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. CONTRIBUTE TO THE CONVERSATION Readers are encouraged to submit letters to the editor and op-eds. Letters should be fewer than 300 words while op-eds should be 550 to 850 words. Send the writer’s full name and University affiliation to tothedaily@michigandaily.com.