Mason Hall had a wayfinding 
problem.
“At best, it was confusing,” the 
University of Michigan’s Lynne 
Friman, 
LSA’s 
Capital 
Project 
Manager and Designer, admits. 
Her recent credits at the University 
include redesigns at the Science 
Learning Center and the Modern 
Languages 
Building. 
She 
also 
has been involved in creating the 
interior of the Museum of Natural 
History.
Now, Friman is one of the people 
tasked with the ongoing wayfinding 
project within the corridors Angell, 
Haven, Mason and Tisch halls. 
Though she is often the point-person 
within LSA for all aspects of a space’s 
interior — advising on furniture, art, 
paint and other cosmetic treatments 
at the SLC — she was recruited for 
this particular project due to her 
graphic communications expertise, 
having solved similar problems at 
nearby cultural institutions, such 
as the Henry Ford Museum and the 
Detroit Institute of Arts.
“Ginny was putting papers up 
around (Mason Hall), trying to get 
people to find their way (around the 
building), and then she came to me,” 
Friman said.
‘Ginny’ is Virginia Schlaff, the 
University’s Facilities Manager for 
the 
Mason-Angell-Tisch-Haven 
(MATH) complex, as well as nearby 
Tappan Hall. The papers, posted 
to the sides of the hallways using 
blue painters tape, were an ad-hoc 
solution designed to temporarily 
take the guesswork out of the 
complex’s enigmatic hallways. The 
common misconception of the 
building being composed of only 
one hall is falsely supported by the 
blurred boundaries and shared roofs 
between each. 
“When 
the 
students 
didn’t 
come for two years in a row into 
the classrooms, you had two years 
worth of students out of four that 
were unfamiliar (with the building’s 

layout),” Schlaff said of the online-
only period at the University. The 
complex’s small, maroon interior 
navigation signs blended in with 
everything else on the walls of 
Mason Hall, positioned in hard-to-
see places and overshadowed by 
the saturation of flyers for student 
organizations and. 
“A lot more students needed help 
finding their way,” Schlaff affirmed.
Like many aspects of college life, 
the pandemic altered and invited 
change to many different systems 
on 
campus, 
signage 
included. 
When students finally returned to 
campus, the if-you-know-you-know 
mentality of navigating the MATH 
complex was no longer adequate in 
supporting the needs of the student 
community. 
Schlaff and Friman are among 
those in the University’s Facilities 
offices — plus those in Architecture, 
Engineering and Construction — 
working on Phase 2 of this particular 
wayfinding project, which includes 
directional and landmark signs for 
the rest of the ground and first floors, 
with an anticipated completion date 
of Fall 2023. Future phases of the 
project will assist in navigation on 

the complex’s upper floors, where 
finding the right building and 
corridor for a particular room is 
about as easy as solving a “Where’s 
Waldo.”
The ongoing wayfinding work 
at the MATH complex is only a 
small window into the bureaucratic 
world of signage at the University 
of 
Michigan, 
where 
branding, 
accessibility and graphic design 
coalesce into a service we take for 
granted every day. From “you are 
here” maps to window lettering, 
these textual and visual indicators 
can change whether or not someone 
gets lost on their way to class, to 
being able to find the emergency 
room at the University Hospital. Of 
course, signage is not always life or 
death, but it does quietly influence 
our everyday lives, making it easy 
or difficult to get where we want 
to go. Multiply individual decisions 
by over 50,000 students, plus 
employees, it’s important that each 
person knows where to go.
Through the power of suggestion 
and 
direction, 
this 
overlooked 
medium can communicate — or fail 
to communicate — what is deemed 
important about a place. But who 

decides on these signs of the times?
***
Even before entering any U-M 
building, you are guided by a series 
of signs noting that you’re on 
campus. Perhaps you followed one 
of the City of Ann Arbor’s charming 
visuals after exiting the highway, 
pointing you toward Downtown. 
Upon reaching State and East Huron 
Streets, you’re greeted by a large, 
blue sign embedded in a landscaped 
wall, indicating that you’re on 
Central Campus. While looking for 
parking, you might avoid University 
signs that indicate different permit 
colors and hours of enforcement, 
instead opting for metered spaces 
open to the public. To find the 
location of your intended building, 
a freestanding identification sign 
on a concrete base will help confirm 
you’re almost there. Finally, at 
its front doors, lettering on the 
windows and doors inform you that 
you’ve finally made it.
Were the above scenario to not 
go as planned, however, you might 
arrive in a distant part of campus, 
wander around before choosing to 
enter the wrong building, where 
you might bang on locked doors, 

frustrated by how historic and 
convoluted the University is. Once 
you’ve exhausted many entrances, 
you’ll ask a random passerby to show 
you the way, and embarrassingly, 
you find out you’re a far walk from 
where you intended to go. Signs 
could have saved you the confusion, 
anger and embarrassment of just 
walking to your desired room.
Layers of communication are 
essential to navigate a sprawling 
institution like the University of 
Michigan, where many jurisdictions 
govern piecemeal areas of campus. 
This 
multifaceted 
approach 
to 
wayfinding is no accident, however, 
and it’s all codified in the Campus 
Signage and Wayfinding Guidelines, 
published 
by 
the 
University 
Planner’s 
Office. 
The 
29-page 
document dictates best practices 
for everything from indicating 
accessible entrances, using the 
Block M appropriately on Athletic 
Facilities, the maximum duration 
banners 
can 
be 
displayed 
on 
University light poles before being 
taken down (one academic year) 
and the suggested depth of topsoil 
surrounding a sign’s concrete base 
(four to six inches). 

The exceptional precision that 
exterior signage must conform 
to seeks to bridge the identity 
gap between the University’s 19 
schools and colleges, plus many 
other non-academic departments 
like University Unions or Michigan 
Housing. When simply walking 
through the Diag, there is little 
from the outside world to suggest 
the presence of these different 
governing bodies. Rather, it seems 
like there is only one: the University 
of Michigan.
Once inside a building, though, 
the uniformity stops. On page 12 
of the document, pertaining to 
building 
directories, 
individual 
University units are “encouraged 
to place directories at all entrances 
of a building.” And so emerges the 
complex, 
somewhat-disheveled 
patchwork of wayfinding that seeks 
to get U-M affiliates from front door 
to classroom door — a task that is 
easier said than done. 
Robert 
Ramsburgh 
knows 
this better than most. Before 
his current role at the Biological 
Sciences Building, he was Facilities 
Manager for the MLB, North Quad 
Residence Hall, Lane Hall and the 
Undergraduate Science Building. 
He has spent the past few years of 
his tenure trying to bring life to the 
MLB, which is often nominated as 
one of the ugliest buildings on the 
University’s campus. 
“At one point, there was a video 
circulating that a couple of students 
did about the ‘Majorly Lame 
Building,’” Ramsburgh said, who 
has been with U-M Facilities for five 
years. “I sort of took (the MLB) on as 
one of my pet projects because it had 
been neglected … If I were a parent of 
a student, and I came into a building 
like this, and it was as drab and 
dreary as it was, I’d be wondering 
exactly what I was paying for.”
Unkempt spaces, small signs and 
doors painted in seemingly random 
colors added confusion and chaos 
to a building already made difficult 
by its infinite oval shape and lack of 
corridor windows on most floors.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
8 — Wednesday, November 30, 2022
S T A T E M E N T

Behind the University’s signs of the times: the art in navigation

OSCAR 
NOLLETTE-PATULSKI
Statement Correspondent

SAM ADLER/Daily
Read more at MichiganDaily.com

All my life, I’ve wanted to be the 
one who stands on the pulpit and 
delivers the victory message. I’ve 
dreamed of marching up the steps 
of the Lincoln Memorial like Martin 
Luther King Jr., telling America 
that I belong, that I am meant to be 
here and that I am a human being 
that deserves fundamental rights. 
I’ve longed to protest in the streets, 
screaming until the hoarseness in 
my throat overtakes my vocal cords 
and I gasp for breath.

Yet, I’ve accomplished none 
of those things. Perhaps because 
I am scared, perhaps because I 
feel insignificant but most likely 
because I feel that I am a fraud, that 
I’ll never correct the dissonance 
between my dreams and reality.
I always thought that college 
would be better. That the perils 
of high school life and the 
apprehension that I had once felt 
would seemingly vanish away with 
the Ann Arbor wind. Approaching 
my first days as a Wolverine, I 
planned to truly be myself, to 
involve myself in activism by joining 
the Black Student Unionwand try to 

find a Black community that I had 
previously lacked at other academic 
institutions.
But during the fall of my first 
year at the University of Michigan, 
when the news first came out about 
BSU’s “More Than Four: The 4 
Point Platform” and the trashing of 
their posters on the sidewalk, I felt 
a pang of immediate guilt — like I 
had somehow contributed to the 
problem. Despite the many times 
that I had written down, “Attend 
BSU meeting,” in the colorfully 
lined pages of my planner, despite 
the many mental notes that I had 
ingrained in the depths of my 
amygdala, I had not attended a 
single one.
I’m a fake.
Fake activist. Yes, that is what 
I would classify myself as. In high 
school, I assumed the position of 
being the “poster child,” a Black 
girl who would say just the right 
number of harsh truths to get away 
with still being liked by the school 
administration. I dealt the cards 
by selecting my words with the 
utmost caution, always making 
sure to counteract phrases with an 
idealized version, painting them 
into a silhouette, devoid of any 
real meaning, saying at the end of 
every sentence, “We need to love 
everyone.” It was a kind of self-
censorship born out of a fear of 
being rejected by peers, and by my 
PWI school.
On the night the news of 
the torn BSU posters hit, I was 
scrolling on my phone, perusing the 
Michigan Daily Instagram debrief. 
Mindlessly clicking through the 
stories, I began to see repost after 
repost of the same photo: posters 
shredded to bits, scattered across 
the cold sidewalk, and dirtied by 
the footsteps of students. Clicking 
on the photo brought me to the 
original one posted by @umich.
bsu — a numbing scene of posters 
with the phrase “Care about Black 
Students” torn and littered on the 
edge of the sidewalk. This was just 
24 hours after the BSU had a public 
address in which they addressed 
their Four Point Platform, arguing 

for the advocacy of Black voices 
at the University and for their 
concerns not only to be heard but 
acted upon by the administration.
There are four main issues that 
the BSU wants the University to 
address.
First: Increase Black student 
enrollment, specifically to reflect 
the percentage of the state of 
Michigan’s Black population of 
14%.
Second: The University should 
explicitly plan out ways to combat 
anti-Blackness within the school 
community and in the school 
system.
Third: Rectify the weaknesses of 
the Diversity, Equity and Inclusion 
plan that is often not effective for 
Black students.
Fourth: 
Increase 
University 
responsibility and priority to fund 
kindergarten through 12th grade 
education in the state of Michigan 
and to address systemic racism and 
inequities present in the system.
When I first learned about 
these efforts from the BSU, I was 
amazed to see everything that 
the Union was doing for the Black 
community here at the University. 
Here they were, rallying and 
calling out the leaders and systems 
of the University, highlighting how 
their silence was louder than any 
opposition. And here I was, almost 
halfway through my first semester 
at U-M, and still not one meeting 
under my belt.
I could blame my lack of 
attendance on the business of 
my schedule, or on the hours I 
needed to spend studying organic 
chemistry. But none of those 
excuses seemed to make up for the 
feeling of fake activism that I had.
The pursuit for Black voices 
to be heard at the University has 
been a consistent struggle in 
recent decades. Before the advent 
of the BSU at the University, 
there was BAM, the Black Action 
Movement. In the 1970s, Black 
students called out the racism 
and discrimination within the 
university system through sit-in 
protests, demonstrations on the 

University president’s lawn and 
rallies in the plaza outside the 
Fleming Administration Building. 
Their 
efforts 
were 
primarily 
concerned 
with 
increasing 
minority enrollment, getting rid of 
the designation of Black students as 
“negro” and an aim that the student 
body would be 10% Black by 1973.
Half a century later, Black 
students at the University are 
continuing to fight for this same 
demand: the demand to be treated 
as equals by the administration, 
and have their demands not only 
listened to — but advocated for. The 
pivotal moment of BAM’s advocacy 
happened early in the morning of 
Friday, March 27, 1970, at around 
5 a.m., when the first day of what 
would be a 13-day strike began.
AMFSCE, 
the 
American 
Federation of State, County, and 
Municipal Employees, was a key 
advocate 
of 
BAM’s 
missions. 
AMFSCE denied the crossing 
of picket lines and was a major 
contributor to the University’s 
agreement to “compromise” on 
BAM’s demands. When presenting 
their list of 12 demands to 
administration, they denied almost 
all of them but upheld that they 
would increase Black enrollment 
to at least 7%. These protests 
continued two times after, in 1975 
and 1987. Now, here we are — just 
over 50 years later since BAM 
first protested for Black students 
at the University to be prioritized 
and cared for, and without much 
progress to show for it.
During 
all 
of 
the 
BAM 
movements, many of the priorities 
listed in all of the agendas included 
first increasing Black enrollment to 
10%, combating the racist climate 
of the University and reallocating 
University funding to actively 
combat racism. The University 
has since failed to meet these 
demands, specifically that of Black 
enrollment, as the population of 
Black students at the University has 
substantially decreased from 7% in 
2006 to a current 4.2% in 2021. 
I want to be like them. I want 
to be like the BAM activists, the 

BSU leaders and the generators of 
change for the future of minority 
students at this university. I want to 
stand firm and unapologetic at the 
hands of authority, and yet, I think 
back to how I was during middle 
school and high school, afraid of 
what others would think of me.
I’m scared about what I will do, 
what I will say, how I will act. For 
so many years, I’ve cared too much 
about what others thought of me, 
and a part of me truly still does. 
At my predominantly white high 
school, I tried to put on the role of 
activist, hanging posters for Black 
History Month, Native American 
History Month and all the heritage 
months, crafting announcements 
for all of the cultural holidays, 
“fun” facts and statistics that I 
knew would cause relatively little 
opposition from my classmates 
or peers because they were not 
“controversial.”
Yet, what I didn’t talk about 
was how 49% of Native American 
homes lack basic clean water, 
stemming 
from 
genocide 
and 
colonization from white settlers 
and a racist system. Because how 
could people then act as if nothing 
was wrong?
Appeased, abated, complacent 
— whatever you want to call it: I 
am guilty of it. I have tried to wash 
my hands of the dark red stain that 
pigments my skin, yet the color 
never seems to fade.
But, what use is it to feel guilty? 
What use is it to let it eat away at 
me when I could be doing so much 
more?w
The More Than Four Point 
Platform is not just a mere list 
of desires or requirements by 
the BSU. More than anything, it 
represents the continual struggle 
of Black and minority voices to be 
heard and how the hands of the 
administration have silenced their 
voices by inaction. Over 50 years 
since the BAM’s conception, the 
movement still continues.
I don’t hope to be a part of it. I will 
be a part of it. And that is a promise 
to myself, now in ink in every paper 
dancing across this campus.

More than a fraud? The guilt of being a fake activist

CHINWE ONWERE
Statement Columnist

. 
Design by Tye Kalinovic

A student strolls by in Angell Hall Monday, November 28. 

