Ivy beleaguered

Admissions statistics for the class of 2016 came out last week. Initially surprised by the slight decrease in applications, I have since come across various explanations for the drop. Most striking was Businessweek’s claim that applicants are scared off by the “impossible” odds of getting in. There’s weight behind this argument, given that applicants seldom apply to Ivy League universities completely confident of their admission (I definitely didn’t). But I am more interested about the other side of this conjecture. We were quick to send the link to our friends in a manner which seemed to say “that’s my school—so good we scare people!” This attitude is largely unfounded. There is a discrepancy between how well we Columbians perform and what we take credit for.

I’m sure you’re all familiar with bell curves. The way Cs and even Fs can turn into As is almost magical, and I confess I was completely taken aback by this phenomenon. How could I ever proudly bare a mark in full knowledge that beneath it lay a more honest evaluation of my performance? A friend of mine puzzled over this discovery with me and eventually concluded: “It’s never how much you know, but how much you know compared to everyone else.” Instinctively, there’s something fundamentally wrong about this type of education, if it can even be called that. Yet, when I exposed my outrage, the responses were eerily similar: “It’s Columbia. Classes are harder.”

I’m not proposing the abolishment of Gaussian curves altogether, nor am I in the habit of assigning immense value to a letter and calling it learning. I’m not crazy about grades or standardized testing, but I am fooled even less by self-entitlement. Because to wave away hints of underperformance in the name—and just the name—of an institution is ridiculous. Today, we are proud to point at rankings and admissions rates, but we fail to see that Columbia did not earn its place by thinking itself effortlessly superior to other schools.

Indeed, classes at Columbia are by no means incomparable to classes in other universities, although by looking around, it may well seem like it. There is a reason courses in other schools are transferable—the material covered is essentially the same. And if the big difference were to lay in a renowned faculty, oft-cited complaints about the limited teaching capabilities of that faculty would bridge the chasm straight away, for no expert can stand in lieu of a curious disposition. I will admit that a long, but by no means exhaustive, Internet search revealed a lack of available comparisons between courses in universities in the United States, and so I can’t offer irrefutable, non-conjectural similarities. Even so, this does not diminish the need to downplay our inflated Columbian egos.

I don’t intend to say that we might as well have enrolled in the nearest community college for all the good Columbia will do us—though there are some compelling proponents of just that. The admission process is rigorous, the classes are no piece of cake, and it is with the sweat of our forehead that we earned a spot in the heart of the world. However, though they deserve acknowledgement, these achievements are, for the most part, achieved. It’s time to focus our time and energy on our next big adventure and to stop looking down when we are merely a few inches from the ground. We knew all of this.

In fact, before we enrolled in this magnificent institution, we recognized that the name of a university was not going to determine our future. A testament to the bright minds we offered upon admission was the awareness that there was no “right school,” dream colleges were a myth and, as the Mexican saying goes, “el perico dónde quiera es verde,” (the parrot remains green anywhere)—the student makes the school. In this same way, it’s high time to humbly recognize that this coveted position we hold is largely temporary. We won’t go to Columbia forever (or one would hope not), so we can’t shield our shortcomings behind its name, however awe-inspiring it is.

As idealistic and romanticized as it sounds, we did not come to Columbia for the grades. High school exceeded our tolerance of crying girls in teachers’ offices and rude students arguing over low marks. We weren’t interested in doing just enough academically. We yearned to be next to equally inquisitive people and looked forward to the promise of long philosophical talks on Low Steps. We can now cynically flip through those Blue Notes and mark off all that we haven’t done, but we would be flaming hypocrites if we claimed the lawn-basking glory was not appealing.

And so, reevaluate your own performance in the dark, when no one is watching, and don’t lie or hide behind big names. You’ve come this far—you owe it to yourself.

Cecilia Reyes is a Columbia College first-year. She is on the board of the Artists Society. Reyesing Expectations runs alternate Thursdays.