Legacy Admissions: Where Your Last Name Works Harder Than You Do

Sitting in the office break room, I sipped my coffee and listened as my colleagues, Mark and Lisa, debated an issue that had suddenly become personal: legacy admissions.

This practice is outdated and unfair, Lisa asserted, arms crossed. “Legacy admissions favor applicants from college-educated families, who are disproportionately wealthy and white. It perpetuates inequality and makes it harder for first-generation students to compete.”

Mark sighed. “You’re looking at it too narrowly. Legacy admissions help build tradition and loyalty. Alumni donations fund scholarships and programs. Without their support, many deserving students wouldn’t have access to financial aid.”

Lisa scoffed. “So we should let privilege dictate admissions just to maintain funding? Universities should prioritize diversity and academic excellence, not appease wealthy donors. Especially when legacy applicants are four times more likely to gain admission at places like Princeton.”

Mark shook his head. “It’s not just about money. Many legacies are well-qualified. Plus, a strong alumni network benefits all students, offering mentorship and career opportunities.”

Lisa leaned forward. “But what message does it send? That birthright matters more than merit? That a hardworking first-gen student can lose a spot to someone whose only advantage is their last name?”

Mark hesitated. “Change is necessary, but eliminating legacy admissions entirely could have unintended consequences. Alumni engagement could decline, and funding gaps might widen.”

I finally spoke up. “The problem is we’re talking about fairness as if it’s an absolute truth. But fairness is always relative. What we call ‘merit’ is just another system of advantages. Are test scores and extracurriculars truly a pure measure of worth, or are they just another way privilege manifests? A student whose parents paid for elite tutors and private coaching isn’t competing on a level playing field with a kid who worked two jobs through high school.”

Lisa frowned. “So we just accept an unfair system because it keeps the money flowing?”

I shook my head. “I’m saying that universities aren’t moral institutions; they’re businesses. They don’t exist to enforce some utopian vision of fairness. They sell prestige, influence, and opportunity. Legacy admissions aren’t a glitch in the system: they’re part of how the system sustains itself. Without them, alumni donations drop, and who does that hurt? Not the wealthy: they’ll buy influence elsewhere. It’s the low-income students, the scholarship programs, the research funding that take the hit.”

Lisa sighed. “I still don’t like it, but I see what you mean. Maybe the real problem isn’t legacy admissions but how universities allocate their resources.”

Our discussion ended, but the question remained: Are legacy admissions about fairness or preserving a legacy?