The Diversity Myth

by David O Sacks

  113. According to Stephen Jay Gould, “The dissection of dead colleagues became something of a cottage industry among nineteenth-century craniometricians.” For an account of the rise and fall of craniometry, see Stephen Jay Gould, The Mismeasure of Man (New York: W. W. Norton, 1981).

  114. Smadar Lavie, “Post Neo-Colonialism and Identity Politics,” Course Syllabus, Spring 1994.

  115. One indicator of actual student opinion is provided by Stanford's annual student government elections. In most years, the multiculturally correct “People's Platform” won these elections, although it rarely drew over 55 percent of the vote. More moderate candidates consistently received over 40 percent. On many specific issues, the multiculturalists fared far worse; for example, students registered opposition to proposed speech restrictions by a margin of nearly 2 to 1 in the spring of 1990. And during the 1991 elections, the politically centrist “Students First” slate actually wrested control of both the executive and legislative branches of Stanford's student government.

  4

  The Engineering of Souls

  Stanford is a trendy place and it responds to trends. Its shameless self-congratulation about this is sufficient to render it ridiculous in the eyes of serious people no matter what their political persuasion.1

  —Professor Allan Bloom

  The residents of Roble Hall were eating dinner one evening in April of 1989 when nine intruders, dressed in camouflage, wearing masks, and brandishing weapons, burst into the cafeteria. While some of these guerillas pointed their guns at startled undergraduates, two others lifted English professor Ronald Rebholz and senior Sarah Fandell from their seats. The head of the squad engaged the attention of witnesses, condemned the targets as campus “subversives,” and then abducted the two.2

  Only later would alarmed observers learn that the kidnapping was part of a series of “guerrilla theater” actions known as “Project Awareness,” staged by kidnappers and kidnappees alike. The Stanford Daily reported the next day that the Project was staging mock kidnappings all over campus to demonstrate the way that citizens allegedly were being abducted by some Latin American governments.3 In Wilbur dorm, some student diners became so convinced that one of these kidnappings was real that they overpowered the kidnappers and “rescued” the kidnappee.4 Such terror had been precisely the point of the demonstration, Project members explained, because only through such “genuine confusion and fear” could residents come to “understand” the group's message.5

  Project Awareness's consciousness-raising efforts dramatically illustrate that multicultural education is not limited to the classroom and other formal academic settings. President Kennedy's bold experiment was to create—first at Stanford and then beyond—“a new kind of community.” This new community would succeed only if it were populated by a new kind of citizen. In order for Stanford to create (and then graduate into society) this ideal multicultural person, the ideas and values advocated in class would need to be implemented, in an even more immediate way, in the day-to-day living arrangements of students.

  If need be, this transformation would proceed dormitory by dormitory, and as the residents of Donner Hall learned, sometimes even room by room. When the freshman dorm residents returned from Spring Break in 1991, they received quite a shock. The walls of the basement pool room (the dorm's main recreational area) had been splattered with graffiti. Samples from three of the walls included: “Bush sucks cock”; “Liberation ’91” (with a machine gun); 1960s peace symbols; and other specimens of art and paint splatters.6 The fourth wall was covered with more graffiti: “Peace flamers suck granola”; “Stormin’ Norman ’96”; “If a woman says no, she means yes—J.J.R.”; and American and Confederate flags.7

  Before Spring Break the dormitory had asked a group of students to repaint the peeling walls of the pool room. These volunteers decided to redecorate the room with “graffiti art” and covered three walls with the first set of slogans and “art,” mostly protests against the Gulf War between the United States and Iraq, still raging at the time. The committee left several cans of paint in the room. A second group of students, which one member described as “a bunch of conservatives,” decided to add some graffiti of their own—putting the second set of slogans and “art” on the remaining wall. The quote from Jean Jacques Rousseau (“J.J.R.”) was added in order “to cause a little uproar among the liberals,” according to one person involved, who said he learned the quote in CIV.8 More than “a little uproar” followed. In a subsequent third round of graffiti, one resident scrawled “Rednecks must die,” apparently in reference to the members of the second group. Other students proceeded to splatter the entire room with paint, including the pool table and some of the heating pipes. Donner's students returned from Spring Break to a new pool room and a new multicultural trauma.

  As at Ujamaa during the Beethoven incident, Donner's residence staff convened a special house meeting shortly after these events. Resident assistant Adrian Miller, a senior, explained that the meeting attempted to discern what constituted “art.” The incident “brought up the whole issue of First Amendment freedom of expression,” he said, “but some of the words were offensive to a lot of students and we've got to take that into consideration.”9 Resident fellow Linda Paulson, a Stanford English professor, was one of those offended by the second round of graffiti: “I was saddened that it was in my house. It was violent and it was a congregation of violent sentiments that were coupled with anti-female sentiments and I just didn't know that people in my dorm felt that way.”10 Christine Nash thought the (phase two) graffiti had “sexist undertones” and showed “blatant disrespect.” “I am angry that I live with these people,” she said.11 Added resident Laura Battaglia, “A majority of the people here are outraged. That's men and women.”12

  These same residents, however, were not upset at the characterization of the president of the United States as a homosexual (an attack, presumably, on President Bush and not on homosexuals). Nor were they appalled at the call to kill “Rednecks” or to settle differences with machine guns. The focus of their anger was somewhere different. Led by the resident fellow and staff, Donner's residents blamed the four conservative students (the “Donner Four,” as they became known on campus) not only for the content of their graffiti (phase two), but for the entire mess (all three phases). Although the Donner Four claimed not to have taken part in phase three, which caused the greatest amount of physical damage, at one point it was even suggested that they should pay the entire $3,000 clean-up bill: Because only their writings were deemed “offensive,” only they should pay damages.13

  As in many free-speech cases, the (Donner) majority's attempt to punish a minority for “offensive” speech is problematic. Even though the liberal students were “offended” by the “conservative” art, the conservative students could just as plausibly have claimed to be “offended” by the “liberal” art. To an outside observer, the reciprocity appeared almost perfect: It would seem difficult to single out either side for all the blame in the series of escalating events that ended in the trashing of the pool room. If anything, the liberal graffiti had been marginally more bawdy: While quoting Rousseau may be construed as condoning violence against women, “Rednecks must die” explicitly calls for violence. “Peace flamers suck granola” obviously denigrates antiwar activists. But some antiwar activists do eat granola, whereas the liberal students’ allegation of presidential fellatio was an ad hominem attack unalloyed by truth or humor.

  In recent years, radical activists have justified funding and support for controversial art on the basis that such art is needed to challenge people's fundamental assumptions about the communities and society in which they live. This argument was advanced, for instance, by Stanford's commencement speaker in 1992, Kirk Varnedoe, who is a director of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City and a prominent voice in the arts community: “Art may be at its most powerful—and most uncomfortable for authoritarians of all stripes—when it orchestrates perplexity, fai
ls to conform to what you already know, and instead sends you away temporarily disoriented but newly attuned to experience in ways that are perhaps even more powerful, because they are vague, rogue and indeterminate.”14 The episode in Donner suggests an interesting twist on this line of reasoning. Even though all three phases of the Donner “art” could be justified on such grounds, the graffiti of phase two—which offended, shocked, and challenged the greatest number of people—would seem to have been the most successful under this conception of “art.” To Stanford's multiculturalists, the claim that “Bush sucks cock” was nothing new or even very interesting, but the idea that “Peace flamers suck granola” was truly novel and unheard of. Instead of being delighted in the challenges presented by the “conservative graffiti art,” however, Donner's multiculturalists were outraged and angry: For America's arts community and Stanford's multiculturalists, the purpose of art is to attack the fundamental assumptions of other people. Of course, nobody—neither multiculturalists nor anybody else—ever really likes art that challenges and undermines their most fundamental and sacred assumptions about the world. The events in Donner served as a timely reminder that the multicultural definition of “authoritarians of all stripes” is not the only possible one.

  The Donner incident points to broader issues than just the multicultural definition of art, however. The very fact that such an episode occurred in the first place—that a dormitory committee considered blatantly political graffiti appropriate for a common recreational area—underlines the point that multicultural education is pushed as aggressively in student residences and other informal settings as in the classroom.

  Residential Education is the name for the university division that runs Stanford's student housing, and its self-characterization indicates that “Res Ed” is far more concerned with promoting “multicultural experiences” than taking care of housing logistics.15 “Our charge as resident fellows and resident assistants is, primarily, to be educators—to bridge the gap between the classroom and the daily lives of students,” explained Evan and Ann Porteus, resident fellows in Roble Hall. “We attempt this education in a variety of ways—organizing programs focused on social and political issues, multiculturalism, issues of sexuality, issues of race, gender and class, etc.”16 To facilitate this “programming” (the term is Res Ed's), most residences have one resident fellow (RF), typically a member of Stanford's faculty, and several resident assistants (RAs), juniors and seniors who also live in the residences. In recent years, Res Ed also has added “program assistants” and “theme assistants” to plan additional workshops and multicultural events.17 “In the absence of a critical number of minority faculty, in the absence of a curriculum on minority experiences in the United States, Residential Education has, for the past decade, been providing students with this exposure through films, lectures and group discussions,” boasted Cecilia Burciaga, RF in the Casa Zapata dorm. “Other universities have a housing office or a dorm office. We have Residential Education.”18

  Stanford's “theme” dorms, residences in which the RFs and RAs organize programming around a particular set of political issues, provide a clue as to what this education entails. Robinson House was the feminist studies theme dorm until the departure of its RF, when it became the new environmental theme house. Murray House explores “modern thought and literature,” and Lantana House is the “community service” dorm.19 Potter House's “1960s” focus was proposed by its RF, history professor Clay Carson. According to Campus Report, “Programming ranges from the fun—a ‘Name that Tune’ contest with hits from the ’60s to ’90s—to discussions about presidential politics, civil rights, the origins of the ecology movement, the women's movement, and gay and lesbian activism.”20 By contrast, one would find it hard to imagine, even in 20 years, a “1980s” theme dorm, replete with workshops on bond trading and discussions about Reagan's foreign policy vis-à-vis the “evil empire.” Theme dorms transmit only those ideas and values—environmentalism, feminism, ’60s radicalism—stamped with the multicultural seal of approval. Inauspiciously, Alice Supton, director of Res Ed, promised the Stanford Daily in 1993, “I envision all upper-class houses with resident fellows will eventually have some sort of focus.”21

  Indeed, Res Ed already extends multicultural classroom discussions into almost every informal dormitory setting. During the late 1980s and early 1990s at Stanford, dorm speakers and Res Ed activities included the following:

  Joan Baez, the peace activist and singer, spoke about her work during the protests of the 1960s.

  Another speaker devoted his lecture to a discussion of the CIA's drug experiments on humans in the 1950s, and used this as a springboard for an indictment of the entire U.S. military.

  A Rastafarian leader informed his audience in Branner (Stanford's largest freshman dorm) that President Reagan corresponded to the Antichrist foretold in the Bible (“Ronald Wilson Reagan equals 666”).

  A graduate student writing his research thesis on patriarchal behavior in animated films condemned Disney's The Little Mermaid as “sexist” and “phallocentric.”

  A dorm-based discussion on feminism culminated in an attack by one of the RFs on women who chose more traditional roles as mothers and did not pursue careers. She had not done so, and could not imagine why other women might.

  A Nicaraguan activist told Roble Hall residents how wonderful conditions had become after the Sandinista revolution. With considerable glee, he noted that once-wealthy Nicaraguans had lost just about everything (they no longer had money for “jewelry” or “fur coats”); the impoverishment of the upper classes justified the economic decline of the country as a whole.

  Ex-model Anne Simonton offered a more Puritanical twist. A self-described “radical feminist” who tours Stanford's residences year after year to talk about the exploitation of women, Simonton maintains that traditional female roles border on the pornographic: “I felt like a prostitute as a model,” she told an audience in Branner. “I was selling my body, and my agent seemed like a pimp. The only difference was, modelling was legal.”22 She quit modelling after she became convinced that she was indirectly promoting violence against women, and argued that even ordinary media advertisements are “demeaning to the female integrity” and encourage men to beat and rape women.23

  Congressman Bill Gray spoke about his work in pushing liberal Democratic policies. When one of us suggested that some nonliberal speakers might be desirable for the sake of balance, the RF responded that he did not know of any that he could approach.

  Most people who choose to become RFs are ideologically committed to the multicultural experiment, and they select RAs whose devotion to the cause is even more vigorous. “There are people who are going to feel it's being rammed down their throats,” explained Jae Choi, an RA in Robinson House. “We have to respect this as RAs, but we know that we're not going to appease everyone.”24 Marie Leggon, a senior who worked at Twain House, echoed these attitudes: “I'm a strong advocate of pluralism…. To some people, I was seen as too adamant, too opinionated, almost militant.”25 Such sentiments hardly reveal a residence staff out to create a sense of ease and elan for 17-year-old freshmen away from home for the first time. Res Ed Director Alice Supton's attempt to justify this “militancy” was more of an admission: “We think that some white male students felt targeted by the campus environment last year, which was very aware of white male privilege.”26 Evidently, white males were not so “privileged” that they enjoyed immunity from the unpleasant “targeting” efforts of their RAs.

  The motivating sentiments of Marcus Mabry, an RA in Donner Hall during 1987–88, are not unusual: “Driving my decision to remain here [as an RA] was the idealistic belief that I could make a difference. As a black man who is also a feminist, I felt I could open some eyes, broaden minds and attack some ‘isms.’”27 Describing the tactics used at Donner Hall to enlighten freshmen, Mabry explained his mission and the difficulties he faced: “Once RAs posted a magazine ad that showed only a woman's legs
and the line, ‘Pantyhose for men.’ We found the ad offensive and asked students to comment; many men didn't see the problem. I tried soft sells like putting up cartoons of episodes in African American history in the bathroom stalls, but some people complained, ‘I can't escape this multiculturalism stuff anywhere.’”28 When hallway bulletin boards and even bathroom stalls become vehicles for transmitting the truths of multiculturalism (clearly not one of the “isms” Mabry was trying to “attack”), it should hardly strike Mabry as odd that some of Donner's residents felt that it was everywhere. Nonetheless, Mabry was correct in characterizing cartoons in bathroom stalls as “soft sells”—for that is what they were in contrast with such dorm-based activities as graffiti painting and mock kidnappings.

  Of course, bathroom stall cartoons, the Donner graffiti, and even the mock kidnappings are all relatively harmless. In general, these kinds of “awareness” efforts are more nuisances than anything else; they do not wreck lives. But these efforts do bespeak the multiculturalists’ desire to effect a radical values transformation—in the words of Lenin, to be “the engineers of souls.” “We promote certain basic values,” admitted Dennis Matthies, RF at Otero House, a freshman dorm. “Some of these values are at odds with prevailing conditions in our society.”29 Beneath a veneer of tolerance and open-mindedness, Stanford's Res Ed program acts as much in loco parentis as did old-style university proctors.30 But whereas old-style universities promoted the values of the parents in whose place they acted, today's Stanford is promoting a very different set of values—often the sorts of values many parents spend 18 years trying to make sure their children do not absorb. “In our experience you have to be there pushing at the extremes in order to produce a modicum of change,” declared RFs Evan and Ann Porteus.31 And there are other areas where the consequences of such extremism can be far more devastating.