Admissions debate fierce but respectful Admissions debate fierce but respectful
Bond develops between the students fighting on different sides
March 18, 2003
BY SHAWN WINDSOR
FREE PRESS STAFF WRITER
ANN ARBOR -- The young conservative threw on his coat and hustled into the frozen night. He wove through students with backpacks heading to dorms, libraries or the coffee shops that ring the University of Michigan's campus. Justin Wilson had no time to stop and talk. Minutes earlier, he had assigned the last stories for the next edition of the Michigan Review, a weekly student newspaper with a conservative bent. His cell phone rang. A liberal rival was calling.
For once, the debate wasn't among the students on the Diag, the epicenter of one of the nation's best public universities. A more formidable opponent beckoned. He was waiting in the law school. Wilson, 22, a Minnesota native who had written articles blasting the university's race-based admissions policies for 3 1/2 years, had 5 minutes to get there. It's been 6 years since three U-M applicants sued the school, saying they were denied admission to the university and its law school in favor of less qualified minorities.
The setting for the legal battle is the hypercompetitive, activist-laden campus known as much for its academics as it is for its football team and annual Hash Bash. As the April 1 U.S. Supreme Court hearing of the case approaches, many students would prefer to study and graduate. But the buzz is inescapable. Last week, it was in the law school. Wilson was almost running when the law school came into view. Inside, a crowd of about 200 people -- half black, half white -- was settling before Tim Wise, a consultant on race issues.
He was brought in by Students Supporting Affirmative Action, a group formed after the lawsuits. Wise, who calls himself the "Angry White Man," was about to unleash a stylish diatribe on why U-M needed to defend its policies. Wise knew the crowd would be friendly. He wanted a challenge, and he knew about Wilson. He'd asked a student to find him. Wilson slipped in just as Wise began. He found a seat in the front row. In 1999, the Michigan Daily -- the campus' largest newspaper -- polled students and found them split over admissions policies. If those with strong opinions agree on anything, it's that most students choose sides in the debate based on their gut.
"People are here to get good grades and move on," said Ruben Duran, a conservative Hispanic-American from Arizona. "They are more likely to talk about the football score." That doesn't keep him from rushing to the Diag, where student armies of every philosophical persuasion drip with conviction almost daily. Passers-by are targets.
The effort to sway is intense. Both sides of the admissions battle have infiltrated the other's e-mail lists. When a time is picked to rally, the other side learns electronically and mobilizes. At the moment, with war in Iraq looming, commanding the troops in the admissions battle is tricky business. "It's actually quite a bit of fun," said David Peterson, a freshman from Bloomfield Hills.
Peterson, a member of Young Americans for Freedom, a group that met last week to stomp the French flag in the Diag, recently got an e-mail saying he had 5 minutes to get to a counter-rally. "It was eye-opening," he said. Some of the admissions supporters called him a "stupid idiot." They threw sandwiches and bottles of water. He said it was ironic that the inclusive, peace-oriented side held such contempt for him. "It's like, if you're not for affirmative action, then you don't like those people," he said.
"They think you are a racist." Wilson, the young conservative, and Wise, his liberal rival, met at a workshop the afternoon before Wise's speech. Each had left pondering the other's points. Afterward, Wilson told the staff at the Michigan Review that he'd just met the most convincing defender of affirmative action.
He wanted another chance to challenge Wise. He wanted to debate not just on the legal aspects of the policy, but on what the university says the policy has done for campus life. He has long blamed the administration for pushing diversity to the point of balkanizing the campus.
He said that when students mix on their own, at, say, the recreation center, togetherness comes more naturally. Other U-M students don't blame the university for trying. "I blame the students" for not trying to get to know each other, said Chibuzo Okafo, a sophomore from suburban Los Angeles. Okafo, 19, said he attended a high school with a racially diverse mix of students who mingled without prodding.
When he arrived at U-M, he was stunned by the segregation. Peter Jenkins arrived from Ithaca, N.Y. Like his roommate Okafo, he also attended a diverse high school. Jenkins and Okafo have become friends. They eat together and perform skits at elementary schools. "Coming to this school was the first time I'd ever felt the fear and tension" of race, Jenkins said. "Sometimes, when I'm sitting next to a black student, I think: 'He hates me.' And that he's thinking I'm from Bloomfield Hills
. And that I'm thinking he's from Detroit, that he doesn't belong here." After running through the scenario, he concluded: "Wow, this is crazy." That's how he views the students who oppose the admissions policy. He thinks they are crazy, standing on a table in the Diag screaming about "reverse discrimination," and that, yeah, being white in this society is really a hardship. "I'm surprised that people have a problem with affirmative action when there are so few minorities on campus," he said.
So he lives with a black student from California. He sleeps under Nelson Mandela and Bob Marley posters taped to the wall. And he contemplates, as does Okafo, how the campus with the progressive reputation and the diverse student body could feel so divided. It's a question that challenges John Matlock, director of U-M's office of academic multicultural initiatives.
Two-thirds of U-M's students are from Michigan, and most of those are from southeast Michigan, one of the nation's most segregated areas. "About 90 percent of our white students come from white communities," Matlock said. "Half of our black students come from black communities. That's a very difficult thing to overcome. These are 18-year-olds." Back at the law school, Wise spun a tale about Louisiana gumbo. As he finished, the crowd interrupted with bursts of clapping and hollering.
Wilson took notes, highlighting what he saw as the weaknesses in Wise's logic, mounting a respectful counter-attack. Monique Luse couldn't make Wise's talk but ate dinner with Wise earlier. She told him that Wilson is one of the most respected anti-affirmative action activists on campus. The two recently debated on a British Broadcasting Corp. radio program. They admire each other's minds and personalities, but not each other's conclusions.
Wilson said he sees one huge hole in the argument of supporters of U-M's race conscious admissions policy: "It's unconstitutional." Luse said she thinks the opponents are locked in narrow logic and ignore the messy world. Wilson said he believes the university's phrase, critical mass -- its explanation for determining how many minorities is enough -- is just code for "quota." Luse said she believes critical mass means providing a culture of comfort. She grew up in Farmington Hills.
She said that about 10 black students were in her class of 300. "I know what it's like to not have critical mass," she said. She said she suppressed her racial identity to make white students more comfortable. She straightened her hair. Now she favors a head wrap. Her hair is no longer straight. She is president of the student government in the university's largest school -- Language, Science and Arts. She is the political action chairwoman of the Black Student Union.
"I'm not having to live my life so separately," she said. Wise ended his speech recalling his own college days at Tulane University in New Orleans. He'd lived with nine roommates. One night, a pot of gumbo sat on the stove. It wasn't Wise's turn to store the leftovers. The next day, the gumbo, turning foul, was still there. Three days later, Wise lay in bed, his nostrils filled with rotting gumbo, and wondered: "How long am I gonna live in this nasty, funky stench?"
If he didn't clean it up, who would? To get rid of the stench of racism, he explained, it is necessary for white people today to make sacrifices for the sins of past generations. The result is that a few white students won't get into a selective school like U-M so that a few more minority students can. Wilson was moved by the tale but couldn't quite make the leap from gumbo to affirmative action. The two men debated for a few minutes before other questions had to be taken.
Wilson grabbed his notes, his coat and eased away, conflicted. He didn't want the campus to lose minorities. "Unjust means don't make just ends," he said. "It's the ultimate double standard." He walked back out into the cold.
Contact SHAWN WINDSOR at 313-222-6487 or windsor@freepress.com.
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