“Zach Wood may look black but as far as I’m concerned, he’s white.” This was one of many disparaging comments posted on Yik Yak when I invited Charles Murray to speak at Williams College last spring.
Sadly, it wasn’t the first time a peer had questioned my blackness on social media. As president of Uncomfortable Learning, a student group that brings controversial speakers to campus to broaden dialogue around pressing issues of our time, I’ve rankled many black student activists. Last October, I invited Suzanne Venker to speak on antifeminism but had to rescind the invitation shortly after due to extreme backlash from student activists, a few of whom made implicit threats of physical violence. In February, I invited John Derbyshire to speak at Williams, but the event was canceled by administrative decree.
The morning after the second presidential debate, I was reminded of how some of my peers reacted to my work with Uncomfortable Learning when a student wrote on social media, “I bet Zach would invite Trump to speak at Williams too. That’s why he needs Jesus.”
Some black student activists quietly resent me, others revile me with pleasure. But what bothers me most is knowing that many of the same students who elected me communications director of the Black Student Union my freshman year now view me as “colonized,” “self-hating,” and “anti-black,” as an impediment to the fulfillment of Dr. Martin Luther King’s dream.
To them, I am not authentically black because I believe that speakers with views held by some to be wildly racist should be invited to campus.
I’ve criticized black student activists for exaggerating the scope of racism on campus. I’ve cautioned them against presuming bigoted intent without hearing out their peers and faculty who’ve offended them. I’ve argued that intellectual value can in fact be gained from reading the work of thinkers who make controversial claims about the relationship between race and IQ.
I’ve turned to them after the death of Freddie Gray and said that racial patriotism and black solidarity should not make us uncritical of each other. We need to engage opposing views of race, to probe our reliance on narratives of oppression and step outside of the echo chamber that comforts us.
To most of the black student activists I know, this approach to controversy is infuriating because it’s incongruous with firmly held expectations of how African Americans should think and act based on the color of their skin. When I challenged this way of thinking, a black student commented on Facebook, “We need the oil and the switch to deal with him.”
The recent treatment of nonconformists like Condoleezza Rice, Jason Riley, and Ayaan Hirsi Ali highlights how this strict brand of conformity represses the liberty essential to living in a free and open society.
To black student activists who have derisively called me “Ben Carson,” my defense of free speech is antithetical to being a black American. I find this problematic.
Beyond stifling debate on campus, being made to feel that I have a certain racial obligation to serve my people and represent them in a particular fashion undermines the agency and individuality we all value. It rejects the kind of critical thinking that draws insight and wisdom from unfamiliar and unsettling perspectives. The message these ad hominem attacks send to black students like myself is that racial pride and black authenticity hinge on uncritically supporting safe spaces, trigger warnings, and Black Lives Matter protests. I’ve been told, “If you can’t see what’s wrong with you for inviting a white supremacist to campus, then you’ll keep empowering white men who think that black people are stupid, ugly, and low. That has no place here and neither do you.”
Statements like that needlessly alienate people who might otherwise be allies. Diversity and inclusion on campus can’t be achieved if student activists don’t recognize that unpleasant ideas and attitudes will be—and should be—a part of any college community. You can’t erase them. The only way to achieve meaningful change is to engage them.
College is all about broadening intellectual horizons, exploring new academic frontiers, and developing voices that accent students’ varied identities and perceptions of the world. None of this is possible when students are vilified and ostracized for trying to transcend the confines imposed on them by the color of their skin. We should encourage students to see college as the time and place to engage the complexity, ambiguity, and diversity of opinion that surround the issues we care about most.
Zachary R. Wood is a political science major and president of Uncomfortable Learning at Williams College.
