Following the recent wave of civil rights protests sparked by the Minneapolis police killing of George Floyd, many predominately white institutions have sought to brush up their diversity packages.
LSU has been no exception. In an official statement released in June, the administration stated its goal to not only foster a more welcoming and supportive environment for minority students on campus but pave the way for an anti-racist community as a whole.
In order to do so, however, I believe the University must fundamentally disturb its own establishments and administrative practices to remotely begin to be deemed anti-racist — and it has some serious catching up to do.
You may already be aware of the administration’s latest efforts to erase racists’ names from campus. While this is a step in the right direction, it’s not nearly enough.
The administration is so focused on the performative aspect of the gesture that they forget the buildings themselves are unpopular, unsafe and outdated; the Library faces chronic flooding issues, Lockett Hall is the campus cockroach hot-spot and the Pentagon complex predates Martin Luther King Jr. himself. Black students will not be entering improved buildings, only re-branded ones.
The experiences of minority students have little to do with superficial efforts like these and everything to do with their encounters with white students, faculty members and staff throughout their time on campus. The University remains segregated not by design, but through the enduring moments and interactions that serve to subdivide white and non-white students.
Where Black students act with basic respect and kindness, they are often met with alienating and racist remarks.
I spent my freshman year in Kirby Smith Hall, which tends to house more Black students than any other residential halls. One day a white friend of mine recalled that his aunt, an LSU alum, had called the building “Vertical Africa,” a joke among white students back in the day. When I later noticed my white classmates referring to the hall as “Kirbesha,” I finally realized: the joke’s still funny to them.
A consistent thread among many Black students’ stories is that of non-Black peers seemingly going out of their way to pick at racial differences. Pointing out the “type of girls” their Black roommate was bringing home. Calling Black people’s hair “dry” and criticizing product use. Remarking on how much “hipper” Black people are than their non-Black counterparts.
For minority students, these micro-aggressions are seemingly unavoidable. We’re expected to tolerate a certain level of racism before raising concerns, as many of these encounters are spurred on by superiors and speaking out could be considered an act of insubordination.
During my short tenure in the Tiger Band, my hair was groped like an animal at a petting zoo; I was often mistaken for another Black man and, more than once, called racist slurs. I told them off — but they outranked and outnumbered me.
As a self-proclaimed anti-racist university, LSU is responsible for discouraging this kind of racist behavior. Minority students need to know they can report these incidents without having to worry whether the University will take action. Though the University claims to promote inclusivity, instances of real discrimination are often reduced to petty interpersonal squabbles.
Recently the class of ’24 banded together to bring a racist incident to the University’s attention. After a video of an incoming freshman spouting racial slurs went viral, the administration denied his admission into the University.
This is the kind of action that must be taken moving forward in order to address racism on campus. Administration must reckon with the fact that creating a more diverse and inclusive campus means actively estranging racists already on campus, the communities they aggregate in and the institutions they fund.
Kevin Doucette is a 20-year-old political science junior from New Orleans, Louisiana.
