Last Friday, the editorial board put together a piece about MLK week, the gist of which was that UNC should do more to make the week’s activities feel relevant to the entire student body. Our premise was that if King’s legacy is one of integration and equality, a celebration in his honor should address the vestiges of segregation on this campus, of which there are many.
The mere suggestion that segregation still exists at UNC elicited cries of outrage, accusations of libel and calls for an apology. My initial reaction was confusion.
Does anyone really think we have a perfectly integrated campus here at UNC, or at any university for that matter?
And if, like me, they think we still have a long way to go, why is talking about it such a taboo? Who gains from pretending that our university is more inclusive than it actually is?
The editorial wasn’t perfect. It certainly could have been clearer. But its goal was to start a discussion about what can be done to improve diversity, not to disparage those on the MLK planning committee, who have clearly worked hard to celebrate it.
If the editorial came across as an affront, it’s my fault. If it read like, as one online commenter put it, “passive-aggressive, short-sighted, ignorant BS,” then the failure was mine, as an editor. But I can assure you the intentions were sterling.
My next reaction to the outcry was, for lack of a better word, sadness. There seemed to be a much larger issue at hand here.
If the dialogue on this campus is so broken that an earnest call — albeit imperfectly executed — for better participation is almost automatically interpreted as an attack, where are we to even begin the conversation?
This polarization is not unique to questions of race. Nor, of course, is it unique to Chapel Hill. One need not look any further than the Republican primary in South Carolina to see that pandering to Americans’ basest, most bigoted impulses is often the best guarantee of a politician’s success.