27 What’s the Difference?

Growing up in 1990s Oregon was a very strange place in time. Country music was huge, and Garth Brooks was an icon in my rural hometown of McMinnville. At the same time, grunge culture was developing in Seattle, and no one was bigger than Nirvana. At every lunch period, it was commonplace to hear amateur guitarists working out “Smells Like Teen Spirit” while struggling to see the strings through their long, flowing hair. There was also the growth of hip-hop and in my area we definitely felt the music influences coming from the Bay Area and Southern California. This meant that I could be sitting on a street corner hearing competing sound systems blaring songs like “Friends in Low Places” and “Ain’t Nothin’ but a G Thang,” all while another classmate sat on the curb playing Pearl Jam’s “Jeremy.” McMinnville certainly was a unique place to be in the early- to mid-90s.

Now, many of you Wildcats probably either had to Wikipedia my musical references or you know them through the “classic” radio stations. You might also be asking why I included this personal story about music to start this narrative. But I see my experiences growing up with a diversity of music genres interacting with and influencing one another as emblematic of how a lot of college campuses — especially during the 1980s and 1990s — organized campus diversity initiatives: to diversify college campuses, higher education sought to bring students from different backgrounds together into one space to interact with and listen to one another; the goal was for everyone to learn from the different cultural orientations that each student brought to the table and to promote racial harmony (Warikoo). But racial tolerance does not happen because of the presence of cultural difference by itself. Diversity alone is not sufficient to produce anti-racism because it places too much faith in the power of diversity by itself — much like the diversity of musical genres I encountered in McMinnville did not inherently promote understanding of those complex genres simply by listening to them. Frequently, this approach to diversity initiatives risks devolving into a “food and fiestas” or “heroes and holidays” approach to issues of racism, sexism, homophobia, and ableism (Lee et al.). This is how my old high school in McMinnville “celebrated” diversity: instead of tackling the deeply rooted racism on campus, we hosted a school-wide Cinco de Mayo celebration that avoided addressing the underlying structural issues.

But then what was needed in order to more effectively diversify schools? As I moved out of McMinnville to the San Francisco Bay Area for college, the term “inclusion” entered the conversation in the form of “Diversity & Inclusion” efforts on campus.  Then, when I got a job teaching at UA, this idea of diversity and inclusion became very tangible to me for the first time, since UA became an Hispanic Serving Institution (HSI). Part of this work involved increasing inclusivity and resources specifically for Latino/a/x students while acknowledging that UA has historically been a place of racial exclusivity. Becoming an HSI requires changing the institutional culture to meet the unique needs of Latino/a/x student populations such as having cultural themed centers like the Adalberto & Ana Guerrero Student Center, which provides culturally affirming social and academic programming.

Diversity and inclusion efforts provide important resources and support for a variety of students on college campuses. However, one of the limitations of such efforts is that they frequently do not account for equity. Taking an “equity” approach to address the structured racial inequities that exist in society due to structural oppression requires that we treat people differently, since everyone has different needs. I know this sounds counterintuitive, but bear with me. My dad, as a former teacher, used to push back against those who would repeat the mantra, “I treat all students the same.” He would respond, “Nonsense! If one of your students went into cardiac arrest, would you stop giving them CPR because the other students did not receive the same treatment?” Students need different support and resources based on their particular needs — this is an equity approach.

The need for taking an equity approach on college campuses became very clear to me in 2009 when I saw the formation of the Arizona Assurance Scholars program. Dr. Shelton, the then-UA president, went on a multi-year public campaign arguing that socioeconomic status should not determine who could be a Wildcat. Through aggressive fundraising, the UA secured the funds necessary to create Arizona Assurance, which paid the room, board, and tuition for four years to any admitted student whose family made less than $44,500 annually. To support social equity at UA, this program required the University to dedicate more resources to low-income students. But this wasn’t done to be patronizing — it was simply the right thing to do because low-income students have a disproportionate amount of financial need. Equity-based approaches seek to provide people with what they need rather than providing everyone the same thing (e.g., not providing CPR to everyone, but only to those who needed it). However, I later learned about a limitation in pursuing equity: this approach is only effective if one promotes justice in the process.

Justice requires institutional accountability. For example, the UA has made important strides in formalizing a land acknowledgement.^[1] This statement recognizes that we exist at this educational institution because of the forceable theft of Indigenous lands. Therefore, a justice-oriented perspective asks, “What systems should be in place so that Native students have equitable access to and success at a UA education? What is owed to these communities given the UA’s nearly $3 billion annual budget and a $1 billion endowment built on their stolen lands?” The UA made an important first step in making education tuition-free for anyone who is a registered member of the 22 federally recognized Arizona tribes.^[2] The next step requires asking what else is necessary to further provide structural opportunity for Native students. More is still needed to advance justice.

While this narrative tracks my own learning regarding diversity, inclusion, equity, and justice, please do not misunderstand that diversity=bad and justice=good. Rather, these are complementary approaches that help make each other more effective when employed together. It is for this reason that universities are now incorporating all four approaches: Justice, Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion – or, J.E.D.I. Returning to the varieties of music I discussed at the beginning of this narrative, consider this chapter my J.E.D.I. mixtape^[3] where one track may make your head bob more than others, but they function as a collective album. Therefore, and sorry for mixing metaphors, our collective challenge is to develop from Padawan^[4] to J.E.D.I. Wildcats!

Works Cited

About the author

name: Nolan L. Cabrera

Nolan Cabrera is a professor of education and the faculty coordinator for the General Education Diversity & Equity attribute courses. When he is not writing about race on campus, he is fishing, telling Dad jokes, and convincing himself that this will actually be the year the Buffalo Bills win the Superbowl (he’s been repeating this mantra since 1990).