GUEST COLUMN: "Looking For Answers"

I don't know the solution. All I know is that recent attempts to improve race relations on this campus have backfired -- and I don't like how it has changed me. It wasn't an issue for me. Laurette and I would co-author NC-17 movie scripts and satirize our college junk mail. Michelle would agonize with me over the February Formal Fiasco. Carolyn had a raunchy sense of humor. Much later I would learn that Laurette hated being the only African American in middle school, that Michelle was thinking about moving to Spain or back to Chile because she didn't want her kids to grow up without knowing Spanish, and that Carolyn planned to continue the Tamil tradition of arranged marriage. My friends knew more about my Judaism, but only because it played such a prominent role in my life at the time. When the subjects of religion and culture did come up in conversation, it was fascinating to hear stories different from my own. Diversity became an important consideration in choosing a college because I had seen how it enhanced my friendships in high school. Enter Penn. The WASP was a minority. Mask and Wig could spoof the Bradys with a skit about the "Wong-Stein Bunch" and get a laugh. And every part of the spectrum was represented with a DP column. This must be diversity. This must be the place of Dr. King's dream. Can you say "water buffalo?" Would you dare scream it out your window these days? I didn't think so. At camp years ago a friend and I had a joke about the sound of dead water buffalo crossing the street. I hate to think how our innocent joke might have been construed at Penn. When I came to campus as a freshman, I was informed of its racial tension. I'm not sure exactly how this was conveyed. I can't pinpoint one source, though I certainly felt it in the racial sensitivity programming at orientation and through the DP. And I watched it show itself in the conflict between the speech codes and the First Amendment Task Force. I understand. Free speech is important. So is being able to live without worrying about harassment. The debate will continue because compromise always leaves people unhappy. And in the meantime the issue of race is going to be pushed down our throats and the PC movement will stifle most opposing views. That's good -- I don't have to confront racists and anti-Semites on a daily basis. That's bad -- racist views that aren't expressed and challenged will only be strengthened. I'm not satisfied with the status quo, but I can accept this temporary solution inasmuch as it deals with intolerant people. What I can't accept is what it has done to me. Once race didn't matter, but now I can't ignore it. Are you Chinese, are you Indian, are you white? I notice that now before I notice your face. Before you open your mouth to say "hello." I hate that I notice, but I do. Wait, it gets worse. Are you black? Or do you want to be called "African American?" I'm too scared to even ask the question. I've been told that you think I'm racist. I've been told that you will misinterpret anything I say as having racist undertones. Even though I know that isn't true when I meet you as an individual, I'm being forced to think of you as a group with an agenda, ready to attack and I don't know how I would defend my words if you weren't willing to believe my intentions. There's tension in the atmosphere. I don't know how it got there but my voice is being stifled. I don't feel comfortable speaking in my Afro-American History class. During the first week all I could think about was why no one in the class was making an issue of the fact that the professor is white and English. But I'm not allowed to ask that, right? I haven't discussed race with my black friends at Penn. I f eel uncomfortable asking a friend with obvious mixed ancestry what his background is. I'm just curious. Is that a crime? On this campus it seems to be. I shared these emotions with my mom recently. She was unhappy. Neither of us understands how it happened. I know it did happen, and I don't like it. Can anything be done? I don't know. Admitting this is certainly a first step. Maybe now we can talk to each other. I can ask you if you like who you are and you can tell me what you think about every day. Or maybe we can pretend to be children again, using the newspaper to cover the kitchen table as we fingerpaint together and tell dumb jokes. The sound the dead water buffalo made was "FONK" and it never mattered why. If you notice me tomorrow or next week I might have a strange look in my eye, because I'm trying to see past your skin and into your heart. So I can say "hello" to a person again and not to a race.