GSB Online During COVID-19: Still Relevant. Still Social. Still Worth It.

Luke Knepper
non-disclosure
Published in
4 min readApr 1, 2020

I’m grieving.

I haven’t lost a loved one to COVID-19, but I have lost something special to me: my dream ending to life at Stanford.

Stanford is my home. I’m the son of Stanford parents, a local, an undergrad alumnus, and now an MBA2. I had plans for how I would finish my years here: Dish hikes with friends, frisbee on the Oval, walk-and-talks to favorite campus spots, and every social event possible.

Those plans are dead. Like you, I’m in shock because my last months of school will be spent online, away from my classmates. I feel deep sadness, and I’m not sure how to cope.

We’re each grieving in our own ways. Some have tried to cope by asking for lower spring quarter tuition to account for the new, online format. That could’ve been a nice consolation. Stanford decided against it. We’re still getting a Stanford education, and it’s just one quarter, after all.

It’s disappointing. But I’m not grieving my dead dreams by fighting that decision.

Many GSB students are. A popular petition is asking the Board for an 80 percent discount on spring quarter, arguing we aren’t getting what we paid for.

We need to carefully consider what message this petition sends.

Imagine you’re one of the 6,925 applicants rejected from the MBA class of 2021. You see a headline on Business Insider: “GSB Students Demand Lower Tuition For Virtual Courses During Pandemic.”

If it were me, I’d feel a pinch. I might think, “Do you recognize what you’re getting? I’d happily take your spot and pay full price. Hell, I’d pay double.”

We didn’t sign up for an online quarter. But we are still getting something that millions of people would give their right arm to have. We are not entitled to this experience. Let’s not lose sight of that.

We need to consider the message we send internally, too. The administration has spent their spring break making revision after revision to once-in-a-generation wartime policies. Almost all of our professors have spent many hours figuring out how to adapt their life’s work to Zoom. Several told me how this effort has taken time away from their families and prior commitments.

Demanding lower tuition doesn’t tell them, “We appreciate the time you’ve sacrificed to serve us.” It says, “Your efforts are unsatisfactory.”

What message do we send to each other when we ask for an 80 percent discount? That a friendship is only 20 percent as good over the phone as in-person? That we’d much rather go to events than just talk? Either way, I feel a pinch. We’re here to get to know each other. Having a screen between us doesn’t make it not worth it.

Some of you are experiencing unique financial hardship because of the Coronavirus outbreak. The financial aid office absolutely should help you. I’ll fight for that. I know first-hand that you need their support so you can focus on school.

Discounting tuition does not accomplish this. Counter-intuitively, those on financial aid like myself may see little to no benefit from a tuition reduction. Every dollar tuition goes down is a dollar we no longer need from financial aid. Financial aid recipients would only see a benefit if the discount eclipses their fellowship. Those most likely to need financial help may be the least likely to get it.

Normally so packed that you can’t find an open table, GSB’s Town Square will likely be empty during Spring Quarter 2020. It’s heartbreaking. Photo Credit: Luke Knepper

Remote education is highly relevant.

Cheaper tuition argues that a quarter sheltered-in-place is less valuable than a quarter at Knight. I don’t buy it. We’re getting something no other GSB class has had: a crash course on leading remotely.

For four years I reported to a boss who lived in a different state. I hired and managed almost half of my team over video. It was surprising when a work meeting didn’t have someone calling in.

This is the way the world is heading. We will lead more people with a webcam than we will with a handshake. Remote education is not less relevant, but more.

Should losing in-person social events merit a discount? Most have been reformatted virtually. Some classics have been canceled. I grieve this loss most of all. What percentage of our tuition do we pay for these? It’s hard to say. I’m not sure we could come up with a convincing answer.

But I have found one effective way to cope with my grief, and I’d like to invite you into it:

Rather than dwell on what we’ve lost, let’s imagine what we’ll gain.

We’ve lost Town Square run-ins and Coupa coffee chats. But we’ve gained a chance to perfect our long-distance relationships. My best friends live around the country, and I’ve found it hard to stay close while being far. I’d like to get better at it.

When I give my TALK in April, I won’t get to look into your eyes, and I won’t get a hug-line afterward. But I bet more people will listen than if it had been on The Third Floor. It’s so much easier to attend virtually than corporeally. Tuning in from bed wearing pajamas effing rules.

We’ve lost Tuesday nights with endless drinks. But we’ve gained experimental virtual FOAMs. They could be dope. Dope enough to continue globally after graduation. Regular FOAM doesn’t scale. These do.

We’ll get hella good at virtual socializing. That skill will keep us connected for decades.

I grieve that I’ll never have the traditional MBA2 spring quarter. But I’ll always be a Stanford MBA. I’m beyond grateful for the lessons I’ve learned, the communities I’ve joined, and the friends I’ve made. They’re worth ten times the price I’m paying.

We will lead more people with a webcam than we will with a handshake. Remote education is not less relevant, but more.

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Luke Knepper
non-disclosure

@knep — Director of Engineering at Terrain Data. Crypto fan. Husband and father. From the Bay Area.