The coldest chill
In low-income schools across the country, college admission is discussed as if it is a golden ticket into paradise. On my college visits as a high school senior, the promise of paradise was superficially confirmed by the unlimited food at the dining halls, he rows of brand new computers in the computer labs and the promise of financial aid dollars. I was also promised the opportunity f joining a prestigious intellectual community. Coming from a low-income high school, where most classes included worksheets and oofing off, I was excited to be a part of a community that valued critical thinking. But as soon as I started receiving “Welcome” aterial it became clear that paradise was more like a polishing school for middle and upper class white students in order for hem to secure corporate jobs.
My dreams of becoming part of the greater campus community quickly dissipated as I was encouraged to limit my activities and course schedule to those organized by students and faculty of color, most of whom shared my feelings of rejection and disappointment. What I had not been prepared for was that leaving my home town where I was normal also meant entering into a world where what I said, what I wore, what music I liked to listen to and the color of my skin, made me weird.
Together the black students on my campus created our own community. We had our own newspaper, theater group, acapella group, and themed dorm. We organized rallies to support Affirmative action, so that our community could grow, and supported the Africana Studies department so that we could learn more about ourselves. We made our own parallel institution within the greater institution, and this was somewhat satisfying. This was our way of challenging the isolation and alienation that we had found in paradise but what I realize now is that it was never paradise to begin with. The same college culture that rejected me and other students of color encouraged white women to become bulimic and anorexic, it encouraged white men to become aggressive alcoholics, it encouraged us all to become greedy capitalists. The same college that was hurting me and other students of color was participating in animal testing, making corporate deals with war profiteers and oil giants. What I realize now was that behind the face of opulence was a violent system that prioritized wealth and status over happiness and goodness.
Now that I am in graduate school at Cal, it pains me to see students of color with the same sense of bewilderment that I felt when I first got to college. The sense of betrayal, that all of those long years working against the odds to finally make it to college, where you don’t fit in is agonizing. I once felt it deeply. What has helped me has been understanding that there is nothing wrong with me and that there are tons of students to work with in order to change what is wrong with the university. The coming together of diverse groups including African American students, environmentalists, anti-war activists and progressive women are the means of this change and the diverse community that is created through collective action is also the ends. If we truly want college admission to be a golden ticket to something valuable and not traumatic, we are going to have to work together to create valuable relationships in order to take significant action to transform the heart of our university and our experiences within it.