At the University of Connecticut, the epicenter of stress for thousands of students, faculty, and staff is not an exam or deadline — it’s parking.

For a university already grappling with state funding cuts, federal grant rescissions, and the dismantling of DEI efforts, the price of parking has become a university-wide symbol of inequity and frustration.

Nearly all UConn commuters pay to park on campus. Of the roughly one-third of UConn students who do not live on-site, attending classes and joining clubs requires an up-front, out-of-pocket parking permit costing from $365 to $1,098 a year, with even higher rates for premium lots. Faculty and staff, too, must pay to park at their workplace — although they may spread the cost through payroll deductions, a luxury students do not receive. For non-traditional students already juggling responsibilities, the economic and emotional costs of parking are a significant barrier to their access and success.

Those who cannot afford permits are relegated to time-limited street parking or must wait until evening to access certain on-campus lots. Most park on the periphery of campus and endure extensive walks or rely on shuttle services that are, at best, inconsistent. Enforcement is punitive and costly, with a minimum fine of $40 and policies allowing the booting of cars. Unlike tuition, fees, housing, meals, and even books, the cost of a permit does not appear on the semester fee bill and cannot be covered by financial aid packages or payment plans. As such, commuters must find a way to produce hundreds of dollars before the first day of classes or risk a back-breaking ticket.

The economic costs extend well beyond permits and citations. Commuters spend thousands of dollars annually on gas, insurance, car payments, and maintenance. Since none of these expenses can be standardized, they are seldom accurately measured in financial aid calculations, further widening cost gaps for marginalized students. At UConn, roughly a third of the incoming class will attend a commuter-centered regional campus, where students are significantly more likely to be first-generation compared to those at the residential Storrs campus. For them, parking is not a convenience but a necessity — yet the system charges them extra for equal access to the same university community.

The cost of parking is not only economic but emotional, as it erodes dignity and belonging. Permits and citations send the message that you do not belong at UConn unless you can afford to. Instead of focusing on academics or student life, commuters burn emotional capital struggling to find parking, getting a ticket, or being booted. Arriving late to class because the shuttle was behind or skipping an event because the parking fee is too steep reinforces the outsider and peripheral status of vulnerable students, both literally and figuratively.

Graduate assistants, adjuncts, and employees working on tight budgets are also forced to pay hundreds just to access the job they are already underpaid to perform. Parking policies, once logistical necessities, have become symbols of misplaced priorities: for a university that publicly champions inclusion, this misalignment should no longer be tolerated.

Proponents of the UConn parking system argue that it is an important revenue source and that it discourages delinquent parking. While the system generates $6 million annually — including more than $1 million from student citations alone — it is funded disproportionately by non-traditional, at-risk students. Meanwhile, delinquent parking has not decreased despite rising fines. Students park without paying not because they want to, but because they cannot afford to.

With waning support for equity-oriented programs at the federal and state levels, UConn cannot afford to overlook an opportunity to promote belonging and access. Policy changes as simple as adopting hardship waivers or shifting the cost of a permit to the semester fee bill could bulldoze barriers without risking revenue.

Still, the foremost goal is to root out the idea that parking is a luxury, rather than the price of entry to the college experience. So long as the system persists, a drive to class is a roadblock to opportunity.

Zachary Boudah is a graduate student at the University of Connecticut.