As a white female on campus who grew up in a world of socioeconomic privilege, I felt confused and somewhat offended by the op−ed "What happens when integration and assimilation fail?," published on Nov. 1, 2011. I am a student who has actively advocated for racial equality and assimilation at Tufts, accepted her role as an active citizen, tried to give back and educate herself and others on issues on campus and encouraged others to be not only tolerant but also empathetic to others' struggles at Tufts. While I may not fully empathize with students of color at Tufts who "desire whiteness" as the author did, or with students who do not feel comfortable with their identity at Tufts, I attempt to understand, sympathize and educate myself. In doing so, I hope to convey an understanding of the exclusion those students feel and act as an ally to their causes.
I agree that Tufts is "by no means … a place of social diversity," and this issue is one that the administration should be addressing actively. But I encourage the author to recognize that in nearly all issues regarding race, ethnicity, sex, gender, etc., there are double standards and the road to empathy is two−way.
I would first like to express my distaste for the term "white privilege." "White privilege" exists at Tufts; there is a lack of social diversity and there are certainly flaws in examining the minority populace at this school. "White privilege" is walking into a classroom full of white students, not feeling judged on the basis of race and ethnicity and not feeling accused of being a member of the community due to affirmative action. "White privilege" is walking down the street at night and not feeling as though someone may call the police on you, or that a police officer will stop you, because of your race. (A very close friend of mine, who happens to be a large, black male, was stopped one Tuesday afternoon while walking from our high school to a nearby sandwich stop and asked for his identification.) "White privilege" is knowing that there are professors whose experiences resonate soundly with yours.
Perhaps I exemplify the surface definition of socioeconomic "white privilege." But I urge those who use the term to re−assess the idea that all white students have this. Privilege is a term that refers to a right or immunity, and it may be applied to many different aspects of life. Privilege is not limited to racial or socioeconomic inequality. Privilege to me means being a kid who has both parents; my father was killed in a car accident when I was 12 years old. Privilege to me means having a family that comes together in joy and excitement, rather than in fragmented parts. Privilege to me means being able to sit back and feel comfortable with every aspect of one's surroundings — something I believe no person has ever felt.
At Tufts, privilege is just being here, whether through financial aid or not. Privilege means being able to look around a crowded dining hall and admire the other students at this university for their accomplishments, interests and hobbies, even if they differ from your own. I urge all students — not just those who focus on "white privilege" — to re−assess their quick definition of privilege and look across the room and empathize with all who struggle. I urge all students, then, to use the resources that Tufts has provided them — Tisch College, the Leonard Carmichael Society and members of faculty and the student population who are actively involved in the struggle for equality at this institution — to fight for their fellow students and advocate for them across all issues and struggles.
Furthermore, I do not feel that all minority individuals must partake in the three options strictly defined by the author: assimilating, leaving Tufts or struggling. First, assimilation: Not all students reject their ancestral roots; a close friend just reminded me that his family was sending up Korean food for midterms. Second, to leave Tufts: Here I question statistics. I would be interested to know how many students leave the university due to feeling out of place in terms of diversity and racial or ethnic acceptance. If this is a high number, we must approach this problem by coming together to act as a resource for these students. And finally, struggle: I question whether or not these minorities have truly approached other non−minority students and encouraged thoughtful dialogue. I know that in all of my activity on campus, not once have I been able to ask minority students questions and get direct answers; I have always felt as part of the "others" and never a member of the group. I have been told that I just "wouldn't understand" or "can't identify." To this I ask, "How do you expect me to support you if you push me aside?" A student recently told me to advocate for a Latino studies major by myself because that was my struggle, and not his (which was, incidentally, having the administration grant an Africana studies major). Should we not work together, empathizing with one another's struggles and aligning ourselves as allies, rather than fragment each other's groups?
Thinking about this fragmentation, I turn to the culture houses. The culture houses have been established as places "to provide education on the value of these differences and ensure that bias of any form does not undermine the academic, personal or professional experience of any member of the Tufts community," according to the Office of Campus Life. In that sense, as the author said, they act as support networks and educational centers for both minority students as well as students who do not identify with a minority group. However, the Group of Six, I have found, does not work together on issues. This has been exemplified by their lack of representation on the Tufts Community Union Senate and the absent alliances in their individual struggles, most recently the advocacy for an Africana studies department. I have also found that certain groups within the Group of Six are not welcoming to students who do not directly sympathize with their concerns, beliefs and struggles. It is uncomfortable to feel as though you are a part of the "others" and not part of the "them" — something that the author feels as a student of color at this university. This is why I say empathy and acceptance is a two−way street: Unless minorities and non−minorities work together, we can never reach true integration.
I am sad that the writer felt he should act white and even desired to be white. I am sad that the writer has not been confident about his identity and his struggles. I am sad that he feels as though the Tufts community has not advocated for his tolerance and acceptance. However, I urge the author to re−assess the exclusivity on the end of the culture houses, his definition of privilege and "white privilege," and to encourage dialogue with students who identify themselves as minorities and non−minorities alike. Only through education and active engagement can Tufts, and society as a whole, overcome the struggles of racism and segregation and move towards a future of integration, equality and empathy.
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Sarah Tralins is a sophomore who is majoring in child development.
