Fishing
I would not call my mother super religious. In this current climate, being associated with any sort of devout religiosity has negative connotations. My mother is a faithful servant. She happens to be a Christian, but her work as a nurse, caregiver to my father, nurturer to her family, and the most thoughtful friend, church-goer, and citizen reflects the service of any religion or way of life, when practiced mindfully and without selfishness. I say this to preface a reflection on access and equity today.
My mother consistently sends me links to her church’s YouTube services (as a screenshot for which I’ll have to go search) when there is a message she desperately wants her heathen daughter to hear. She also shares Facebook posts (screenshots) from various pastors. My high school associate pastor, with whom I am not friends with on Facebook, recently shared a post regarding the upcoming election and being “pro-work.” (I’ll share here that I grew up in the Presbyterian Church USA, one of the most open-minded Protestant Christian denominations.) In it, he noted that the proverb we have all heard is only partially true: “Give a man a fish, and you’ll feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you’ll feed him for a lifetime.” He asked, “What if a man doesn’t have a fishing pole? What if the man doesn’t have access to the pond?”
It reminded me how my grandfather, who worked hard to get a Master’s and become a successful engineer and businessman, told me when I was just a kid that when people say those “less fortunate” should pull themselves up by their bootstraps, it is impossible for someone who doesn’t have them. My grandfather, having had his own struggles to achieve everything he did, could have easily fallen into the mentality that others should work as hard as he did; however, decades before us white people began openly acknowledging and discussing privilege, he had critically thought about how he was able to achieve all he did and that he had advantages that others didn’t have, simply from the lottery of birth. He was a genius, after all. And a Democrat.
We often hear the bootstraps argument, without an “impossibility” added, online or in media outlets - either people we know or pundits on TV. The same people who believe everyone should pick themselves up by their bootstraps are the same ones who cannot acknowledge that some don’t have them. They fearfully go through life, thinking their way of life or just-out-of-reach riches are going to be snatched away from them by someone who is working harder than they ever tried. They love to celebrate individual stories of overcoming adversity in the face of barriers they created from their high horse that is actually just a stepstool. They also do not want to acknowledge that helping people is a value we share around the world, across religions, behaviors, ways of life. Helping people, by supporting policies that provide food to the hungry, health care to the sick, and equal treatment to the underserved, is a core value of humanity.
These aren't just abstract arguments about metaphorical fishing poles and bootstraps – they're the daily reality I witness in higher education. I do not mean to dance around religion and politics (or maybe I'm stomping on them), but daily I see students who were not born with bootstraps, didn't have a fishing pole, and didn't have access to a pond. And, those who were at the pond before them already caught the bigger fish. An international student choosing my university, sight-unseen, flying across the world to a new place with a new culture, knowing no one, and against all odds and with great determination and grit, they succeed and become managers, administrators, CEOs, and everything in between. Students from my own state who went to high schools without sufficient resources came to college and are now studying abroad, earning professional degrees, giving back to their own state, and starting their own companies.
These stories of perseverance are inspiring, but they shouldn't be necessary. When we celebrate only those who overcome nearly impossible barriers, we tacitly accept the existence of those barriers. Like my mother's dedication to service – not as a grand religious gesture but as a fundamental expression of human care – we must approach education equity with the same selfless devotion to lifting others up. It's not enough to admire those who scale walls; we must build doors.
The true measure of our educational system isn't in the exceptional stories of those who overcome every obstacle but in how we serve those who face obstacles in the first place. Just as my grandfather recognized his advantages despite his own hard work, we must acknowledge that true equity means creating systems where success doesn't require heroic efforts or lucky circumstances. It means ensuring that every student has not just the theoretical right to education, but the practical means to access it – the bootstraps, the fishing pole, and access to the pond.
When we return to the core values that my mother exemplifies – service, care, and unwavering support for others – we see that educational equity isn't just about fairness or opportunity. It's about expressing our shared humanity through meaningful action. Whether through policy changes, institutional support, or individual advocacy, we must work to create an educational system that doesn't just celebrate those who overcome barriers but actively works to remove those barriers altogether.
The truest expression of care isn't in watching someone struggle and cheering when they succeed despite the odds. It's in working tirelessly to ensure that everyone has an equitable chance at success in the first place.