Drawing the line: Which side will you choose?
President Schlissel, the Board of
Regents, and the Administration of
the University of Michigan:
The University has continuously
shown its allegiance and dedication
to “defend” the right to freedom of
speech, but fails at providing and
promising safety for students of
color. The safety of students should
not come as an afterthought; it
should be a priority. The active
stance that the University has
taken to ensure others their right
to freedom of speech, such as
refusing to erase the harmful
Islamophobic messaging, should be
comparable to the active measures
the University is taking to protect
its students of color.
There are issues that are
impacting us right now, every day,
and yet the University has remained
stagnant in waiting on a strategic
plan that isn’t doing anything for us
right now. There are students that
are impacted by the hateful actions
of other students on our campus,
and the administration is not
concretely addressing the issues.
Your statements are two days late
and come after the labor of 600-
plus students speaking out about
it. You failed to mention the events
that occurred at Eastern Michigan
University, 15 minutes away, that
also greatly affected students at
this University and in our greater
community. You also failed to
acknowledge the murders and the
current state of the country. Black
people are being murdered by the
police every day, and the National
Guard just recently enforced a
police state in North Carolina.
Frankly,
actions
by
the
administration
have
felt
disingenuous.
They
often
are
reactionary to student mobilization,
including the most recent efforts
by the administration to release
statements. The University of
Michigan’s Diversity, Equity &
Inclusion plan was conveniently
announced after the incident at the
University of Missouri, and after
Harvard and Yale’s commitments
to increasing funding for diversity.
Efforts to have safe spaces for
students of color to grieve and
react to harmful, racist messages
were overrun with white students
who did not allow for the space to
remain safe. There were so many
students that were more concerned
with their freedom to harm others
in the space than with the ability of
their peers to voice their fears and
anxieties while being on campus.
The student town hall meetings
that were held regarding the DEI
initiative were not productive
because there were no spaces
for marginalized folx to safely
communicate their thoughts and
ideas as those targeted by hatred
on this campus. By having spaces
available for all students, including
those that cause harm, this serves
as an exclusionary tactic because
it effectively silences marginalized
voices out of fear.
Sharing the stories of students
of color to create the DEI plan
reinforces
the
idea
within
academia that students who have
marginalized identities need to be
continuously retraumatized for
the consumption and education of
other students and faculty. Instead
of creating spaces for students
to share their hardships, create
spaces for open conversation where
you are listening to our voices
and implementing practices that
show your concerns for our safety.
Be proactive and not reactive.
An example of this is creating
spaces for only students of color
to engage within the community
and contribute to both the DEI
initiative, and our current campus
climate.
We are the top public school
in the country, yet we lag when
it comes to truly creating an
environment
that
engages
in
diversity, equity and inclusion.
These words mean more than a few
statements, open dialogues for all
students to attend and a promise to
give money to the cause.
These are our concrete demands
as Black students and other
students of color for President
Schlissel:
Acknowledge our humanity and
address us — Black folx and other
people of color on campus — in
person.
Create a space for Black students
and other people of color without
white students, before the launch
of the Diversity, Equity & Inclusion
Plan on Thursday, Oct. 6 at 9 am.
This space needs to be accessible
(both physically and temporally)
for the students that want to be
addressed by you.
Declare solidarity with us as
Black students and students of
color, as well as with those same
students at Eastern Michigan
University and other schools in the
nation who experience racism and
anti-Blackness on campus.
Address the current events
regarding police brutality and
recognize
how
that
impacts
Black students, faculty and staff
in our personal, professional and
academic lives.
Construct more office hours
and time for students to voice
their concerns to the University
president directly.
Continuously provide safe spaces
for both Black students and other
students of color to talk about the
DEI plan as it’s being implemented
without white students.
Create a unique short-term
emergency
plan
with
Black-
and POC-student input made
paramount — meant to address and
redress issues within the next year.
Rename buildings to reflect
students on campus and also to
acknowledge the harm that the
people the buildings are named
after have caused.
Create a protocol that is more
accessible for the entire campus
community to be informed about
bias incidents. We have the right to
know about these incidents.
Fulfill the seven demands of
the #BBUM movement that was
presented two years ago.
Create a permanent designated
space on Central Campus for Black
students and students of color to
organize and do social justice work.
This is not the same as the Trotter
Multicultural Center, because we
want a space solely dedicated to
community organizing and social
justice work specifically for people
of color.
Display a Black Lives Matter
flag, as a physical symbol of
solidarity for Black students on
campus. Atop other clear policy
changes that we are demanding,
this is the recognition that students
have said t hey need in order to feel
safe on this campus. Black Lives
Matter is not a political issue — it
is a human rights issue, fighting for
the humanity of Black folx.
We
look
forward
to
the
University’s
cooperation
and
solidarity in supporting Black
people on this campus. The great
Desmond Tutu once said, “If you
are neutral in situations of injustice,
you have chosen the side of the
oppressor.”
President
Schlissel,
Regents and the Administration,
which side will you choose?
VIKRANT GARG
Michigan in Color Contributor
When I was in the fifth grade,
my teacher pulled six students,
including me, out of the classroom
to discuss something separately.
She began by introducing the topic
as a secret, saying we should not
repeat what we were about to hear
to the other students left in the
classroom. With a few nods and
confused gazes, she proceeded
to explain that we were to skip
recess that afternoon and instead
participate in “gifted” testing. As
fifth graders, we weren’t quite
sure what it meant to be tested
as a “gifted” student. However,
by reading the letters sent home
to our parents, we were able to
realize that it meant we were
special in some way and that our
teachers had high expectations
of us. Curious to know what
I could possibly be in trouble
for, my classmates pestered me
throughout the week until I
finally gave in. After admitting
to them that it was a test to
examine if I was eligible to be in
upper-level math courses, I could
see the disappointment in their
expressions as their shoulders
slugged
and
their
mouths
responded with a simple “oh.”
“That’s boring. Of course you
got tested for that. You’re Asian.”
I looked at my friends and we
all chuckled. That was a funny
joke.
A joke.
… But was it?
Growing up in predominantly
white suburban neighborhoods,
I
became
desensitized
to
stereotyping jokes and racial
slurs. I grew up thinking that
they were funny jokes — that
my friends were just teasing. I
was blinded by an image that is
socially constructed and wrongly
endorsed.
“Of
course
she’s
good
at
geometry, she’s Asian.”
“Wow, Karen, you got a B? Isn’t
that like an F to you?”
“Why aren’t you in orchestra?
Shouldn’t you be good at the
violin?”
I was numb.
Model minority — it’s all just
a distorted image. There’s this
veil around my shoulders that
defines who I am before I even
have a chance to introduce myself.
I’m swallowed by stereotypical
expectations that are apparently
inherent to my nature when, in
fact, I haven’t even started to
discover who I really am.
So who am I? I am Asian
American.
I am part of the model minority.
I am perceived to be part of a
group that is exemplary as many
of my race have been known to
highly succeed in the academic
and occupational arenas. I am
stereotypically seen to be more
mathematically and scientifically
inclined. I am supposed to be
very educationally driven. I am
expected to be musically talented.
But it’s a compliment!
No. It’s not.
Some may argue that a lot of
the racism Asians face is not, in
fact, racism because they involve
“positive”
characteristics.
For
example,
stereotypical
racist
comments such as being good
at math and being exceptionally
intelligent
are
supposedly
compliments and therefore not
considered racist. They may argue
that being considered the model
minority is a good thing and that
we should be grateful for the
facade granted to us. These are
ignorant and uneducated beliefs
that do not consider the realities
that Asians as a minority face.
Racism cannot and should not
be justified by its supposedly
positive connotations. Not all
Asian Americans grow up with
the same circumstances, nor do
we all have the same intellectual
abilities. With model minority
membership, we are assumed
to have privileges and advanced
capabilities. This is a conclusion
drawn from ill-justified opinions
that cannot be used as an excuse to
legitimize racist thinking. In fact,
this distorted image is detrimental
to psychological health and brings
heavy mental stress. When we as
Asian Americans are expected to
be above average simply due to
our physical characteristics, we
are pressured. We are pressed
between walls with no room to
discover ourselves by our own
definitions. We are to fulfill
certain standards that have been
defined for us by those looking
from the outside. We are defined
by
invalid
generalizations
and oppressed by the social
institutions that endorse these
generalizations.
The distorted image, in fact,
creates somewhat of a cognitive
dissonance to my psychological
state of being. One part of me
grips onto the social definitions of
who I am. The other part breaks
society’s rules and creates a new,
unique identity. This dissonance
shakes me until I finally realize
that I don’t align with the social
definitions I am expected to fulfill.
So who am I really? I am Asian
American.
But I’m also not — in society’s
terms. I’m really bad at any and
every instrument there possibly is.
My parents attempted to improve
my musical senses by exposing me
to the piano when I was young, but
after six years of rigorous lessons
and performances, I couldn’t
develop a skill or a passion. In
high school, I got a B in Algebra
2 and that was with an incredible
amount of work and studying.
I do, however, devote a great
amount of time and effort to the
things I am passionate about. My
results aren’t always exceptional,
but they are true reflections
of my best abilities. Over the
past years of feeling numb to
such
racial
discrimination,
I
have come to realize that social
definitions
do
not
constitute
for my personal identity. I can
create my own characteristics
and qualities — they don’t have
to be predetermined. To all the
other Asian Americans suffering
their own types of cognitive
dissonance: There is always room
in between the pressing walls to
be someone you create.
This is not only a personal
issue, but also a social one. The
image given to Asian Americans
is an illusion, and once that veil
is stripped many will be able to
see that we are just struggling
humans. The success of all Asian
Americans is not “natural,” not
all of us have the abilities to
attend a prestigious university
or to accept offers from big name
companies
and
firms.
Those
who do, however, work for their
results. We are constantly aware
of our place in this society and
the discrimination we face from
illegitimate social constructions.
Thus, we push ourselves to work
that much harder to achieve
average
and
above-average
results. So to those who assume
that the Asian student sitting in
class got a better grade simply
because good grades are inherent
to the color of her skin, I would
like to remind you that social
identities are only minuscule in
effect. Next time consider the
fact that she is not just Asian, but
perhaps also a diligent worker.
A distorted image
KAREN SEO
Michigan in Color Columnist
Dear Mom
Dear Mom,
Remember when I was in first
grade and you would sit behind
me as I watched “Dragon Tales”
with my cereal and comb my
frizzy black hair with those bright
Hello Kitty clips you brought for
me from India? I’m sorry I took
them out every day when I got on
the school bus. I wanted so badly
to have the smooth, blonde hair of
the girls sitting in front of me and
their headbands from Claire’s that
I didn’t appreciate the gentle touch
of your fingers running through
my hair as you tried to tie a little
bit of your motherland to me.
Remember when, as a shy third
grader, I had to switch elementary
schools and you were concerned
about whether I would make new
friends, if I would be able to find my
voice? You loved it when I would
have friends over to the house,
helping us open bottles of nail
polish and smiling as you would
overhear our silly conversations.
But most importantly, you loved
to feed us. I’m sorry for the time
when my “friend” said your
pakoras and chaat were gross and
smelled weird. I knew they were
my favorite snack, you knew they
were my favorite snack, but the
words that came out of my mouth
were, “Yeah, Mom, can you get
us something else?” I saw the
expression of sadness on your face
as you quietly cleared the plate,
but at that moment all I could
think about was fitting in with my
American friend. I found my voice,
Mom, but I didn’t use it to stand up
for you and for that, I am sorry.
Remember the half days I used
to have at school and you would
make time for us to have a lunch
date? I’m sorry for all the times
that I spoke over you and made you
feel small. I’m sorry for forgetting
that
English
was
the
third
language you had to learn and for
viewing your speech as something
to be hidden rather than the act of
courage that it is. You exist within
a system that forces you to fight to
have your voice heard, fight to be
treated equally, fight to be valued
and I’m sorry I perpetuated that.
Remember how I would always
forget that I needed something
the night before a class project
was due? You’d put away the book
you were reading, proceed to
grab your keys and tell me to be
more prepared next time. As you
slipped your shoes on, I’d stand in
the doorway anxiously scratching
my head, “Mom, aren’t you gonna
change?” I’m sorry for all the
times I questioned when you wore
traditional clothes in public and
for making you feel as though I
was ashamed of your appearance.
What I viewed as yet another
barrier obstructing my quest to
be “American” was your attempt
at holding on to a little bit of home
and I’m sorry I didn’t understand
that.
Throughout my childhood, I
always questioned whether I was
Indian or American. Whenever
I was asked that question or
asked where I was from, I’d give
a different answer each time,
accompanied by a convoluted,
long-winded explanation that
was representative of my own
confused
inner
monologue.
Truth is, I really didn’t know
what I was. I knew that I loved
standing on a stool next to
you in the kitchen to help you
make rotis and stuff samosas.
But I also knew that I loved
listening to Christina Aguilera
and making gingerbread houses
and Christmas cookies with my
friends. I didn’t understand how
a duality could exist.
But you did.
You’ve taught me a lot of
lessons, Mom, from how to tie my
shoes to pursuing an education
I care about. But the most
important thing you’ve taught
me is how to embrace myself.
You have made many sacrifices;
you crossed an ocean with little
more than blind optimism and
began a new life in a new country
with only two suitcases. Yet you
never sacrificed your culture
or your roots and the weight of
that decision is finally resonating
with me.
Growing up, I projected my
discomfort with myself and
my identity onto you. And in
doing so, I failed to see that the
answer to my question was right
in front of me. You showed me
that I am my strongest and best
self when I stop attaching labels
to each facet of my identity
and simply embrace what feels
natural. There is no checklist
that I have to cross off to prove
that I am a real American. There
is no specific way to be a real
American. I can, and I do, love
two countries and their cultures
with all of my heart, even though
fully accepting the duality of
my identity has taken me nearly
20 years. One of them is the
country I took my first steps in
and where our family is. The
other is where I have grown up,
met my best friends and had so
many opportunities. Thousands
of miles separate them, yet in
my heart they are inextricably
linked forever. Thank you, Mom,
for giving me the space and
time to understand this, and
especially thank you for a safety
net of love to fall back on.
Love,
Rishu
RISHIKA RAMIREDDY
Michigan in Color Contributor
Frankly, actions by
the administration
have felt
disinegenous.
Some may argue that
a lot of the racism
Asians face is not, in
fact, racism.
Racism cannot and
should not be justified
by its supposedly
positive connotations.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Friday, October 28, 2016 — 3