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Thursday, May 25, 2017
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
OPINION

A 

few 
weeks 
ago, 
while 

scrolling through Twitter, 
I saw yet another analysis 

of the new controversial hit Netflix 
show “Dear White People.” Since 
its release, it seems as though I 
have seen dozens of reactions, some 
expressing praise for the show’s 
authentic 
and 
brutally 
honest 

perspective, others critiquing its 
perpetuation of “generalizations” 
and refutation of the show’s themes 
regarding 
the 
Black-American 

experience. However, there is a 
striking difference between the 
analysis I stumbled upon on Twitter 
and the dozens of other critiques I 
have read throughout the past few 
weeks. The tweet read, “I think 
“Dear White People” the Netflix 
series is based on a University of 
Michigan-like campus.” I instantly 
re-tweeted and liked it. Here’s why.

“Dear White People” focuses on 

the lives of various college students 
attending Winchester University, 
a fictional Ivy League school, and 
follows several racially charged 
incidents, including a blackface-
themed 
party, 
racial 
profiling, 

micro-aggressions and problematic 
relations with campus police. The 
show offers insight to the unfolding 
of these events through multiple 
perspectives; Sam, a radio host and 
leader of the Black Student Union 
deemed “radical,” Troy, president of 
the student body, and Lionel, writer 
for one of Winchester’s newspapers, 
and various others. 

Now you may be wondering, “What 

in the world would a show like that 
have to do with the University of 

Michigan?” Quite frankly, if you 
have to ask, then you are one of 
the people Sam is addressing each 
time she begins her radio show 
with the statement “Dear white 
people,” highlighting an instance in 
which an individual exhibits totally 
uncultured 
behavior, 
excessive 

lack of intercultural competence 
or unenlightened thought. Let me 
break it down.

1. The term “micro-aggressions” is 

defined as “the casual degradation of 
any socially marginalized group.” In 
recent years, micro-aggressions have 
festered and bubbled like infectious 
sores on college campuses. They 
are depicted frequently throughout 
“Dear White People,” and I couldn’t 
help but notice that some of the 
same ones displayed on screen eat, 
sleep and breathe on the University’s 
campus. For example, I cannot even 
begin to tell you the amount of times 
I’ve gotten the “So … what are you?” 
and “You’re mixed with what…?” 
questions 
since 
my 
freshman 

year from members of Black and 
white communities alike. Or, the 
immediate assumption that I only 
listen to rap music. By the way, I am 
Black, and unbeknownst to many, I 
still bump the Jonas Brothers.

2. 
Michigan 
is 
much 
more 

segregated than you would imagine. 
Though there isn’t a historically 
Black residence hall which serves 
as a haven for the Black community 
as reflected in “Dear White People,” 
you will find that most parties and 
various other social events/aspects 
of social life on campus are distinctly 
segregated — as I once found myself 

at a party in which a congregation of 
only Black people packed themselves 
in the basement of a house, and 
everyone else (majority the white 
community) remained upstairs or 
outside. It becomes easy to fall victim 
to the unspoken understanding that 
as a member of a specific community 
you should only participate in 
social groups/events that reflect its 
likeness.

3. 
Winchester, 
the 
fictional 

university 
depicted 
in 
“Dear 

White People,” is an Ivy receiving 
significantly 
large 
endowments 

from various donors who actively 
participate 
in 
campus 
policy, 

politics and decision making. In 
2016, the University of Michigan 
found itself ranked 7th on U.S. News 
“10 Universities with the Biggest 
Endowments,” just falling shy of $11 
billion dollars. As the plot unfolds in 
the show, it is clear that the dollars 
donated to Winchester speak much 
louder than the calls of action voiced 
by the student body. It is safe to say 
our campus has encountered similar 
experiences like this in which the 
politics of administration and the 
money associated with it often 
overshadow real campus ongoings.

4. The epicenter of “Dear White 

People” is the response of students 
to a blackface party and racial 
profiling at the hands of campus 
police. As I am sure everyone is 
aware, in recent years there have 
been 
countless 
racially-charged 

incidents at the University — some of 
which seemingly go unnoticed. For 
example, the ever-constant cultural 
appropriation when it comes to 

NISA KHAN

EDITOR IN CHIEF

SARAH KHAN

EDITORIAL PAGE EDITOR

DAYTON HARE

MANAGING EDITOR

420 Maynard St. 

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

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Edited and managed by students at 

the University of Michigan since 1890.

Sincerely, black people

Halloween costumes, or even Central 
Student Government elections in 
which a candidate proclaimed in a 
promotional video to be “the white 
George Washington Carver.”

5. Depicted in the show, resistance 

in the forms of organizing and 
protest serve as ways for all members 
of the student body to express their 
concern regarding incidents on 
campus. As for the University, the 
same can be said. For example, 
this was seen through the Being 
Black at the University of Michigan 
(#BBUM) movement, which gained 
national traction in 2013, or even 
now — Students4Justice.

The University of Michigan does 

not prove to be the only institution 
that parallels “Dear White People.” 
In fact, dozens of universities 
across 
America 
experience 
the 

same occurrences. So that poses the 
question, are the writers/producers 
and creators of the show wrong for 
creating such a controversial title 
from which many take offense? Or 
right for using a proactive title to 
capture the attention of audiences 
in order to highlight the experience 
of Black students at predominantly 
white institutions? I believe the 
answer to this lies within the end of 
each episode. In every closing scene, 
the actor/actors stare directly into 
the lens, locking eyes with the viewer, 
as if they are speaking directly to us, 
asking the question, “So what do you 
think?”

So, what do you think?

—Stephanie Mullings can be 

reached at srmulli@umich.edu. 

Carolyn Ayaub
Megan Burns

Samantha Goldstein

Caitlin Heenan
Jeremy Kaplan

Sarah Khan

Anurima Kumar

Ibrahim Ijaz
Max Lubell

Lucas Maiman

Alexis Megdanoff
Madeline Nowicki
Anna Polumbo-Levy 

Jason Rowland

Ali Safawi

Sarah Salman
Kevin Sweitzer

Rebecca Tarnopol

Stephanie Trierweiler
Anna Polumbo-Levy

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

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.

STEPHANIE MULLINGS | COLUMN
W 

hen I was 11 years 
old, my parents and I 
took an eight-day trip 

to England. It was my first time 
outside the country and my first 
time becoming well acquainted 
with any object or building that 
significantly predated 1620, the 
year of Plymouth Rock. In England I 
loved to imagine myself as a person 
living in whatever time period a 
church was built, or whatever time 
period an object came from. Doing 
this allowed me to connect with a 
place and its people, through past 
and present.

I specifically remember being 

inside St. Paul’s Cathedral, when 
our tour guide pointed toward the 
place Queen Victoria sat, right at 
the front, toward the left facing 
the altar. People in the tour group 
wowed audibly, but by the time the 
guide finished telling us about the 
place, the rest of the group had other 
things on their minds and dispersed 
elsewhere under the high arches. I 
rushed over to the guide and asked 
if I could sit in one of the chairs by 
Queen Victoria’s spot. With her 
affirmative answer I walked to 
the front row, seated myself, took 
a deep inhale, and tuned out the 
footsteps and murmurs echoing off 
the stone sanctuary walls. I fixed 
my eyes on the altar in front of me 
and imagined I was Victoria, a long 
time ago, watching Prince Charles 
in a traditional suit and Princess 
Diana in puffy white dress on the 
day of their marriage.

At the time it did not occur to 

me that Victoria would have been 
162 years old on the date of Charles 
and Diana’s wedding, but it also 
didn’t matter. As I imagined myself, 

Victoria, I had greased dark hair 
with a part directly through the 
center of my head, and layers of 
fabric from my ginormous skirt 
cushioned my seat. Sitting in St. 
Paul’s Cathedral, I saw at the gilded 
altar in front of me Charles gazing 
down at Diana. She was staring up 
at him with shining blue eyes, chin 
extended upward in a way that 
accentuated the dramatic jaw line 
I’d seen in pictures. I sat upright 
and stern, serious as Victoria 
looked in carbon prints. A chill ran 
through my blood and goosebumps 
raised on my forearms. I felt I 
communed with Victoria then. I 
lived some aspect of her experience 
by sitting where I knew she sat, 
watching something I believed she 
saw. I had never felt that before, not 
with someone who was alive so long 
before me.

This happened over and over 

on that trip. We visited the Tower 
of London, walked under the tall, 
gray arch that was the prisoners’ 
entrance, and I imagined myself 
walking into the stone structure as 
if it was the last place I’d be before 
my final punishment. We saw the 
chopping block that was apparently 
used to decapitate Anne Boleyn and 
I imagined myself, chin resting in 
the part of the block carved out for 
the head. Each time the same cool 
sensation tore through me; each 
time the goosebumps came and I 
felt I understood something true of 
life that came before me.

—Regan Detwiler can be 

reached at regandet@umich.edu. 

The first settlers, part one

 REGAN DETWILER| COLUMN

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