upworthy

higher education

Dolly Parton in 2010.

Disneyland might be named the “Happiest Place on Earth,” but the employees at Dollywood can make an educated claim to fame of their own.

Herschend Enterprises, partner owner of Dollywood and the nation’s largest privately owned themed attractions operations, announced on Feb 8 that it would cover 100% of tuition, fees and books for employees to pursue further education.

Considering that the popular Smoky Mountains theme park currently has 11,000 employees (including seasonal and part-time workers) that is quite a feat.


The initiative, Herschend’s GROW U., offers more than 100 programs, many that focus on high-demand fields like business administration and leadership, culinary, finance, technology and marketing. The company will also provide employees up to $5,250 per year for additional programs in fields including engineering, hospitality, art design and human resources.

Needless to say, this kind of financial support can be life-changing.

Andrew Wexler, CEO of Herschend Enterprises, defines the investment as the company’s “love culture in action.”

The CEO added, “we care about our employees' personal and professional growth, because we believe that their futures should be grown with love, not loans.”

This kind of culture really does permeate. According to CNN, employees also receive access to Dollywood Family Healthcare Center, free meals for every work shift, and apprentice and leadership programs. According to the Washington Post, other corporations such as Chipotle and Best Buy make contributions to employee education, but it's only a fraction compared to Herschend GROW U.

Still, the fact that this is a growing trend feels promising. With more than 36 well-known companies already helping with tuition, and now with Herschend GROW U. making headlines, perhaps compassionate corporations are becoming the new standard.

The program launches Feb 24, but is already giving us something to smile about.

Completing a master's degree, doctoral degree, or professional program is a big deal. When you're all done, a celebration is in order.

This is especially true for black students, who are still underrepresented at the highest academic levels. That's why these recent graduates are shouting each other out in an awesome way.

[rebelmouse-image 19526847 dam="1" original_size="400x222" caption="GIF from "The Daily Show."" expand=1]GIF from "The Daily Show."


Since the commencement regalia for master's, doctoral, and professional students often includes a hood, black graduates are posting selfies and giving each other well-earned props using the hashtag #BlackAndHooded.

It's a celebration of black joy, persistence, and talent.

The new grads behind the hashtag, Anthony Wright and Brian Allen, earned their master's degrees in higher education and student affairs from Indiana University and Columbia University, respectively, this spring.

While talking with one of his undergraduate students, Wright was reminded of the importance of black graduate student representation. He teamed up with Allen, a friend from his undergraduate days at the University of Wisconsin, and came up with #BlackAndHooded. It's intentionally inclusive of all black students across gender expressions, fields, institutions, and geography.

"Black excellence exists in all facets of education and we're pretty much killing the game," Allen says. "I think [the hashtag] really works to combat the negative notions of inadequacy in academia."

Wright and Allen expanded #BlackAndHooded into an online photo series too.

Recent grads can submit their photos via email and share their institution and field of study. The site is pages and pages of black excellence. At the time of this writing, Wright and Allen have more than 200 graduates on the BlackAndHooded site and are even honoring "Grads of the Week."

"The hashtag is cool, but ... they go away after a few weeks," Wright says. "I wanted to have something consistently available — all the images and not just tweets."

The number of black students earning advanced degrees is on the rise, but we're not done yet.

Black enrollment at post-secondary institutions has increased since the 1990s and advanced degree attainment has followed suit. In 1990, 5.6% of master's and 4.7% of doctoral degrees were conferred to black recipients. In 2013, those numbers jumped to 13.6% and 8%, respectively. They're baby steps, but they're headed in the right direction.

A community-conscious, action-oriented EDUCATOR ✊🏾💙 #BLACKANDHOODED #ZΦB #MasterOfEducation #MASTERED

A post shared by Jessica L. Williams (@jleannaw) on

We'll get there. Because behind that data are real living, dreaming black people. Disregard us at your own peril. These students are putting in work and making the impossible possible in a system that was not designed for their success. This celebration is for them, and they've certainly earned it.

Wright and Allen both hope this project inspires black people to pursue their dreams, not just in academia but wherever they may lead.

The road to success doesn't always go through higher education, and that's OK. But seeing their black peers work hard and accomplish their dreams across different fields and disciplines may be just the motivation someone needs to go for it.

"I hope it inspires people to push themselves to achieve their goals, regardless of what those goals are," Wright says.

For every happy, proud smiling face you see in this photos, there's a lot you don't see.

Earning an advanced degree requires years of research; tough projects, teaching, or work assignments; sleepless nights; and enough reading to make your head spin. There are days when you don't know if you'll make it. There are days when you question yourself and your abilities. But you persist, not just for yourself, but your family, your community. And you do it for a moment like this:

An advanced degree is much more than a piece of paper, it's an achievement earned by the best and brightest. And no one can take that away.

Hats off to the class of 2017, and the people who love and support them.

This is your time. Go ahead and show out!

When Alondra Palomino was a kid, she wanted so badly to go to college. But she just didn’t know if it was possible.

"I have a somewhat complex family dynamic," Palomino explains in an email. She grew up in Colorado, raised by her godparents — first in Denver, where she lived in a neighborhood that spoke only Spanish, and then in Thornton.

"Thornton was a huge culture shock to me. I began to realize what it truly meant to be considered a minority," she writes.


Alondra (left) facilitating a workshop. Image provided by Alondra Palomino, used with permission.

Palomino's mother immigrated to the U.S. from Mexico "in search of a better life," after having to quit school in seventh grade to work. Both she and Palomino's godparents stressed the importance of a college education, but none of them had any experience navigating the application process.

By the time Palomino reached high school, she knew she'd give anything to go to college. "I needed to be the role model for my younger sister and brother," she notes. "They needed to know that if I could do it, they could too."

She just had no idea how to get there.

Unfortunately, Palomino's story is not uncommon.

A 2014 study found that just 15% of Hispanic young adults (aged 25-29) held a bachelor's degree — a number that lags far behind other demographic groups. Cost, unfamiliarity with the process, and needing to help support family are just a few barriers that first-generation college students face.

Image via iStock.

Luckily, Palomino's high school in Thornton offered a rigorous academic program that was able to guide her through the college application process. She successfully applied to the University of Colorado at Boulder, received scholarships, and started school in 2014.

Now a junior in college, Palomino's determined to give other first-generation college students the same opportunities she had.

One of the scholarships Palomino received, the Puksta Scholarship, requires students to design a civic engagement project. She writes, "I knew that I wanted to work with the undocumented community; I wanted to give back to my family, especially after everything they have done for me."

After reflecting on her own experience applying to college, she decided that simply providing workshops for parents of high school students could make a huge impact in the community. So far, she has facilitated four parent workshops.

"I want parents to know that it is possible [for their kids to attend college]," Palomino writes. "It may be challenging, but it's worth it."

Image via iStock.

The workshops address some common college myths (such as the grades required for acceptance), the differences between community colleges and universities, the common application questions, financial aid, and more.

Palomino likes to end the presentation by asking what parents dream for their kids' futures.She says the stories they share make her "realize how amazing and dedicated they are. They are so invested in their student's future and only want the best for them." The parents, she adds, are always extremely grateful.

Being a first-generation college student is anything but easy. But Palomino is fully committed to helping other students achieve their college dreams. "I truly believe that no matter what your legal status is, everyone should have the right and opportunity to go to college," she explains. "It is possible, si se puede."

"Administration! Come out!" chanted Camila, her voice echoing across the quad outside Brown's University Hall.

Camila was just one of hundreds in a fervent chorus of students, staff, and faculty who walked out of class at Brown University on Nov. 16, 2016, joining a nationwide protest.

Camila, a junior political science major, carried a makeshift sign on a piece of brown cardboard that read, "Yo grito lo que mi familia calla," or "I shout out what my family keeps silent." Together with the gathered crowd, she marched through the crisp autumn air to deliver a list of demands to the university administration.


What did Camila, and the other students around her, want? Among other demands, they wanted a formal declaration that would establish the campus as a sanctuary for undocumented immigrant students.

All photos by Danielle Perelman, used with permission.

Camila took part in the walkout in support of her undocumented peers. But she also participated because she knows new immigration laws could affect her life too.

Camila grew up in Mexico City and has a temporary student visa. Now, at Brown, she's heavily involved in activism and advocacy for marginalized communities. She's especially focused on helping victims of her home country's ongoing drug war. (We're withholding her last name because of the sensitivity of the situation.)

But now, things feel different for her. Donald Trump's election has engendered a new wave of hate and xenophobia across the country, inspired in part by the president-elect's own anti-immigrant stances.

Now Camila says she feels scared to walk home from the library at night. She's afraid of the angry, harassing voices that swarm her every time she logs online. She's worried about what Trump's presidency means for her future, and her friends' futures, especially if the federal government keeps their promise to crack down on immigration.

Brown University isn't the only place where this sanctuary movement has come to a head.

In fact, more than 100 other colleges reportedly held their own walkouts at the same time as this one in cooperation with an immigrant activist organization called Movimiento Cosecha.

By formally declaring itself as a sanctuary, Brown University and other universities like it could protect undocumented students from harsh or unfair targeting by federal authorities. If they lived on a sanctuary campus, undocumented students could continue to pursue their educations with less fear of being turned in for arrest or deportation.

"The university should understand that you cannot study in peace if you're worried about your health or about your legal status in the country, or if you're worried about whether to wear your hijab or not," Camila says.

This kind of sanctuary policy could be meaningful for about 150 people at Brown, including students, faculty, staff, and families who are affiliated with the university in some way.

That's still a fairly small undocumented population in the grand scheme of things, but it'd be a particularly powerful statement to have an Ivy League school with a reputation for academic progress and bright alumni leaders spearheading this kind of movement.

Which brings us to another good question: Why wouldn't the school agree to these measures? Well, sanctuary cities are already reportedly being threatened with a loss of federal funding, and campuses that declare themselves as immigrant sanctuaries might be placing themselves at a similar risk. One spokesperson for Brown has also indicated that some aspects of the sanctuary request would fall outside the school's legal jurisdiction.

This march is just one small part of a bigger movement all over the country to build safe places following Trump's election.

For an immigrant student like Camila, this matters both personally and professionally. While she is fortunate enough to be attending Brown on scholarship with the assistance of a student visa, that paperwork only offers her temporary protection. But a sanctuary title would allow her to chase her ambitious dreams with less fear.

"[I want to be] someone who can connect with marginalized communities but also kind of have the human capital to talk to government people as well, and just creating those bridges," she said.

To do this, she'll need to build that network of connections and secure a work visa to stay in the United States after college. With current rules in place, it'll be hard, but not impossible, to achieve these goals. But she worries that in Trump's America, her ambitions willbe impossible.

"Honestly one of the reasons I came here was just to feel safe," she said, referring to the work she's already done as an advocate against the drug war that has left her targeted in her home country.

"I could go back but it's really hard to find a community. Once I did here, it was the right place, and I want to stay now. And I think it's legitimate."