Events at Stanford, ever on the cutting edge of the debate, indicate the bizarre new direction in which thinking about race and racism in this country may be headed. The Ujamaa incident (involving the dispute over Beethoven's skin color) was not the first of its kind. Several months earlier, an even stranger “racial incident” had shaken Otero House, another Stanford residence. What is most notable about the Otero episode is that it would appear to a casual observer to have had nothing whatsoever to do with race.
It all began when freshman Kenny Ehrman allegedly called his RA, who was openly homosexual, a “faggot.” Ehrman claimed to have made the remark behind the closed door of his own dorm room in Otero, and not to the RA about whom he was complaining. But that did not matter. On Friday, May 20, 1988, he was kicked out of university housing for “homophobic actions.”24 The RA, Jeff Sloan, observed that the penalty “sends out a very clear signal. We respond harshly to racist comments and abuse to gay students.”25 (What racism had to do with calling a homosexual a “faggot” Sloan did not make clear.) On the dorm's calendar, Sloan announced Ehrman's departure without disguising his glee: “Kenny's leaving; let's have a PARTY!!!”26
Clearly this RA was no impartial administrator of justice. Ehrman explained that the dorm's counselors had been uncommunicative throughout the year toward him and his group of friends. “They never wanted to hear your side; they would never even talk to you.” He added, “The selection of RAs was pretty bad; there was no one we could relate to.”27 Freshman Matt Rogers, also an Otero House resident that year, charged that there was “severe tension and antagonism, and the house seemed divided between residents and residential education.”28 And Otero resident Kevin Malloy explained that Ehrman was a rebel who did not fit Res Ed's mold of a “tolerant” atmosphere: “They were going to foster a certain environment at all costs, and would do what was necessary to preserve that environment.”29
Unlike the case in Ujamaa, the expulsion itself could not restore conformity. Others were willing to defend Kenny Ehrman's rights. The following evening, seven members of the Phi Delta Theta fraternity staged a silent candlelight vigil defending Ehrman's right to free speech and protesting the university's extreme reaction. The protestors, fearing the worst, decided to remain anonymous by wearing motorcycle helmets, ski goggles, and goalie masks. When Otero's residents noticed the protest outside, they proceeded to call friends and various authorities. Two police officers arrived on the scene, but left immediately, because the seven protestors were breaking no laws.30
Trained (perhaps by Multicultural Educator Greg Ricks) to find racism everywhere, the multiculturalists were not so forgiving. About 30 students arrived, and some of them threatened to beat up the protestors. Steven Phillips, a future multicultural editor of the Stanford Daily, declared, “They are parading around here in junior Klan outfits.”31 With this characterization, a silent candlelight protest over the University's decision to punish a student's use of the word “faggot” became transformed into racial harassment reminiscent of the Ku Klux Klan. President Kennedy and the dean of student affairs denounced the seven students in the campus press and placed them on probation for “racial” insensitivity. In a strange twist, a protest in favor of First Amendment rights became an occasion for the evisceration of those very rights. President Kennedy applauded the BSU in terms approaching the surreal:
Members of the Black Student Union and other students who encountered the masked vigilers…displayed extraordinary restraint in attempting to start conversations instead of hostilities…. It is remarkable that they controlled that anger in an effort to do something constructive for this community and the community owes them its thanks.32
The candlelight vigil probably bore more resemblance to a sorority initiation than to a Ku Klux Klan rally. But in Stanford's racially charged atmosphere, the imputation of ill will was not exceptional, but rather, judging from President Kennedy's praise of the BSU's “restraint,” the expected and only natural interpretation of events.
Once mythologized as an incident of racial harassment, the Otero incident further buttressed the claims of minorities advocating racial theme dorms and programming. Without more “awareness” efforts, they claimed, such racist events would be repeated. In truth, however, such awareness efforts only would help to forge the new racial identities. In the resulting atmosphere of increased racial sensitivity, more Otero and Ujamaa incidents would occur as minorities began “to find racism everywhere.” In a self-fulfilling circle, the very episodes generated by multicultural race-consciousness would serve as the excuse for more race-conscious programming.
In the midst of this escalating process, the original meaning of “racism” becomes totally forgotten. As used by Phillips and other multiculturalists, “racism” does not really mean prejudice on the basis of somebody's skin color. Nor does it refer to a belief in false racial differences. If anything, “racism” has come to mean almost the exact opposite—namely, a failure to recognize racial differences and special racial identities. Precisely along these lines, a campus conference defined “racism” as the failure to celebrate the unique perspectives of racial minorities.33 This redefinition would solve the problem of students who were not receptive to the new racial identities: They could be dismissed as bigots.
In a sense, the primary problem for multiculturalists is that there are almost no real racists at Stanford or, for that matter, in America's younger generation. The few exceptions, like the “skinheads,” are highly visible (precisely because there are so few) and are not often spotted at elite schools like Stanford. Most college-age students consider themselves open-minded and tolerant—that is why multiculturalism was able to gain such wide support in the first place. Dr. John Bunzel, former president of San Jose State University, interviewed dozens of minority students at Stanford and found that few could enumerate concrete incidents of racism on campus:
Most of the black students who said they had personally encountered racist behavior at the university were hard-pressed to describe what it was like or how it worked. As many of them said, the racism they confronted, although it pervaded the whole campus, was subtle and could not be explained to others.
“I've felt like an outcast in classes,” a black senior woman noted. “The class breaks up into study groups and people don't want you in theirs.” A black freshman said, “There's nothing that's actually been done to me, but there are things that have been hurtful—like people who don't think black writers have anything to say.” Others just talked of subtle changes in the behavior of whites in the presence of a black, and a certain tension they felt in social situations.
White students have repeatedly heard these complaints of subtle racism and are largely bewildered by them. As one senior put it, “It's hard to know how to react to charges of racism when there are no specific incidents or examples. That's pretty damn subtle.”34
Even under the ever-expanding definition of “racism,” minority students are hard pressed to find it among their peers (likely because white students, in order to avoid the accusation, adjust their behavior accordingly). Nevertheless, in order for the new racial identities to thrive, campus minority groups had to produce evidence of cradle-to-grave oppression. Without such evidence, the new identities would prove merely skin-deep.
If racism was not evident on an individual level, then perhaps it could be attributed to disembodied collective entities, such as universities, corporations, and government agencies. In a special report to investigate institutional racism, Stanford's leading activists offered the following insights on this elusive phenomenon:
Institutional racism is not blatant. It is not the fault of individuals. Institutional racism is simply when an institution finds itself affected by the racism that pervades our entire society—often members of the institution are not even aware of the effects…. When we find ourselves unconsciously participating in institutional racism, we have to admit it. We have to admit it in order to change it.35 (emphasis in original)
Tresidder Union, the central campus hangout, suffered from it. David Porter, of the University Committee on Minority Issues, declared that “it seems like people don't really want (minority students) to be there.”36 Committee member Faye McNair-Knox added, “The perception (minorities get) is a difference in the quality of the service…. ‘I don't have to do the same for black people as I do for someone else.’” The building's employees were urged to engage in a thorough self-criticism: Before any improvements could be made, Tresidder needed to “get a clarification of (its) own image,” according to McNair-Knox.37
Stanford Law School's Multicultural Council demanded a quota system, in which four of six open faculty positions would be filled with women or minorities. Second-year law student Laura Allan explained that “only a formula will guarantee that the composition of the Law School's faculty will no longer reflect institutional racism.”38
In the spring of 1988, several leading members of the student government (ASSU) accused the organization of institutional racism because of “behind-the-scenes and closed-door movements” blocking minority students from receiving more appointments. Even so, 22 out of 36 appointments went to minority students, and 20 out of 36 went to women.39 Such numbers, however, did not convince everyone. Student Senator Lucky Gutierrez charged the ASSU with “institutional racism,” and President Roechelle Smith added that racial incidents occur “time and time again” in the ASSU.40 Not surprisingly, with all the accusations of “racism” flying around, junior Rachel Wiesen, who was denied a position, also became convinced there was a problem; she had heard “lots of rumors of racism.”41 The final report on ASSU staff hiring tied everything together: “Like most other institutions on this campus and in this society, we are troubled by the problem of institutional racism.”42 Because the problem was everywhere, the student government's own leaders decided, it must therefore also be in the ASSU.
In important respects, these portrayals of a society gripped by institutional racism, and the concessions they beget, generate the very differences that define multicultural “diversity.” At the end of this circular process, many students actually become convinced that their races give them different perspectives and different needs. Consider the self-description of Leta Hong Fincher, a leader of HAP A, Stanford's Half-Asian People's Association (yes, there is such a thing):
[There is much] discrimination against people of mixed heritage, which necessitates the existence of a group such as HAPA…. As a half-Asian, I frequently feel denied legitimacy by society at large (imagine having your ethnic identity on official documents defined as “Other”). I am elated to discover that HAPA exists at Stanford, and that there are other people with backgrounds similar to mine…. You should rejoice in the diversity of your fellow students and the organizations they create.43
Fincher's account suggests the opposite of what it explicitly states. Although she feels “denied legitimacy by society at large,” how terrible can this denial really be, if the very worst example she can cite is a lack of specific recognition on official documents? Even more strangely, while others “should rejoice in the diversity” created by HAPA, Fincher's own elation stems from the fact “that there are other people with backgrounds similar” to hers. If diversity is an absolute good, then what benefit is there for Fincher to be in an organization of people just like her?
Indeed, an ironic requirement of the new group identities is self-segregation. There is often great pressure to socialize only with people from the same group. Informal sanctions are most immediate for offenders from minority groups, since congregation with whites might reveal the nonexistence of important group differences. Dr. Bunzel's interviews reflected these results:
Almost 70 percent of blacks talked of the pressure they felt from other black students to subscribe to a set of “black” positions and attitudes. “Oh yeah, that's everywhere,” said a black sophomore. “It involves certain standards you're supposed to adopt.”…. In the personal interviews with black students, over two-thirds of them indicated that social affiliation with whites reduces their acceptance by their peers. “If you hang around with just white people, you might get dropped in status.”44
Simultaneously, Bunzel found, white students “learn right away that blacks want to be viewed as blacks, that there are important differences between the black and white communities on campus, and that they must be sensitive to those differences”—even if “specific differences remain ill-defined.”45 Because racism is so often attributed to the most benign words and actions, many white students do not go out of their way to make friendships with minority students. As one white student noted, “The motivation is often too little and the risk too great to spend the energy required to bridge a cultural gap in interpersonal relations.”46
Whether this “cultural gap” is due to society at large, as multiculturalists maintain, or is the result of the multiculture itself is another question. But the comments of one senior, a Mexican American male, are highly suggestive of the latter. He conjoined ethnic separatism in Casa Zapata with the creation of Chicano identity:
I can't compare any year with the one in Zapata…. As a minority in the dorm I was expected to choose (the right friends) and take part in the separatism. I couldn't understand that. One person came up to me and said, “Why don't you stick to your own?” Before, we never looked at ourselves as Chicanos.47
There can be little doubt that Casa Zapata's race-conscious policies foster distrust and ultimately separatism. But blinded by dogmatism, multiculturalists typically blame the separatism they create on institutional racism. That specific cases of this pervasive affliction are practically undetectable is only taken as a sign that the “racism” is all the more intransigent and deep-seated.
These instances where individuals identify themselves as victimized minorities can have bizarre repercussions. In Spring 1994, for instance, Stanford's Chicano community launched a hunger strike to convince the campus of its oppressed status. The triggering events were the layoff of the Casa Zapata RF and the panning of a MEChA preview called No Grapes at student movies.48 Typically, both were interpreted as racial incidents. In reality, the RF was laid off because of budget cuts, and moviegoers booed because they wanted to see a movie, not hear why they should boycott grapes. But MEChA members saw matters rather differently: “What we witnessed were callous creatures acting out of brazen hate and racism.”49 In response, four women—seniors Eva Silva and Julia Gonzalez Luna, junior Tamara Alvarado, and sophomore Elvira Prieta—began a hunger strike. They fasted for three days until the university agreed to provide more programming centered around themes of Chicano identity.50
Perhaps the most remarkable feature of these protests involved the disparity between demands and tactics. Grapes hardly seemed sufficient cause for a hunger strike. The ends simply did not justify the means. In any case, a grape boycott could not possibly help migrant grape pickers on California farms (the stated purpose of the sanction) because Stanford Dining Services imports its grapes from Chile.51 Nevertheless, MEChA claimed, the grape ban was a fundamental matter of “respect” for its community, a complex issue involving “worker exploitation” and “environmental racism.” Indeed, “out of respect” for the Chicano community, a number of dorms across campus started complying with the grape ban voluntarily.52
In practice, racial politics tends to become a negative-sum game, in which people's energies are directed into trendy but ultimately futile directions. The new racial programming, justified as a response to pervasive but simultaneously hidden societal racism, may give racial minorities a temporary feeling of self-esteem. These efforts may even enable certain ideological coalitions to be sustained and provide the multiculture with a governing majority. B
ut the new racial consciousness does not promise peace.
These artificial racial identities and manufactured grievances have many serious consequences for the nation. As we shall see in the last chapter, America is gradually moving towards a culture of victimization and complaint, in which some people use their victim status to extract concessions and benefits from everyone else. Never are any time tables offered for success. It is never said whether racial theme houses or racial programming, to take but two examples, will be needed for the next 10 years, the next 20, the next 50, or the next 100. That racial barriers may have been overcome long before then scarcely matters to the advocates of these programs: Today, these programs are no longer designed to remedy past injustices, but, in the absence of a statute of limitations on grievances, have become a means to perpetuate the new racial identities indefinitely.
Homosexuality and “Homophobia”
In the last decade or so, no movement in America has gained quite as much attention as the gay rights movement. With parades, “coming out” days, and public awareness efforts, homosexual activists have loudly proclaimed their identities. Their goal has been to add to the multicultural rainbow a lavender stripe of victimization.
Many Americans are of two minds about all of this. Homosexuals have often been mistreated, and criminal assaults today against individuals, regardless of sexual preference, should receive the full force of the law, swiftly and forcefully. But while generally supportive of abstract principles like tolerance and open-mindedness, many Americans sense that something more is at stake in the case of “gay rights”—although most would be hard pressed to say exactly what. There is a vague uneasiness, a sense of foreboding, that “tolerance” and “acceptance” (conventionally understood as you leave me alone and I'll leave you alone) would not be quite enough to satisfy some of the more militant homosexual activists. Much of the gay rights movement seems to go beyond what would be needed for public education or awareness, and appears more designed to offend and to shock the general public. If homosexuals merely want to be tolerated like everyone else, many Americans wonder, then why do they have to go out of their way to define themselves not just as individuals seeking to live freely, but as a special class of victims demanding reparations.
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