Seeing Color.

Abstract

“As you can see, I am Black … and the only Black student here. There are no Black faculty in our department. There are no speakers of color in our seminar series, and I rarely see another Black student on the medical campus.” B, a new graduate student, sat across from me during a program entrance interview in my first year as a tenure-track faculty. I had asked about her experience thus far and did not expect this response. I was shocked at the mention of race since I was unaccustomed to discussing it. Then, shameful at my ignorance and being left speechless. B was right—she was the only student of color in our department. She had started with, “As you can see,” but I did not see. I was focused on teaching and paid little attention to diversity. After our meeting (which ended kindly), I started seeing the colors—and the lack thereof—in my life. For the next several months, I became increasingly aware of the presence and absence of people of color. At a high school graduation, the local library, the grocery store, everywhere. Perhaps I was looking for a level of reassurance that I was not incubated in the suburbs and ignorant of B’s loneliness. Reluctantly and painfully, I confronted the fact that I live in a bubble of White privilege and naivety. I started reading, asking questions, and listening, and I became acquainted with the Faculty of Color Network in my college. My director and I discussed diversity with the seminar coordinators, and the number of invites to speakers of color increased. I organized a breakfast event for students with the associate dean for diversity and inclusion, and a “Spotlight on Diversity” event with icebreakers and activities for team building. It was fun to get to know my colleagues and students on a different level without the high stakes of academic assessment, scrutiny of seminar questions, or general judgment that belies hierarchy in academia. At the time, I hoped that these activities were promoting a culture that values diversity, to make a difference for B and anyone who felt marginalized or alone. In the summer of 2020, George Floyd was murdered. Immediately, I knew that my efforts around diversity were weak and misguided. Breakfasts, seminars, and events seemed meaningless as I watched the news. My department reacted to George Floyd’s murder and the subsequent rioting by organizing a Zoom event to talk openly about racism, antiracism, and efforts to embody inclusivity. Some students and faculty shared their experiences and we discussed concepts from How to Be an Antiracist, 1 but many were quiet. The silence and the sadness were deafening. From the interview with B, to my quest for color, to George Floyd’s and Breonna Taylor’s murders in the summer of 2020, my understanding about my role as a faculty member has evolved. All the stakes are higher now. Students of color may not receive equitable resources or support before I meet them, but I embrace the ethical, moral, and professional obligation to ensure every student of color leaves my classroom feeling safe, welcome, valued, and with the educational and professional growth that they came for—to be gainfully employed in academic medicine. Racism plagues systems in the United States, from education to criminal justice to health care, and it makes me nauseous and tearful every single time I confront that fact. For me, this journey from awareness to education to involvement in diversity, equity, and inclusion has been uncharted, painful, surprising, and more meaningful than I ever anticipated. As faculty, we are called to instruct and mentor students. And yet ... B, my colleagues, and friends of color have taught me lessons of far greater importance. Acknowledgments: The author is grateful to B and her colleagues for their thoughtful review of this essay.