Is Education the Universal Escape From Poverty?

I rushed into the bathroom — my only privacy from my family of six in our tiny two-bedroom apartment. I unwrapped the package and fell in love with the shirt’s forest green color. Ecstatically, I buttoned up my new Popeyes manager shirt and looked in the mirror. I expected to see myself smiling and proud, but that’s not the reflection I saw. I turned off the light and crumbled onto the cold floor. At 17-years-old, I had been promoted to manager, allowing me to work fewer hours, receive higher pay, and gain leadership experience: it should have been a sigh of relief, but it was not what I had imagined for myself.

In my junior year of high school, I shouldered the weight of a full-time job at Popeyes, a commitment born out of necessity to support my family through the pandemic. Each day unfolded against the backdrop of a makeshift classroom — my mattress on the floor, closely alongside those of my three siblings. Our small shared bedroom echoed with the snores of my older brother and the noise of my younger sister’s Zoom classes. I  remember the joy I had when I had  saved up enough money to purchase AirPods. Finally, I could drown out the loud background noise to make life a bit more manageable. After class, I would study, do homework or hop on a Facetime call with my friends before heading to Popeyes for my evening shift from 4 to 11 p.m. On weekends or during school breaks, I would often work double shifts; I really loved the overtime pay.  I was promoted to manager in the spring of my junior year — a sense of accomplishment with its own set of complexities and reflections on the unexpected turns of life.

While the opportunity to support my family felt like the most important thing I could do at the moment, it diverged significantly from the vision I had for myself when I was younger. As I sat on the floor, my eleven-year-old self flashed before me — eyes gleaming, a wide grin, brimming with ambition. My younger self  admired my tri-fold goal board adorned with aspirations of being a part of student government, serving my community, and a top ten GPA. I was determined to manifest these dreams, believing that they would serve as my direct ticket out of poverty. However, the reflection staring back at me in the mirror was not the college-bound top student I once envisioned; instead, I saw a Popeyes manager. The urge to scream welled up within me, but with my family just beyond the bathroom door, I swallowed my words. As I sat on the floor, I ran my fingers over the fabric of the shirt, acutely aware of all that had changed. The younger Da’juantay who proudly created that goal board could not have foreseen the many struggles I would have to endure — from my mom’s Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis to the responsibility of supporting my family, and the onset of a pandemic. Despite this, I came to the realization that the fierce ambition I held as a child to attend college still burned within my heart.

College has proven to be a catalyst for profound transformations across various aspects of my life.

I picked myself back up off the floor and created a plan to quit my job at Popeyes. 

The impulse to burst into the restaurant and slam my two-week notice on the desk pulsed within me, but I knew bills still needed to be paid and that fantasy would never see the light of day.  So, I created a plan to work over 500 hours the summer before my senior year. That way I could quit my job right before senior year and dedicate myself to fulfilling my younger self’s dream of attending college and breaking generational chains. 

Reflecting on this period, I ponder the paradox that despite securing local and national scholarships to fuel my ambitions, the stark reality of living in poverty compelled me to prioritize my job at Popeyes. It underscored the immense challenge of breaking free from the clutches of poverty. In my sophomore year of high school, I submitted my application for the Buck Scholarship, a regional award recognizing four students in Northern California, offering them a mentor, a $6,000 grant, and entry into a vibrant community with access to various resources. I was eager to apply for this program, and I can still hear the echo of the screams that rang throughout my apartment when I found out I was accepted into the program. My mentor, Julian, has impacted my life beyond measure and helped me realize that my goal of attending college was something feasible. Julian took me on my first plane ride to visit colleges in Washington and Oregon. Among the schools we visited was the University of Washington in Seattle (quite the coincidence, huh?).

Reflecting on this period, I ponder the paradox that despite securing local and national scholarships to fuel my ambitions, that stark reality of living in poverty compelled me to prioritize my job at Popeyes. It underscores the immense challenge of breaking free from the clutches of poverty.

This trip proved to be remarkably transformative, illuminating the path to the life I aspire to lead. I understood the power of being in programs such as Buck Scholars, and I continued to search for them. Exploring national college prep programs such as LEDA, Thrive, and QuestBridge College Prep Scholars, I made sure to submit applications for all. However, the only program that extended acceptance to me was Alexander Hamilton Scholars. AHS is a five year college prep program and persistence that selects about 30 high school juniors from across the country. This program has been a game-changer for me, offering invaluable assets like a proficient college advisor, a supportive community of fellow scholars, and access to a plethora of resources. Lynell, our college counselor, played a pivotal role in guiding me through the college application process, and continues to be a steadfast support to me today. 

Fast forward to the present, and I find myself in my sophomore year at Washington University in St. Louis, living a life that was once only a distant dream. I vividly recall the feeling of lying on my very first real bed when I moved into Myers hall, exclusively mine, with a tempurpedic mattress that undoubtedly set a high standard. College has proven to be a catalyst for profound transformations across various aspects of my life. I lost 70 pounds, thanks to access to a healthier lifestyle and diet. I fulfilled another childhood dream of traveling and exploring places that were beyond my imagination. Some of the daily challenges rooted in poverty no longer plague me. While higher education proved effective in fostering social mobility for me, this isn’t universally true for everyone, not even my own siblings. 

For example, only almost 23% of Black Americans have college degrees and there are indications that this number may decline further, particularly in the wake of the recent Supreme Court case on Affirmative Action. Furthermore, fewer than 1 in 13 children born into poverty in the United States will secure a high-income job in adulthood, with even bleaker odds for Black men at 1 in 40. I frequently ponder what enabled me to overcome these daunting odds. Each time, I arrive at the same conclusion: numerous factors paved my path, but undeniably, the primary reason I triumphed was because people invested in me. It was the elementary school teachers who instilled in me the belief that I can make a difference in the world, the mentors who guided me, and the programs that paved my way. 

This often leads me to wonder what kinds of responsibilities I have to the communities in which I was raised. It’s a heavy burden to bear, especially as I come to recognize through this exceptional education that I am getting here at Wash U, that my personal success is not enough to change the conditions that so many members of my community back home and across the country continue to face. This has ignited a fire in me to improve the public school system. I hope to be able to help eliminate the many systems of inequality and create a system where every child in America can receive a quality equitable education. Having experienced firsthand the transformative power of education, I recognize that my journey is both extraordinary and exceptionally rare.

It’s a heavy burden to bear, especially as I come to recognize through this exceptional education that I am getting here at WashU, that my personal success is not enough to change the conditions that so many members of my community back home and across the country continue to face.

The United States public education system remains unjust for so many children, particularly those who are people of color, low-income, or LGBTQ+, due to the numerous inequities that afflict the system. A brief stroll through any Saint Louis Public School makes these issues glaringly evident. However, the existence of hundreds, if not thousands, of programs and nonprofits dedicated to combating these inequalities, — such as Hamilton Scholars, QuestBridge, LEDA, and Posse — do an incredible job assisting students from poverty attend college and have a better chance with upward social mobility. Still, it’s crucial to acknowledge the limitations of these programs in terms of resources and outreach. While impactful, these programs function as Band-Aids to a deeply wounded system. Certainly, education holds the potential to act as a powerful mechanism for upward social mobility; however, this potential often goes unrealized due to how the system was created. Unlocking this transformative power demands comprehensive policy reform at the local, state, and federal levels. While I stand as an individual, the force of change requires collaborative effort. The landscape of education in America is tumultuous, demanding the collective attention and commitment of all of us. 

Dajuantay Wynter ‘26 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at d.t.wynter@wustl.edu