By Maggie Tennis, Molly Brune and Sujata Rajpurohit

On April 8, Princeton University Provost Deborah Prentice sent an email to all university faculty and staff notifying them of steps the university will be taking to combat the financial consequences of COVID-19. These “hard choices” include suspending salary increases, restricting hiring, and as of June 2nd, “decreased dependence” on “temporary hourly, casual, and contracted” workers.

The third measure is most concerning. These workers belong to a category of employees most likely to live paycheck-to-paycheck, placing them in a position of extreme hardship if they lose their wages. We are dismayed that Princeton — the university with the largest per-student endowment in the United States — could neglect its most vulnerable employees during a period of economic crisis.

As of Fiscal Year 2019, Princeton’s endowment stands at $26.1 billion — larger than the GDP of countries such as Iceland and El Salvador. But while these nations are rushing to develop economic relief packages for their citizens, Princeton hurried to set expectations that the university takes no responsibility for mitigating the financial impact of the pandemic on its workforce. What is the purpose of an endowment this large if it is not used to offset the extreme challenges of a crisis like the one we currently face?

Princeton’s financial reporting indicates financial flexibility. In 2015, Princeton’s Trustees decided to raise average annual spending from 5.75% to 6.25% of the endowment to “optimize the mix of the university’s three important types of capital—financial, physical, and human.” By its own account, the university can access $580 million through a line of credit and a commercial paper program specifically established to “help manage unanticipated liquidity needs.” Continuing to pay vulnerable workers for the remainder of the year would cost less than one month of the University’s average expenditure on salaries. One would think that with $10.6 billion net assets without donor restrictions and an annual operating budget of over $2.1 billion, the University could afford to embody fully its informal motto: “In Service of Humanity.”

Some may contend that Princeton’s endowment should not be used to protect the wages of Princeton’s workers. It may be difficult to loosen restrictions on donations or liquidate funds. Endowments are intended to last into perpetuity, meaning that the university aims to restrict yearly spending to a portion of what the endowment earns in returns. But despite these considerations, an urgent question remains: are future trade-offs, such as less money for future operating costs, worth spending now to reduce the unemployment of Princeton’s staff? We believe they are.

We understand that Princeton may want to tighten its belt in anticipation of another recession. Yet history demonstrates that higher unemployment and increased debt burdens weaken economic recovery. By offloading the pandemic’s economic consequences onto vulnerable workers, Princeton reinforces the very policies that will hinder the nationwide economic recovery needed to replenish the endowment.

We applaud the university’s commitment to the welfare of students during this crisis, illustrated by measures such as offering full coverage of COVID-19 illness-related expenses through university healthcare, allowing students without alternative options to remain on campus, and expanding pass-fail grading to alleviate academic stress. But the Princeton community extends beyond students, and the pandemic has revealed that often overlooked labor is, in fact, indispensable. These workers maintain our infrastructure, sanitize our spaces, and ensure that we are fed. They are risking their lives to safeguard our welfare. Will Princeton protect them?

The current moment is unprecedented. We do not doubt that the pandemic imposes a massive financial strain on the university, or that Princeton faces a grave challenge in retaining temporary hourly, casual, and contracted workers and providing adequate benefits during this crisis. But if our instruction at Princeton has taught us anything, it is that crises fall hardest on those whom the university now deems sacrificial. Princeton is in a privileged position to provide for its community when most other institutions, or even nations, cannot do the same.

When this pandemic ends, what legacy will Princeton leave?

Molly Brune, Sujata Rajpurohit and Maggie Tennis are graduate students at The Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs at Princeton University.

Their essay was signed by 49 additional graduate students from the school of Public Affairs.

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