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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.

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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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