Elizabeth Song | Putting on the Ritz

Welcome to University City, land of the $4 Starbucks latte and home of the $48 American Apparel sweatshirt. The 300 acres of land that Penn owns in University City rise above the desolate, crime-ridden lands of West Philadelphia like the Emerald City over Oz. And our glorious president, Amy "the Good Witch" Gutmann, has blessed us with a bevy of chic retail options.

Just amble down Walnut Street to Cereality, where you can munch on a $4 take-out box of cold cereal. For a few bucks more, you can even grab that $6 box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from C3. And you can't be a proper Penn student without Penn gear - so head to the Penn Bookstore, which is run by retail giant Barnes & Noble.

Ever wonder why you have to cough up $50 for a Penn hoodie?

Look no further than the University's drive to reap profits. By cultivating an upscale retail monoculture on campus, the University is gouging students to gild its own coffers. Penn alum Matt Ruben, who graduated last year with a doctorate in Urban Studies, examines this trend in Campus, Inc.: Corporate Power in the Ivory Tower. According to Ruben, universities can strike business deals to milk profits from their "captive audience" of students, faculty, and staff.

Here's how it works: the University leases land or space to a business. Penn tries to squeeze as much money as possible out of the deal by charging higher rents. These high rents get passed on to the consumer - that means you - through higher prices.

Awarding one business a reliable revenue stream, like granting a monopoly on Penn apparel, allows the University to extract higher rents in return. It's an act of corporate calculus that belies the University's 301c non-profit tax status.

But the milking doesn't stop there. Lost your gamble on that much-coveted '03 suite in Harnwell? No worries: Take advantage of the trendy luxury apartment buildings that are popping up like mushrooms, with sleek, postmodern names like Radian and Domus. Too bad if you can't afford the $1300 monthly rent. Guess you'll just have to settle for a shady off-campus apartment.

Not only is the corporate landscape bad for cash-strapped students - it also bleeds the local community. Penn, which went on a land grab in the 1960s, failed to immediately develop these properties, leaving them empty lots and hotbeds for crime.

The high rents that the University set also discouraged local, blue-collar businesses from moving on campus. In their place, we got corporate mega-chains like Au Bon Pain, Barnes & Noble, and Urban Outfitters.

As a result, University City has become a Center City in miniature, with its steep prices.

Every campus has a place for a Gia Pronto's or a Sheraton, but we should have a choice of businesses that cater to a variety of income levels. As one of the area's largest landowners, the University has the all-important power of setting rents. And as the campus moves closer to Center City during eastward expansion, Penn should encourage local, independent businesses in place of corporate monoliths.

Penn has its own reasons for encouraging upscale retail: it plays into the University's marketing image as a cosmopolitan campus. It's "how the University maximizes revenue and maintains the prestige of its brand," Ruben told me.

The University's ploy to boost profits isn't unilaterally bad. While these strategies have the valid aim of cutting costs, they shouldn't be pursued at the expense of Penn's most important constituents - the students. Especially when we're paying $45,000 to be here.

Students make easy targets because we retain so little institutional memory. According to Ruben, "if the price on campus goods goes up 20 percent, you have a new crop of freshmen who never knew the difference."

But students don't always have to serve as cash-cows for universities.

About a decade ago, a diverse ad hoc coalition of students, faculty and vendors successfully rallied against the University's attempts to systematically erase the presence of food trucks from campus. They collected 10,000 signatures on a petition, and thanks to their efforts, students today enjoy a variety of low-cost alternatives to Aramark.

We need to continue to resist our transformation into passive consumers. Remaining oblivious to the corporate landscape on campus simply isn't an option.

Elizabeth Song is a junior from Clemmons, N.C. Her e-mail address is song@dailypennsylvanian.com. Striking a Chord appears on alternating Wednesdays.

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