F

or the past seven years, 
a specter has been 
haunting my classes.

I have been teaching classes 

on United States political and 
social movement history and on 
the history of race in the U.S. 
at the University of Michigan 
since the mid-1990s. Sometime 
around 2010, I noticed a change 
in my classrooms. My classes, 
I came to realize, had been 
profoundly altered by Proposal 
2, the statewide referendum 
that in 2006 banned the use of 
affirmative action in college 
admissions in Michigan.

It was not so much that there 

were fewer Black, Latinx and 
Native 
American 
students. 

There probably was a slight 
decline, but I had taught classes 
that were all-white or nearly 
all-white before. Nor was there 
a significant change in the 
political viewpoints expressed 
by students.

The change was less tangible 

and at times felt difficult to put 
a finger on. Gradually, I began to 
realize that the students of color 
in my classes had become less 
vocal, less assertive. When they 
did talk about their experiences 
at the University, I sensed that 
they 
felt 
significantly 
more 

isolated 
within 
the 
campus 

community than had previous 
generations of my students. As a 
result, they seemed less willing 
to engage white students in 
discussions about racial justice.

But it was the difference in the 

white students in my classes that 
was even more striking to me. 
They clearly had less experience 
interacting with students of 
color than previous generations 
of white students and less of 
a sense of how the University 
experience was different for 
students of color than it was for 
members of the white majority.

With 
students 
of 
color 

making up a smaller proportion 
of 
the 
University’s 
student 

community, students of every 

race and ethnicity came into 
my 
classroom 
with 
fewer 

cross-racial 
experiences 
and 

therefore with less confidence 
in their ability to honestly 
discuss the complexities of U.S. 
race relations in a mixed racial 
setting. Increasingly, I came 
to feel that my classes were 
haunted by the ghosts of the 
students of color who were no 
longer able or willing to enroll at 
the University because of Prop. 
2. Without the voices of these 
missing students, the quality 
of learning in my courses on 
the U.S. racial experience was 
fundamentally compromised.

For the University bicentennial 

exhibit 
titled 
“Remembering 

Students Missing After Proposal 
2,” I have estimated that, in the 
decade since voters approved 
Prop. 2 in November 2006, at 
least 1,102 Black, Latinx and 
Native American undergraduate 
students were either unable 
or chose not to enroll at the 
University. I arrived at this 
estimate 
by 
comparing 
the 

number 
of 
underrepresented 

minority freshman who enrolled 
in the University between 2007 
and 2016 with the number who 
would have enrolled in those 
years if the University had been 
able to maintain the percentage 
of underrepresented students 
who were enrolled in 2006. (You 
can read about how I made this 
calculation on the bicentennial 
exhibit’s website.) It is the 
specter of the missing 1,102 
unenrolled students of color that 
haunts my classroom.

In 
an 
undergraduate 

population of nearly 30,000 
students, the loss of just more 
than 100 students of color 
per graduating class wouldn’t 
seem to have such a dramatic 
impact. In fact, according to 
the Office of the Registrar’s 
enrollment reports, the number 
of URM undergraduates was, 
at its low point in 2014, only 
11 percent lower than it had 

been before Prop. 2 went into 
effect. Still, the loss of these 
students 
has 
fundamentally 

remade the campus climate and 
educational environment.

Why did the loss of this 

relatively 
small 
number 
of 

students have such a significant 
impact in my classroom? The 
answer, I believe, lies in the 
concept of “critical mass,” the 
idea that it takes a critical mass 
of minority faculty and students 
not only for students of color to 
thrive within a predominately 
white institution, but also for 
the entire campus community to 
realize the educational benefits 
of racial diversity. The concept of 
“critical mass” was crucial to the 
U.S. Supreme Court decision in 
the 2003 Grutter v. Bollinger and 
Gratz v. Bollinger cases, which 
ruled it was constitutional for 
the University to use race as a 
factor in admissions.

Since I first entered college in 

1981 and for most of my years as 
an undergraduate, as a graduate 
student and finally as a faculty 
member, I had been a beneficiary 
of “critical mass.” But it wasn’t 
until I saw the impact of 
Prop. 2 in my classroom that I 
came to fully appreciate how 
important critical mass was 
to the experiences of students 
of color and therefore to the 
realization of the educational 
benefits 
of 
racial 
diversity. 

Students who feel invisible and 
marginalized within the larger 
college community are unlikely 
to feel the confidence necessary 
to speak up and have an impact 
on classroom discussions even in 
those rare occasions when they 
are not the only person of color 
in the classroom. All of us in the 
University 
community 
suffer 

when the promise of “critical 
mass” goes unrealized.

T

he 
cat’s 
out 
of 
the 

bag: We won’t have a 
commencement speaker 

at 
the 
class 
of 

2017’s 
graduation 

ceremony. 
The 

University 
of 

Michigan, 
once 

again, has bucked 
concerns 
that 

students 
who 

were part of the 
Bicentennial 
Commencement 
Student 
Advisory 

Committee 
raised. 

Personally, I’m a little frustrated 
about how much outrage this 
has caused in comparison to 
more pressing social issues in 
our community, such as the 
Ann Arbor Police Department’s 
killing of Aura Rosser in 2014. 
But, I do understand that having 
a commencement speaker is 
important to a lot of people, so 
I think it’s worth reflecting on 
what we would want from a 
commencement speaker. Like a 
missing jigsaw piece, it’s often 
easiest to appreciate the ideal 
qualities of something when you 
don’t have it. 

The 
best 
commencement 

addresses I’ve heard offer us 
words of wisdom. As I’ve written 
in the past, I think one of the 
University’s great pedagogical 
weaknesses is that there isn’t 
enough of a focus on creating a 
personal ethos, a code to live by. 
A speaker could partially rectify 
this problem. In David Foster 
Wallace’s famous speech “This is 
Water,” he extols the importance 
of empathy. Wallace is acutely 
aware of how a cynic could 
easily reduce this to a bromide, 
remarking, “Stated as an English 
sentence, of course, this is just a 
banal platitude, but the fact is that 
in the day to day trenches of adult 
existence, banal platitudes can 

have a life or death importance, 
or so I wish to suggest to you on 
this dry and lovely morning.”

But his telling of a 

story makes the lesson 
meaningful. We need 
someone who can tie 
together our four years 
of education, who can 
show us how to be as 
compassionate people, 
who has led by example, 
who can show us to do 
the same. Essentially, 
to me, a great speaker 
would give us guidance 

on what it really means to be the 
Leaders and the Best.

Secondly, the speech should 

be 
uncontroversial. 
I 
don’t 

subscribe to the belief that 
inviting someone to give a speech 
is an endorsement of their views 
and finding someone who is 
totally 
uncontroversial 
has 

become 
increasingly 
difficult. 

Just ask the Dalai Lama, who 
was protested by students at 
University of California at San 
Diego after being invited as its 
commencement speaker.

Last year, the University chose 

to bring Michael Bloomberg, 
who, while I don’t agree with all 
his political views, I thought was 
an admirable choice. However, 
many students were upset after 
Bloomberg delivered his address. 
We could reduce his speech 
to a truism about engaging 
with people who disagree with 
you. But just like David Foster 
Wallace, the devil is in the details. 
He chose to deliver his message 
by attacking student activists 
who have the noble goal of trying 
to 
help 
make 
marginalized 

students feel more comfortable 
at our University. It’s important 
to critically discuss the methods 
they’ve used to achieve that goal, 
but I wonder if commencement 
is the right place for that. We 

deserve a speech which makes all 
students feel included.

The 
speech 
should 
also 

address what it means for us to be 
graduating, right here, right now. 
What do 200 years of excellence 
from the University mean? We’re 
graduating into a world that is 
increasingly fractured along lines 
of race, class, geography, nation 
and culture. The list goes on. I 
appreciate that it may be difficult 
to balance these last two goals, but 
I think with careful deliberation, 
it’s possible. Recently, University 
President 
Mark 
Schlissel 

co-authored an op-ed about the 
importance 
of 
continuing 
to 

attract international scholars in 
our current political climate. We 
don’t need a polemic, but advice 
on how we, as global citizens, can 
navigate this fractious world.

Lastly, 
the 
University’s 

bicentennial 
should 
be 
a 

celebration 
of 
200 
years 
of 

excellence. Let’s be frank: This 
is likely a major fundraising 
opportunity for the University by 
building a connection to its alumni. 
But I feel that the administration 
swung too far in that direction. 
Our 
commencement 
may 
be 

part of a larger ceremony, but it’s 
still our commencemnet! The 
University could have picked an 
alum to give our commencement 
speech, which would have allowed 
the administration to celebrate the 
bicentennial without sacrificing 
the address.

Truth be told, I don’t have 

anyone particular in mind, and 
I doubt that the University will 
change course this late into the 
process. But I think at the very 
least, we should all do some 
reflecting on what the past four 
years have meant to us.

Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Monday, April 3, 2017

REBECCA LERNER

Managing Editor

420 Maynard St. 

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

 tothedaily@michigandaily.com

Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.

EMMA KINERY

Editor in Chief

ANNA POLUMBO-LEVY 

and REBECCA TARNOPOL 

Editorial Page Editors

Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of the Daily’s Editorial Board. 

All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.

Carolyn Ayaub
Megan Burns

Samantha Goldstein

Caitlin Heenan

Ibrahim Ijaz

Jeremy Kaplan

Sarah Khan

Anurima Kumar

Max Lubell

Alexis Megdanoff
Madeline Nowicki
Anna Polumbo-Levy 

Jason Rowland

Ali Safawi

Sarah Salman
Kevin Sweitzer

Rebecca Tarnopol

Stephanie Trierweiler

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

The ideal commencement speaker

ROLAND DAVIDSON | COLUMN

Roland Davidson can be reached at 

mhenryda@umich.edu.

The missing students of color

MATTHEW COUNTRYMAN | OP-ED

ROLAND 

DAVIDSON

ERIN WAKELAND | CONTACT ERIN AT ERINRAY@UMICH.EDU

E

very time I walk into 
the 
humorless, 
dry, 

corporate 
settings 

that 
are 
career 

networking 
events 

on campus, a poison 
is mainlined directly 
into my soul, further 
transforming 
the 

unique, 
colorful 

qualities 
of 
my 

creative 
identity 

into the gray, bland 
qualifications 
of 

a 
future 
“adult 

who sits behind an 
expensive desk.”

Despite the dread associated 

with 
these 
numerous 

networking 
events, 
I, 
like 

nearly every other student on 
this campus, have willingly 
submitted 
myself 
to 
this 

pre-professional, 
LinkedIn-

required, 
handshaking 

environment that dominates 
campus — an environment 
that permeates nearly every 
major and school here at the 
University of Michigan.

On this campus, we are 

offered 
an 
overwhelming 

number of workshops, résumé-
building exercises, company 
immersions and career fairs 
that we, as one of the most 
competitive 
and 
successful 

student bodies in the country, 
utilize aggressively.

But 
in 
the 
process, 
a 

smothering 
competitive 

culture is created that has a 
profound effect of distorting the 
judgments and true motivations 
of 
students. 
Individuals 
on 

campus are forced to sacrifice 
passionate 
talents 
and 

interests during the seemingly 
endless competition of career 
planning, campus involvement, 
networking and studying.

Arriving at the University, 

students are advised in a 
rational 
manner 
to 
choose 

a major that both captures 
their 
interests 
while 
also 

being 
career 
conscious. 

Essentially, do what you love, 
but make sure there are jobs 
on the other end. Choosing 
to study political science, I 
made 
a 
mature 
concession 

from my previous desires to 
study writing and history. I 
believed the major would still 
offer courses and assignments 
that 
would 
capture 
my 

creativity and curiosity, while 
simultaneously being one of 
the 
undergraduate 
degrees 

that demonstrated intellectual 
maturity and competence and 
a future career path in law, 
public policy or business. As 
opposed to pursuing a major 
more suited for writing or 

studying history, I would be the 
conscious adult planning his 
responsible future — a modest 

sacrifice that was 
sure to pay academic 
and 
professional 

dividends.

Yet this sacrifice 

grew in size and 
nature due to the 
environment 
here 

on campus. I was 
suddenly acquainted 
with the ever-present 
campus 
social 

pressure and anxiety 

that forces students to join 
every 
goddamn 
professional 

club associated with law, health 
and business. In addition, I felt 
pressure to begin to utilize the 
seemingly endless opportunities 
offered through the campus 
career center.

As 
I 
took 
on 
these 

opportunities, 
the 
creative 

elements and unique talents I 
once believed to have needed 
to be stamped, pressed and 
molded through a series of 
deathly 
corporate 
résumé 

workshops 
and 
internship 

preparation seminars in order 
to present myself, with a 
plastic smile and customized 
name tag, to an interviewer 
waiting to see how well my 
professional qualities matched 
up against my fellow peers in 
a desperate attempt to be an 
intern for their multinational 
risk management corporation.

And all of this was due 

to 
the 
level 
of 
aggressive 

competitiveness 
that 

dominates nearly every field of 
study on campus. The amount 
of dialogue dedicated to the 
stories of secured internships 
in New York City, Washington 
D.C. and San Francisco must 
fill the halls of every building 
on campus. Students openly 
brag about how busy their 
color-coded schedules are as 
they work toward their double 
major and minor while also 
serving 
in 
leadership 
roles 

within multiple clubs and still 
finding time to tour companies, 
attend career prep courses, 
handle phone interviews and 
refine their résumés.

The competition is seemingly 

endless with students securing 
undergraduate spots only to 
apply for new more prestigious 
and 
well-connected 
schools 

within the University, such 
as the Ford School of Public 
Policy or the minor in business 
through the Ross School of 
Business. 
And 
even 
more 

anxiety-inducing, 
students 

from other fields of study 
often come charging into new 

double majors to “diversify” 
their 
academic 
background, 

because why wouldn’t you take 
18 credits a semester? You want 
a job, don’t you?

I personally know a double 

major 
in 
neuroscience 
and 

English pursuing a business 
minor from the Business School 
with the intention of applying 
for a joint JD-MD program at 
Duke University. Yes, a brain 
surgeon 
lawyer 
who 
also 

owns a small business while 
simultaneously writing for The 
Atlantic.

This 
induces 
anxiety 

and professional panic that 
reverberates 
throughout 

campus, 
distracting 
and 

distancing students from their 
original academic intentions and 
goals. I wrote a piece previously 
about the incredible nature 
and necessity of substantive 
learning. Essential to that was 
the curiosity and interest found 
within the student. Creativity 
and uniqueness can easily die 
within the hyperconnectivity 
of 
competition 
for 
careers. 

The LinkedIn profiles, text 
of 
résumés 
and 
leadership 

experience 
can 
often 

permanently steal a talented 
student away from a piece of 
work or an assignment that 
had the potential to create 
something infinitely greater.

And as I stumbled around 

career fairs pretending that I 
would secure a position within 
the Business School later in my 
academic career, I put on hold 
talents and specific interests 
that made me unique. I did not 
utilize my curiosity and passion 
in a manner that exponentially 
increases my performance and 
quality of work. Writing and 
studying history were central to 
my sense of intelligence, and the 
eventual embracement of both 
increased the success I’ve had 
academically, 
professionally 

and socially.

This is not a piece against 

hard work, networking and 
professionalism — instead, this 
is a simple observation that 
students on this campus often 
over-exhaust 
their 
unique 

potentials 
in 
a 
desperate 

competition among themselves 
pursuing fleeting internships, 
professional experiences and 
future careers. There are other 
methods and routes to the 
career and professional goals 
that may seem unorthodox or 
daunting, but often prove to be 
far more beneficial in the end.

Quintuple majoring

MICHAEL MORDARSKI | COLUMN

Michael Mordarski can be reached 

at mmordars@umich.edu.

MICHAEL 

MORDARSKI

Matthew Countryman is an 

associate professor of history, 

American culture and African-

American studies in LSA.

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