LAST SUNDAY, I did something I had never done before. I went to an event sponsored by the Office of African-American Affairs.
I wasn't there on my own accord. I was there because someone I knew was singing at the event and needed a piano player. And so, this white girl found herself at Harambee, an annual event welcoming African-American first years to the University.
I was one of very few (and at times only) white people in the room, and in that environment I learned two things. One, how important it is for minority groups to hold events like these, and two, that every student at this University can learn a lot just by stepping outside of his or her comfort zone once in a while.
All I knew about this event prior to that Sunday was that it was a kind of orientation for African-American first years, and I was skeptical. My mind immediately recalled all of the receptions held during orientation week for Asian-American students, Hispanic and-Latino American students, African-American students and pretty much everyone except, well, me.
Events like that made me feel left out, like I wasn't special enough to garner a welcome brunch. I felt like the University pushed me aside, in favor of nurturing kids whose skin was darker than mine. Thus, I slowly formed the opinion that many of these orientation events geared towards racial minorities were exclusive gatherings meant to give those members a head start above everyone else, thinly veiled as an embracing of diversity.
My indignation only grew when "diversity" became the number-one buzzword at this University over the years. Why, I thought, do we spend countless -- and I do mean countless -- hours debating, promoting, dissecting and ultimately searching for diversity, when self-segregating events like these are allowed to continue right under our noses?
After attending Harambee, I have since changed my mind.
When OAAA Dean M. Rick Turner got up to speak, I prepared myself for, well, something controversial. Instead, he spoke not only about the importance of getting involved at the University, but about not being afraid to get involved at the University. I had, like many others, always assumed that people of similar races self-segregated because they wanted to, not because they felt forced into it. The fact that some students might actually be afraid of integrating themselves into mainstream University life was a completely new concept to me.
It was when Dean Turner urged these first years to not let themselves be the butt of racial jokes that I finally thought to myself that maybe these kinds of events are necessary after all.
Despite the many opinions I've formed over the years, the fact remains that I have no idea what it's like to be a racial minority at the University of Virginia. I had no idea that anyone felt as if they couldn't, or shouldn't, be a part of some aspect of University life. I have never been the butt of a racial joke.
I now understand that, despite the University's ongoing debate about self-segregation, it must be easier for a non-white student to find someone who knows exactly what that situation is like. And it must be a lot easier to find a whole group of people who know what it's like. And it must be infinitely more comforting to meet all of these people at the beginning of the first year of college.
I no longer view these orientations geared toward students of racial minorities as exclusive or unfair, but rather as helpful, even necessary for a smooth transition into college life.
Attending Harambee changed my mind about this, and my only regret is that it didn't happen until my fourth year.
I never went to an event like that before, partly because I thought I would be unwanted, partly because I thought I would be uncomfortable, but mostly because I just didn't care enough to do so.
I know that many students feel exactly the same way, or I wouldn't be writing this column. It's important, if this ongoing diversity debate is to continue -- which, of course, it will -- for anyone with an opinion to actively seek to understand the opposite side.
I used to hate the phrase "comfort zone," and I hated it even more when people told me I had to step out of it. But, sitting in Newcomb Ballroom at Harambee, I realized that that was exactly what I was doing, and it wasn't the end of the world. Attending a simple function, which I never would have attended on my own, changed the way I think about diversity and about life at the University.
I write this column so that the next time you hear the dreaded "step out of your comfort zone" speech, you can think of me as a real-life success story. And who knows, perhaps you, dear reader, might be the next.
Kristin Brown's column appears Wednesdays in The Cavalier Daily. She can be reached at kbrown@cavalierdaily.com.
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