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