck with me throughout the semester. My friend voiced concerns about feeling guilty for using resources allocated to first-generation low-income (FLI) students even though they are FLI. After I asked where this guilt was stemming from, they questioned whether or not they should include themselves in the FLI identity. Despite their family having higher income, their parents did not have degrees and they had to rely on outside aid. With limited knowledge in the family about how to navigate American higher education systems, they felt as if they were imposing on resources that other FLI students needed more.
Throughout the semester, I have been picking apart this conversation in hopes of gaining a better understanding of what it means to be FLI. As a FLI student myself, I have always taken those three letters at face value. FLI has only ever been a blanket term for poor students whose parents never went to college. Never did I consider that being FLI means something different for every student. Oftentimes, FLI students who come from marginalized backgrounds have complex stories that one acronym cannot fully capture. There are students whose families have a slightly higher income, students who may have an extended family member who experienced higher education, or students who had access to enrichment college preparatory programs to name a few situations. Every student’s FLI experience is unique. There are a range of reasons—some of which create more disadvantages for some students than others—why a student can be considered FLI. FLI is not a monolithic group. It is an identity that is more situational than we take for granted.
I started to grapple with changing how I was thinking about FLI a year ago. Last spring, I was reading The Privileged Poor: How Elite Colleges Are Failing Disadvantages Students by Anthony Jack. In this book, Jack challenges readers to avoid lumping all FLI students together and distinguishes between different FLI experiences. The biggest takeaway from this work is that even within a marginalized identity like FLI, there are varying levels of privilege that must be recognized. Jack explains that the “Privileged Poor” are FLI students who attend elite predominantly white high schools that prepare them for academic and social challenges at elite universities. In contrast, the “Doubly Disadvantaged” are FLI students who did not receive education at elite high schools and are more likely to struggle at predominately white prestigious universities. In an op-ed I wrote last spring, I proposed that there should be a third category added to Jack’s framework: the “Theoretically Taught.” These are FLI students who have access to enrichment and preparatory programs that allow them to experience PWI life in theory but not in practice.
While these categories do highlight the nuances of being FLI, it is crucial to highlight that some FLI students are more disadvantaged than others. The purpose of this writing is not to overshadow the experiences of those “Doubly Disadvantaged” students by amplifying the experience of those who may have higher incomes and/or more college prep. As a member of the Theoretically Taught and Privileged Poor, it is important for me to acknowledge my levels of privilege here. Navigating an elite college is a challenge for me, but some other FLI students deal with more than I ever will. There are the FLI students who may need more support and resources and should have the opportunity to take up more space. Because of these varying degrees of need, some may need to step up in receiving support while others should step back. Although I do write to acknowledge the diversity within FLI experiences, equity can not be ignored as I do so. Equity has to be applied even within a marginalized group because FLI is not a monolith. It is an acronym that implies different levels of struggle, all of which should be acknowledged on college campuses.
Take, for example, the case of Mackenzie Morrison. Morrison is a Penn alum and current Ph.D. student at Oxford. Both institutions have accused Morrison of lying about her status as an abuse survivor and FLI student. In sum, Morrison came from what would typically be described as a privileged background; she is a white woman from an upper-middle class family who attended a wealthy private preparatory school with paths to elite colleges and opportunities. However, Morrison is a survivor of brutal child abuse and former foster care child. She severed ties to her abusive family as soon as she could, and therefore, as a college applicant, she was lumped into the “low-income” category when applying to Penn. Where does this leave her in the FLI identity? Should she have access to full scholarships if she came from a privileged but broken home?
Acknowledging privilege is the most important step in answering these questions. Morrison’s story is unlike most FLI backgrounds. She indeed comes from privilege. She also comes from a broken home. These two factors stand independent of each other; a broken home does not take away from privilege and privilege does not invalidate the horrible abuse Morrison endured. Thus, I would consider Morrison to be low-income but not first-generation. FLI should be understood as first-generation and/OR low-income, meaning that students do not have to fall in both categories, but they should fall in at least one. “Low-income” should include all circumstances that would drastically affect the amount of money a student can contribute to a college education. This is everything from POC families lacking generational wealth to abuse survivors and foster children. I hesitate to call Morrison first-generation, however, because of the privilege she was surrounded by. With this understanding in mind, Morrison should receive the financial support and resources that she needs. If there was no reliable income that could be used for her tuition, then Morrison should receive scholarships and degrees from both Oxford and Penn.
Throughout their time in high school and college, FLI students may identify with multiple of the “Privileged Poor,” “Theoretically Taught,” or “Doubly Disadvantaged” categories. They never touch any of them. They may start in one and migrate to another as their journey to college unfolds. All of these experiences are valid. Some FLI students, depending on their background, may need more resources in college than others. However, this does not discredit anyone’s belongingness in the FLI community. Being FLI is an experience. It is more than income levels and family members who went to college. It is about how these obstacles affect college students’ ability to flourish in higher education. All FLI students are affected in some way, whether it may be a large or minimal effect.
To my friend who voiced concerns about taking up space in the FLI community, I would now tell them to take up as much space as they think they need. This may be less space than a FLI student whose family makes less money or a “Doubly Disadvantaged” student and that is okay. Being a FLI student on a college campus is about using university resources to get what you need. It is important to note, however, that FLI students have different levels of need, and this is more than acceptable because FLI is not a monolith. It is an identity that should be considered less for how much money students have to their name and more for how systemic obstacles affect the experience of capable young adults in higher education.