“Ya te dije! Y más te vale que no les digas que eres pobre!!!” Those were my mom’s last words as I left for graduate school: “I already told you! And for your own sake, do not tell them you are poor!!!” I was shocked. For years, my parents never understood academia; they never grasped what it meant to pursue a PhD, especially in philosophy, an obscure and gate-kept discipline. My parents are humble folks from a rural agrarian community in central Mexico—Michoacán, to be exact. During my undergraduate years, they never expressed such concerns; I never shied away from my roots, and I still don’t. So, why this advice now? What was different?
It turns out they learned from a family friend, an educated individual, about what a PhD in philosophy entailed—socially, economically, and even racially. I guess they spilled all the “tea,” and needless to say, it scared my mom. She worried that because of our roots and my upbringing, the intimidating world of philosophy would consume me. She feared I would be “othered” for being poor and wouldn’t fit in due to my different life experiences. In some ways, she was right.
Graduate school has indeed been a culture shock for me. However, I feel incredibly fortunate to receive the best support from some amazing philosophers. My undergraduate and current advisors have been central in keeping me on track, motivating me, and allowing me to be vulnerable and open about my experiences. I wish I could thank them all here, but space is limited—they know who they are.
Let me preface this bit of reflective advice by saying it may not be for everyone; it might only connect with a small group of people. But if it reaches you, know that you are not alone. You are capable, and our people have been philosophers long before anyone labeled us as such.
Back to reality: I do notice the cultural, social, and class differences in philosophy. For instance, I am often the only low-income student in philosophy spaces. I’m used to this, as I am frequently the only person of color. But no one really discusses classism in the discipline. Many philosophers come from families of professionals—some even from families of philosophers. That’s fine, great even! What’s not okay is that the discipline still has a long way to go in recognizing that being a person of color from a low-income background comes with systemic barriers and oppressive structures that don’t exist for wealthy people. Notice that while people of color still face systemic oppression, wealthy people of color won’t experience class oppression the way poor people do. Controversial as that may be, it is the truth; we are not all the same. In that sense, it has felt very lonely. There have been moments when I’ve felt like I don’t belong.
What is at stake is staying true to who you were before academia, to the people who raised you, and to the community you still belong to—if you believe that is of value. Assuming it is, here’s my advice to those of you who share a similar background: 1. ¡No te sientas menos que nadie! (Do not feel inferior to anyone!) 2. Be proud of your roots and grateful for your people’s life lessons and wisdom; you are their student first. 3. The deeper you go in academia, the more reflective you must be about where you came from, who you are, and what is at stake. Ask yourself why you do philosophy and if you do it for anyone.
Well, now what? What’s next? Here you are, a person of color from a low-income background, perhaps first-generation, in philosophy. You might be the only one who’s worked a “real” job, not just for extra money, but to ease your family’s financial burden. You might be the only one for whom wearing orange meant prison, not Princeton. You might be the only one who attended community college and paid your own way. You might be the only one from your neighborhood who “made it out.” You might be afraid that academia will change you. You might be the only one whose parents ask, “So, when can we move in with you, and when will you buy us a house?” You might be the only one who thinks a PhD stipend is a lot of money—since, for many of us, it’s the most we’ve ever had (my father raised us on $40,000 a year; we didn’t have much—a studio apartment, and sometimes we rented out our living room to make ends meet). Ultimately, you may be the only one who doesn’t tell them you are poor.
Leonel "Leo" Alvarez Ceja
Leonel "Leo" Alvarez Ceja is an Indigenous Chicano philosopher and PhD student at Cornell University's Sage School of Philosophy. As a first-generation student from Southern California with Purépecha and Aztec ancestry, his research explores metaphysics, including causation, mereology, social ontology, and spacetime, as well as moral, social, and political philosophy. He is currently working on projects related to Xicanx identity, Aztec causation, and four-dimensional causal loops.
