There’s an ordinary niche of experiences most people of color succumb to when they find themselves in a predominantly white space. Passing remarks can, realistically, be microaggressions, and there exists a general sense of hyperawareness of just how much they differ from their peers.
This stage of life has no beginning and no end; it exists as an indefinite sunset on the horizon, waiting to be put to rest. In the tale of Icarus, a boy finds himself too close to the sun. He falls; he drowns.
If we’re flying closer and closer to the sun, at what point do we become Icarus? As we watch the value of diversity depreciate in the societal system from its social founders, how close is too close?
In a slew of anti-DEI memos, the Department of Justice has clearly outlined its stance:
“Even if access is technically open to all, the identity-based focus creates a perception of segregation and may foster a hostile environment. This extends to any resource allocation – such as study spaces, computer labs, or event venues – that segregates access based on protected characteristics, even if intended to create ‘safe spaces.’”
Universities receiving federal funding across the nation have pivoted their allocations and permissions away from groups centered around ethnicity, race, and orientation. Among them is the University of Missouri.
As an institution attended by approximately 77 percent caucasian students, per Mizzou’s website, there must exist some entity or space to support those who are categorically underrepresented. Arising in the form of five larger parent groups, the Legion of Black Collegians (LBC), the Association of Latin American Students (ALAS), the Asian American Association (AAA), the Queer Liberation Front (QLF), and FourFront provide students with the chance to discover their own space in reference to the larger Mizzou community. By approximation, each of these groups receives $60,000 in funding per year; however, the choice to revise funding limits them to only $3,000 per year. Although this may appear sufficient, this money must also fund the daughter clubs of the five core identity-based organizations. With over 814 identity-related bodies, there is a designated center for belonging, but also for possibilities. The discussion and dissection of identity is commonplace in these groups; however, they also play an integral role: equipping students for employment and future world experience. By furnishing networking events, volunteering projects, interview supports, internship search engines, career conferences, mentorship, language-building exercises, and support groups for noteworthy exams, these groups provide students of color a means of balancing their heritage and intellectual commitment, which can often tip over in a space where multiplicity is not a precedent value.
Senior Evelyn Mullix is committed to study at Mizzou in the fall as an incoming engineering student; she worries that the ethnic women in STEM groups she intends to join will not be able to deliver as much assistance.
“I don’t think they can do as many of the events that they would normally,” said Mullix. “It’s a challenge being not white in a white-dominated space, so having clubs and communities helps provide support.”
Likewise, although she does not finalize her college decision until the next school year, junior Sydney Spraggins values protecting diversity to ensure optimistic affinities.
“[Diversity is important] because it allows people to be exposed to other cultures and make connections with other people besides their own group of people,” Spraggins said. “[Mizzou should offer services] to make them feel a little bit safer, and [to] let them know that there’s always someone that they can talk to if they were to experience racism.”
The idea that designated spaces for people of color to find their community creates inherent segregation is a gross assumption taken far beyond its civil context. If a female student on campus were to experience repeated vulgar remarks from a male student harassing her, would her decision to seek support services be questioned? If a classmate was consistently bullied for their looks, would we really question them looking for validation from friends who had the same hair, their same style?
No. We wouldn’t.
So, why isn’t the same standard applicable to groups that center around diversity, equity, and inclusion? Since 2015, Mizzou has found itself in the spotlight of racial conflict. Hate symbols and slurs have been plastered publicly, targeted for particular students to see and internalize. If these clubs can no longer afford to perform and sustain their operations, students will inevitably be cut off from both development opportunities that support their individuality and a means of preserving unity in a space that is primarily not composed of their culture; furthermore, this isolation only fuels elevated friction.
If we were to abide by the DOJ’s ideology, the same memo is applicable for the reduction of diversity protections. Students would have a lessened capacity to find their place, and there already exists a mistrust in the effectiveness of Mizzou’s administration in handling race-related incidents. Unable to or severely limited in addressing their unease, the progress originating from conflict resolution solutions or even a simple dialogue fosters harbored feelings of upset and frustration, thus dividing the student body and encouraging de facto social segregation.
“You’re going to be with these people all the time. I don’t think college is just about the classes; getting to know the people is a big part,” said Mullix. “Diversity is important, because I want to be with people who are like me. [These cuts] send a message that diversity isn’t as important.”
