Universities are pretty darn good at teaching us who matters. We learn the credentials of our professors before the first day of class. We memorize the personal hobbies of the banker at a Goldman Sachs information session. We know where our professors were educated. We know the hometowns, majors, and full names of classmates that we likely won’t see after college. Why? Because they probably sat a few rows in front of us in ECON 0100 or ACCT 1010.
Yet, it’s hard for us to remember that there are people who unlock the doors to classrooms before our 8:30 a.m. classes and keep the Huntsman Hall group study rooms as immaculate as they always are. Many of these individuals remain nameless to us — but not faceless. They're often seen in passing but largely go unrecognized by the students they serve.
About two weeks ago, Penn employee Meaza Brown was killed in a hit-and-run. She worked as a custodian in Penn Residential Services. Brown was walking to work when the incident occurred. She was someone who kept our facilities conducive for all of our learning, and that is something we must all recognize.
Penn’s response to this tragedy was deafening. There was not a single message sent to the undergraduate body, no formal acknowledgement from the University, and not even a moment given to remember a person whose work touched the lives of thousands of students and faculty. This is upsetting, and, at the same time, deeply revealing of a broader phenomenon at Penn.
There is an unspoken hierarchy of those whose stories the institution believes are worth telling. When our community has experienced the loss of a student or faculty member, the institution highlights their contributions, impact, and legacy. When we lose a valued member of our essential staff, like Brown, who holds up the functioning of this campus, the institution is silent.
I’ve noticed that this isn’t just a one-off instance — it’s consistent. Ask yourself this: how many of us know the names of the people who clean the dining halls or work at the front desk of every academic building? How many of us greet them with a simple ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’ while walking to class?
If the University prides itself on the community it has to offer, we all need to think critically about whether that definition of “community” is all-encompassing or restricted to schemas we hold about what a University looks like. A community is one that covers its entire constituency with equal care; it requires both reciprocity and recognition.
The fact is that Penn runs on the work of those we don’t necessarily acknowledge. Brown’s passing forces us to reckon with how we overlook the people who make our university experience possible, yet it shouldn’t take us a tragedy to recognize this. However, we do have collective agency in what the future looks like. I encourage the members of this community to start seeing those who fundamentally hold up this institution. Learn a name. Offer a genuine greeting. Say thank you. Let’s treat our support staff with the same interest and dignity that we afford to our professors and classmates.
Back in elementary school, my teachers would consistently emphasize the “golden rule,” which is to treat others the way you’d want to be treated. If we want the fabric of the Penn community to be stronger, it is on us – students, faculty, and administrators – to ensure this rule is applied to everyone who allows this place to function.
After all, Penn will only be as strong as the people that it chooses to see.
ABHIRAM JUVVADI is a College and Wharton senior studying history and finance from Morrisville, N.C. He currently serves as the President on the 141st Board of The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. His email is abhiram@sas.upenn.edu.
President (2025), Photo Editor (2024), News Photo Editor (2023)
