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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