MIAMI UNIVERSITY the Graduate School Certificate for Approving the Dissertation We Hereby Approve the Dissertation of Demere G

MIAMI UNIVERSITY The Graduate School

Certificate for Approving the Dissertation

We hereby approve the Dissertation

Demere G. Woolway

Candidate for the Degree:

Doctor of Philosophy

______Director Kathleen M. Goodman

______Reader Elisa Abes

______Reader Kathleen Knight-Abowitz

______Reader Stephen Quaye

______Graduate School Representative Katherine Kuvalanka

ABSTRACT

CAMPUS PERSPECTIVES ON RACE, THEME PARTIES, AND HATE INCIDENTS

by Demere G. Woolway

This dissertation examined the multiple perspectives generated by a single hate incident on a college campus. Hate incidents include a range of hate crimes, hate speech, and bias incidents motivated by discriminatory impulses against someone’s identity. This project is framed by a literature review that examines how hate incidents are defined by researchers who focus on perpetrators, legal frameworks, victims’ rights, colleges, and communities. Racially-inflected theme parties are one type of hate incident. In these racially-inflected theme parties, college students (often in fraternities and sororities) gather to drink and wear costumes that parody a particular racial identity. Although they are relatively common, there is little literature on how to respond to such incidents. In this dissertation, I focused on a “Hood Ratchet Thursday” theme party planned at University of Michigan-Ann Arbor in 2013. Many members of the U-M community found this party offensive, and particularly demeaning to Black women. My constructivist approach used narrative research strategies to collect three sources of data: online comments, survey results, and interviews. From these data, I created four composite narratives to illustrate the range of perspectives on the theme party. The perspectives range from not seeing a problem with the party to seeing the party as part of an overall hostile campus climate. The polyvocal narratives demonstrate that colleges can improve their responses to theme parties by acknowledging the multiple perspectives that the parties can generate. Based on the narratives, I made recommendations for improving response to theme parties and other hate incidents. Practitioners can prepare by creating a plan, creating consistent guidelines regarding theme parties, and educating the campus at large. If a hate incident occurs, practitioners can respond by communicating clearly, welcoming multiple perspectives, and engaging with intersecting identities. Colleges should also consider encouraging dialogue, whether it is online, faculty-led, or student-led. Afterwards, practitioners should assess their response to the campus incident. This dissertation adds to a limited body of research on racially-inflected theme parties and on how campuses respond to hate incidents.

CAMPUS PERSPECTIVES ON RACE, THEME PARTIES, AND HATE INCIDENTS A DISSERTATION

Submitted to the Faculty of Miami University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Department of Educational Leadership

Demere G. Woolway Miami University Oxford, OH 2014

Dissertation Director: Kathleen M. Goodman Reader: Elisa Abes Reader: Kathleen Knight-Abowitz Reader: Stephen Quaye Graduate School Representative: Katherine Kuvalanka

Table of contents

Table of contents ...... ii List of tables ...... iv Chapter 1: Introduction ...... 1 Community Impact ...... 3 Hate Incidents on College Campuses ...... 5 Racialized Theme Parties as Hate Incidents ...... 6 My Story ...... 7 Research Approach ...... 10 Research Focus ...... 11 Chapter 2: Literature Review ...... 13 Perpetrators of Hate ...... 14 Legal Approaches to Hate Incidents ...... 16 Victims’ Rights Approach to Hate Incidents...... 24 Hate’s Impact on Communities ...... 29 Supporting College Communities after Hate Incidents ...... 39 Chapter 3: Study Design ...... 42 Theoretical Perspective ...... 42 Methodology...... 43 Research Context ...... 46 Data Collection ...... 52 Data Organization ...... 57 Data Analysis ...... 58 Composing Narratives ...... 62 Member Checking and Peer Review ...... 64 Limitations ...... 66 Chapter 4: Results ...... 68 Introduction to Narratives ...... 68 Tyler: It’s racist to focus on race ...... 68 Madison: It’s only racist if it’s intentional ...... 70 Amanda: Racism isn’t ok ...... 73 Brianna: Racism is structural ...... 76 Discussion ...... 79 Assessing U-M’s Response ...... 91

Addressing Multiple Perspectives ...... 98 Chapter 5: Conclusion ...... 100 Prepare...... 100 Respond ...... 104 Assess ...... 112 Assessing this Project ...... 113 Future Research ...... 114 Closing ...... 116 Appendices ...... 118 Appendix A...... 118 Appendix B ...... 120 Appendix C ...... 121 Appendix D ...... 123 References ...... 124

iii

List of tables Table 1: Race and Ethnicity of U-M Undergraduates, Fall 2013 ...... 49 Table 2: Themes and Codes...... 60 Table 3: Names, Themes, and Identities for Composite Narratives ...... 62

Campus Perspectives on Race, Theme Parties, and Hate Incidents

Chapter 1: Introduction On October 6, 1998 in Laramie, Wyoming, Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson violently attacked Matthew Shepard and abandoned him on a rural road. He died several days later. Shepard was a 21-year-old college student at the nearby University of Wyoming, and news of his death shook the community (Noelle, 2002). Laramie residents were particularly concerned because of allegations that McKinney and Henderson had targeted Shepard because he was a gay man. This led some observers to label the act a hate crime, reflecting a common understanding of the term: a crime motivated by hate against some group (Hurst, 1999). People often use this term to signal their increased feelings of vulnerability in the wake of this type of targeted act (Jenness & Grattet, 2004). Wyoming law is completely silent on hate crimes, and at the time, the federal definition of a hate crime was a criminal act where a perpetrator targeted a victim on the basis of their race, religion, or national origin (Connolly, 2011). Since McKinney and Henderson allegedly targeted Shepard on the basis of his sexual orientation, the murder did not meet the local or federal definition of a hate crime. This meant that although the murder could be prosecuted, the perpetrators were not eligible for additional penalties. Shepard’s case soon attracted national interest and news coverage. As a young, White college student from a middle-class family, Shepard’s identity made him a sympathetic victim in the eyes of White, heterosexual Americans (Dunn, 2010). The national interest in this story was accompanied by a variety of explanatory narratives. Immediately after the assault, reporters delivered news stories that alternately blamed the rural town of Laramie, McKinney’s and Henderson’s backgrounds, or Shepard himself for the death (Dunn, 2010). Groups including the Westboro Baptist Church asserted that Shepard, as a gay man, deserved to die (Noelle, 2002). Staff at the University of Wyoming worked to support students, connect with Shepard’s family, organize memorials, and educate about the destructiveness of hate (Hurst, 1999). Matthew Shepard’s parents, Judy and Dennis Shepard, spoke publicly about their love for their son and their desire to understand what had led to his death (Shepard, 2009). Even after McKinney and Henderson were found guilty of Shepard’s murder and sentenced to life in prison, stories about Shepard’s death have continued to proliferate. The variety of stories told about the incident is what interests me; this single act has prompted a divergent group of narratives about the meaning of Shepard’s murder. Dunn (2010) documents the variety of personal testimonials, news stories in LGBT publications, and public

memorials that stemmed from Shepard’s death. Noelle’s (2002) interviews suggest that gay and lesbian people with no personal connection to Shepard felt personally impacted and scared after his death. The production of multiple narratives is particularly evident in artistic projects that attempt to make meaning of Shepard’s death. Musicians including Cyndi Lauper, Elton John, Amy Ray, Janis Ian, and Melissa Etheridge recorded songs reflecting on Shepard’s murder. All of these artists have connections to the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community; although they did not know Shepard, this shared identity leads them to a feeling of loss. In another attempt to find the meaning in this event, Kaufman (2001) and the Tectonic Theater Project created The Laramie Project, a play based on hundreds of interviews with Laramie residents. The play explores how the murder impacted different communities, including lesbian and gay people, law enforcement, university faculty and staff, and long-time Laramie residents. Each of the play’s characters struggle with understanding what the murder means for them personally, for their communities, and for Laramie as a whole. More than ten years later, people continue to tell stories and attempt to make meaning of this event. The very title of Judy Shepard’s 2009 book, The Meaning of Matthew, suggests the ways she has searched for meaning from her son’s death. The book chronicles her journey to becoming an LGBT rights activist. A decade after their first play, Kaufman (2012) and his theater company returned to Laramie for more interviews and created The Laramie Project: Ten Years Later. This sequel reexamines the ways people in Laramie make meaning out of this event. The play’s website explains that it “explore[s] how people construct stories and tell history, both on an individual level and on a societal level. The epilogue aims to examine how our own personal narratives and the narratives of our communities get constructed” (Tectonic Theater Project, 2010). This underscores the multiple stories that came from the event. Fourteen years after Shepard’s death, Newman (2012) published October Mourning: A Song for Matthew Shepard. This book of poetry personifies and gives voices to the fence Shepard where was tied, the deer wandering nearby, and the stars overhead. These explorations of Shepard’s death emphasize the importance of multiple voices and multiple stories, and illustrate how the incident impacted people far beyond the community where it took place. Another perspective, not examined in other works, appears in Jimenez’s (2013) The Book of Matt: Hidden Truths about the Murder of Matthew Shepard. Jimenez asserts that Shepard and McKinney were both dealing crystal methamphetamine. Jimenez argues that Shepard’s murder was a result of a robbery gone wrong, not anti-gay hate. Jimenez tells a cautionary tale about letting the desire for a concise story obscure a deeper investigation into criminal motives. This has in turn inspired other

stories to discredit Jimenez’s interpretations (Abad-Santos, 2013; Kruzel, 2013). Again, this shows the wide variety in responses that are possible from this event. One particular response to Shepard’s death has had a large impact on the U.S.’s understanding of hate incidents. Advocates, including Judy Shepard, repeatedly lobbied Congress for increased penalties designed to prevent hate crimes. For these advocates, Matthew Shepard’s death signified a need for federal protection from hate-motivated violence. On October 22, 2009, the U.S. Congress passed the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act (2010). The act was named for Shepard and for James Byrd, Jr., a Black man who was dragged to his death by White supremacists in Jasper, Texas (Ainslie & Brabeck, 2003). Because of this legislation, the federal government now defines a hate crime as a criminal act that is motivated by race, color, religion, national origin, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability. These crimes now fall under federal jurisdiction if they can be shown to negatively impact interstate or foreign commerce (Connolly, 2011). This act allows the U.S. government to track these crimes and to place additional penalties on those who commit such crimes. It also makes it possible for the federal government to intervene if local authorities do not choose to investigate and prosecute a crime. Shepard’s death thus produced a narrative about the need for increased federal support for the LGBT community. Community Impact Clearly, this event had a “ripple effect” that touched people far beyond Shepard’s family (Noelle, 2002). People who had never met Matthew Shepard took the murder very seriously, as evident in news stories, artistic reactions, and legislation. This same degree of response from strangers does not occur in response to every murder. This indicates that there is a distinct impact from crimes motivated by hate. Laramie wrestled with the impact of this hate crime. The LGBT community and their allies felt a pressing need to respond to it. Skeptics believed everyone else was overreacting. Although Shepard’s death is an extreme example, the range of interpretations illustrates the ways hate incidents are often understood. The occurrence in Laramie serves as an example of how multiple stories are generated out of a single hate incident. This incident also underscores the difficulty of defining terms related to hate. The terms “hate crime,” “hate speech,” and “bias incident” can be complex, defined in different ways by different people. Not all of these are considered crimes, and definitions can shift in different jurisdictions. I have chosen to use the somewhat ambiguous term “hate incident” to encompass all of these phenomena, in order to focus on how members of a community make meaning from a

particular event. With this approach, I am examining hate incidents defined broadly as acts that target some identity category. Hate incidents, regardless of form, limit how certain members of groups are able to fully participate in society (Zingo, 1998). I am more interested in this community interpretation than legal definitions of these terms. Although Shepard’s murder did not meet the federal definition of a hate crime at the time, members of the Laramie community and other observers clearly interpreted it as such (Hurst, 1999). In this instance, and elsewhere, the legal term matters less than the way the community understands the event. At the same time, Shepard’s death demonstrates the difficulty in defining the meaning of the term community. A wide number of people were affected by his death, including the people who actually lived in Laramie and the surrounding areas. Moreover, even within that community, there were many different communities: LGBT people, University of Wyoming students, faculty, staff, and local residents unaffiliated with the university. Each group probably understood the event in a distinct way. Shepard’s murder also had an impact on LGBT groups nationwide, but not in a universal fashion; some LGBT people framed it as a single isolated event while others interpreted it within a larger framework of race-based and class-based violence (Dunn, 2010). One’s group affiliation shapes the way one understands an event. While there is tension within the concept of a community, and nearly any community is constructed of multiple communities and subcultures, it is still a useful frame to understand how these events are interpreted. I return to this contested concept of community throughout this project. As the reactions to Shepard’s death indicate, hate incidents are significant in part because they impact people beyond the victims and the perpetrators. Members of a community where a hate incident occurred must come to terms with being perceived as a place where bigotry is condoned. People who share the targeted identity of the victim may worry that they too may be victimized (Craig-Henderson & Sloan, 2003). Likewise, people who share an identity with the perpetrators may worry about being targets of retaliatory violence. Historical context matters as well; Ainslie and Brabeck (2003) describe a “fishnet” that links a hate incident with the local history of bias, discrimination, and inequity. Community members may weave a metaphorical fishnet that connects a hate incident to previous hate crimes, discriminatory practices, and bigoted acts. Similarly, a variety of scholars have asserted that hate crimes are worthy of particular punishment in order to recognize their outsized impact on the community at large (e.g., Craig-Henderson & Sloan, 2003; Levin, 1999). Iganski (2001) describes “waves of harm” that begin with the victim and circle out to affect others, just as Noelle (2002) describes a “ripple effect.” Yet the assertion that hate incidents

impact a community in this distinct, echoing way is often taken as self-evident; aside from theatrical work like The Laramie Project (Kaufman, 2001), there are few publications that examine how a real-life hate incident is understood by members of a particular community. Hate Incidents on College Campuses Although hate incidents can take place in any community, college campuses are a unique place to study them. Rayburn, Earleywine, and Davidson (2003) suggest that college campuses are important places to study hate incidents because they are prevalent on campuses. Additionally, young people are more likely than people in other age groups to be both perpetrators and victims. Federal hate crimes statistics indicate that roughly 9.3% of all reported hate crimes in 2011 were committed at schools and colleges (U.S. Department of Justice, 2012). Within 375 reported hate crimes at secondary schools and colleges, 46.7% were motivated by race, 23.7% were motivated by religion, 20.5% were motivated by sexual orientation, 8.0% were motivated by ethnicity/nationality, and 1.1% were motivated by ability status. These data are shared with the FBI by colleges and universities because of the requirements of the Clery Act and the Hate Crimes Statistics Act (U.S. Department of Justice, 2012; Ward & Mann, 2011). Not all crimes are reported to law enforcement, so this is probably an undercount (McVeigh, Welch, & Bjarnason, 2003). These numbers do not include a count of hate incidents as a larger category. The physical and political structures of college campuses shape how hate incidents affect the members of a college community. Many colleges have bias incident teams who are prepared to respond to reports of hate incidents (Zdziarski, 2006). Alden and Parker (2005) found that hate crimes were more likely to be reported in areas where more residents had advanced degrees, suggesting that there may be a broader awareness on college campuses. Lyons (2006, 2008) asserts that compared to people of the same age who are not in college, college students have more exposure to legal and political definitions of hate incidents. This may make these students better prepared to respond to a hate incident in a sensitive way. College students are also in the process of exploring their own identities (Evans, Forney, Guido, Patton, & Renn, 2010). They may be joining student groups focused on these identities, and looking to others in these groups for confirmation of what that identity means. If a hate incident targeting one of their identities were to occur, the effects may be intensified, as college students look to other students to understand the event. This means that student perceptions and experiences are likely to shape what happens following a hate crime on a college campus. At the same time, colleges are composed of many different subcultures and communities, including students, staff, faculty members, alumni, and local residents. Everyone on

campus has a personal history and relationship to the college as a whole, which will likely shape the way they understand a negative incident. Colleges have both an educational mission and a mission to help build a supportive learning environment (Evans, et. al, 2010). Generally, this means that they are attuned to the campus needs with respect to hate incidents (Wessler & Moss, 2001). Institutional actions that might not be possible elsewhere do take place on college campuses. For example, in March 2013, a series of alleged hate incidents prompted Oberlin College to cancel classes for a day-long teach-in and solidarity demonstration; such a response is in keeping with Oberlin’s campus culture of community response and learning (Grasgreen, 2013a). Likewise, when flyers requesting a celebration of “White History Month” appeared on Mercer University’s campus in October 2012, many people on campus took action (Hollis, 2012). University staff issued an email, faculty discussed it in class, and students held a rally in support of those hurt by the flyer (Cluster Staff, 2012). It is hard to envision a similar response to a hate incident that took place in a business, for example. All of this indicates that college campuses are a unique place to study what happens after a hate incident. Racialized Theme Parties as Hate Incidents One particular type of incident has occurred across a variety of college campuses. Many college students host theme parties, which can take a variety of shapes. Theme parties are different from regular college parties because they encourage participants to wear costumes and drink particular drinks. While some themes are innocuous, certain theme parties parody a particular identity in a way that many find harmful. Racially-themed parties are of particular concern to practitioners. These racially-themed parties are understood as social events where guests are invited to attend wearing costumes that represent racial stereotypes (Garcia, Johnston, Garibray, Herrera, & Giraldo, 2011). To name one example, at Miami University in fall of 2010, members of Delta Upsilon fraternity hosted a pre-Thanksgiving “Indian Party,” inviting participants to “Get dressed up like your favorite Indian and pow wow around the keg” (Park, 2010). Also, at Lee University in November 2013, Theta Delta Kappa sorority hosted a rap-themed dessert party. Two White students attended wearing blackface (Clarion Staff, 2013). In February 2014, Kappa Alpha Theta sorority at Columbia University hosted an Olympic-themed party in which students dressed in costumes that were stereotypical of different countries (Zhang, 2014). In each of these incidents, racial and national identities are represented through stereotypes and costumes. Many college students see the parties as fun and a chance to drink alcohol, without considering how they may

impact others. Parties like these occur regularly on campuses across the U.S. (Garcia, et al., 2011). However, there is little research on them or how they impact campus climate overall. On a college campus, the aftermath of these racially-inflected parties generally follows a particular pattern. First, invitations are often posted online through social media. Participants may then post photos of their theme party costumes online (Tynes & Markoe, 2010). The parties usually elicit an official denouncement through email from university staff. Many students, particularly students who share the targeted identity, will respond with disgust and outrage to the incidents. Other students may not see the party as a problem and will instead be upset with the college if the party is cancelled. While colleges will sometimes attempt to turn the incident into a learning experience through public forums or teach-ins, there is little guidance on how to do so. While these theme parties are clearly less severe than the hate-motivated physical assault of a person, both can have a direct impact on how people perceive their campus climate and college experiences (Garcia, et al., 2011). Because the material effects of a theme party are ambiguous, the range of responses to that incident is likely to be broad. Theme parties offer a unique opportunity to examine how campuses experience hate and bias. My Story My experiences as a student and as a practitioner in student affairs have sensitized me to the dynamics surrounding hate incidents on college campuses. Therefore, it seems appropriate to share my own story. This story inflects the ways I understand hate incidents and explains my interest in this topic. My experience in higher education comes from four different institutions. I attended the University of Virginia (UVa) for my master’s and undergraduate degrees, which gives me a student perspective on hate incidents. I have also worked at Washington State University (WSU) and Miami University. I currently work at Johns Hopkins University (JHU). At WSU, Miami, and JHU, my paid positions have focused on the needs of LGBT students. During my time at all four of these institutions, students labeled certain events on campus as hate crimes. While I was a graduate student at UVa in 2005, a series of incidents occurred in which unknown antagonists yelled racial slurs at Black students on campus. In one of these incidents, perpetrators damaged the car of a Black student. Some students dismissed these events, suggesting that the slurs did not matter or that Black students had fabricated the story to get attention. More supportive students staged a rally on campus and many students (myself included) wore black in a show of solidarity. As a queer person, I had my own experiences of being marginalized, and it felt important for me to support other marginalized students. My sense of urgency was compounded by

the knowledge that similar slurs and racially-based violence had taken place periodically over the past five years. Moreover, UVa has a troubling racial history, including the fact that some of the older buildings on campus were built by slaves and the fact that the university did not become racially desegregated until 1965. As a White person in this context, trying to make sense of my own privilege, I felt it was imperative for White people to stand against the type of hate demonstrated in these incidents. In response to these events, UVa’s President John Casteen made a speech denouncing the slurs, and UVa hired its first chief officer for diversity and equity. Along with other members of the student body, I felt that these acts were largely superficial. We called for more change. Yet as the semester continued, the energy behind the student protests began to wane. By the time I left UVa in 2007, I did not see any noticeable change. Now that I am in the position of working for a university, I understand that the sense of urgency we felt as students was not shared by staff. As a professional, I can see that UVa staff was merely following established protocol. I may not agree with the choices that were made, but I can better understand the rationale behind them. My memory of this experience at UVa is tempered by an experience I had at WSU. In 2008, when I was working at WSU, two transgender students reported being physically assaulted on campus. LGBT students immediately labeled these assaults as hate crimes. They held meetings, wore buttons, and crafted strategy. To many LGBT students, these assaults symbolized their daily feelings of alienation from campus life. Soon after, students staged a rally on campus and received national media attention. Meanwhile, many straight, cisgender students were indifferent. University staff did not publically demonstrate that they were following the story. Although the campus crisis response team met several times to share information and learn more about the events, this was never communicated to students. Students did not witness any institutional response and interpreted this as apathy towards their concerns. As a new student affairs professional, I was at a loss about how to respond. I sat in the LGBT center, listening to students complain that “The administration doesn’t care about us,” and “No one is listening to us!” This left me confused about how to respond; as a university employee, I considered myself an administrator, and I was certainly listening to them. Moreover, I felt a sense of loyalty to WSU; this university was my employer and I was working to make campus more inclusive. Their dismissal of WSU felt like a dismissal of me and my work. On the other hand, I agreed with a lot of their points; WSU was not as accepting of LGBT people as it should be. There had not been a public response from the university that matched the urgency the students felt. I felt torn between my support for the students and my support for WSU.

This was complicated by my interactions with colleagues, some of whom seemed unconcerned about the fear and alienation that students were expressing. In several meetings, colleagues said to me that the crisis would “just blow over.” They suggested that in time, students would forget about the incident and move on. I worried that this attitude meant that my colleagues were unwilling to provide the type of support that the students needed. Moreover, it reflected a reluctance to engage with some of the difficult issues related to including transgender students on campus. To my dismay, the incident did eventually fade from people’s awareness. A small group of students continued to hold meetings, but each one was more sparsely attended than the last. The meetings had no clear goals, although they reflected a general dissatisfaction with the institution that went far beyond this particular incident. The crime never reached a clear resolution, as no arrests were made. The majority of students just gradually moved on, as my colleagues had predicted. Nothing changed as a result of this incident and it left many LGBT students feeling uneasy. Long after the assaults, certain students continued to see the lack of response as an example of WSU failing them. I witnessed similar incidents when I worked at Miami University including a so-called “Indian Party” planned by a predominantly White fraternity. This racially-themed party prompted dialogues and debates, but little lasting action. I heard about racialized theme parties as I began my current job at Johns Hopkins University. Both campuses have witnessed events that students have labeled as hate incidents. I am still uncertain about the appropriate way to respond to critical incidents like these. I struggle with knowing the right way to respond. Students are likely to urge action, while colleagues are likely to advise patience. Others within the institution want to avoid negative publicity. In these cases, I am torn between my loyalty to the students and my respect for the university. Throughout these experiences, I have felt that the groups are talking at cross- purposes. I have felt that information was not being communicated adequately. Different groups created different interpretations of the meaning of each event and saw it with varying degrees of seriousness. I have felt that each situation involved frustration from various groups without much work to understand each other’s perspectives. These experiences have led me to my research about the differential ways that hate incidents are understood. With this dissertation, I attend to the specifics of how people understand hate incidents and highlight the places where these understandings diverge. My experience in higher education suggests that everyone has their own stories about what a hate incident means. With this dissertation, I am working to bridge these stories so colleges can respond in ways that respect the

variety of perspectives. My personal and professional experiences have sensitized me to the differing ways hate incidents are understood. Throughout the research process, I have continued reflecting on my interpretations, and attending to the ways my own experiences influence the research I do (Tierney & Rhoads, 1993). These experiences inform my methodology and my overall approach to the project. They also lead to my research questions. Research Approach My research examines the impact of a hate incident and its aftermath in a college context. I have two research questions: How do people on a college campus make meaning of a hate incident? How do the identities of people on a college campus influence the way they understand a hate incident? In order to answer these questions, I have focused on the stories that members of a college community tell about a specific hate incident. Addressing these two questions can allow higher education practitioners to react thoughtfully to hate incidents on college campuses. Often, staff on college campuses respond to negative events but do not go on to evaluate the effectiveness and the effects of that response (de Haven, 2009). A university’s public information office may issue a statement after a hate incident on campus, but will not assess how that statement was received or investigate if it achieved the intended goal. Learning more about the multiple perspectives that can be produced from a hate incident can prepare practitioners to respond in ways that connect with a variety of people. Public statements, community forums, disciplinary sanctions, and other institutional responses can be planned with more knowledge about the multiple needs that must be met. With more information about the impact of hate incidents, practitioners can meaningfully connect with the diverse communities that make up a college campus. In order to better understand the multiple stories generated from a hate incident, I have taken a constructivist, narrative approach (Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). The constructivist approach allows me to examine how people experience a hate incident and what meanings they place on it. Narrative research focuses on the context, structure, and content of storytelling (Riessman, 1993). Drawing on this methodology has allowed me to comprehend the stories that are told about hate incidents and helped me understand how they impact the community (Ainslie & Brabeck, 2003). My approach is also influenced by postmodern and poststructural thinkers, who assert that language itself is a filter that limits and shapes what can be said (Lenzo, 1995). Poststructuralists also examine the material effects of words on other people (Foucault, 1994; Olssen, 2003). All of this helps me take a critical, reflective approach to language and the narratives

produced by it. This methodology is well suited to help examine an incident with ambiguous intentions and impacts. Research Focus As the topic for my research, I have chosen a theme party that was planned at the University of Michigan (U-M) in October 2013. In this incident, the Sigma chapter of Theta Xi fraternity at U- M posted an event on Facebook, titled “World Star Hip Hop Presents: Hood Ratchet Thursday” (Shenouda, 2013). It contained racially- and sexually-charged language. In response, three students filed formal complaints to the Greek Activities Review Panel, stating that the fraternity had violated the standards of conduct for student organizations. Members of U-M’s Bias Response Team met with members of the fraternity, and the event was ultimately cancelled (Wassman, 2013). Members of the fraternity issued public apologies (Shahin & Amron, 2013; Wu, 2013). U-M also held a formal hearing against the party’s organizers (Adamczyk, 2013a). The incident sparked wide-ranging discussions about race, gender, and class on campus (Adamczyk, 2013a; Adamczyk, 2013b; Shahin & Amron, 2013; Wassman, 2013). It also encouraged a larger conversation on Twitter, using the hashtag #BBUM, meaning “being Black at the University of Michigan” (Woodhouse, 2013). This event and the responses to it provided a rich source of information about how campuses react to hate incidents. To fully grasp the different perspectives on this hate incident, I have collected three sources of data: online comments, survey results, and interviews. From these data, I created four composite narratives to illustrate the range of perspectives on the Theta Xi theme party. The perspectives presented within these narratives range from not seeing a problem with the party to seeing the party as part of an overall hostile campus climate. The polyvocal narratives demonstrate that colleges can improve their responses to theme parties by acknowledging the multiple perspectives that the parties can generate. Through my research, I have been able to listen to a wide range of stories that were told about this incident and what it means for U-M at large. These stories show the wide range of perspectives that were possible on a single incident. Through examining these stories, analyzing the themes, looking for similarities and differences, and presenting the findings, I have gained a deeper understanding of the variety of stories that can be told about a hate incident. By sharing these stories and assessing U-M’s response to the incident, I hope to help student affairs practitioners be prepared for hate incidents on their campuses. These stories show the wide range of perspectives that were possible concerning a single incident. At the end of this paper, I offer some suggestions

for how practitioners can respond to the variety of perspectives contained within the community. By planning ahead, responding in a way that addresses complex identity issues, and assessing that response, colleges can use a theme party as a chance to positively shape campus climate. Ultimately, by responding to hate incidents in ways that allow for multiple perspectives, the negative incidents can become opportunities for community growth.

Chapter 2: Literature Review When a hate incident happens on a college campus, practitioners on that campus usually respond in some way (Downey & Stage, 1999). The approach to the incident is generally a reactive one; practitioners have few opportunities to follow up and assess what the event signifies to members of the campus community (de Haven, 2009). In this literature review, I examine different frameworks for understanding hate incidents, with an emphasis on how these frameworks connect to college life. First, I provide a general understanding of what is known about those who perpetrate hate incidents. Then, I provide an overview of the legal dimensions of hate crimes and hate speech. Next, I examine a victim-centered perspective on hate incidents. Then, I look at some of the literature on the impact of hate on campus, with a focus on the impact of problematic theme parties. Finally, I close with an overview of strategies used in responding to hate incidents on college campuses. All of these frameworks can help practitioners be better prepared to respond to hate on campus. They also serve as background for my research project; a broader understanding of how hate incidents are described in literature provides the foundation for examining how people on college campuses understand theme parties that parody identities. Throughout this literature review, I have chosen to use the somewhat vague term “hate incidents” to describe hate speech, hate crimes, and other incidents of bias. In doing so, I am assuming that these events are products of a social, structural hierarchy. Within this hierarchy, people who have privilege will sometimes take actions against those with less privilege, in order to retain or strengthen their position within the hierarchy (Feagin & O’Brien, 2003). Hate incidents have certain groups as their targets. Hate incidents are also linked by the unique impact that they have on their targets, who feel that their identity (not just their person or property) has been attacked (Altschiller, 1999). By creating fear or shame, hate incidents serve to deny individuals full participation in society (Zingo, 1998). Nevertheless, hate crimes, hate speech, and bias incidents are distinct. Hate speech is generally understood as any spoken, written, or symbolic act that targets someone based on identity categories (Smolla, 1990). Hate crimes involve criminal acts where victims have been selected for victimization because of their identity (Boeckmann & Turpin- Petrosino, 2002). Thus, a hate crime always involves a crime being committed, and it may or may not involve the use of speech (Bell, 2002; Martin, 1995). Hate speech usually does not break any laws and therefore is not seen as a crime (Smolla, 1990). Bias incidents include events, like racially- themed parties, that demonstrate some measure of bias but do not rise to the level of a crime (Garcia, Johnston, Garibray, Herrera, & Giraldo, 2011). While legal approaches strictly divide bias

incidents, hate speech, and hate crimes, the victims’ rights approach sees them as related. The distinctions among these terms will become clearer as I examine the different perspectives on hate incidents. Perpetrators of Hate One of the basic approaches to understanding hate comes from a focus on those who perpetrate hate incidents. Many scholars assert that hate speech and hate crimes are usually a result of people from privileged positions taking action against people they perceive as making inroads on what they previously considered their territory (Chakraborti & Garland, 2009; Iganski, 2008; Sheill, 1998). Bufkin (1999) describes hate incidents as a manifestation of hegemonic masculinity. In other words, perpetrators use violence or hurtful words to protect the structural power that they have as White, heterosexual men. By targeting people who are perceived as different (people of color, LGBT people, women, the elderly, the homeless, and other minority groups), perpetrators reaffirm the differences between themselves and the oppressed groups (Levin & McDevitt, 1993, 2002). Researchers have linked more conservative religious affiliations with an increased likelihood of endorsing hate crimes, which also suggests a desire to maintain the status quo (Herek, 1987). Perpetrators ensure that their power remains in place by placing a firm distinction between themselves and others. As people with privilege begin to see previously disadvantaged groups make moves towards social equity, they feel a loss of power. Perpetrators may feel distressed, vulnerable, and paranoid when they see the object of their hate make progress (Dunbar, 1999). Perpetrators then strike out against the groups that are making social progress. They may perpetuate hate incidents as a form of defense, in an attempt to protect what they see as theirs (McDevitt, Levin, & Bennett, 2002). People in such a position engage in “zero-sum thinking;” they see any gains by other groups as a loss to themselves (Levin & McDevitt, 2002; Norton & Sommers, 2011). Turpin-Petrosino (2002) found that young White men felt disenfranchised as they saw people of color and White women make social and economic advances, which they felt came at the expense of White men. Likewise, White men who felt disenfranchised in this way were more likely to endorse the missions of established hate groups. White perpetrators who commit racially-based crimes often report resenting people of color; they may see non-White immigrants as impeding on “American” territory and feel justified in retaliating (Craig, 2002). Perpetrators then strike out against the groups they believe are moving forward. These types of hate incidents can be labeled defensive, as perpetrators aim to protect what they see as theirs (Dunbar, 1999; McDevitt, Levin, & Bennett, 2002).

In these defensive cases, perpetrators believe that there is a group of people who has gained some advantage at the expense of the perpetrators. In the case of hate crimes, perpetrators often select a victim who represents a member of this group. For this reason, victims of hate crimes have sometimes been thought of as “interchangeable victims” (Levin & McDevitt, 2002). These victims have been selected not because of any individual characteristics, but because they represent the group that is perceived as a threat. By retaliating against this interchangeable victim, perpetrators are able to demonstrate their frustration against an entire group. They dehumanize this group by turning a person into an object of aggression (Chakraborti & Garland, 2009). These acts suggest that perpetrators want to maintain their privileged position. Cities with less gender stratification (where women and men have more equal income levels) tend to have higher rates of hate crimes against gay and lesbian people; in these instances, Alden and Parker (2005) argue that heterosexual men may be reacting against a perceived loss of power. Craig (2002) also hypothesized that decreased economic opportunities may make people more likely to commit a hate crime, as perpetrators retaliate against those they blame for taking economic opportunities away. What seems to unite many perpetrators is feeling disenfranchised by some other group (Dixon & Gadd, 2006). Ironically, they see themselves as victims, and strike back to protect what they see as theirs (Craig, 2002; Dunbar, 1999). The use of this kind of power is especially visible when people perpetrate hate incidents in groups (Bufkin, 1999; McDevitt, Levin, & Bennett, 2002). The Southern Poverty Law Center tracks over 1,000 organized hate groups across the U.S. (SPLC, 2012). When a hate group is constructed of homogenous people, it can often magnify their feelings of disenfranchisement. Organized hate groups are probably responsible for only a small number of hate crimes (Turpin-Petrosino, 2002). However, many hate groups have an active presence online and can still affect college students and their thinking (Gerstenfeld, 2003). Whether it is through an organized hate group or through loosely affiliated circles of friends, bias-motivated verbal and physical harassment is often committed out of a desire to fit in with peers (Levin & McDevitt, 2002). In a study of college students, Franklin (2000) found that hate speech was often used out of a desire to fit in or prove one’s self to peers. Bufkin (1999) argues that a group of people who share the same identities can reaffirm their power together by committing an act of hate against someone who is perceived to be different. This approach to understanding perpetrators informs certain aspects of legal approaches to hate incidents.

Legal Approaches to Hate Incidents Legal frameworks tend to dominate approaches to hate incidents. The literature in this area focuses on court cases and what should be punishable by law. Although a full review of legal theory on this topic is beyond the purview of this literature review, this section examines the history of the legal terms “hate crime” and “hate speech.” I also provide some background on the legal requirements related to hate crimes and hate speech at colleges and universities. Finally, these legal definitions have a series of critics; I provide an overview of these critiques at the end of this section. Legal approaches to hate crimes. Defining the term “hate crime” is central to the history of hate crimes in the U.S. The majority of the debate over this term in the United States has been in the legal arena, with dissention over the constitutionality of the concept, what it covers, and what it means in practice. From a legal perspective, hate crimes are distinct from other crimes because the motivation is unique; perpetrators are motivated primarily by hostility towards the group to which their victims belong (Bell, 2002). The perpetrator selects the victim mainly because of the victim’s group membership, rather than because of personal animosity, desire for profit, or any other motivation. Hate crimes are crimes first; the acts are already outlawed and have particular penalties associated with breaking those laws. Hate crime statutes focus on these criminal acts and place additional penalties on people who choose victims due to their membership in a particular group (Levin, 1999). These additional penalties are meant to deter anyone who might consider committing a hate crime (Franklin, 2002). In passing these laws, governments symbolically reject the type of hate that motivates such crime (Chakraborti & Garland, 2009). Likewise, sensitive police response to hate crimes can send the message that the government cares about the targeted group (Martin, 1995). Therefore, legal definitions matter both for purposes of practical enforcement and symbolic inclusion. History of hate crime legislation. In 1981, Washington and Oregon became the first states to pass laws that defined hate crimes and placed additional penalties on perpetrators (Shively, 2005). Other states enacted similar laws in subsequent years (Green, McFalls, & Smith, 2001). This was followed by the 1990 passage of the federal Hate Crimes Statistics Act (Altschiller, 1999). This act requires the Department of Justice to collect information about hate crimes across the United States and then publish the aggregated information (U.S. Department of Justice, 2012; Nolan, Akiyama, & Berhanu, 2002). In 1994, the Hate Crimes Sentencing Enhancement Act was passed, which provided increased penalties for people who broke federal laws while selecting a victim on the basis of certain protected identities (Altschiller, 1999).

Meanwhile, certain groups filed lawsuits arguing that hate crime laws were unconstitutional, asserting that the laws punished people for hateful thoughts and beliefs in a way that violated the First Amendment (Iganski, 2001). This question about the constitutionality of hate crime legislation was largely answered with the Supreme Court’s decision in Wisconsin v. Mitchell (1993). Todd Mitchell was a 20-year-old Black man living in Kenosha, Wisconsin. After discussing a movie in which a White man beat a Black boy, Mitchell and ten other Black friends decided to find a White person to attack. They targeted Todd Reddick, a White fourteen-year-old, beating him and leaving him unconscious on the street. Mitchell was convicted of aggravated battery, and was given an additional penalty under Wisconsin’s hate crime statute because he had selected his victim on the basis of race. Mitchell appealed this sentence, saying that the hate crime statute punished his thoughts and infringed on his freedom of expression. In a unanimous decision in 1993, the U.S. Supreme Court found that Wisconsin’s statute punished conduct, not expression. They asserted that Wisconsin’s statute was constitutional because it punished a discriminatory motive rather than simply a belief. Just as the government is legally justified in punishing people who discriminate in providing housing and employment, the government is justified in punishing people who discriminate in choosing a victim (Levin, 1999). Most state hate crimes laws follow the standard set by this case. Identity enumeration. While the Wisconsin v. Mitchell (1993) decision clarified the constitutionality of hate crime laws, it did not establish the identity categories that would be covered under these statutes. Hate crime statutes in different states enumerate different categories of people that are considered protected under the law. Depending on the particular history of the state, some states prohibit hate crimes on the basis of race, religion, sexual orientation, gender identity, nationality, ability, and/or sex (Anti-Defamation League, 2011). Groups itemized in this way are called protected classes. If a class (for example, veteran status) is not enumerated in a state law, and someone commits a crime that is motivated by bias against that class, then that crime would not be considered a hate crime in that state (Chakraborti & Garland, 2009). Although the perpetrator would be prosecuted for the original crime, the perpetrator could not be given additional penalties for targeting that unenumerated class of person. Throughout the 1990s, many civil rights organizations began lobbying to have additional identities enumerated in state and federal hate crime legislation (Jenness & Grattet, 2004; Nolan, Akiyama, & Berhanu, 2002). Supporters of this type of enumeration argue that beyond the punitive impact of the law, there is symbolic value in having the government unequivocally reject bias-

motivated crime (Chakraborti & Garland, 2009). For instance, in 1982, the National Gay and Lesbian Taskforce (NGLTF) began educating about crimes committed on the basis of sexual orientation (NGLTF, 2009). They worked to systematically tally these crimes in a time when the federal government was not counting them (Herek, 1989). This counting of hate crimes was intended to establish visibility and legitimacy for LGBT people at the governmental level. The advocacy of groups like NGLTF and the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) led state governments to add more identities to their protected classes (Jenness & Grattet, 2004). By 2011, 42 states plus Washington D.C. had enumerated race/ethnicity as protected classes, 30 states plus D.C. listed sexual orientation, and 12 states plus D.C. included gender identity in hate crime legislation (Anti- Defamation League, 2011). On the federal level, in 2009, Congress passed the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act (2010). This act is named for Matthew Shepard, who was targeted due to his sexual orientation, and James Byrd, Jr., who was targeted due to his race. This act expanded the classes enumerated in the federal definition of a hate crime. Previously, federal law added additional penalties if a victim was targeted due to actual or perceived race, color, religion, national origin, ethnicity, or gender (Jenness & Grattet, 2004). The Shepard and Byrd Act added sexual orientation, gender identity, and disability to this list of protected classes. The inclusion of gender identity in this act marks the first time that transgender people are specifically named in federal law (NCTE, 2009). It expanded the definition of what falls under federal jurisdiction to include any crime that impacts interstate or foreign commerce (Connolly, 2011). This change to federal law does not impact the definition of a hate crime at the state level, however. As this summary demonstrates, the legal definition of a hate crime has changed considerably since 1981. The implications for colleges and universities have developed as well. Hate crimes on campuses. Colleges in the U.S. are legally obligated to report hate crimes to the federal government and to members of the campus community. Colleges are bound by the Jeanne Clery Disclosure of Campus Security Policy and Campus Crime Statistics Act (1990). The Clery Act requires colleges to report statistics regarding crimes on campus, provide timely warnings about ongoing threats, and provide public information about crime prevention programs (Carr & Ward, 2006; Ward & Mann, 2011). In the case of a threat that is not likely to cause immediate harm (such as an unapprehended thief), most colleges will post warnings online and send emails to all members of the campus community. Colleges are required to annually publish statistics about crimes that take place on or near campus; these can usually be found on the websites of campus

police departments or public information offices. As part of this publication, the Clery Act requires colleges to indicate if any of the crimes on campus were hate crimes (Stotzer, 2010). These requirements are meant to allow students and their families to make informed decisions about their safety on campus (Janosik & Gregory, 2009). This type of reporting is limited to criminal acts; there is no obligation to report hate speech or other bias incidents. The majority of these legal obligations are about reporting hate crimes, rather than responding to or preventing them. This has led some to wonder if the Clery Act truly achieves its goals. The reporting process is expensive and time-consuming. Requirements change frequently, resulting in few campuses that are actually in compliance (Lipka, 2009). Many senior student affairs officers (SSAOs) are skeptical about the efficacy of the Clery Act (Janosik & Gregory, 2009). They believe that students do not read crime reports and are not aware of what the Clery Act means for them. Some SSAOs wonder if the energy spent on campus crime reports would be better spent on educating students about protecting their own safety. Moreover, a hate crime report may not be a good marker of the level of prejudice on campus. The number of hate crimes reported may be more indicative of an institution’s willingness to report, rather than an actual count of incidences (Grattet & Jenness, 2008). Stotzer (2010) found that campuses that had indicators of LGBT inclusion (e.g. a non-discrimination policy) were more likely to report higher numbers of sexual orientation-based hate crimes. She concluded that victims and law enforcement are more likely to report crimes as hate crimes when the overall climate supports LGBT people. Thus, when a campus has never reported a hate crime on the basis of sexual orientation, it may be a marker of an unsupportive campus rather than a non-violent one. While the Clery Act has good intentions, the statistical reports it requires may not be very informative about campus safety overall (Lipka, 2009). Moreover, as the reports are limited to information about criminal acts, they do not provide numbers of other bias incidents. This suggests that hate crime reports do not provide the full picture about inclusion on campus. Legal approaches to hate speech. From a legal perspective, there is a clear distinction between hate crimes and hate speech. Most interpretations of the First Amendment make a demarcation between speech and action (Haiman, 1993). Hate crimes are actions that break laws and are punishable. Hate speech, aside from a few narrow exceptions, is protected as a First Amendment right (Smolla, 1990). From this perspective, words are not seen as inherently violent or harmful, and their effects on people cannot be predicted in advance. Those who are harmed by speech must prove that they have been harmed, using methods like libel suits, while speakers have

no burden to prove the value of their words (Zingo, 1998). This definition of hate speech generally also protects symbolic actions that do not hurt a person or property (Smolla, 1990). Symbolic acts could include anything from burning the U.S. flag to dressing in blackface; these actions communicate a message. First Amendment proponents assert that governmental bodies should not be involved in legislating what ideas can be expressed. From this perspective, any hate speech laws are seen as a form of illegal censorship (Zingo, 1998). Precedent establishes that very few limits on First Amendment protections are acceptable. One narrow legal exception to First Amendment protection falls within what is called “fighting words.” The concept dates to Chaplinsky v. New Hampshire (1942), which suggested a number of situations in which speech would not be considered protected. Among them, the court ruled it could be constitutional to prohibit speech that inflicts harm or words that “tend to incite an immediate breach of the peace.” Although most of the other situations itemized in this case have been challenged, this fighting words standard has been supported (Smolla, 1990). Interpretations of this have focused on words that could immediately provoke violence or incite a riot (Gould, 2001). The words can be considered harmful if a “reasonable person” would believe that the words would incite violence. Under this definition, fighting words are usually not seen as protected speech. First Amendment proponents assert that underrepresented groups in particular have benefited from the right to express unpopular ideas. Supporters of LGBT rights have often criticized the government, even urging people to break laws in order to advance the causes of AIDS/HIV treatment and relationship recognition (Zingo, 1998). While speech can often reinforce prevailing hierarchies by reaffirming existing prejudices, speech also has the potential to challenge the status quo (Weinstein, 1999). Underrepresented communities may sacrifice more than they win if they endorse restrictions on speech (Zingo, 1998). Similarly, Haiman (1993) argues that banning speech will not actually prevent people from being hateful. For these reasons, First Amendment scholars assert that underrepresented groups should be skeptical of any restrictions on freedom of speech. Hate speech on campus. These discussions of hate speech have specific ramifications on campus. Colleges have argued that they have a special responsibility to care for the wellbeing of students. This often means that they create rules that are more stringent than the local laws (Hoekema, 1994). Heumann and Church (1997) estimate that 70% of college campuses in the United States have student conduct codes that include a reference to hate speech. These codes range from prohibiting any hate speech to prohibiting hate speech when it has been paired with

action. While private colleges have more leeway in setting hate speech codes, publically funded colleges are governed by federal and state law in this regard (Greenwalt, 1995). However, there does not appear to be a correlation between an institution’s private and public status and the likelihood of having a speech code (Gould, 2001). Colleges are also engaged in the pursuit of new knowledge, which can involve advocating for unpopular ideas. Many First Amendment advocates note that academic freedom is a long-standing value within higher education; scholars should be able to examine controversial topics even if they make some people uncomfortable. A restrictive campus hate speech code could chill speech and make it difficult to develop new knowledge (Sheill, 1998). This means a college campus must find a balance between sending a message of inclusion through prohibiting hate speech and promoting the exchange of ideas by advocating free speech (Smolla, 1990). In order to create a safe learning environment, colleges attempt to craft conduct codes that allow them to intervene in hate incidents without infringing on First Amendment rights (Heumann & Church, 1997). Unlike many other campus regulations, where colleges are free to set their own standards, hate speech codes have faced a lot of legal scrutiny (Hoekema, 1994). Speech codes very rarely withstand legal challenge (Sheill, 1998). One of the earliest cases involving hate speech at a college campus was Doe v. University of Michigan (1989). In response to a variety of racist incidents, in 1988, the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor passed a policy that prohibited people from “stigmatizing or victimizing” others on the basis of several identity categories. A graduate student (referred to as John Doe) challenged the university’s code, saying that it could limit his ability to academically examine the biological differences between people of differing races or sexes. He argued that if he asserted that women’s brains structurally limited their ability to study engineering, the university could punish him under this code. The district court found in favor of Doe, stating that the university’s code did not sufficiently protect First Amendment rights. Other court cases involving colleges and universities have also struck down speech codes for being too broad (Gould, 2001; Sheill, 1998). Legal scholars have presented several principles that can be used to write a campus hate speech code that sufficiently protects first amendment rights. Heumann and Church (1997) suggest that in order to be legally sound, campus hate speech codes need to clearly outline the limited scope of what is prohibited. Codes can (in limited fashion) regulate the time, place, and manner of speech, but cannot regulate the content of what is said (Sheill, 1998). It can take into account the fact that speech in various contexts has differential impacts (Greenwalt, 1996). For example, a residence hall

room is a different context than a theater or classroom; finding a racial slur written on one’s door is different than reading it in one’s textbook. Most speech in the classroom and in public places (unless it is direct, repeated harassment) is protected. It is possible to place more restrictions on what is said in residence halls, as listeners are understood as more vulnerable in those spaces. Speech can be curtailed if speakers are in a clear position of authority over the listeners, particularly if the listeners are a captive audience and cannot leave where the speech is happening (Haiman, 1993). It is also possible to censure harassment that is repeatedly directed at the same person and is clearly unwelcome (Greenwalt, 1996). These guidelines can be used to help college campuses craft a conduct code that balances principles of inclusion and academic freedom. Whether they follow these guidelines or not, many colleges continue to have codes that prohibit hate speech in some way. Some colleges have even passed new codes after similar codes have been found unconstitutional in court (Gould, 2001). Heumann and Church (1997) note that the majority of colleges with hate speech codes have never actually used them to censure anyone’s speech. This reflects an uncomfortable compromise. Colleges do not want to be seen as places where certain viewpoints are being limited. At the same time, a hate speech code has symbolic value as it signals a desire to make minoritized students feel welcome (Gould, 2001). While the existence of a hate speech code sends a symbolic message of inclusion, actually employing the code could send a restrictive message. Thus, many colleges compromise by including a reference to hate speech within the student conduct code without using it to censure anyone. Hate speech is one more place where colleges interact with the legal impact of hate incidents on campus. Critiquing legal approaches. While legal definitions of hate crimes were taking shape, a variety of voices critiqued these definitions with concerns about implementation methods, social justice, and judicial power. One of the most straightforward of these critiques is the notion that simply counting hate crimes does not actually describe the climate related to inclusion in a particular community (Grattet & Jenness, 2008; Stotzer, 2010). This is exacerbated by the variation in the strategies different states use in reporting and recording hate crimes (McVeigh, Welch, & Bjarnason, 2003). Features of the local community, including a history of intergroup tensions and police connection with the community, appear to influence the ways hate crime laws are interpreted and applied (Grattet & Jenness, 2008). Moreover, not all hate crimes are reported to law enforcement, meaning that it is difficult to get an accurate count of occurrences (McVeigh, Welch, & Bjarnason, 2003). In population surveys, differing methods of counting hate crimes and the degree of anonymity offered can make the reported numbers of hate crimes vary widely (Herek, 2009;

Rayburn, Earleywine, & Davidson, 2003). The reported numbers of hate crimes in a community do not tell the whole story about safety, nor do they communicate if hate crime victims are being served. Beyond a critique of counting, there are a variety of concerns related to focusing too narrowly on a single motivation of a crime. Critics caution that hate crime laws may over-simplify something that has many causes (Jacobs & Henry, 1996). Police are required to place a hate crime in a single category of discrimination, rather than including multiple identities (Bell, 2002; Maldonado, 1992). They are likely to only prosecute the most unambiguous hate crimes. This means that if a Black transgender woman is assaulted in a discriminatory fashion, the police must determine if she has been attacked because of her race, her gender identity, or her perceived sexual orientation. Or, this case might not be treated as a hate crime at all because of the difficulty in determining a single motive (Franklin, 2002; Martin, 1995). This is particularly troubling because evidence suggests that people with multiple minoritized identities tend to experience more severe violence and are also more reluctant to report victimization to the police (Dunbar, 2006; Meyer, 2010). Focusing on a single motive for hate crimes may obscure larger issues. From a social justice perspective, this emphasis on a single identity ignores the ways in which oppressions are linked (Crenshaw, 2009). Focusing only on hate crimes can also ignore larger structures of inequity (Iganski, 2008). Meyer (2010) argues that looking only at LGBT identities as the target of violence can ignore issues of racism or classism that also can prompt violence. If certain identity categories are not enumerated in hate crime laws, it can also establish a hierarchy, where certain types of crimes are seen as less important or less troubling than those that are enumerated (Chakraborti & Garland, 2009). For example, most legislation does not include homeless people as a protected class when it comes to hate crime definitions (Garland, 2012). This might suggest that a bias-motivated assault against a homeless person is less troubling than a bias- motivated assault against a person with a disability. This could potentially rank crimes in a way that does not serve the needs of the victim (Meyer, 2010). Focusing on a victim’s identity may not be an effective way to protect that person from hate crimes. Laws regarding hate crimes may not prevent hate crimes from occurring and could increase the probability of them occurring. No study has been able to demonstrate that the presence of hate crimes legislation actually reduces the likelihood of hate crimes being committed (Bronski, Pellegrini, & Amico, 2013). Instead, Jacobs and Henry (1996) caution that hate crime legislation can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. When new hate crimes laws are implemented, police look for evidence of

hate crimes and feel pressured to prosecute someone under the new law. Moreover, Jacobs and Henry (1996) assert that putting additional penalties on hate crimes may exacerbate tensions between groups. This is supported by Dixon and Gadd’s (2006) interviews with British young people who had committed crimes. They found that while most of the participants were aware of hate crime laws, they were highly suspicious of the way police enforced these laws. Participants knew they were at risk for increased punishment if they committed crimes in ways that could be interpreted as racist. But they were also suspicious of the police, and believed that police would find a way to persecute them regardless. Likewise, being punished for a bias-motivated attack can actually strengthen someone’s existing bias (Franklin, 2002; Maldonado, 1992). This suggests that putting additional penalties on hate crimes may not actually change people’s willingness to commit them. Hate crime laws may not offer any additional deterrent effect, yet they give the criminal justice system more power (Jacobs & Henry, 1996). Although hate crimes laws were designed to protect historically marginalized groups, in practice they may be used by privileged groups to continue staying in power (Bufkin, 1999). Without a larger analysis of the power imbalance existing within the prison system, imprisoning people for committing hate crimes does not create justice (Bronski, Pellegrini, & Amico, 2013). A racist and homophobic legal system may use hate crime legislation to further marginalize people of color and LGBT people (Franklin, 2002). Kohn (2001) asserts that advocating for hate crime statutes ignores the inequities in the justice system, and particularly the ways the LGBT community has been victimized by the justice system. Simply putting increased penalties on criminal behavior will not make LGBT people safer; in fact, it could lead to more inequitable punishment for LGBT people. The Sylvia Rivera Law Project (2009) asserts that hate crime legislation is disproportionately used to prosecute people of color and low- income people; rather than increasing safety, these laws are used to target vulnerable populations. In a judicial system that routinely disadvantages people of color, hate crime laws will be used to imprison people of color rather than protecting them from violence. Furthermore, hate crime legislation ultimately directs state and federal resources into judicial and prison services, rather than into education or housing. These arguments offer dissenting perspectives on the need for legislation related to hate incidents. Victims’ Rights Approach to Hate Incidents In contrast with the legal perspective, which tends to focus on codes and procedures, there is a perspective that focuses on those who have been harmed by hate. Zingo (1998) calls this group

“civil rights adherents,” suggesting a tie to the Civil Rights movement. I have chosen to use Baez’s (2002) term “victims’ rights,” as I believe it accurately characterizes a focus on the needs of individuals who have been hurt by hate. Baez (2002) describes this perspective as one that looks seriously at the material injury imparted by hate. Although this perspective is not diametrically opposed to the prevailing legal perspective, and has in fact influenced it through advocating for hate crime legislation, victims’ rights adherents often takes issue with legal structures as a whole. In this section, I look at how focusing on the rights of victims shapes a different understanding of hate incidents as a category. While legal structures place a clear distinction between hate crimes and hate speech, victims’ rights advocates assert that hate crimes and hate speech are manifestations of the same hateful motivation. Hate incidents, regardless of form, act to deny people full participation in society (Zingo, 1998). Many of these arguments suggest that hate speech, hate crimes, and bias incidents impact victims in similar ways; hate incidents send the message that one group is worth less than another (Greenwalt, 1995). The victims’ rights approach sees bias incidents, hate speech, and hate crimes as part of a continuum of hate. Continuum of hate. In a characteristic example of this continuum, the Anti-Defamation League (2003) distributes a high-school-level teaching tool called the “Pyramid of Hate.” The tip of this pyramid is built upon other acts of hate, arranged in order of decreasing seriousness. Minor acts of bias lay the groundwork for increasingly serious acts on the upper tiers. The top of the pyramid represents the most severe example of hate: genocide, the systematic extermination of a group of people. Immediately beneath “Genocide” lies the category “Violence” which is described as violence against people and against property. Violence against people can include “assaults,” “terrorism,” and “murder.” These could be called hate crimes, though the ADL does not use that term in this tool. The list of violence against people also includes “threats,” which could connect to the category of hate speech. This level suggests that threatening violence is as serious as violence itself. The lower tiers of the pyramid include “Discrimination” and “Acts of Prejudice.” These categories cover a variety of bias-motivated actions, including stereotyping and ridiculing other cultures. Thus, racially-themed parties could fall under this tier. The lowest level of the pyramid is “Prejudiced Attitudes,” which includes “not challenging belittling jokes.” The ADL’s pyramid emphasizes that each level of increasing seriousness is built on the less serious acts beneath. To condone minor acts of prejudice is to lay the groundwork for more serious violence and threats. As a whole, the ADL’s pyramid suggests that being a bystander to prejudice makes it possible for others to commit a variety of hateful acts, including bias, hate speech, hate crimes, and even genocide.

This assumption that bias incidents, hate speech, and hate crimes are part of a larger structure stems from the focus on the victim. Victims’ rights advocates believe that hate has material consequences for minoritized people. Matsuda, Lawrence, Delgado, and Crenshaw (1993) focus on the structures that keep hate in place. Rather than looking at a hate incident as a single action committed by a single person, these authors examine how racist acts are structured alongside other axes of oppression, using tools of violence, threats, discrimination, and microaggressions. From this perspective, each hate incident contributes to a larger system of oppression. Their collection of essays, Words that Wound, makes an argument for this victims’ rights approach to hate speech and other symbolic acts. As the title implies, Matsuda and colleagues assume that hate speech has physical effects on people. The book asserts that hate slurs “hit the gut of those in the target group,” arguing that hate speech has a direct impact on victims, just as violent acts do (p. 59). With this language, they assert that hate speech is not truly debate where ideas are being examined; hate speech exists to cause injury to another (Zingo, 1998). This approach sees hate in a holistic sense as it impacts people, rather than being bound by legal definitions. Hate speech and victims’ rights. This holistic approach means that victims’ rights advocates take issue with legal arguments related to free speech. One particular contention relates to the “fighting words” exception. This is a concept from Chaplinsky v. New Hampshire (1942), which suggested that it could be constitutional to prohibit speech that inflicts harm or words that “tend to incite an immediate breach of the peace.” These are words that could immediately provoke violence or incite a riot (Gould, 2001; Smolla, 1990). The words can be considered harmful if a “reasonable person” would believe that the words would incite violence. While the principle is meant to be content-neutral, in practice it disproportionately impacts minoritized communities. Victims’ rights advocates take issue with the assumption that all “reasonable people” will react in similar ways when they hear a problematic term, rather than according to their personal differences (Greenwalt, 1996; Matsuda et al., 1993). Most hate slurs target ethnic, racial, and sexual minorities rather than people in majority communities (Sheill, 1998). Thus, a person in a minority community would be hurt more by a slur than someone in a majority community. Matsuda and colleagues (1993) explain that the individual characteristics of listeners shape how they understand a racist comment; people with White privilege may interpret the comment as a joke, while people who have experienced racial oppression will probably interpret it more seriously. This indicates that fighting words statutes cannot be made content-neutral; people’s experiences will lead to them interpreting speech differently. In this case, who is the “reasonable person” who decides if speech is hurtful enough

that it could lead to a breach of the peace? Often, it is not people who have historically been hurt by that term who are deciding if the speech is harmful enough. Focusing on the victim in this circumstance demonstrates the limits of the fighting words standard. For this reason, victims’ rights advocates argue for increased restrictions on hate speech. Victims’ rights advocates suggest that regulations on hate speech could actually lead to more ideas being brought forward, contradicting the “marketplace of ideas.” In the marketplace of ideas concept, First Amendment proponents assert that the best idea will eventually win over the most people. If everyone is free to express their varied arguments, the best arguments will convince the majority of people. By contrast, Matsuda et al. (1993) argue that the best ideas do not always become the most valued. Instead, they suggest that racist ideas act to devalue other ideas within the marketplace. A racist belief, once expressed, has the ability to diminish ideas brought forward by people of color and their allies. Since racism is systematically ingrained in society, racism is such a large speaker that it cannot be balanced out with more speech (Zingo, 1998). But limitations on racist speech can make it possible for underrepresented voices to be heard. Similarly, opponents of hate speech codes often express concern that limiting hate speech will have a chilling effect on speech at large, making it harder for diverse opinions to be presented. However, Matsuda and colleagues (1993) note that hate speech can have a chilling effect on those that it victimizes. This is sometimes described as a “heckler’s veto” (Sheill, 1998). A heckler’s veto suggests that a minority opinion can easily be shut down if a large group with dominant ideas harasses the speaker who is in the minority. However, if that heckling could somehow be curtailed, the speaker would be better able to express an unpopular opinion. Thus, regulating hate speech could potentially lead to more speech (Matsuda et al., 1993). Victims of hate. Victims’ rights proponents have also researched the needs of victims of hate incidents. There is more research on victims of hate crimes, possibly because it is a more discrete category than other kinds of hate incidents. Nevertheless, victims’ rights advocates believe that hate crimes, hate speech, and other bias incidents have similar impacts; hate incidents make victims feel inferior. In response to any of these incidents, victims may change their behavior, reject their identity, and ultimately feel exiled from larger society (Matsuda et al., 1993). While the remainder of the research I examine focuses on the impact of hate crimes, victims’ rights advocates argue that the effects of hate speech and other bias incidents are similar. Victims’ rights advocates assert that hate crimes are worthy of particular punishment because they have a greater negative impact on the victim when compared to non-hate crimes (Iganski,

2008). Herek, Cogan, and Gillis (2002) note that hate crimes are distinct because people feel that their identities (rather than their property or their person) have been attacked. The researchers interviewed 450 gay, lesbian, and bisexual participants, and found that one-third of the participants had been victims of hate crimes due to their LGB identities. Compared to victims of non-hate crimes, hate crime victims had similar levels of fear around the time of the incident but reported greater levels of distress in the time afterwards. Herek, Cogan, and Gillis (2002) also found that hate crimes are also less likely to be reported to the police, particularly in instances when victims have been targeted due to sexual orientation. When compared to the members of the same sample who had been victims of non-hate crimes, victims of hate crimes were less likely to have reported the incident to the police, either out of fear of disclosing their identities or out of fear of police mistreatment. Likewise, in a review of hate crimes perpetrated in Los Angeles County, Dunbar (2006) found that LGB people were less likely to report being victimized to the police. They felt uncomfortable disclosing their identity to the police, as they feared police mistreatment if they were seen as LGB. This is important because not reporting a crime is linked to negative mental health consequences (Hein & Scharer, 2012). Compounding this issue, when compared to a non-hate crime, a hate crime has distinct negative consequences for the victim’s mental health. This is particularly true if the victim does not have family support (Hein & Scharer, 2012). Psychological consequences of hate crime victimization include post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), depression, and anxiety (Craig- Henderson & Sloan, 2003). Herek, Gillis, Cogan, and Glunt (1997) found that victims report a negative impact lasting up to five years, which is more than twice as long as the effects of a non-hate crime. The researchers hypothesize that when someone’s identity is targeted, that crime is particularly damaging to that person’s sense of self. This can account for the disparate effects of the crime. Herek, Cogan, and Gillis (2002) caution that labeling an incident a hate crime may be disempowering to a victim. Because victims’ identities are out of their control, they may feel that they cannot do anything to avoid being victimized again; this is the consequence of being seen as an “interchangeable victim” (Hein & Scharer, 2012; Levin & McDevitt, 2002). Moreover, victims of hate crimes report no longer feeling in control of their environment, which is linked to depression, anxiety, and stress (Herek, Gillis, & Cogan, 1999; Iganski, 2001). This disparate, greater harm is one rationale used to justify the additional penalties placed on perpetrators (Iganski, 2008). The intersections of multiple identities also shape how victims understand their experiences. Meyer (2008) found that White gay men found it easy to unequivocally state that they

had been victimized due to their sexual orientation. By contrast, LGBT people of color were unsure if hate crimes were directed at their race, sexual orientation, or gender expression. This uncertainty was particularly intense for people from a low-income background, making it more difficult for them to pursue criminal charges and access support services. In a subsequent study, Meyer (2010) found that race and one’s socioeconomic status influenced the way that LGBT victims experienced being targeted by hate crimes. LGBT people of color tended to downplay the impact of being targeted (in part because their community also downplayed it and discouraged reporting it to the police), while White LGBT people were usually encouraged to report the crime to the police. LGBT people of color from low-income backgrounds were the least likely to believe hate crimes against them were severe, even when the crimes were more physically violent than those experienced by other groups. Members of this group tended to compare their own experiences to other low- income people of color who had also experienced violence. The intersections of each aspect of a person’s identity shape the impact of a hate crime on a victim. Hate’s Impact on Communities These two perspectives – the legal framework and the victims’ rights approach – are concerned with how members of a larger community react to hate incidents. While these perspectives are not directly opposed to each other, they have different values. Legal approaches are primarily focused on specific definitions of hate crimes as well as ensuring the protection of First Amendment rights. Victims’ rights perspectives focus on protecting those who have been attacked on the basis of their identity. Still, both legal and victims’ rights perspectives suggest that the impact on the larger community is part of what makes hate incidents unique. This can be complicated by many different definitions of what makes up a community. It is further complicated by the subcultures contained within that community. In discussing hate incidents, Iganski (2001) describes “waves of harm” that reach far beyond the initial victim. People who share an identity with the victim may be concerned for their own safety, and other members of the local community may feel upset that such an event could happen near their home. Similarly, Noelle (2002) describes a “ripple effect” where the initial impact of a hate crime sends waves throughout a community. In keeping with this message, the Wisconsin v. Mitchell (1993) decision stated that hate crimes are worthy of particular legal attention because they “are more likely to provoke retaliatory crimes, inflict distinct emotional harms on their victims, and incite community unrest” (p. 488). Likewise, many writers argue that “what represents a distinguishing feature of hate crime is the extent to which members of the victim’s social group are also affected” (Craig-Henderson & Sloan, 2003, p. 484). This is why

hate crime laws are often seen as “message” laws; they go beyond simply responding to a crime to send a message to members of that social group that the government cares about them (Iganski, 2008). Likewise, college campuses that have codes prohibiting hate speech usually do so to send a message that they want underrepresented people to feel welcome on campus (Gould, 2001). These codes are meant to send an inclusive message regardless of how they are used in practice against perpetrators. Nevertheless, the specific dimensions of the impact of hate incidents on the community have been underexamined. In order to map out different ideas about how hate incidents impact college communities, I highlight four areas of research. First, I look at empirical research into how college students perceive hate crimes and hate speech; this will give a sense of how a college community might be expected to respond to someone who has been victimized. The second area describes how people who share a targeted identity with a victim might respond to a hate incident in their community. Third, I look at college theme parties as a specific example of hate incidents. The final area (and the least examined) has to do with understanding how an entire community (including both the targeted minority and the majority populations) makes sense of a hate incident in their community. Perceptions of hate crimes and hate speech. Some research examines college students’ perceptions of hate incidents, which has implications for how a college community would support a victim. Most of these studies ask participants to respond to a hypothetical scenario about a crime; reactions in real life might be very different. These hypothetical situations offer evidence for what college students know about hate crimes and thus how they might perceive them in real life. In general, people who have had more years of formal education are more likely to support hate crime legislation (Johnson & Byers, 2003). Lyons (2006, 2008) found that, compared to the general population, college students have more exposure to legal and political definitions of hate crimes. College students may therefore be more sensitive to hate crimes when they occur. In Craig and Waldo’s (1996) study, 113 traditionally-aged college students were asked to describe “the typical hate crime” in open-ended responses. Half of the participants accurately stated that hate crimes involve a person being targeted due to their identity. However, only 23% of these participants described a hate crime victim as “innocent,” suggesting that some of the other participants may see a hate crime victim as culpable for the crime perpetrated against them. The studies show that college students have some level of awareness about hate crimes, although it may be incomplete. Additionally, these studies show how individual differences affect the ways in which people perceive hate crimes. Prejudiced and discriminatory beliefs are linked with condoning hate crimes

and being opposed to laws that punish hate crimes (Craig, 2002; Dunbar & Molina, 2004). Participants with higher levels of racism, anti-Semitism, and homophobia were more likely to blame the victims of hate crimes for their victimization and were more likely to see the perpetrator as less culpable in the crime (Rayburn, Mendoza, & Davidson, 2003). Likewise, college students who endorse heterosexist and sexist beliefs are more likely to signal acceptance of hate crimes and blame the victim for being attacked (Cowan, Heiple, Marquez, Khatchadourian, & McNevin, 2005; Plumm, Terrance, Henderson, & Ellingson, 2010). This suggests that college communities with higher levels of prejudice may be more likely to condone a hate incident and less likely to support a victim. Other contexts may prove more supportive of victims of hate incidents. Research participants with low levels of prejudice were more sympathetic to the victim of a hate crime than to the victim of a non- hate crime (Rayburn, Mendoza, & Davidson, 2003). This suggests that victims in less prejudiced communities may receive more support than victims of non-hate crimes. Likewise, Rayburn and Davidson (2002) found that bystanders were more likely to express a desire to intervene in cases of hate crimes than in non-hate crimes. Therefore, the knowledge of hate crimes and willingness to intervene may vary based on the local context. Underscoring the importance of context, Alden and Parker (2005) measured the climate for inclusion in various communities and compared it to rates of hate crimes in that area. Although it seems counterintuitive, communities that have higher levels of support for lesbian and gay rights are more likely to have higher numbers of hate crimes. Several factors may contribute to the higher rate of reported hate crimes in these communities: people may be more likely to report incidents, gay and lesbian people may be more visible and easier to target, and heterosexual perpetrators may be reacting to a perceived loss of power. This affirms Stotzer’s (2010) finding that colleges with supportive policies for gay and lesbian people had higher reported rates of hate crimes. On the other hand, Stotzer and Hossellman (2012) found that racially-motivated hate crimes on college campuses decreased as increasing numbers of Black and Latino students enrolled. The authors suggest that campuses with a large percentage of Black and Latino students might reach a threshold where White students begin seeing students of color as part of the regular make-up of the campus, rather than believing they are invading on “White territory.” These two findings seem contradictory, although they may suggest that potential perpetrators have become more accepting of racial differences and not of sexual orientation differences. All of this research underscores the importance of understanding how a local community understands the meaning of hate incidents.

Shared identities. Given that context and personal prejudice impact how people perceive hate incidents, it makes sense that one’s identity also impacts how one perceives hate incidents. Empirical research indicates that people are more sympathetic to others who have been targeted on the basis of an identity they share. Women believe hate crimes against women are more common, while men believe hate crimes against men are more common (Craig & Waldo, 1996). Similarly, Black people believe that hate crimes against Black people are more likely than hate crimes against White people (Craig, 1999). People of color perceive a hate crime as more severe when a victim is Black than when a victim is White (Marcus-Newhall, Blake, & Baumann, 2002). When compared to White men, people of color and White women are more likely to use the term “hate crime” to label incidents targeting women, African Americans, gay people, and Jewish people (Miller, 2001). Men are also less likely than women to support hate crime legislation (Johnson & Byers, 2003). People’s identities shape the way they understand hate incidents. Identities also impact how people interpret hate speech. In one study, Jackson and Heckman (2002) asked White college students to react to a hateful email that had been sent to Black students on their campus. Jackson and Heckman found that many White students reacted to this email with a variety of emotions but generally saw no connection between themselves as White people and the White author of the email. They saw the author of the email as uniquely responsible for the act. This is in keeping with Cabrera’s (2012) interviews with White college men, many of whom saw racism as an individual issue – where one person just happens to hate another person of a different race – rather than a structural one. Just as interpretations of hate crimes vary for hate crimes, it seems that responses to hate speech will vary due to a number of personal and contextual factors. Shared identities can also shape how people make sense of symbolic speech. Although they can be disturbing for those who feel targeted, a symbolic act means that the intention is more ambiguous. One manifestation of an ambiguous symbolic speech has been hangman’s nooses on college campuses, hung where they can intimidate Black students, staff, or faculty (Smallwood, 2007). These nooses recall a period in U.S. history between the 1880s through the 1960s where White mobs, with no judicial process, regularly lynched Black people as a punishment for perceived infractions (Kim, 2010). Nooses can be particularly challenging for colleges to address, as perpetrators have rarely broken any law in hanging them. Instead, they are often seen as a symbolic form of speech. White people who hang these nooses may do so in order to send a message that Black people do not belong on campus (Kim, 2010). When nooses were hung from a tree in a

schoolyard in Jena, Louisiana in 2007, it prompted a national discussion about the meaning of this kind of speech (Hartigan, 2010). The nooses reminded Black community members of the history of inequality in the area. Others argued that the White students who hung the nooses had not intended a racial insult, and had intended a reference to Texas Rangers taking on cattle rustlers in the Wild West. The ambiguity of this kind of speech makes it very difficult to assess the meaning of symbolic hate incidents. Students may also take historical inequities into account when examining the meaning of a hate incident. Marcus-Newhall, Blake, and Baumann (2002) found that White college students perceive a crime as more serious where a White person victimizes a Black person when compared to a crime where a Black person victimizes a White person. The authors suggest that this is because White people are aware that historically, White people are more likely to target Black people than vice versa. Likewise, college students recommend more severe punishments for crimes in which victims were Black, Asian, Latino, Jewish, or gay men, when compared to crimes against White, straight men (Saucier, Brown, Mitchell, & Cawman, 2006). Therefore, communities with more awareness of hate crimes, historical inequities, and prejudice may prove to be more supportive for victims (McVeigh, Welch, & Bjarnason, 2003). Part of this differential interpretation of hate incidents relates to one’s relationship to historical context. White men do not have a history of being targeted due to their race, which means that they are probably less sensitive to the implications and the meaning of hate crimes and hate speech. By contrast, the U.S. has a history of targeting people of color, LGBT people, and other minorities due to their identities; any hate incident that targets these groups may call up memories of those past incidents (Ainslie & Brabeck, 2003; Comstock, 1991). As Matsuda and colleagues (1993) write, “For informed members of the victim communities [. . .] it is logical to link together several thousand real-life stories into one tale of caution” (p. 22). Chakraborti and Garland (2009) discuss how a history of negative incidents with the police can make members of an identity group particularly anxious when it comes to reporting hate crimes. Ainslie and Brabeck (2003) describe this connection to the past as a “fishnet” that links a single hate incident to a history of disparity. In this fishnet, a hate incident is connected to historical events in a web where no event can be disconnected from other events and disparities. For example, in September 2006, students in the Muslim Student Union at Pace University connected a defaced Koran, racial slurs written on a car, and a swastika on a bathroom door, seeing them all as parts of a larger climate problem (Redden, 2006). In the minds of people who share a targeted identity, a hate crime becomes linked to other

hate crimes and other injustices in the community. For this reason, historically marginalized people tend to perceive hate incidents more seriously (Miller, 2001). This lens of historical marginalization clearly impacts how students on campus understand hate incidents, including theme parties. Reactions to theme parties. Theme parties can be a specific type of hate incident with a distinct impact on the community. Theme parties are different from regular college parties because they encourage participants to wear costumes and drink particular drinks. The majority of research addressing college theme parties has been about their relationship with alcohol. For example, Clapp and colleagues (2008a) found that women are likely to drink more alcohol at theme parties when compared to their drinking behavior at non-themed parties; the relationship does not exist for men. Clapp and colleagues (2008b) also found that theme parties were more likely to have hard alcohol (instead of beer), more drinking games, and more people in attendance. While Clapp’s study examined the sexualized and risqué nature of certain party themes, none of the themes Clapp studied were racial in nature. This suggests there is a need for more research about these parties. Although it is possible to have an innocuous theme for a party, the parties that receive the most attention are ones where the theme is racially or sexually charged. Such collegiate theme parties are an example of a hate incident that can be linked to a larger history of disparity. They fit within the concept of hate incidents as events that target people on the basis of identity. In many of these instances, partygoers assume a different race or culture, through costumes based on stereotypes of that identity (Tynes & Markoe, 2010). Campus responses to these parties follow the same wide range of reactions evident in responses to other types of hate incidents. The parties themselves follow a fairly predictable pattern. For example, at Miami University in fall of 2010, members of Delta Upsilon fraternity posted a Facebook invitation to a pre- Thanksgiving “Indian Party,” which invited participants to “Get dressed up like your favorite Indian and pow wow around the keg” (Park, 2010). Ultimately the party was cancelled and university staff issued an all-student email, leading to a variety of responses in the student newspaper (Editorial Editors, 2010). In November 2013, Theta Delta Kappa sorority at Lee University hosted a rap- themed dessert party, where two White students wore blackface and t-shirts that read “My Nigga” (Clarion Staff, 2013). Articles about the incident noted that the students were unaware of the history of blackface in the U.S. In January 2014, members of Phi Delta Theta fraternity and Phi Sigma sorority at McDaniel College in Maryland hosted a party at an off-campus house (Hull, 2014). The theme was “CMT versus BET,” or Country Music Television versus Black Entertainment Television. At the party, women wore cutoff shorts, plaid shirts, and cowboy boots, while the men

wore baggy clothing, chains, and backward baseball hats. Both organizations were suspended and barred from hosting social events for the remainder of the year (Murray, 2014). In all three of these cases, the party theme attracted attention from the student body, university officials, and the media. At each event, issues of racial identity are expressed through costumes in ways that some people find dismissive or reductive to their heritage. Many others are happy to attend the party and are upset if the party is cancelled. Each brought a range of responses, from condemnation to a belief that it was all in good fun. Although much of the analysis of college theme parties has focused on them as alternately racist or sexist, there are almost always racial, gendered, and class elements to any controversial theme. It is important to consider all of these dimensions in understanding these parties. For example, in October 2010, Sigma Chi at Harvard created a “Conquistabros and Navajos” party, inviting participants to “dress as anything related to exploration in America, e.g. Columbus, pilgrims, conquistadors, Native Americans and cowboys/girls” (Reed, 2010). The party name is a play on the phrase “bros and hoes,” recalling the gendered theme parties examined by Freitas (2008). This casts the conquistadors, successful at exploring and dominating America, in a masculine role, and places Native Americans, dominated and subjugated, in a feminine role. In addition to historical inaccuracy, by placing them in a list alongside Pilgrims, the invitation suggests that Native Americans only exist in the past. In this way, complex issues of colonialism, racism, displacement, sexism, and poverty become transformed into what the party organizers describe as a “lighthearted and flexible” theme (Adrienne K., 2010). Viewed through this intersectional lens, these parties offer a variety of problems. Freitas (2008) asked college students what theme parties signify to them. In her study, Freitas (2008) focused on parties with gendered themes like “pimps and hoes,” “maids and millionaires,” “professors and schoolgirls,” and “CEOs and office hoes.” Her analysis places these parties within a context of gender roles and sexuality. One male participant noted that theme parties are an attempt to reinvigorate a boring, standard party. A regular party might not attract very many people, so “you have to have the party again with different clothes” (p. 130; emphasis in original). The costumes are intended to attract a crowd to the party. Men who choose these party themes report doing so in part to encourage women to wear revealing clothes. Indeed, women often work hard to find creative costumes for these themed parties, while men often show up in their everyday clothes (Clapp, et al., 2008b). The party themes are not simply about clothes; they reflect prevailing gender roles. Freitas (2008) argues that themes like “maids and millionaires” are not random but instead

reinscribe men in powerful positions with women in subservient roles. In this way, they reflect an intensified version of contemporary gender norms. Some of the women in Freitas’s (2008) study say that they find these parties empowering, as it is an opportunity to feel sexy without being judged as promiscuous; in this case, the parties make it acceptable to wear revealing clothing that would in other cases be taboo. Women also report drinking more at themed parties compared to regular parties, suggesting a lifting of taboos around drinking too much as well (Clapp, et al., 2008b). Baker (2013) hypothesizes that a similar kind of taboo thrill can come from attending a racially-themed party. For White students, dressing as an “Indian” or in blackface may seem daring and risqué. Just as gendered parties reflect and magnify contemporary gender norms, racially- themed parties reflect and magnify prevailing racial norms. Garcia and colleagues (2011) analyze racially themed parties within a larger framework of institutionalized racism. They assert that participants in a racially themed party are “doing race,” regardless of their own intentions or racial background. By supporting stereotypes and reducing racial identity to a costume, partygoers are contributing to a hierarchy that favors and neutralizes Whiteness. Garcia et al. (2011) argue that regardless of intention, these parties can be considered hate incidents. A disproportionate number of these parties happen in sororities and fraternities. Even as college campuses have become more racially diverse, many fraternities and sororities have stayed predominantly White; Cabrera (2012) notes that fraternities allow White men to retain White supremacy through selecting new members who are unlikely to change the organization. While the expressed purpose of the parties is for student enjoyment, the parties are also part of a larger system that maintains White privilege. Armstrong and Hamilton (2013) note that students value parties because they solidify social networks and relative status. Particularly for sororities and fraternities, parties are generally designed to pull people together who already know each other well. Functionally, this means that they reinforce homogeny within Greek organizations. This means that they are even less likely to tolerate a dissenting voice that disagrees with the racialized party theme (Garcia et al., 2011). The racialized parties reify existing racial norms that exist within student groups. Students who host and participate in theme parties see them primarily as fun. Tynes and Markoe (2010) gathered student reactions to images from racialized theme parties. Of the 169 White students surveyed, about 40% were not bothered by the images. Students with more colorblind racial attitudes (meaning they are less likely to believe that racial obstacles exist in the U.S.) were particularly likely to indicate their approval of the images from racialized theme parties.

Hartigan (2010) notes that many White students do not see theme parties as connected to race at all. When White students at a Lee University sorority hosted a rap-themed dessert party, they were relying on symbols of rap culture and not interpreting them as based on race (Clarion Staff, 2013). According to a statement released by university officials, the two students who came wearing blackface did so “out of ignorance regarding the historical implications of blackface, and not a willful intent to wound others” (Green, 2013, p. 1). Hartigan (2010) argues that students at such parties are accessing cultural symbols (such as rap songs) without a framework to link them to race. In part, this is because many White college students believe that racism is largely in the past (Feagin & O’Brien, 2003). They lack a framework to see their own moment as connected to racist structures or racist history. This is the inverse of Ainslie and Brabeck (2003)’s fishnet; while racially marginalized people may see a theme party as linked to a history of racial oppression, privileged people will believe the party is not attached to any other context. This begins to explain why some students see theme parties as an examination of culture and not linked to race (Hartigan, 2010). For people who perceive theme parties as offensive, they appear to have an impact that mirrors the impact of other hate incidents discussed earlier in this literature review (Garcia, et al., 2011). Tynes and Markoe (2010) showed images from a racialized theme party to students. Some students, particularly Black students, reacted with disapproval, disgust, and anger. Many people link racialized theme parties with a history of inequities (Hartigan, 2010). Students who find hate incidents problematic may respond with protests and demands that the university shut down the party. The student outcry that often occurs after a party suggests that these theme parties certainly impact the overall campus climate. Many of the invitations make use of hate speech. Nearly all engage in some level of stereotyping, by suggesting that a particular identity can be reduced to a costume. The parties open up questions about identity, stereotypes, and parody that colleges and students are often ill-prepared to answer (Garcia, et al., 2011). Have White students hosted these parties because they are outright ignorant of the history of blackface and racist structures in the U.S., or do they represent a backlash against increasing numbers of students of color on campus (Wise, 2007)? Is a party with blackface unacceptable, while hip hop music is acceptable? At what point are students celebrating cultures and at what point are they mocking their fellow students? How do the racial identities of the individual student participants shape the meanings of these parties? One’s lens with regards to marginalization will likely influence the way one answers these questions (Hartigan, 2010; Wise, 2007).

Moreover, colleges lack clear guidance in addressing these questions. While colleges have a relatively clear path after responding to a hate-motivated assault, the steps for responding to a potentially problematic theme party are much more ambiguous (Garcia, et al., 2011). In the case of a party, it is much harder to demonstrate who has been directly harmed. Although relatively common, theme parties have not attracted much discussion in higher education scholarship. This means that colleges do not have a clear path forward in crafting a response or a way to share practices with other colleges. Most of these parties happen off-campus, opening questions of jurisdiction. Information about the parties is often shared through digital means, especially Facebook, opening questions of freedom of speech and privacy. Access to social media, mobile phone cameras, and other forms of technology means that information about these parties is distributed very rapidly (Hartigan, 2010; Wise, 2007). This means that colleges are often called upon to respond just as quickly. Yet current college responses do not seem to have reduced the likelihood of problematic theme parties (Garcia, et al., 2011). More research about theme parties, particularly racial themes, will benefit practitioners in higher education. Stories told about hate. Despite the speculation about how hate impacts a community, I have only been able to locate one recent example of a deep analysis of the community impact of a real-life hate incident. In two articles, Ainslie and Brabeck examine how the death of James Byrd, Jr. affected the town of Jasper, Texas (Ainslie & Brabeck, 2003; Brabeck & Ainslie, 2008). In 1998, three White men killed James Byrd, who was Black, in a brutal fashion. Two of the men were known White supremacists, and the event was quickly labeled a hate crime. Within 24 hours, the police arrested the three men, and within two days, Jasper law enforcement held their first press conference. Ainslie and Brabeck identified this press conference as the origin of the first story about Byrd’s murder. Other stories followed. The authors examined a variety of narratives that emerged within the Jasper community as a way of making sense of the events. One narrative was condemnation of the crime and assertions that hatred was not a value of Jasper. This narrative claimed that the crime was an isolated incident, caused by people who did not come from Jasper. Another narrative, particularly coming from Black Jasper residents, asserted that the hate crime was part of a larger history of strained race relations. They connected this incident with their own experiences of being victimized by bias, discrimination, and violence. This is the “fishnet” that weaves together this trauma with a history of racial oppression. Media figures linked the event to national discussions over hate crime legislation, while hate groups like the Ku Klux Klan came to Jasper to support their own agenda. Local politicians told a narrative that put Jasper in the best

possible light, rejecting stereotypes about their community as a small, backwards, racist town. Each of these narrators vied to say they had the true story. Ainslie and Brabeck emphasize that narratives emerge from the individual experiences of each narrator, and shape the community’s understanding of itself. These stories are all ways that people made meaning out of a disruptive event. More so than any other approach, the narratives identified by Ainslie and Brabeck illustrate how a single event has multiple meanings. In this study, I take a similar inquiry into narratives to a college campus, examining how a hate incident may generate stories within that context. Much as history and identity created a “fishnet” in Ainslie and Brabeck’s work, I examine how a college campus has distinct histories that intersect with community identities to create fishnets surrounding a critical incident (Ainslie & Brabeck, 2003; Brabeck & Ainslie, 2008). People’s pre-formed expectations about race shape the ways that they interpret a hate incident (Hartigan, 2010). The literature suggests that there are a wide variety of perspectives and ideas about hate incidents and what they mean. Nevertheless, few inquiries have measured this within a college context. By tracking multiple perspectives on a problematic theme party, I show how colleges can respond in a way that respects the variety of lenses that people bring to the event. Supporting College Communities after Hate Incidents Hate incidents can take a wide range of shapes on college campuses. The following incidents took place through the month of October 2012, indicating both the frequency and the range of possible incidents. Racist graffiti was located both at Princeton University and Bowling Green State University (Brown, 2012; Daily Princetonian Staff, 2012). A flyer promoting “White History Month” emerged at Mercer College in Georgia (Hollis, 2012). Asian, Black, and Hispanic students at the University of Texas have been struck with balloons full of bleach (Green, 2012). A physical assault, motivated by bias against the victim’s sexual orientation, was reported at Washington University in St. Louis (Tabb, 2012). In responding to these types of incidents, colleges can choose from a variety of possible responses, including sending campus-wide emails, hosting optional forums, disciplining the aggressors, and cancelling classes for a day of reflection (McDermott, 2013). Many colleges have bias incident teams who are prepared to respond when hate incidents are reported (Zdziarski, 2006). However, colleges rarely have the opportunity to assess the effectiveness of their responses (de Haven, 2009). While the ramifications of a hate incident on a college campus are understudied, there are some guidelines and recommendations for proceeding when they occur. Downey and Stage (1999)

recommend that colleges and universities come up with clear policies and practices with regards to hate incidents. They recommend four major categories of practice, combining implicit and explicit actions with planned and responsive acts. The first category, explicit and planned action would include creating guidelines that clearly set values and plan responses to hate incidents. For example, Kaplan and Colbs (2002) offer a model that educates and prepares a campus for hate crimes against the LGBT community and other gendered forms of violence. Likewise, Wessler and Moss (2001) recommend training campus police, administrators, and campus community members to respond to and report hate incidents. Downey and Stage’s (1999) second category, explicit and responsive action, would mean implementing these responses when incidents occur, through public statements, community support, and punitive measures. Hurst (1999) offers one example of explicit, responsive action at the University of Wyoming after the murder of Matthew Shepard; the campus community organized vigils, memorials, and discussions about hate. He explains that cooperation with a variety of groups on campus was vital to providing this support. Downey and Stage’s (1999) third category, implicit and planned action, involves a planned event that could shape the campus climate as one of civil discourse. Their final category, implicit and responsive action, could mean turning a negative incident into an opportunity to discuss free speech and individual rights. Downey and Stage (1999) assert that these four elements can help foster a more supportive campus climate while still adhering to legal requirements around reporting hate incidents. When a hate incident occurs, practitioners must proceed with caution, as there have been a number of apparent hate incidents on college campuses that have ultimately proven to be hoaxes. These hoaxes have caused a different series of stories about victims to emerge. For example, in March, 2012, a student at Central State University in Connecticut claimed to have found a series of anti-gay notes pushed under her residence hall door (Owens & Muñoz, 2012). By using a hidden surveillance camera, police learned that the student was writing the notes herself. Hoaxes are a difficult problem for colleges, because revealing false claims of hate incidents may discourage reporting from people who have actually been victimized (Grasgreen, 2012). They may also lead to mistrust of anyone who reports a hate incident. However, if students feel compelled to falsely claim that hate incidents have happened, this may signal that they are experiencing prejudice elsewhere on campus. They may believe they are bringing neglected issues to the attention of the campus at large, as a student did when he falsely claimed to be the victim of racially-based harassment by police at the University of Virginia (Jaschik, 2011). It is important to respond sensitively to the person who reports a hoax crime, as their motivation to do so may be complex. Grasgreen (2012) suggests that

positive dialogues can come out of a hate incident, whether or not it is ultimately shown to be a hoax. They represent an opportunity for a campus community to come together and reaffirm their values. They also underscore the importance of having a plan to respond to reported hate incidents on campus. Ultimately, colleges and universities have many choices to make in responding to hate incidents on campus. The legal guidelines are relatively clear for criminal acts, but college campuses have choices in how to discuss them with the campus community. While the options for punishing hate speech and other bias incidents may be limited, the options for responding are quite broad (Downey & Stage, 1999). College staff can provide more venues for types of speech they wish to see on campus – speech that furthers the values of inclusion and equality. As Shiell (1998) says, “if the bigot’s speech can effect harm, then so too must a university’s speech be capable of good” (p. 150). Rather than repressing speech, colleges can strive to allow more speech through educational programs (Smolla, 1990). In the aftermath of a theme party or other hate incident, colleges can respond in ways that recognize the multiple meanings of the incident. By planning ahead, respecting multiple perspectives on the incident, and continuing dialogues, colleges can respond to hate incidents in a way that supports and develops the campus community.

Chapter 3: Study Design Theoretical Perspective In this study, I am interested in the ways people on a college campus interpret the meaning of a hate incident. In order to explore this, I have taken a constructivist approach; this means recognizing that knowledge and meaning are socially constructed (Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). Rather than believing that there is a discrete, specific reality that is entirely knowable through scientific research, constructivism focuses on an individual’s experience and how the person understands that experience (Charmaz, 2008). This is an interpretivist, relativist approach that recognizes that there are multiple, socially constructed realities (Wertz, et al., 2011). For example, two people are likely to understand the term “racism” in completely different fashions. These different understandings have been built through the different life experiences that these people have had, making each interpretation an appropriate one for that person. A constructivist paradigm is necessary in order to respect these different understandings of reality. These individual perspectives are not freestanding. They are a product of the context and the community in which they are produced. This means my theoretical perspective recognizes relativism and context; a specific community is likely to have a particular, co-constructed understanding of an event (Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). A collection of individual perspectives come together to build a locally specific reality. This means that realities are constructed both by an individual and by the community in which the individual is embedded. Therefore, it is important to understand history and context in order to understand an individual’s perspective (Ainslie & Brabeck, 2003). Constructivism also emphasizes that a research project is in part constructed by the researcher; any end product is one interpretation out of many that could be produced (Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). Results from this study are not self-evident; they are my interpretations from my own perspective (Creswell, 2007). As a researcher, I bring my own set of expectations and experiences to everything I do. My time as a student and as a practitioner in higher education has provided me with my own perspectives on hate incidents on college campuses. It is neither possible nor desirable to entirely strip this perspective from my research project (Hatch, 2002). At the same time, I work to reflect on and recognize the biases I bring to the project. Through memo-writing and being reflexive, I have endeavored to be aware of my own subjectivities (Charmaz, 2008; Wertz et al., 2011). Reflexivity allows me to engage in a dialectical process, comparing my own life

experiences with the data (Tierney & Rhoads, 1993). As a researcher, I cannot separate myself from the project or its product (Ainslie & Brabeck, 2003; Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). Methodology Narrative research. Within this constructivist world-view, I have focused on narrative research strategies. Broadly speaking, narrative research examines how language works as a system that helps people make meaning out of their perceptions (Gubrium & Holstein, 2009). Narrative strategies are a natural fit with my background and my approach to student affairs practice. As an undergraduate I majored in Psychology and English, and my master’s degree is in English. My academic pursuits reflect my interest in people and the stories they tell. My studies in Psychology and English have provided me with a variety of strategies to interpret and understand stories. These strategies support my work in narrative research. Additionally, much of my day-to-day work in student affairs is inflected by my interest in people and their stories. Whether I am listening to students talk about coming out as LGBT or talking with colleagues about how to address racial microaggressions, much of my student affairs practice focuses on listening to peoples’ experiences and the meanings they give to them. All of this has equipped me to appreciate and use narrative research. My approach to narrative research recognizes that all narratives are filtered and interpreted; they are not a way of providing direct access to experiences (Riessman, 1993). Here, I am working to integrate critiques offered by postmodern and poststructural thinkers, who argue that language itself is a filter that limits and shapes what can be said (Lenzo, 1995). Semiotics, the study of words as signs, explains that the meaning of a word is not contained within the word itself (Chandler, 2002). Words do not have an inherent relationship with the physical objects they describe. People are likely to use words in different ways depending on their own backgrounds. This philosophy reminds me to question the significance of terms used in research, rather than taking them at face value. This means I am interested in how certain words are used differently by different people. This approach to language helps me retain a critical curiosity about how words are used. At the same time, poststructuralists emphasize the material effects of words on other people (Foucault, 1994; Olssen, 2003). Words cannot be seen as simply free-floating signifiers; they are attached to a history and they affect people when they are used. While it is true that a racial slur is merely a word that does not have an inherent relationship with harm, it cannot be disconnected with its history of use to disempower one class of people to the advantage of another (Foucault, 1994). The accumulation of the employment of such words builds a discourse, which is the sum of

language and knowledge that exists around a certain topic. Discourse analysis examines how language builds power relations and makes certain realities possible, while disallowing other possibilities (Lenzo, 1995). This approach is particularly important when working with hate speech and understanding how terms impact people with different identities in differing ways. Discourse analysis looks at the way that language is used to construct the world (Rogers, 2004). Although my overall approach does not delve deeply into semiotics or discourse analysis, I retain their critical approach to language and meaning. Despite the very real limits on what language can communicate, I believe that representations through language are still a valuable way to understand the experiences of others. While I do not see language as a direct representation of a person’s experience, I believe it is the only route we have to understand some aspect of others’ experiences (Riessman, 1993). This is a tension that I have worked to remain aware of throughout my research. All of this emphasizes that a narrative is only one story out of many that can be told about an experience. Narrative research helps explore how incidents generate multiple stories as people wrestle with making meaning out of the event. In order to do this, researchers focus on several dimensions of narratives, including context, structure, and content (Riessman, 1993). Narrative research: Context. Of these three dimensions, context frames what is possible within a narrative. Context can refer to the people listening to the narrative and in what circumstances the narrative is shared. Researchers who focus on context using conversation analysis see a narrative as jointly produced by the listener and the speaker (Wells, 2011). Gubrium and Holstein (2009) discuss both narrative activation (how listeners invite someone to tell a story) and narrative silencing (how a listener might prevent certain types of stories from being told). Narratives usually require the cooperation of a listener who promises to be quiet long enough for the speaker to complete a narrative (Wells, 2011). Recognition of context shapes my approach to interviews; an interview is a specific type of conversation and follows many rules about conversation. As listeners, interviewers should be aware of the ways that they can alternately activate or silence narratives. Different types of questions may activate different types of narratives. Responses from the interviewer, both verbal and non-verbal, may encourage the speaker to continue or may signal the speaker to stop. Narrative research also considers the physical and structural context of a story. In an ethnographic, narrative examination of diversity on a college campus, Chase (2010) demonstrates how a college’s context allows certain narratives about race and privilege to be dominant. She examines how newspaper articles, student protests, and student meetings provide a framework for

these narratives to develop. Her work suggests that context can help researchers understand what narratives are possible. Attention to context can be used to examine both spoken and written narratives (Fitzgerald, 2007). In choosing multiple sources of data, I have attended to context; the contexts of online research and in-person interviews have shaped the narratives that emerge. Likewise, the context of the University of Michigan has shaped the story as well; many participants spoke about the institutional history with regards to affirmative action, athletics, and past racially- charged events. All of this shaped my understanding of the hate incident. Narrative research: Structure. A second dimension of narrative research involves focusing on the structure of language (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000). Storytellers decide how to order the story and what details to include. They choose certain terms to use and other terms to avoid (Gubrium & Holstein, 2009). There are also certain narrative genres storytellers may employ; for example, do they see their stories as tragedy, comedy, or farce? Such tropes are often absorbed from culture and will inflect the way a story is told (McAdams, 1993). Narrative research is interested in all of these elements. Do participants map a story about a hate incident into something with a beginning, middle, and end? Who are the heroes and the villains of the story? Attending to these structural elements has helped me examine how people understand the hate incident and its meaning on campus. Labov suggests one method for approaching narrative structure (Riessman, 1993; Wells, 2011). This method asserts that narratives are built in relatively predictable ways. Labov assumes that stories are told chronologically – from the beginning, to the middle, to the end. Narratives begin with an abstract that summarizes the story and then orient the listener with information about the setting, participants, and the situation. The story is complicated by whatever action comes next, and then the speaker evaluates the situation, perhaps explaining its significance. The speaker shows how the situation was resolved, and then provides a coda which explains anything that happened leading to now. This structural approach has a lot of similarities with literary analysis (Tierney and Rhoads, 1993). Structure was important in my interviews with participants. The interviews’ structures shaped the composite narratives that I wrote. Structure was less evident in the online comments, perhaps because of their brevity. Still, attending to structure is a useful way to examine data. Narrative research: Content. Finally, narrative research also focuses on the content of a story itself. This is the most straightforward element: what does the story communicate? Content comes through in the way many narrative researchers analyze their texts; they track themes that are

present within a single narrative and across multiple narratives (Polkinghorne, 1995). Such analysis may reveal intertextuality, which is the ways that one narrative shapes another person’s narrative (Gubrium & Holstein, 2009). For example, several participants mentioned hearing stories about this event from other people, and these stories influenced how they ultimately interpreted the incident. Themes about the incident certainly reoccurred across different narratives. Likewise, focusing on content has allowed me to see how terms like “reverse racism” are used in similar or conflicting ways. Looking at the content closely allowed me to better understand how participants experience hate incidents. Narrative research makes it possible to focus on the way an event is understood. This means accepting the participant’s understanding of reality and construction of what an incident means (Gubrium & Holstein, 2009). In writing composite narratives, I worked to convey different understandings of reality. Quality narrative research. One of the more difficult components of conducting narrative research is establishing what constitutes quality research. Narrative research does not provide a simple right answer to what makes an accurate, appropriate report of research findings. Indeed, as a constructivist approach, narrative research recognizes that there are multiple realities and that there are multiple appropriate narratives that can be told about a single event (Wertz et al., 2011). The criteria for evaluating a narrative are specific to the narrative’s context (Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). At the same time, this does not mean that all stories are of the same quality. Some stories may convey meaning in a more effective way when compared to other narratives. Narrative researchers are primarily interested in what a story does within a particular narrative context (Gubrium & Holstein, 2009; Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). In other words, does the narrative communicate meaning? Tierney and Rhoads (1993) suggest that narrative research can use criteria that come from studying literature, rather than using the traditional scientific method. Like literature or creative writing, quality research yields information that is plausible and allows the reader to reflect on one’s own life and experiences. Therefore, a good story is one in which the speaker feels that the meaning has been communicated, whatever that meaning might be. In my research, I am sharing stories that convey a meaning. Research Context In order to better understand how hate incidents affect a community, I have focused on a single hate incident at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor (U-M). In this section, I provide a description of the incident and why I chose it. I also provide information about U-M’s history and context. I also want to note that I have made the decision to include the names of some of the

major actors in this situation. All of the information about these individuals was publicly available, and even if I redacted their names, an internet search would easily reveal their identities. I felt it was appropriate to give them credit for the texts that they wrote. Incident at Theta Xi. In late October 2013, the Sigma chapter of Theta Xi fraternity posted an event invitation on Facebook (Shenouda, 2013). The event, to be held on November 7, was titled “World Star Hip Hop Presents: Hood Ratchet Thursday.” The invitation featured a photograph of a Black man scowling away from the camera, with his baseball cap on backwards, holding two fingers up on each hand. On either side of the man, facing the opposite direction as him, Black and White women are doing handstands with their legs akimbo. Their shirts are falling away from their waists, so their backs are exposed. None of the women’s faces are visible. The text of the page invited “RAPPERS, TWERKERS, GANGSTERS (NO BLOODS ALLOWED), THUGS, BASKETBALL PLAYERS, BAD BITCHES, AND RATCHET PUSSY” to the party (Xavier, 2013). An image and text from this invitation are in Appendix A. Defining the terms in this invitation can be challenging, but their connotations make up a large part of the discussion of the event. This brief framework is not the definitive approach to any of these terms, but offers a starting place to understand the way U-M responded to the event. WorldStarHipHop is the name of a popular website that aggregates rap music videos and user- submitted videos of violent fighting and sexual acts (Jacobson, 2012). The term “ratchet” has roots in the word “wretched,” and is a generally negative term akin to “ghetto.” Other synonyms include “trashy” and “low class.” It also seems to be used more often to describe women than men. “Twerking” is a sexualized, grinding dance move which is generally performed by women. It involves squatting and thrusting one’s hips. All three of these terms are linked with what is alternately called “Black culture,” “urban culture,” and “hip hop culture.” The party invitation encouraged people to dress in costumes that evoke certain racial signifiers, just as many other college theme parties have done (Garcia, et al., 2011; Tynes & Markoe, 2010). After the event was posted, three students filed complaints with U-M’s Center for Campus Involvement (Jones, 2013). One of the students who filed the complaint indicated that she did so because she did not want to be a bystander and thereby condone the event (Fischer, 2013). Members of U-M’s Bias Response Team (BRT) met with members of the fraternity, and the event was cancelled (Wassman, 2013). The BRT is a group of staff members within the office of Student Life, trained to respond to hate crimes and bias incidents (UM Student Life, 2008). Royster Harper (Vice President, Student Life), Laura Blake Jones (Dean of Students), and Mary Beth Seiler (Director

of Greek Life) then sent an email to members of the student body (personal communication, February 12, 2014). It was distributed to all students, staff, and faculty at U-M (Wassman, 2013). The email explained that a party was planned. It also stated that the party had been cancelled and that corrective steps have been taken. The full text of this email is in Appendix B. Eric Quang, president of Theta Xi, and Allen Wu, a fraternity member who had planned the party, both sent public apologies to the student newspaper (Shahin & Amron, 2013; Wu, 2013). Wu’s letter began with an apology for any hurt that may have been caused by the party. He established that his intent was to enjoy hip hop culture, rather than denigrate or appropriate Black culture. He also stated that “as a fellow minority,” he felt sympathy for Black students who have experienced prejudice. The full text of Wu’s letter is in Appendix C. Quang’s letter distanced the Theta Xi fraternity from the party, stating that it had been planned by some members of the organization but was not the result of any official fraternity endorsement. The statement also asserted that there was no intention to harm; the party theme was a result of being unaware of how it might be perceived. The full text of Quang’s letter is in Appendix D. The university held a formal hearing in November against the party’s organizers (Adamczyk, 2013a). The hearing was held with the Greek Activities Review Panel, which is the judicial body for U-M’s Panhellenic Association, Interfraternity Council, National Pan-Hellenic Council and Multicultural Greek Council (Bylaws of the Greek Activities Review Panel, 2009). This student-led panel has the authority to adjudicate policy violations by members of these Greek councils. The panel concluded that Wu and Quang, as representatives of Theta Xi, had violated the non- discrimination portion of the Standards of Conduct for Recognized Student Organizations (Adamczyk, 2013a; SOAR 2012). Student organizations are required to abide by the U-M non- discrimination policy, which in part prohibits “instigating or allowing an environment that is unwelcoming or hostile based on a person’s gender, gender identity or gender expression, pregnancy, race, color, national origin or ancestry, disability, sexual orientation, age, religion, veteran status, height, weight or marital status” (U-M SPG, 1992). The panel made recommendations to the U-M Dean of Students, who approved their sanctions (Jones, 2013). At the conclusion of the hearing, the fraternity was suspended until they had completed the requirements of five sanctions, including hosting educational sessions on race and gender (Adamczyk, 2013c; Jones, 2013). Rationale for site. I chose the theme party at Theta Xi to study because it has qualities that help me answer my research questions (Creswell, 2007). I chose this incident from among a number of other college hate incidents. Although I did not subject other incidents to the same level of

scrutiny, they have shaped my understanding of how incidents develop. I have been reflecting on them in research memos (Charmaz, 2008). I chose this party because it is an incident with a relatively ambiguous intent; what did the students mean with the words used in the invitation? It is an incident with a relatively ambiguous impact; unlike a physical assault, it is hard to say who precisely was harmed by it. This ambiguity leads to a broader range of reactions, creating more possible responses to study. U-M’s response was fairly public, which is helpful for me as an outsider to U-M. Finally, the legacy of U-M’s racial history informed the discussion in a way I found intriguing. University context. In order to understand the background of this theme party, it is helpful to know something about U-M’s racial context and history. U-M is located in the city of Ann Arbor, Michigan with satellite campuses elsewhere in the state. It is a large, public, primarily residential four-year institution, with very high research activity (Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching, 2010). Of the 28,828 undergraduate students at U-M in fall 2013, 62.5% were White, 12.2% were Asian, and 4.3% were Black (U-M Office of Budget and Planning, 2013). See Table 1 for a complete list of undergraduate demographics. According to a survey of undergraduate students, when compared to White students, students of color feel less of a sense of belonging on campus, and are less likely to agree with the statement that “Students are respected here regardless of their race or ethnicity” (pp. 94; Schweitzer, 2013). Enrollment numbers suggest that since 2003, the numbers of Black students at U-M have decreased while the numbers of Asian American and international students have increased. U-M has a sizable sorority and fraternity population, with 64 recognized chapters (Community Statistics, 2014). Forty-two of those organizations have recognized chapter housing. Almost twenty-three percent of undergraduate women and almost 18% of undergraduate men are in sororities and fraternities. In all, U-M is a predominantly White institution, with a sizable representation of students in fraternity and sorority life. Table 1

Race and Ethnicity of U-M Undergraduates, Fall 2013 (U-M Office of Budget and Planning, 2013) Race and Ethnicity Count % Nonresident aliens 1,954 6.9% Hispanic/Latino 1,164 4.1% Black or African American, non-Hispanic 1,226 4.3% White, non-Hispanic 17,672 62.5%

American Indian or Alaska Native, non-Hispanic 44 0.2% Asian, non-Hispanic 3,453 12.2% Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander, non-Hispanic 10 0.0% Two or more races, non-Hispanic 872 3.1% Race and/or ethnicity unknown 1,888 6.7% Total 28,283

Like many other institutions of higher education, U-M has a complex history with regards to racial inclusion. U-M was founded in 1817. In 1853, Samuel Codes Watson became the first known African American to enroll at U-M (Bentley Historical Library, 2010). Students of color represented less than four percent of the student body by 1968 (Anderson, 2007). The two subsequent decades brought a series of hate incidents directed at Black students and student protests over the continued underrepresentation of students of color. In 1988, U-M’s president created the “Michigan Mandate” which outlined a series of steps to support diversity, including recruiting and retaining underrepresented students and faculty (U-M Office of the President, 1992). This led to the implementation of affirmative action policies in admission. Around the same time, U-M was home to one of the earliest challenges to university speech codes in Doe v. University of Michigan (1989). In response to a variety of racist hate incidents, U-M had passed a policy that prohibited people from “stigmatizing or victimizing” others on the basis of several identity categories. A graduate student successfully challenged the university’s code, saying that it could limit his ability to academically examine the biological differences between the sexes or people of different races. After the case, U- M changed their speech code. Throughout the 1990s, U-M continued to see gains in racial minority representation based on the “Michigan Mandate” (U-M Office of the President, 1992). By the fall of 1995, people of color made up nearly 25% of the student body (Anderson, 2007). Affirmative action and other U-M policies shifted in 2003. U-M is perhaps best known to scholars of race in higher education for the Grutter v. Bollinger (2003) and Gratz v. Bollinger (2003) Supreme Court decisions. These two decisions offered somewhat contradictory assessments of U- M’s affirmative action policies. The admission policies aimed to create a racially diverse university, which would provide students with academic and interpersonal benefits (Harper & Hurtado, 2007). The Grutter decision found that the U-M School of Law’s affirmative action policy was narrowly tailored, did not involve use of a quota, and was allowed to continue. Grutter established that race could continue to be used in admissions, when considered as a part of the overall evaluation of an individual applicant. However, the Gratz decision found that the U-M College of Literature,

Science, and the Arts (LSA) was using a system that essentially made race decisive for any applicant. LSA admission was using a point-based system, where 100 points led to a guaranteed admission. Under this system, 20 points were given to underrepresented racial/ethnic minorities. The court found that this was not narrowly tailored and did not give enough attention to individual applicants. The amicus curiae filed for these cases and the responses to the decisions underscore that affirmative action has a large significance for people interested in race in higher education (Rhoads, Saenz, & Carducci, 2005). Many people believe that without affirmative action policies, colleges cannot address continuing racial discrimination (Anderson, 2007). In the decade since the admission policies changed, fewer Black students have enrolled at U-M (U-M Office of Budget and Planning, 2013). Since the Grutter and Gratz decisions, the debate about race in higher education has continued in the state of Michigan. A group called the Michigan Civil Rights Initiative (MCRI) was formed to challenge the use of affirmative action in Michigan colleges (Rose, 2008). The MCRI led the charge to put Proposal 2 on the ballot, which banned any consideration of race in college admissions in the state of Michigan. Voters approved this measure in 2006. U-M then changed its admissions policies to be in compliance with the law (Regents of the University of Michigan, 2013). Proposal 2 received a series of legal challenges, based on whether voters were allowed to pass restrictions on how colleges shape their admissions policies (Howe, 2013; Rose, 2008). The challenge was heard by the Supreme Court as Schuette v. Coalition to Defend Affirmative Action (2013). In April 2014, the Supreme Court upheld voters’ right to ban the use of race in admissions. This racial history serves as backdrop both for the Theta Xi theme party and the BBUM movement that came afterwards. Being Black at U-M. Although I did not know this would happen when I first chose to study the theme party at Theta Xi, the incident became folded into a larger conversation about race and identity at U-M. The racial history of U-M heavily informed this conversation as well. In November and December of 2013, students at U-M collaborated on a Twitter discussion using the hashtag #BBUM. A hashtag allows Twitter users to track and contribute to a conversation on a particular topic by tagging it as belonging to that category. BBUM stands for “being Black at the University of Michigan.” More than 10,000 tweets and retweets were sent as part of this discussion (Gringlas, 2014). The tweets were sometimes funny and sometimes bitter, as students reflected on the experience of being a minority on a predominantly White campus. Analyzing the discussion on Twitter was beyond the scope of my original study design, but I did check in on the conversation

several times a week. Reading these tweets helped me understand student experiences in this particular context. I saved some of the tweets and reflected on them in my research memos (Charmaz, 2008). For example, one student wrote that being Black at U-M meant “Being uncomfortably stared at in a class discussion about inequality” (Starks, 2013). Another wrote that at U-M “Being Black was a problem, an ‘other’, and something to be dealt with only in February or in designated dialogues” (Fring, 2013). A third wrote about “having to be extremely cautious of the tone of my voice because [I’ll] be seen as loud or ghetto” (LaVashiaJM, 2013). Many posts spoke about a feeling of alienation and exclusion. Other tweets reflected a feeling of community and solidarity with other students. The Twitter campaign provided an interesting perspective into the experiences of Black students at U-M. Members of the Black Student Union who started the BBUM campaign asserted that it was done in part as a reaction to the Theta Xi party as well as an overall frustration with the campus racial climate (Woodhouse, 2013). The Twitter campaign led to a variety of in-person discussions, rallies, and protests (Adamczyk, 2013c). The university provost also cited it as a major impetus to strengthen programs to address diversity issues on campus (Cunningham, 2014; Gringlas, 2014). All of this provides an intriguing look at the range of perspectives on race at U-M. Data Collection When I began studying hate incidents on college campuses, I conducted pilot research at Miami University. In January 2013, I received approval from Miami University’s Institutional Research Board (IRB) to conduct this research. This pilot study focused on a sexist hate incident, and followed a very similar data collection method to the one used in examining the incident at Theta Xi. In early November 2013, I filed a request to add U-M to my protocol as an additional research site. I received approval from Miami’s IRB later in November. Immediately, I approached U-M for their approval to begin research with their community. The U-M IRB stated that Miami’s approval was sufficient. In December 2013, I began collecting data in earnest. In order to understand the theme party at Theta Xi, I used three major sources of data, allowing me to assess a broad range of information. The three sources were online materials, a survey, and interviews. To begin, I collected university public statements and online news stories as well as online comments. In addition, I solicited perspectives directly from participants through an anonymous survey and semi-structured interviews. I asked interview participants to volunteer to participate after they had completed the anonymous survey. As I do not have an institutional connection to U-M, I drew on my personal and professional networks to distribute the survey. I also contacted potential

supporters through the U-M website, in hopes that they would help me distribute the survey. In each instance, I requested permission to distribute the survey using existing email networks. I also used Twitter as a distribution method. Through the online survey, I received data from 38 participants. Three of them volunteered to participate in interviews, conducted over Skype. The interviews added depth to the breadth of stories gathered from online documents and the anonymous survey. Using all three of these sources allowed me to engage in methodological triangulation and respondent triangulation (Bush, 2007). This means that I was able to compare the information provided in one source with the information provided in another. It allowed me to see a wide range of responses. The similarities and contradictions that emerged in comparing these data deepened my understanding of the complexity of this incident. While triangulation does not ensure that my results are free of bias, it does suggest that the results can be considered more trustworthy because I used multiple sources of information in a methodical and critical way (Bush, 2007; Russell & Stage, 1993). These multiple sources of data allowed me to examine a broad range of perspectives on the original incident. Online documents. When I first learned about this incident, I began gathering data from online sources. This meant following the different news stories that were published about the incident. I also tracked stories that were written about U-M with regards to race, even if they did not specifically mention the theme party at Theta Xi. Later, I also tracked stories about the BBUM movement. Particularly in the first week after the invitation came to light, stories about the incident were published in the Michigan student newspaper, local newspapers, and national sources, such as the Huffington Post. I used an online news search that alerted me when new stories related to these topics were published. Most of the stories were written in local news sources, including the Michigan student newspaper, The Michigan Daily. The student newspaper also carried a number of “viewpoints.” These were first-person narratives written by students reacting to the party and other campus events. Some of the stories were in national news sources. I saved all of these documents as they were published. Most of these articles made it possible for readers to leave comments, sometimes anonymously or sometimes linked to their social network profile. Henrich and Holms (2013) suggest that comments like these can provide a window to public opinion. They proved to be a rich source of data on how people interpreted this event. Using screenshots, I collected these comments and compiled them. In instances in which comments were linked to users’ Facebook profile, I could often tell if the commenter was a U-M student, if they identified as a man or a woman, and could

make a visual assessment of their race using their profile photo. All of this was from public information visible on the news article comments section; I did not click through to commenters’ full Facebook profiles. This meant that I could learn a considerable amount about commenters’ public identities. It is possible but unlikely for people to put false information about themselves on their Facebook profile, but I chose to accept their self-presentation at face value (Santana, 2011). In other instances, they provided information about their identities in the text of their comments. I recorded this information about their identities alongside the text of their comment. Over the month following each article’s publication, I returned to the news story to see if the conversation had developed. Generally, new comments stopped appearing after a week of the article publication. In some instances, comments disappeared from the site after a certain period of time, so it was especially important to maintain screenshots of the comments. With any documentary analysis, it is important to proceed with caution in interpreting the veracity of the stories being told (Fitzgerald, 2007). This is particularly true when reading online comments; online commenters are a self-selected group, and their perspectives in comments are not necessarily representative of the population at large (Heinrich & Holmes, 2013). Online comments are often a venue for perspectives that are less socially acceptable and are sometimes written in strong language that commenters might not use in person (Anderson, Brossard, Scheufele, Xenos, & Ladwig, 2013; Santana, 2011). However, it is possible that some people who post these comments do not truly believe in what they are posting. In a practice called “trolling,” some online commenters will purposefully post inflammatory things in order to evoke outraged responses from other commenters (Santana, 2011). Negative comments can then shape subsequent comments, meaning that I had to take the context of the comment into account (Anderson, et al., 2013). Nevertheless, Henrich and Holms (2013) suggest that these comments can provide a window to public opinion. These online comments became a rich source of data that allowed me to connect with perspectives that might not be shared through other means (Creswell, 2007). Throughout this process, I collected 37 articles that directly mentioned the Theta Xi party. From those articles, I gathered 351 separate comments. From these comments, I knew something about the identities of 73 of those who had posted. Of this group, about 70% identified as men. Based on appearance, I attempted to determine the racial identities of 44 of these participants. Twenty-eight appeared to be people of color and 16 appeared to be White. I do not know if this is representative of all of the commenters, or if those who kept their identities private differed in some way. I also collected 23 other articles related to race at U-M, including coverage of the BBUM

movement. I read many of the comments on these articles but did not include them in my data set as they were not related to the Theta Xi theme party. Anonymous survey. The next method for data collection was an anonymous online survey. Finding participants for this survey proved very challenging. I had initially hoped that a professional or personal contact would be able to be a campus gatekeeper (Creswell, 2007). Although I have personal and professional connections with five people associated with U-M, none had the ability to distribute the survey on a wide scale. They were able to help me distribute it to several smaller email lists. Using the U-M website and my personal contacts, I also identified a variety of professionals on campus and contacted them to request distribution. Unfortunately, I believe they felt reluctant to get involved, as none of my phone calls and few of my emails received responses. I do not think the survey was distributed as widely as I would have liked. This method of distribution led to about 32 responses. Although I had not originally intended to use Twitter as a distribution method, following the BBUM conversation made me wonder if that would be a possible source of participants. As my IRB approval covered “digital distribution methods,” I created a Twitter account for this purpose. I posted requests for participants, using #BBUM and #UMich hashtags. The posts linked to my survey, which included full information about the project and the informed consent. This method yielded about 5 participants. The survey consisted of open-ended questions about perspectives on the incident. It took most participants less than 20 minutes to complete, as measured by the time stamp when participants began and completed the survey. These questions were important because they allowed participants to tell their stories while remaining anonymous (Creswell, 2007). It also allowed people who are more comfortable expressing themselves in written text to do so. The survey read: 1. Please outline what you know about the Theta Xi theme party that was planned in October 2013. 2. What do you think about this event? 3. Describe any public responses that happened after the invitation came to light. 4. What do you think about the campus reaction to this event? 5. How do you think students felt about this event? 6. How do you think faculty and staff felt about this event? 7. Do you think this is an isolated event, or do you believe it is connected to other things that have happened on campus? Please explain. 8. Would you describe this event as a hate crime? Yes, No, or Unsure 9. (branching based on previous response)

Why would you describe it as a hate crime? Why would you not describe it as a hate crime? What other information would you need in order to label this event a hate crime? 10. If you have anything else you would like to say about this event, or anything related to this topic, please include it here. 11. I am a: Undergraduate student Graduate student Faculty member Staff member Community member 12. My gender identity is ______13. My race/ethnicity is ______14. My sexual orientation is ______

The survey ended with a link to a separate, unconnected survey, with the text “I am planning Skype interviews about this event. If you are willing to participate in these interviews, please include your name and email address here.” Participants chose to leave their contact information if they wish to participate in the in-person interviews. Individuals responded to the survey from December 14, 2013 through January 11, 2014. Ultimately, I received 38 responses from undergraduate students, graduate students, and staff members at the University of Michigan. 28 identified as women, and 10 as men. 27 identified as White, 3 as Black, 2 as Asian, and 5 identified as various other ethnicities. 27 identified as straight/heterosexual, 3 as gay, 3 as bisexual, and 5 identified as various other sexual orientations. This is fewer participants than I had hoped for, but my collection of online comments yielded much more data than I had originally anticipated. I feel that this means I still accessed a wide range of perspectives on this incident. Interviews. My final method for data collection was semi-structured interviews, conducted over Skype. I contacted the three volunteers from the online survey and interviewed all three. All three were current U-M students. These interviews allowed me to ask deeper questions about Michigan culture and experiences. At the beginning of the interview, I explained my interest in how events such as this one are understood by people on campus. I explained that I was planning to use this person’s story to build composite narratives describing the experiences of people on campus, meaning that their specific experience may not be individually represented. I also explained that their identity will be kept confidential, which was also explained in the consent form that each participant signed. With the participant’s permission, the audio portion of the interview was

recorded (Ribbins, 2007). Each interview lasted between 40 – 55 minutes. Throughout the interview, I kept notes that recorded key points in the narrative. These notes allowed me to ask follow-up questions (Cresswell, 2007). I used interview questions that were very similar to the questions used in the online survey, but the semi-structured format allowed me to ask clarifying questions. Participants shaped their stories with minimal intrusion. Semi-structured interviews offer the possibility of being a more trustworthy representation of a participant’s experiences, as the conversation is directed more by the participant than by the needs of the interviewer (Bush, 2007). The interviews were conversational in nature, allowing me to reflect back what I was hearing from participants. This allowed me to confirm the initial impressions I was making through the conversation. For example, in response to a participant’s statement about the nature of fraternity culture, I was able to say, “So you’ve talked some about the culture of fraternities and sororities. Can you expand on that? Is it mostly parties and drinking? What else goes along with that?” My participant confirmed my statement by saying, “Nothing. That’s about it!” I also asked questions that followed up what I was seeing from the online comments and survey (Charmaz, 2008). One of the major questions along these lines is when I asked participants to define the word “ratchet.” I did this because the definition of the word had sparked arguments online. I closed the interview by asking participants if they had questions for me. All three of them asked me to define “ratchet,” signaling again the complications of this term. The participants were also curious about the nature of my research and what my next steps were. At the end of each interview, I wrote a research memo reflecting on the interview (Charmaz, 2008). Finally, I transcribed the audio recording, comparing text and audio three times for accuracy (Ribbins, 2007). Data Organization Throughout the data collection process, I sorted and recorded information in a method suggested by Fitzgerald (2007). Designed originally for documentary analysis, this is a versatile method that allowed me to organize and sort a large amount of text-based data from multiple sources. Fitzgerald’s model is a simple three-column spreadsheet. The first column contains information about the source – where the data came from, the date the data were collected, and any other reference information. I also used this column to document demographic information about the author of the text, if I knew it. With the survey and interview data, participants told me this information directly. In online comments, some people would identify themselves in the text of the comments; for example, one participant wrote “As a white dude and a human being I am absolutely

embarrassed.” In other cases, online comments were accompanied by the user’s Facebook photo, name as it appears on Facebook, and their affiliation as listed on Facebook. All of this was publically available information, visible next to the text of their comment. If I could guess someone’s gender identity, race, or university affiliation from any of these sources, I included it in this first column. While this is not a precise method for determining people’s identities, it is still a useful way of gathering reasonably accurate information about identities (Santana, 2011). Moreover, comments written on the articles indicate that other commenters were using profile photos to make judgments about the racial identities of their fellow commenters. This made the identities represented in the profile photos relevant to my research. In Fitzgerald’s (2007) model, the second column contains the full text of the information gathered from that source; in my research, this was the text of an online comment, text from a news story, the survey result, or an interview transcription. Because the interview texts were quite lengthy, I broke them into chunks for easier coding (Wertz, et al., 2011). I used the third column for themes and codes that I identified within the data. Fitzgerald also suggests that an optional fourth column can be used to record questions or to note a need for further research in a particular area; I used this area to write notes for myself about what I was seeing. This basic structure allowed me to sort and categorize a large quantity of qualitative information. When the spreadsheet was complete, I had 499 separate pieces of text that made up my data set. Data Analysis As the process of gathering data came to a close, I began analyzing the materials, including the different news stories, background information, online comments, survey data, and interview data. I also reread the research memos and reflections that I had been writing throughout this process (Charmaz, 2008). I took note of ideas that reoccurred, paying particular attention to the ways that participants’ identities inflect the ways they understand this event. At this level, I noted that much of the conversation around this incident related to whether university officials should have intervened in cancelling the party and how they should have communicated their perspective on the party. I also noticed that people’s perception of the past strongly influenced how they perceived this particular incident. This manifested itself in discussions about terms like “ratchet,” U- M’s history with affirmative action, and the cultural significance of hip hop music. These larger ideas strongly influenced my research product. Coding. I placed the online comments, the results from the anonymous survey, and the interview text into my spreadsheet to begin coding them (Fitzgerald, 2007). As I read through these

components, I took note of ideas, concepts, and phrases that reoccurred in the different texts (Creswell, 2007; Hatch, 2002). This included comments about the nature of affirmative action, privilege, hip hop, and racism. A sizable number of comments discussed whether words like “twerking” and “ratchet” should be used by everyone, only by Black people, or by no one at all. I also tracked references to the film Animal House and to blackface; neither of these were mentioned in the original invitation, yet the fact that they reoccur in many comments underscores the wide net of concepts connected to this incident. I used emergent coding, where the codes for the data come from the data (Hatch, 2002). From these ideas, I created a list of 58 codes, from “affirmative action hurts” to “word use is wrong.” I returned to the spreadsheet and coded each comment and online response with the related codes. As the interview text and some of the online documents were much longer, I broke those into paragraph-length chunks and coded those (Wertz, et al., 2011). Some of the items did not receive codes, as they were personal attacks on other commenters or simple statements of agreement with other commenters. As I coded, I returned to the original list of codes and combined certain codes together based on what appeared to be similar ideas. I also adjusted certain code names to make them clearer. I read through the spreadsheet three times to adjust codes in this way. After removing certain codes and combining others, this left me with 46 codes. Themes. After I felt the initial coding was complete, I sorted the data in multiple ways, looking for contradictions and similarities. I grouped similar codes together and also looked at similar identity categories (Charmaz, 2008). At the end of this process, I could see that certain codes were likely to occur within the same comment. For example, the code related to “appropriation” was likely to occur alongside “blackface,” “intent doesn’t matter,” “Michigan’s history,” “university’s responsibility,” and “word use is wrong.” Likewise, “freedom of speech,” was likely to occur with codes for “Animal House reference,” “disbelief of privilege,” “humor,” “too sensitive,” and “diversity causes divisions.” Although any given comment was unlikely to contain all related codes, it did help me create a web of ideas that suggested links among the different codes. This helped me identify four theme areas, built from four relatively distinct sets of codes. I excluded certain codes that did not reliably fit under a theme. These codes included “hip hop is bad” and “hip hop is more complex than this,” as it seemed that one’s like or dislike for hip hop music did not reliably connect with their overall take on the meaning of the incident. I also excluded any comments that I had coded as outright attacks on the Asian American identities of two of the Theta Xi brothers, including this comment: “How would they like it if the Party theme was

Return to Tianamen Square and everyone came in straw China man hats, and the meal was rats on a stick, and got eye brow pencils and made their eyes slanted?” While the racial and ethnic identities of the fraternity brothers are certainly relevant to how people understood the theme party, the outright attacks on their heritage did not seem linked to other codes in a predictable way. Excluding the comments related to these codes made it easier to see the links among the remaining pieces of text. Through this process, I identified four major groups of codes related to perspectives on the Theta Xi party. This led me to four themes that offer different takes on this incident, included in Table 2. I named the theme based on what these codes seemed to have in common, relying on participants’ words to name the themes. Table 2

Themes and Codes Theme Code It’s racist to focus on analogy to another race/culture party – these are acceptable race. Animal House reference disbelief of privilege diversity causes divisions freedom of speech fun/humorous party look past race not a problem stereotypes are based in fact terms/culture not property of one race too sensitive/overreaction Whites are victims of reverse racism It’s only racist if it’s apologize and move on intentional. demographics of frat ignorance & need for education public reporting is the problem terms are part of our shared culture they didn’t intend to harm university shouldn’t punish

Racism isn’t ok. anger curious comparison to another race/culture party embarrassment & hurt Greeks are ignorant I can’t speak as a White person it’s just racist limits to free speech need for continued education & discussion not knowing what ratchet means not surprised party planners as Asian struggle to explain UM as reactionary White trash party Racism is structural. appropriation blackface fraternity culture causes the problem intent doesn’t matter Michigan’s history & affirmative action offended our black culture is wrong part of larger culture racial homogeneity at U-M U-M’s responsibility to address culture White students are unaware about race Whites should educate self word use is wrong

As I shaped the themes, I also noted participant identities that were represented under the themes. Although I did not know the identities of all participants, I noted which identities were represented more under each theme. Based on which identities were most commonly represented under each theme, I chose to make the speaker of my composite narrative have the corresponding identity. In this way, the demographic information I collected became part of the story. I chose names for each of the speakers from a list of the top 20 most popular baby names for 1995, 1991, and 1989 – years when traditionally-aged undergraduates and graduate students could have been born. Names, themes, and identities are listed in Table 3.

Table 3 Names, Themes, and Identities for Composite Narratives Name Theme Identities Tyler It’s racist to focus on race. White, heterosexual, undergraduate man Madison It’s only racist if it’s White, heterosexual, undergraduate woman intentional. Amanda Racism isn’t ok. White, bisexual, graduate woman Brianna Racism is structural. Black, heterosexual, undergraduate woman

Composing Narratives These four themes were the foundation for the next stage in my process. Rather than present these stories as a series of disconnected themes, I wanted to build cohesive narratives to convey these themes to readers. Therefore, based on the themes, I wrote a number of composite narratives that represent the variety of voices that emerge in responding to this incident. In this process, I followed the guidelines of polyvocal analysis. As a result, the raw data from participants were “recast into new stories” (Kvale & Brinkmann, 2009, p. 286). These stories allowed me to integrate a variety of information into a format that expresses multiple perspectives on a single incident. Polyvocal analysis is a poststructuralist approach that recognizes the importance of including multiple voices while constructing a coherent story (Hatch, 2002). Although it is unconventional, polyvocal analysis allows a participant’s story to take the lead in creating a research product (Riessman, 1993). Renn (2004) effectively used this method to synthesize responses from 56 participants into five composite portraits of interracial students. Each portrait represents a different understanding of interracial identity within college culture. Similarly, in order to explain counternarratives used by Latino college students, Villalpando (2003) created composite characters based on research, critical race theory principles, and his own experiences. Polkinghorne (1995) discusses how this method can synthesize knowledge in a way that generates a compelling, memorable story that respects individual perspectives. It also allows for thick, rich description which can allow readers of the story to more fully understand the event (Creswell, 2007). Based on the four themes listed in table 2, I wrote a series of composite monologues, created through polyvocal analysis (Hatch, 2002). I combined the representative pieces of text under that theme to tell a story, relying as much as possible on the original words of participants. In order to

do this, I read each piece of text that corresponded to a particular code and chose one that seems to express the code most clearly. For example, for the code “reverse racism,” there were a variety of comments that fit within the code. Here are a few excerpts, presented as originally written:  “Do you understand that by characterizing all “white men” like that you are racist yourself?”?  “I think it is racist to say only blacks can use terms such as ‘bad bitches’ or ‘rachet pussy’”  “The words ‘twerk’, ‘ratchet’, and ‘hood’ are not words that are exclusive to the black community, but are allowed to be used by anyone freely if they wish to hold a party with a ‘hip-hop theme’. Identifying these words as part of ‘black culture’ is inherently racist in itself.”  “when blacks use the word ghetto, and rachet regarding themselves, how is it racist if I use a term they are using? I think that is reverse racism.”

Within the “reverse racism” code, I chose the last of these comments as it expressed an idea that was repeated in multiple comments and expressed it clearly. I selected this piece of text, and put it in a separate document for that particular theme. I did this for each of the codes that fell under each theme, while prioritizing comments that included multiple codes. At the end of this step, I had a series of disconnected pieces of text that helped illustrate the corresponding theme. During this process, I also noted comments from the survey and interview texts that referred to the fact that this was part of a research project. For example, one sentence from the survey reads “Try to see if you can get the stats on homogenity of neighborhood of UM students for your research...they are quite interesting.” The writer directly addresses me as a researcher and seeks to provide guidance for my work. I had a decision to make about self-aware comments like this. I could exclude them, which would make the narratives more like monologues that unfold without a clear listener. Or, I could include them, which would indirectly signal that the speakers were in some fashion addressing me as a researcher. In the end, I decide to include some of these comments as I felt they helped convey the narrative context in which the text was collected (Wells, 2011). These comments communicate that the narratives were written as a part of a research project. I then turned to organizing the raw text pieces so that they built a story. This meant rearranging them to tell a linear story, ordering comments that seemed to build on each other, and deleting parts that seemed redundant. Throughout, I relied on the original language used by

participants. I did correct small typos, such as changing the phrase “People don’t realize there being racist” to “People don’t realize they’re being racist.” I also changed the tenses and punctuation for some sentences so that they made sense together. For example, one original phrase read “which the university could not directly control” and I changed it to “which the university can’t directly control.” However, I maintained some unconventional language use, such as keeping the word “alienized” instead of replacing it with “alienated.” I also regularly returned to my spreadsheet to make sure that text I chose to represent that code was the best illustration of that code. By returning frequently to the original data, I tried to convey the context, structure, and content from the original text (Riessman, 1993). Writing narratives in this way protected the individual identities of participants in the study. Since their experiences were combined with similar experiences from other people, it should not be possible to link a story to one participant. However, this does mean losing some specificity. The stories are no longer simply one person’s interpretation from one person’s own subjectivity. I believe the loss in specificity is balanced out by the increase in transferability (Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). In other words, because the information is gathered from multiple sources, it increases the likelihood that readers can find something useful or interesting to apply to their own context. Themes that come from multiple stories are perhaps more instructive in understanding overall how the community understands this event. It makes a final report that is more interesting to read, as it is a complete story rather than disjointed themes. I also hope that this method makes it approachable for readers who might not read an academic paper under other circumstances. Use of this technique reflects the idea that research can be more art than science; it is created out of a need for communication between certain audiences (Tierney & Rhoads, 1993). Member Checking and Peer Review As one step towards establishing trustworthiness, I shared the narratives with five readers and asked for their feedback. In qualitative research, trustworthiness refers to the extent to which a study actually does what it claims to do (Lincoln, Lynham, & Guba, 2011). In this case, I was interested in establishing if the narratives were a useful and interesting representation of perspectives on the Theta Xi party. After completing the narratives in April 2014, I emailed the stories to five people for their input. I sent it to the three interview participants, who are all currently U-M students. This was an engagement in member checking, allowing the participant to give feedback on the research (Cresswell, 2007; Hatch, 2002). I also shared the narratives to with two peer reviewers. One peer reviewer is a faculty member with research experience in campus crisis response. Another

peer reviewer is a graduate student at the Center for the Study of Higher and Post-Secondary Education at U-M. These five readers represent a variety of perspectives and helped enrich the narratives with their comments. In each case, I asked them to look at the narratives and provide feedback. I asked people to comment on the overall flow of the narratives, on parts that resonated with them, and on parts that did not seem to fit within this U-M context. I received responses from two of my interview participants and from both of my peer reviewers. Their responses provided an additional level of data. In response to these comments, I made a few changes. Ultimately, their approval demonstrated that the results make a “good story” (Gubrium & Holstein, 2009). Given their removal from the actual research, these readers help provide trustworthiness to the end product (Bush, 2007). In general, the reviewers responded positively to the narratives. The readers felt that I had captured four distinct voices and four distinct perspectives on the Theta Xi incident. They remarked that they enjoyed reading the narratives and seeing these perspectives. The reviewers brought an additional set of experiences to the stories. Readers with a background in studying higher education connected the narratives to similar experiences from other campuses. One of my participants shared a story about trying to learn more about the meaning of the word “ratchet,” and sent me links to definitions containing the word “ratchet” on UrbanDictionary.com. Readers also remarked on being frustrated with certain perspectives and agreeing with others. To me, this indicates that the narratives read as cohesive wholes rather than disjointed quotes, which was one of my intentions. All four readers signaled approval of the narratives. The reviewers provided some feedback that helped me make changes. Several readers highlighted particular phrases in the narratives that were confusing. In these instances, I returned to the original data that informed that line in the narrative. In some cases, I decided to remove the phrase as it did not seem essential to the meaning of that component. In other cases, I added additional text from my data set for clarity. For example, in Amanda’s narrative, one reviewer noted that the phrase “And with what consequences that matter” seemed unclear. I added several sentences from an interview so the paragraph would begin with, “You know, so you have these students who don’t even bother trying to think twice about whether or not something is ok or not. They basically just take these cultures and make fun of them without realizing they’re doing it. And they do it with little consequences that matter.” One of my reviewers from U-M noted a particular phrase that did not seem to resonate with something a U-M student might say. In checking with the original text, I determined that it came from a commenter who was not a U-M student. Therefore, I elected to

remove this phrase. One reader pointed to an element in Tyler’s narrative that seemed redundant with another phrase. I agreed and removed that section of the narrative. The changes I made based on the reviewers were minor, but they strengthened the narratives considerably. In improving my narratives, I followed Gubrium and Holstein’s (2009) description of what makes a “good story.” They assert that narrative research recognizes that there are multiple stories that can be told about any given event. What makes a story “good” is not its representation of some objective truth, but its adequacy within the context where it occurs. Gubrium and Holstein (2009) emphasize the importance of assessing the usefulness of a story within a particular narrative context. In other words, when people tell stories, how are they using these stories to reach their intended outcome? Thus, if readers gain insight into this incident after reading the narrative, then within that narrative context, the story has utility (Tierney & Rhoads, 1993). The readers helped me confirm that the narratives are useful in conveying their perspectives. Limitations There are some limitations to my study. First, I was not able to engage in the quantity of interviews or surveys that I would have preferred. This means that I relied heavily on online comments. While these are rich with information, the comments are not all from U-M students. This means I am less sure about the specific impact of the theme party on the campus. Moreover, in attempting to learn about the identities of the commenters I did have to guess about some of their races and genders. This means that some of their identities may be labeled incorrectly. In future work, I would hope to be able to engage in interviews on a campus where I had some measure of institutional access and would be able to get a wider range of participants. Second, this is still the story of only one campus, and what I have learned here is specific to the context of U-M. Finally, the narratives and my comments on them are my interpretations filtered through my own experiences, and are limited by my perceptions. My experiences and identities shape the interpretations that I make. Before this project, I only had a slight familiarity with hip hop music, which means I have a different appreciation for it than someone who had been steeped in the music’s history. I have never been a member of a sorority or fraternity, nor have I worked in Greek Life. This means that I have an outsider’s perspective on these organizations. Still, I am confident that the final result provides new perspectives on hate incidents in college. The approval of the peer reviewers and interview participants indicates that the narratives are cohesive and compelling. I know of no other research that emphasizes the role of multiple perspectives in understanding hate incidents on college campuses. There is minimal research on

racial theme parties on college campuses, so my project adds to this limited body of knowledge. There is also minimal research in assessing the impact of campus responses to any sort of campus incident; this kind of assessment is vital to ensuring that colleges are able to effectively respond to community needs. By adding to these areas of research, my study offers a unique contribution to the study of higher education.

Chapter 4: Results Introduction to Narratives In this section I present the four composite narratives I created from the online comments, survey, and interviews. Each narrative is a response to the “Hood Ratchet Thursday” theme party planned by Theta Xi fraternity at U-M. See Appendix A for the complete Facebook invitation for this party. The first narrative is written from the perspective of Tyler, a White, straight, undergraduate man, who believes that it is racist to focus on race. This means he does not see any problem with the theme party. The second narrative is from the perspective of Madison, a White, straight, undergraduate woman, who argues that racism is about intent. This means that from her perspective, the theme party is not racist. The third narrative is from the perspective of Amanda, a White, bisexual, graduate woman who asserts that the theme party is unacceptable even as she struggles to find more complex words to explain her perspective. The final narrative is written from the perspective of Brianna, a Black, straight, undergraduate woman. She focuses on the overarching structures that allowed the party to happen. At the end of the narratives, I summarize some of their interesting elements and compare their differences. They lay the groundwork for the conclusion, which contains a longer analysis of how colleges and universities can more fully respond to hate incidents. Tyler: It’s racist to focus on race A planned WorldStarHipHop themed party was shut down by the university for being “racist.” I think the university had no right in doing that. It probably would have been fun—I wish I was invited. “WorldStarHipHop: Hood Ratchet Thursday” is a great party name. And if you think ratchet means Black, you’re a dumbass. It’s just college students testing the limits. Frats acting out like those guys in Animal House. Their only lapse in judgment was not realizing the uber-sensitive environment they live in. Move on. But we can’t move on. Someone was “offended.” Fun should be banned, as someone somewhere will get offended. Sensitivity training all around! Silly White fraternity boys, only rappers and Hollywood actors can talk like that. They need to be sent to a re-education dormitory and then attend the special classes in the sociology department. The last thing people should do is enjoy themselves when they could be miserable party poopers instead. The concept of having a thick skin has gone out the window. The fraternity was just looking to have a good time. I’ve been to some “pimps and hoes” parties—I don’t remember anyone complaining. I’ve never heard anything about the popular

“office hoes and CEOs” themed parties that go on all the time and that everyone knows about. Like, are Greeks offended by toga parties? It’s just ridiculous cries of racism over nothing. The people who promote this sort of righteous indignation are just looking for self-importance. This “cultural sensitivity” business has turned into a disease. Forums about tolerance. Committees to address the problem. Investigations. Disciplinary measures. How much time and money will be wasted because someone’s feelings could potentially be hurt? I don’t think there should even be a survey about this. My guess is the people who decided to throw the party see past race and just wanted to have a good time with a humorous theme. The people objecting, however, are unable to see past race. They assume since certain words used are sometimes associated with a certain race, this party MUST be racist since in their mind no one is able to see past race. These people claim that “White privilege” is prevalent - no, pandemic - in our society. However, I’ve never seen it. To most of us, the “races,” if we notice them at all, are equal. It’s the individual that matters. And as for all the various and sundry subdivisions, sub-subdivisions, sub-sub-subdivisions, ad nauseam, of various groups . . . It’s a cynical ploy to divide people between what you call “outgroups” vs. “the in-crowd” rather than recognize our common humanity and bring us together. I reject that type of divisive, unproductive and uncivilized approach to life. Everyone is so overly sensitized to screaming “racism” that they create racism. Perhaps instead we should use this as an opportunity to teach students that sometimes people say things that you or I disagree with, and that’s life. Everything offends someone. It’s called life. Deal with it. But people are over-sensitive and it was blown out of proportion. They overreacted because they don’t know what racism is. Racism is simply the belief that all members of a race possess characteristics specific to that race. It is just as racist to stereotype Whites as it is to stereotype Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, or any minority group. So people don’t realize they’re being racist when proclaiming the party is about Black culture. I completely agree with the guy who wrote the invitation when he said “If current hip hop is dominated by terminology like ‘twerking,’ ‘ratchet,’ and ‘swag,’ then that’s what its audience absorbs as hip hop: it doesn’t have to be Black.” When Blacks use the word ghetto, and ratchet regarding themselves, how is it racist if I use a term they are using? I think that is reverse racism. These words identify a lifestyle, not an ethnicity, and the fact that some people want to limit it to “Black culture” is what I consider offensive and racist. If you associate yourself with hood or ratchet, that’s your fault, not the party’s. If Blacks were offended they should help correct the behavior of their Black contemporaries that actually go

around looking and acting like gangstas, walking around with their pants so low as to expose their derrieres, and speaking in ebonics, and treating White girls like prizes, rather than attacking someone who is taking a satirical view of the situation. It is not a stereotype if it is real. This was made a priority because one individual decided to make a fuss about it. Someone got offended, wrote about it, it escalated, and the university felt compelled to step in and pretend to care. Where does the university have the right to tell a private house on private property that they don’t agree with something they said so they have to now cancel their private event? No crime was committed and it wasn’t targeted at a particular race. What these people are trying to say is that if something is offensive it shouldn’t be allowed. That’s a horrific slippery slope to go on. But these people think any words critical of their views is hate speech. The U of M is supported by tax dollars and is a government institution. They have no business censoring any type of free speech. ANY measure taken against a group or against individual students based on the content of their protected speech (and yes, the Facebook page is protected speech) is unlawful. There’s a reason why, even though despicable, the Westboro Baptists are allowed to picket near soldiers’ funerals and people can burn American flags. Maybe it is offensive to some people but there is a little document called the Constitution that protects freedom of expression. Look at how many “campaigns” there were to restrict the sorts of costumes students could wear for Halloween. There is not a single costume you can think of that would not “offend” someone, because the people behind these campaigns take this stuff far too seriously. Such people are “offended” by everyone except themselves. It’s like . . . there’s no diversity of thought on this campus, which is the FAULT of affirmative action based on race. And also that no one can speak their mind just because it might offend. Anything that isn’t politically correct is booed. The push for diversity and inclusion actually separates and divides. That’s the new separate but equal. “Diversity” seeks to do precisely what people say the frat partiers did: reducing each person from being an individual to some predetermined definition of themselves based on nothing but the color of their skin. Welcome to the PC age—anything perceived as Black is automatically offensive. The only PC target for anyone to demonize is straight, White men. I guess because they’re the only group who isn’t offended by the sun rising and setting. Madison: It’s only racist if it’s intentional The party was a hip hop centered party, created for friends of the brothers in Theta Xi. They sent out a Facebook invitation which briefly described the event. It had words and phrases used by the Black community, words like “ratchet” and “twerk,” as well as language about “bitches”

and “pussy” that were seemingly sexist. I think students just thought that it was dumb for the fraternity to use that language publicly, even if most people were not in fact offended. It’s not a huge issue unless you’re, like, a radical feminist. . . . I mean, I guess some students felt “targeted.” I can understand that, due to the language of the event description. But if they actually knew the brothers in the frat, they would not have felt this way. It was intended to be a hip hop themed party, but it was not intended to come across as racist at all, especially considering this fraternity is one of the most diverse social fraternities on the university’s campus. Knowing some of the brothers in the frat, I can assure you that they have Black, Asian, south Asian, and Jewish members. The event may have been in poor taste, but the words that they used in their description are by no means uncommon. It was created to listen to hip hop music in a party setting, not to alienate any group of people. This same fraternity holds “Country Thursdays” where country music is celebrated, and this was just an event along those same lines, just celebrating a different type of music. The intent was for fun and celebration, not racism and alienation. Hip hop is huge in mainstream music and party culture right now, and it’s something to be celebrated, not called racist at every turn. Terms such as “ratchet” and “twerking” are so widespread that it’s becoming normalized in everyday life. It’s a culture that should be explored, not seen as racist when a group wants to partake in something that is so heavily integrated into our daily lives. Like, if you went to clubs in Ann Arbor, there would be hip hop music and twerking and similar behavior. I just don’t see the crime here. Like, I happen to know the girl who reported this incident. She’s a member of a sorority that is incredibly close with Theta Xi, which is the only reason she was even invited to the event. She also happens to hold a leadership position in that sorority. I feel that she should have spoken directly with Theta Xi if she felt so uncomfortable, and they would have respected her as a member of their sister sorority. The members of the fraternity have expressed, more than once, that if she would’ve come to them about her discomfort of the situation, and educated them on how this was racism/cultural appropriation, they would have been more than willing to cancel the party, and learn from their mistakes. Instead, she decided to take it to higher ups before trying to rectify the situation hands on, with fraternity members VERY close to her own organization. The only thing she did was get a fraternity ridiculed by the masses, while she could have been a bigger person and simply asked them to amend the event, as it offended her and many other people on this campus. There was NO reason for her to take it directly to the university, unless she tried to communicate with Theta Xi and they disregarded her. But she took up her problems with this party to higher

administration so a lot of higher up university figures got involved and spoke their opinions. I honestly don’t think they would have cared had students not voiced their concerns. They probably just rolled their eyes and thought that the fraternity was stupid for doing this because the university cannot be seen to condone any offensive language in that context. And then an email was sent to all Michigan students and employees. I think the U really should not have sent that email to the whole school. Though the invitation content was inappropriate, the event didn’t happen. It brought so much more attention to it than there would have been otherwise. I have seen so many offensive things happening on campus so to single this one guy out as a villain was wrong. I highly doubt he understood that what he was doing was so offensive. The email also probably made Black people feel more alienized than supported because it brought a lot of attention to very negative stereotypes of Black people. There was a lot of outrage on Twitter and people at school talked about it after the email came out. It was mostly people trying to figure out what the “theme” was that was so offensive since the email was very vague. Viewpoints were written in the school newspaper, and the campus lit up in flames. Certain groups were extremely offended, and lashing out at Theta Xi as a fraternity, while others rose up to defend Theta Xi’s intent. I also think that other people were entertained or didn’t really care. Then the party was cancelled, and I believe the fraternity’s national organization was reviewing the incident. There was a trial held by the university between the fraternity and the parties who reported it to determine what Theta Xi’s punishment should be due to violating the university’s diversity and “expect respect” and etcetera clauses. And the school required the fraternity to issue a public apology. This was totally ridiculous—I mean, the guy who wrote the invitation wasn’t trying to be racist. He isn’t in a leadership position, so the entire frat shouldn’t be punished. Hopefully he will learn from this, move on and act more consciously in the future. I just don’t think he realized how it would come across. This is not about racism/sexism; it’s about ignorance. The intent of the party was not at all racist. It’s just an example of a group making a poor decision without thinking about how others may feel. But don’t make this a big issue—in college people make mistakes. There are many decisions that are made in poor taste, but not all of them are aimed at one target, or even at one at all. I think it demonstrates a need for more education among organizations that throw theme parties. Certain themes for theme parties can be over the top offensive, some can be safe but still fun and funny, and some can be walking the fine line of derogatory/bad taste.

Maybe it should seem to rest on the individual to educate themselves on these topics, but at this university, students are not required to take classes that address cultural appropriation and language. I’m not saying this is the right attitude, but blaming a student for not being educated when nobody enforces the education is wrong. I think that maybe, the university just needs to have a stronger, clearer guide for where the university’s line is for what’s an appropriate party. And even if they come up with some kind of guidance on these words—like, “Hood and ratchet are not appropriate.” And to actually be like, “Listen, we understand that this is a gray area. People want to push the envelope, but here’s where the line is for us.” And ok, maybe that sterilizes a little bit of the . . . like the creative themes that come out, but I think in the end that it would be a lot more beneficial. Amanda: Racism isn’t ok I only found out about it because the university emailed an apology addressed to any students offended by the event. I was, at the time, mostly curious as to what precisely had happened. After reading the university’s letter and other stuff online, I learned that the frat party was ghetto themed. They had used very derogatory terms in the Facebook description of the event. Terms that could be construed as racist, specifically promoting stereotypes about Black women. I think it was encouraging people to dress in the style of popular rap and hip hop artists, though I imagine it wasn’t in a celebratory way. Personally, when I read it, I was a little embarrassed. But I wasn’t surprised that this would happen here. I guarantee you that other people have thrown parties like this. They just weren’t stupid enough to create an invitation like this and make it so obvious. At the time, I didn’t know what “ratchet” meant, but I for sure knew that it was aimed at the African American community. I had to look it up. I got the idea that it was something that came from, you know, the quote-unquote “dirty south” type of mentality. It’s twerking, it’s lots of bling, lots of crazy women, slutty women. Definitely directed at women. How do I say it without using really awful . . . and who knows if I even have the place to even speak about this . . . When I was trying to figure out about what ratchet meant, it was hard to determine if it was seen, you know, within the community, as something that was encouraged and celebrated, or if it was something that was looked down upon as embarrassing or negative. Not being a member of the African American community, I can’t tell you that. I can’t speak to that. People were upset—the student body overall was pretty angry. The Michigan Daily newspaper also ran a few stories about it which cited a lot of angry student perspectives. I heard Black women saying that the invitation offended many of their identities. I may have seen some tweets about it.

The guy who made the Facebook page also had written an apology. There was a ton of back and forth in the comments on all the articles, ranging from “This is the most offensive/horrific thing ever” to “Get over it. It’s not that big a deal.” There was also the usual group of jerks that were like “I don’t see a problem with this” or “blah blah blah free speech”—which is an incorrect understanding of how free speech works. Obviously, I don’t know if I could ever fully understand how other people felt in response. I imagined how I feel about “White trash” parties. Parties where you’re supposed to wear—an unfortunate term, but what they call it is a “wife beater.” You know, the white tank top with maybe grease stains on the front, torn-up jeans, boots, and flannel shirt. Where you’re supposed to look like somebody . . . maybe from rural West Virginia or Kentucky. I am from a poor rural town and I find those parties to be pretty demeaning to the people I grew up with. I’m not really plugged into the undergrad community, so I can’t say the full response. I’m in grad school and it just wasn’t something my classmates seemed to be talking about. And they didn’t understand what the problem with the party was. I mean they didn’t—I don’t want to say that I like, have racist friends. That’s not it. It’s like . . . they didn’t understand why this representation . . . like what the problems were with this sort of party. And I tried to explain to them why people might be offended by a party like this. Then I just kind of gave up and was like, well, you know, I don’t think you have bad intentions, it’s just that sometimes people don’t think as critically about the way society depicts different cultures. There are Black people here and women of color who deserve to be here and deserve to be treated with respect by the campus community. There are many White students who casually use words like “ghetto” and “ratchet” and don’t know or care that it’s not ok. Because they don’t know the history of the words, and they don’t care that it offends people. When Black students have a negative stereotype such as “ratchetness” projected on them, it’s hard to be considered equal in status as a hard-working student at the university. It’s totally different than the overt racism and hate I’ve seen elsewhere, though. It’s not saying “I hate you” to a group of people . . . but in a way saying both I think you’re “cool” and I want to emulate you, but at the same time, I’m really making fun of you. It was obviously offensive and the frat should have known better. You know, I read that the president and the guy who planned the party are both Asian. Part of me thinks, like as a minority, you should be much more sensitive to that. And maybe there’s a little overcompensation going on. Maybe they’re just being like, “Listen, I’m just like you White guys, I can be completely racist also! Come be my friend!” They should have known better. They’re probably experiencing a lot of

undertones of discrimination throughout their lives. So they should have been more sensitive to that. Someone, prior to the invitation going out, should have said, “Oh, that is your theme? You can obviously not do that.” There are many ways to have a fun party without being so offensive and disrespectful. Having personal experience with fraternity men, I don’t think they put a lot of thought into their party themes. And almost all fraternity party themes I have seen denigrate women, so this one was not unique in that respect – like, “CEOs and corporate hoes.” You see it all the time. I bet there are more creative and fun theme ideas that people don’t find offensive. Still, the line can be blurry. For example, a lot of people in the U.S. celebrate Cinco de Mayo—they have parties, they wear sombreros, they drink Mexican-themed drinks. Is this problematic cultural appropriation? Is it offensive? Sometimes it’s hard to know where that line is . . . Though I still think this fraternity event obviously crossed that line. It’s not ok. Because you have these frats, and you have this university full of kids from really rich backgrounds. They’re in this place where they could finally expand and learn a little bit more about other things, but they don’t. They blissfully engage with their ignorance. And so as a result they’re going to leave here the same way that they came in: spoiled and ignorant of other cultures and backgrounds beyond their own. All you’re really told to do is to do well in classes and get a degree so you can get a job. These students got the idea to do this party from somewhere and it has to be related to living on this campus. A similar event like this happened at some Ivy League school so clearly the student body across the nation is still not as progressive as we’d like to believe. You know, so you have these students who don’t even bother trying to think twice about whether or not something is ok or not. They basically just take these cultures and make fun of them without realizing they’re doing it. And they do it with little consequences that matter, because what ended up happening? The frat was put on suspension. They were told not to have the party. But really, how much did that impact these students? What did they learn from this whole situation other than like, don’t make an obvious Facebook advertisement for the event? That’s what is not ok about it. And I think another one of the problems is that the university only really does stuff after something happens, right? Like . . . they have their email, they have their town halls, after they cancel this party. I don’t know how you fix it, but I don’t think sending out an email saying we’re very disappointed in this does much good. It was good to acknowledge it, but I think students just kind of rolled their eyes and ignored it. And the same thing happened with the BBUM movement,

like they have their response right after it happened, but then you don’t hear about it ever again, except for the people who keep bringing it back up. The people who were part of the movement keep bringing it back up. And they’re like, “Hey, nothing has been fixed or changed about this.” For what it’s worth, I think there are a lot of other students like me who probably want to talk this through and figure out why it’s not ok. And to also tell their friends that don’t realize it’s not ok why it’s not ok. I think it needs to be more of an ongoing discussion. Town halls and in- person discussions. Maybe, you know, like you asked me what the professors talked about in class. And no one mentioned anything. Maybe encouraging professors to have a discussion about this in their classes, to try to engage their students in thinking about these topics, even if it is just for one class period after the incident happens. Where everybody could voice why they are offended. So we need some sort of constant ongoing encouragement of . . . reaching out and understanding other cultures. But you know . . . I don’t know. I guess I said already I don’t know how you fix it. Brianna: Racism is structural A largely White fraternity planned a party, complete with a Facebook event, themed on something along the lines of “Ratchet Hood Rats.” It was a twerking and hip hop event, designed to be about perceived African American culture. It was racist and sexist, targeting Black people and especially Black women. Several White people posted on the Facebook event page that they were going to come dressed as Lil Wayne or other well-known African Americans. The gang references showed a glaring ignorance about gang violence and Black culture, not to mention a very unfortunate perpetuation of stereotypes. For the unenlightened, Urban Dictionary defines “ratchet” as “something that is dirty, unattractive and generally unclassy. It can also be used to mean ghetto.” Also, ratchet is a part of the language of Black culture. By automatically associating anything celebrating or mocking aspects of the inner city with being Black, the campus limits what it can mean to be Black or from the inner city on campus. I’m disgusted but somewhat unsurprised at the name of the party, because although most parties are not explicitly advertised as such, they often inexplicitly encourage the rearticulation of gender, race, and class stereotypes. I didn’t know about it until I got an email telling me that I should be offended as a woman of color. The university email said that the party was inappropriate because it relied on racial slurs and stereotypes. I was actually surprised that the university decided to respond to this event, because it seems like many parties and Greek oriented events in general promote ideas that would have a generally negative effect on a diverse social climate. I am positive this is not the first and only

event of this kind to occur at a house or frat party at U-M. This is probably just the first to be made public via a Facebook event page. I’m very glad that someone reported it. And some people probably felt validated that the university responded. It was definitely a bias incident . . . it contributed to making the campus an unsafe space for Black students. And Theta Xi was suspended or something to that effect from their national chapter. But I believe the response was inadequate. While this one frat is punished for their behavior, it probably doesn’t affect too many students’ perspective on issues like this beyond those at the frat in question. U-M should have viewed this not as an isolated incident, but rather as a side effect of a glaring lack of diversity and a continuing sexist attitude on campus. They automatically called it racist, rather than classist or opening up a dialogue. But the university isn’t really going to do much—after all, we’re in campaign and can’t risk giving up alumni contributions . . . even from the racist alumni. Ultimately, the problem is that students at U-M don’t realize why this is wrong. A lot of White students felt like it was no big deal. Most Michigan students are incredibly naïve . . . for example, I have had multiple instances in which I had to explain why the term “colored people” was inappropriate. I think this naiveté around race makes it hard for them to be sensitized to the reasons why this event is demeaning and offensive. They don’t realize that since in the United States (and lots of other places), White is the dominant group, White is the “normal” experience and way of being. Thus, racial minority experience is seen as being different and “other.” It’s “exotic” and “deviant.” It’s exotic compared to the normal, which is White. They don’t see that it hurts people in these racial minority groups when people do things like throw “ratchet” parties because they’re laughing at negative stereotypes about Blacks, and that hurts Blacks. The fraternity president wrote an apology and said that they didn’t intend to be offensive. It doesn’t matter if he had good or bad intentions—the impact they caused remains the same. The president is Asian American, and he to some extent defended himself as a minority as well. Several of my amazing friends who identify as “brown” (such as Mexican, Indian, etcetera) decried this with very eloquent open letters to other brown students about their role and the need for solidarity, since this event targeted Black people specifically. I wish that the effects would have been more widespread, with people examining how so many people RSVP-ed without seeing a problem. And the student who wrote the party invitation said that the derogatory language he used was actually quoted from a song. But if your fraternity does something racist, don’t blame hip hop. Blame yourself for not taking the initiative to learn how to not be racist. A lot of students at U-M

are from privileged, upper-middle class backgrounds and, therefore, do not have any idea the history behind the ratchet culture Miley Cyrus and other pop artists are appropriating. Students with a limited understanding of racial issues think that anything that exists in pop culture is theirs to borrow, even if the meaning changes when expressed in a majority White, affluent environment. If he didn’t know how offensive he was being, he’ll never know until someone tells him—but why not do that before he writes a racist message, through mandatory diversity education. That one LSA race and ethnicity requirement class isn’t enough for some students. College is an opportunity to be educated on issues like these, but the burden should not rest on people of color—it rests on White students to take classes on topics like these or make intentional efforts to join organizations (of which there are many on these campus) that might help them understand their own privilege and how it affects others. The burden to understand is on White people, not on people of color to explain. What’s sad is that so many people want to debate if the Black community has a right to be offended by this. I am a Black student, and I am very offended. Black/African American trauma needs validation from no one—and especially not from those who aren’t a member of the community. I certainly don’t identify with anything in the Facebook invite. I’m not someone who identifies with being “hood” or “ratchet.” I don’t want to celebrate, claim, or defend a “culture” that participates in the hypersexualization, commodification, and disposability of the Black feminine body. I don’t identify with any of it, except for the fact that ALL of the images portrayed are people of my skin color. And I’m not sorry that the Black community won’t take this at our learning institution. Black people aren’t at this campus for entertainment or mockery. These are my classmates. This is my school. Neither do I care if anyone meant for it to be offensive . . . nor will it ever be okay for White privileged students to dress up and put on contemporary minstrel shows. White people coming to an event dressed as Black people is modern day blackface. These types of parties routinely get attention at colleges around the country. I think they’re more often than not at fraternities, and I suspect this is because of a culture of parties and having cool themes. Combining this with many participants who have misogynistic or racist attitudes (whether actively or passively due to structural influences) could be an explanation for why these parties keep happening. Racism and sexism and heterosexism seem built into the system of fraternities and sororities. Perhaps that culture as a whole—of beefy dudes and objectified women—needs to be re-examined. The emphasis on “bad bitches,” “twerking” contests, and “ratchet pussy” illustrate a very alarming view of women. It seems women were invited to the party

to be the entertainment and for the pleasure of these fraternity boys. It’s all a reflection of the same type of sexism that can be seen in other universities’ struggles with the prevalence of sexual assaults and the reporting of sexual assaults. The fact that college-aged males even entertained the idea that this would be appropriate is a telling sign about the state of race relations at U-M. It sheds light on the serious lack of Black students on campus and the lack of racial diversity within individual Greek Life chapters. Maybe these boys would have thought twice, or had a different perspective, if they included Black men among their “brothers.” And, you know, the “Being Black at U-M” followed. The BBUM hashtag on Twitter revealed that there are a lot of problems on campus. I think it made some people take notice of how institutionalized/normalized racism is here. Like, just last year, a group used a White figure appropriating/mimicking Black hip hop culture for laughs in their student government campaign. Part of U-M’s racial climate is due to the affirmative action court cases and referendum, which the university can’t directly control. But the university has lost diversity and progress in the past few decades. On this campus, White students are way overrepresented and Black students are way underrepresented, and it leads to a lack of awareness and concern. Tuition has QUADRUPLED since 1990. When tuition goes up, attendance is limited to the ruling classes. So the university recruits a very homogenous group of students in terms of both race/ethnicity and income. Furthermore, most of these students grew up in very homogenous environments. Try to see if you can get the stats on the homogeneity of the neighborhoods of U-M students for your research . . . they are quite interesting. I think the university has a responsibility to provide a safe racial climate for all students on campus. But diversity has gone down. The student population is content and reactionary compared to student populations of the past. There used to be war protests in Ann Arbor. Not anymore. Instead, we’re fighting against groups who want to ban affirmative action. This party is not an isolated event but part of our society needing to work on towards respecting each other and building each other. I believe that it’s linked to a culture of racism and ignorance that exists at Michigan just as it does everywhere in American society. Discussion Hate incidents like this theme party certainly have an impact beyond the individual actors; the community at large wrestles with what the incidents mean. Within that community, there are always a range of perspectives. These composite narratives illustrate the variety of perspectives that

exist on this theme party. In this discussion, I summarize some of the notable elements of each narrative. I then highlight similarities and differences among the perspectives represented here. Finally, I use the narratives to assess U-M’s response to the party and offer suggestions for addressing the multiple perspectives within these narratives. Each narrative offers a different take on what racism means and thus a different interpretation of the party (Hartigan, 2010). In this way, they demonstrate the “fishnet” described by Ainslie and Brabeck (2003). Ainslie and Brabeck described the way that a single hate incident became linked with the local history of bias, discrimination, and inequity. They interviewed members of the town of Jasper, Texas after James Byrd, Jr. was murdered by White supremacists. Black Jasper residents asserted that this hate crime was part of a larger history of strained race relations. The residents connected this incident with their own experiences of being victims of bias, discrimination, and violence. Their identities and experiences influenced the elements that they connected to Byrd’s murder. While Ainslie and Brabeck were primarily interested in how people who were traumatized by the murder connected it to other past trauma, these narratives indicate that a fishnet also exists for those who have not experienced trauma. Much as the Jasper residents linked a single incident to a larger web of meaning, the narratives I have created here demonstrate how individuals have taken this theme party and connected it to a disparate set of concepts. These narrative fishnets include discussions of First Amendment rights, affirmative action, and U-M’s history. In each case, the speakers’ identities and experiences have shaped the elements that they connect with the theme party. Looking deeper at the elements they have connected to the theme party provides a framework for responding to hate incidents in ways that respect the diversity of perspectives on the incidents. Tyler. Tyler unequivocally believes the party is unproblematic. First, because his individual definition of racism means that he does not see the party as racist. Second, his espousal of colorblindness means that he also does not see the party as even related to race. This means that he connects the party to other diversity efforts that he sees as unproductive. If race and racism are not problems, than any reaction is likely to be seen as an overreaction. For these reasons, he sees the party as unproblematic and unworthy of attention. He perceives himself as equality-minded and others as looking for problems where none exist. Because he sees racism as an individual action rather than a system, the fishnet that Tyler connects with the party is radically different than Brianna’s fishnet.

Tyler’s understanding of race is that people pay too much attention to it, which is what causes racism. He argues that he knows the true definition of racism, which is “the belief that all members of a race possess characteristics specific to that race.” He defines racism as when one person prejudges another on the basis of race. This definition maps on to what is sometimes termed “individual racism.” People who endorse an individual definition of racism believe that an incident is racist if a person acts on racially hostile attitudes in order to harm someone of a disliked racial group (Unzueta & Lowery, 2008). This is clearly not the same definition of racism that Brianna is using when she talks about racism that exists “passively due to structural influences.” Since Tyler believes that racism is one individual hating another individual, then he would not categorize the theme party as racist. This perspective on looking at the individual means that he does not have a way to grasp concepts like White privilege (Unzueta & Lowery, 2008). Since the party did not contain any overtly hostile acts against individuals, Tyler does not see it as racist. Instead, Tyler argues that to him, “the individual matters.” His desire to treat everyone equally means that he seeks to “look past race.” Here, he endorses a perspective known as colorblindness. From this perspective, people are supposed to ignore race or act as though they do not notice race. Tynes and Markoe (2010) found that colorblind racial attitudes are linked with condoning racial theme parties. This color-blind attitude means that Tyler sees the theme party as a fun event that does not harm anyone. Words like “ratchet” and “hood” are linked only to the music in which they appear. This is akin to how LaDousa’s (2011) White college students adopted the word “ghetto” to describe their neighborhood in a small, predominantly White college town. They ignored any racial and class overtones of the word “ghetto,” emphasizing instead the “fun” quality of their neighborhood. Anyone who was offended by their use of racial terms was seen as taking things too seriously, much as Tyler asserts that others are overreacting to this “fun” party. The “fun” quality of the party is also connected to hip hop music as a commercial commodity. If the music can be easily purchased, then people assume that anything within that music can be the property of the purchaser. Hartigan (2010) notes that the absorption of historically Black terms into White culture is in part a result of hip hop’s commercial accessibility. Thus, White students believe that the external symbols of that culture are theirs for assuming (Wise, 2007). The commercial availability of hip hop music contributes to the understanding that the music is equally relevant to people of all races. From this colorblind perspective, the party is completely unrelated to race. If racism is not a problem, then Tyler sees no reason to have education about racism. Therefore, Tyler connects the party with his overall feeling of disgust about current diversity

education efforts at U-M. As a White man, Tyler feels excluded from what he sees as the prevailing approach to diversity. His perception of racism as individual rather than structural means that he sees himself as alternately neglected and villainized by diversity education. In this vein, Tyler positions himself as a victim, believing that straight, White men are the “only PC target for anyone to demonize.” His victimization is particularly upsetting to Tyler because he believes that he is a fair-minded person who seeks to treat everyone equally. This position means that he connects the cancellation of the theme party to an array of diversity programs that all seem to disempower him. He dismisses an educational effort that was meant to discourage people from wearing Halloween costumes. He also dismisses a list of programs that are meant to address racial issues: “Forums about tolerance. Committees to address the problem. Investigations. Disciplinary measures.” He sees these programs as completely irrelevant. This indicates that current efforts to address the problems that led to the theme party are not reaching their target audience. Of the four perspectives addressed in my narratives, clearly Tyler would be the most likely to host a theme party at some point in the future. Current diversity education programs are not reaching Tyler, because they are not addressing his individual definition of racism and his colorblindness. He interprets these diversity programs as efforts that silence him. He says, “It’s like . . . there’s no diversity of thought on this campus, which is the FAULT of affirmative action based on race. And also that no one can speak their mind just because it might offend.” Tyler believes that programs like affirmative action restrict the diversity of opinions that can be expressed on campus. Even though affirmative action is no longer in practice at U-M, this is the name he gives to a general force that he believes is making it harder to express a diversity of thoughts. The distrust he holds towards affirmative action is one held by many White students. Norton and Sommers (2011) note that many Whites interpret affirmative action policies as diminishing their own opportunities. In this “zero-sum” mentality, if people of color gain opportunities, Whites must be losing those opportunities (Norton & Sommers, 2011). Many young White men feel disenfranchised when they see people of color and White women make social and economic advances, which they feel come at the expense of White men (Turpin-Petrosino, 2002). Likewise, Cabrera (2012) discusses how White men in college may see themselves as victimized by policies that do not privilege White people. The passage of Proposal 2, which banned the use of race in college admissions in Michigan, suggests that many voters may feel similarly threatened by the concept of affirmative action (Howe, 2013; Rose, 2008). Tyler argues that affirmative action actually limits people’s ability to hold diverse thoughts. Here, he may be responding to a feeling that as a White person his perspective is less valued when it

comes to conversations about race and diversity (Cabrera, 2012). He feels silenced and victimized by current diversity efforts. While his understanding of affirmative action is under-explained within this narrative, Tyler’s general principle is that the concept of diversity proves to be more divisive than inclusive. If the opposite of racism is treating everyone as individuals, then any acknowledgement of Black identity seems to exacerbate the problem that Tyler sees. With this perspective, Tyler is in good company; in a survey of more than 1,000 White, college-aged people, 58% reported that discrimination against Whites is as big or a bigger problem than discrimination against other racial groups (Jones, Cox, & Banchoff, 2012). Just as Tyler labels restricting his speech as “reverse racism,” Cabrera’s (2012) interviewees see any attempt to talk about race as “reverse racism.” Endorsing a colorblind perspective means that any acknowledgement of race is seen as creating racism. It is tempting to dismiss Tyler’s perspective as merely stemming from White privilege, much as he dismisses this research by saying “I don’t think there should even be a survey about this.” Clearly, he does have White privilege that enables him to not have to think about the harmful effects of this party (Wise, 2007). However, to dismiss his perspective will probably not prevent similar incidents from occurring in the future. None of the repercussions from the party seem to have changed his perspective; he still wishes he had been invited to it. Instead, the repercussions seem to have cemented his perspective that discussions about diversity are about placing limits on him – limits on Halloween costumes, on what he can say, or even what he can think. Tyler feels that his perspective is invisible at U-M and he feels villainized by the mention of White privilege. This is in contrast with how he views himself, which is as an egalitarian person who does not prejudge people based on their race. Since Tyler feels that he is already a basically fair person, educators could begin with a shared understanding that fairness is important. From that shared perspective, they could begin to help students like Tyler think about circumstances in which it might not be a positive thing to “look past race.” They would need to take a developmentally appropriate approach (e.g. Bennett, 1986 or Tatum, 1992). This would probably be more time consuming than sanctioning perpetrators of theme parties, but would hopefully yield more long term results. For this reason, it is important that any response to a problematic theme party somehow addresses White privilege on a larger scale. Madison. Madison is largely concerned with protecting the individuals involved, so she builds a web of meaning that defends their intentions. More than any of the other narratives, Madison positions herself as an insider to the theme party. She prioritizes solidarity. Madison situates herself as an insider to sorority and fraternity culture by claiming a personal relationship with

some of the Theta Xi members. She talks about the other parties that this fraternity has hosted and the racial demographics of the organization. She also has insider knowledge about how the party was reported and what happened next. Her insider position gives her access to motive, and she believes that motives define the event. She sees the fraternity brothers as basically good people and believes that good people cannot be racist. She concludes that an act is only racist if it is intended to be racist. Madison asserts that she knows the student who reported the party to U-M officials. She argues that the student should have handled it personally with members of Theta Xi, rather than making a report. Her insistence that it should have been addressed on an interpersonal basis rather than through a university complaint is important for two main reasons: the insular nature of Greek culture and the concept of racism as problematic only when it is intentional. First, she places Greek status as a unifying identity that should take precedence over other identities. Madison argues that the student who reported the incident was invited to the party only because of her “sister” sorority status, implying that this student would not be welcome under other circumstances. She describes the fraternity as one that would be responsive if an issue is addressed in a personal way. Madison’s framework is one in which people in sororities and fraternities should look out for each other. While Madison’s insistence that the student’s complaint should have been handled personally is partially a product of her position within sorority life, it is also part of a framework that believes that racism is an intentional problem. She argues multiple times that the party “was not intended to come across as racist at all.” She believes that racism is a matter of intent, coming from a place of hatred (Tatum, 1992; Unzueta & Lowery, 2008). Additionally, she believes that the people who put on the party are good people and that good people cannot be racist (Hartigan, 2010). She believes the student who objected to the party should have “been a bigger person” and explained the problems with the theme. Here, she asks a student of color to be responsible for the education of her peers, an often unfair burden for students at predominantly White institutions (Tatum, 1992). She relies on a belief that since a mistake was unintentional, it should not be perceived as harmful or racist. While she does say that the party was not acceptable, she uses a simple rejection of the party as inappropriate without getting into a deeper discussion of how race factors into U-M life (Hartigan, 2010). Addressing Madison’s perspective may be somewhat challenging because of her reliance on Greek solidarity. She is protective of the Theta Xi brothers and distrustful of any kind of university intervention. Madison talks about the U-M staff in ways that indicates her disregard of what they

have to say; she mentions “higher up university figures.” Since she does not use names or titles to refer to U-M staff, this suggests that she sees them not as individuals but as a single entity. She sees their response as coming not from a value of inclusion but from a public relations perspective. She says that the “university figures” got involved “because the university cannot be seen to condone any offensive language in that context.” This indicates that she might be distrustful of education that came from U-M staff. However, she also asks for guidance about party themes. Perhaps she would be interested a wider discussion within the sorority and fraternity community about party themes. In such a context, she might be open to education from other fraternity and sorority members who found the theme problematic. Clearly, student members of U-M’s Greek Activities Review Panel took issue with the party theme, so perhaps they could be encouraged to help provide that education (Jones, 2013). In any case, it is clear that Madison will be much more responsive to education that comes from within the Greek community than any response from university staff. Amanda. Although she does not have a complex explanation for it, Amanda reacts on a gut level to the racism she sees within the party. She says that “It’s not ok.” This gut reaction influences her rejection of the party but also means that she does not have more complex arguments about it. Amanda does not position herself within any particular community. As a graduate student, she is an outsider to the undergraduate community. She also sees herself as an outsider to the “kids from really rich backgrounds,” as her roots are in a “poor rural town.” Even her racial identity is described in terms of absence; rather than calling herself White, she describes herself as “not [. . .] a member of the African American community.” This understanding of Whiteness as a lack of racial identity can make it difficult to discuss White privilege. If she is a member of any community, she seems close to the group of graduate student friends who struggled to understand her objections to the theme party. Here, she echoes the White students in Tatum’s (1992) class. Some of Tatum’s White students, recently exposed to their own privilege, found themselves alienated and ridiculed by peers when they tried to educate their peers about White privilege. When compared to Madison’s Greek-centric framework, Amanda’s lack of a defined community means that she does not have a clear framework for understanding the party. From this position, Amanda finds it difficult to understand how Asian students could have hosted this theme party. She believes that “as a minority, you should be much more sensitive.” She reflects a conception of racism as a binary – where racism is generally Whites being harmful towards racial minorities. However, her explanation for why Asian students might have planned the party shows the beginning of a more complex understanding of racism. She jocularly imagines the Asian

students saying, “Listen, I’m just like you White guys, I can be completely racist also! Come be my friend!” With this statement, she suggests that racial minorities can sometimes adopt the prejudices of the racial majority group in order to be accepted (Tatum, 2003; Tuan, 1999). She understands the double pressures that Asian American students might feel at U-M but does not have a fully formed theory for why this may be so. For Amanda, the fishnet of associations she connects with this incident indicates that she is open to a more complex discussion about racial identity. Amanda believes that the party is “not ok” but she also struggles to find the words to explain her viewpoint, perhaps because she has not had practice in talking about the topic. Many White people find that there are often costs associated with speaking about race, including making a mistake, offending people, and acknowledging one’s own privilege (Hartigan, 2010). There are very few personal benefits for White people who speak about race. This means that many White people do not choose to speak about race. This silence means that Amanda does not have much experience speaking about race, so she struggles to express herself. However, her narrative shows hints of a deeper understanding that could be encouraged through dialogue. She recognizes that the use of the word “ratchet” is contested both by Black and White people. She recognizes intersecting identities through her analysis of “White trash” and “CEOs and corporate hoes” parties. Amanda also has an understanding of privilege, through looking at the backgrounds of U-M students. All of this suggests that while she is under-experienced with talking about race, she has a variety of complex thoughts about the issue that should be encouraged and developed. Almost any educational outreach could be helpful to address Amanda’s perspective. She directly asks for this kind of education, especially requesting support for when it comes to talking about race with her peers. Dialogue could help her develop the ideas that she struggles to express. Educational outreach in her case should take into account her position as a graduate student. She feels disconnected from the undergraduate community and more directly linked to her graduate program. Whether it is through classroom discussions or through specific forums for graduate students, Amanda is clearly interested in being involved in some sort of dialogue. Brianna. For Brianna, the associations connected with this event spans time and space, as Matsuda et al. (1993) might have predicted. She discusses other theme parties at other schools, U-M history, intersecting identities, and hip hop culture. She ties the party into an understanding of the structural nature of racism (Unzueta & Lowery, 2008). While Amanda considers the motivations of the individuals who planned the party, Brianna looks at the much larger structures that allow those individuals to behave in these ways. Punishing individuals for racist actions does not counter the

institutional structures that keep racism in place (Ahmed, 2012). A structural approach to racism argues that government, educational, and financial systems work to privilege White people at the expense of Black people and other people of color (Unzueta & Lowery, 2008). The structure does not stem from any single person’s hateful intention. Instead, it is a legacy of U.S. slavery, post- World War II policies, and segregation. Rather than seeing racism as a problem between two individuals, she connects racism to U.S. history, to the specific history at U-M, and to a network of other identities. This perspective means that the past is never truly past (Hartigan, 2010). From this framework, the party is a product of this structure. Her frustration with the party and the subsequent response go beyond seeing it as simply racist. Brianna’s critique also addresses the larger components of “ratchet culture” that she perceives as anti-woman. She also disconnects her own identity from the way that Black women were portrayed in the party invitation. In this way, she echoes Erin Fischer, one of the students who initially reported the theme party to U-M officials. In an article in The Michigan Daily, Fischer (2013) writes “I can’t take the joke because of the obscene number of times I’ve been asked to ‘twerk’ and ‘dance’ for these white men, because my Black identity obviously tells them I possess the inherent talent and desire to do so.” She goes on to talk about the way people on campus “tie those labels to my identity because of my racial minority status.” Both are reacting against the notion that the depiction of women in the Facebook invitation is descriptive of their identities. Brianna also connects the party with minstrelsy and blackface. This is despite the fact that the party invitation made no mention of blackface. For many African-Americans, any version of dressing up as a Black person will recall blackface and the connotations of that practice. Beginning in the early 1830s, blackface was a theatrical practice common in the urban parts of the northern U.S. (Lott, 2013). In a typical minstrel performance, White men would wear burnt cork or greasepaint on their faces. They would sing songs, make jokes, and act out scenes set in the American South. All of this was conducted in an exaggerated Black dialect that often made Blacks seem foolish and unintelligent. While the legacy of blackface is a complicated one, today many people assert that blackface is an unacceptable act of racial domination. Likewise, any other approximation of Black culture is seen as unacceptable. Yet some White college students appear to be entirely unaware of this history (Green, 2013; Wise, 2007). This may account for some of the differences in the response to the party. Brianna connects the incident with Michigan’s history regarding race in admissions practices. She asserts that affirmative action is important because of the generally homogeneous backgrounds

of U-M students. She instructs me as the researcher to “Try to see if you can get the stats on the homogeneity of the neighborhoods of U-M students for your research.” The most recent statistics I was able to find about this information are from the Michigan Student Survey (MSS), conducted with students who graduated in 2004. The MSS says that about 90% of White U-M students grew up in neighborhoods that were mostly or nearly all White (Matlock, Gurin, & Wade-Golden, 2002). This means that when White undergraduates begin at U-M, it may be among the first times that they have been asked to live close to people of color. In her discussion of the declining number of Black students at U-M, Brianna is likely aware of the Grutter v. Bollinger (2003) and Gratz v. Bollinger (2003) Supreme Court decisions. The Grutter decision allowed U-M School of Law to continue considering race in admissions decisions, as part of the overall evaluation of an individual applicant. However, the Gratz decision found that U-M College of Literature, Science, and the Arts (LSA) was using a system that functionally made race decisive for any applicant. The court found that the use of race was not narrowly tailored and did not give enough attention to an individual applicant. Brianna also mentions the referendum. Here she means Proposal 2, which passed in 2006 and banned any consideration of race in Michigan’s college admissions (Howe, 2013; Regents of the University of Michigan, 2013). She asserts that because of these policies, “the university has lost diversity and progress in the past few decades.” Indeed, in the years since the admission policies changed, fewer Black students have enrolled at U-M (U-M Office of Budget and Planning, 2013). All of this suggests that Brianna is very aware of the current policies and practices regarding race at U-M. While Brianna is critical of U-M policies, it is likely that U-M staff may find a lot of common ground with her. In discussing this party, she itemizes specific factors that contribute to overall campus climate. She focuses on the low number of students of color on campus as one of the major issues. She also argues for diversity education on campus. U-M staff seem to agree with Brianna, which is evident in an open letter from Martha Pollack, Provost and Executive Vice President for Academic Affairs. In response to the BBUM movement, Pollack (2014) writes about the importance of “improving campus climate” and “increasing enrollment of underrepresented minorities to the fullest extent permitted by law.” This suggests that U-M staff are aware of the demands of students like Brianna and are making statements that support her perspective. A later statement listed specific action steps, including providing a central and visible space on campus for students of color to congregate (Cunningham, 2014). Of the four narratives here, Brianna’s perspective is the one that is most explicitly being addressed.

Comparing narratives. These four narratives offer unique perspectives on how the Theta Xi theme party impacted the U-M community. Tyler believes that there is nothing problematic about the party. Madison argues that since the fraternity members did not intend to hurt anyone, they should not be punished. Amanda asserts that the party is racist, but struggles to find the language to explain this. Brianna sees the party as part of an environment that systematically devalues Black students and reinforces White privilege. Although there are many points of difference and similarity among these narratives, here I focus on use of language, interpretations of intent, and ownership of hip hop culture. Language use. The language that each speaker uses to talk about their perspectives varies. Brianna uses language that suggests that she has been steeped in the academic study of racism and privilege, possibly through classes she has taken at U-M. She uses words like “rearticulation” and “commodification.” Her analysis of the exoticization of Black women suggests that she has had other opportunities to express these ideas. By contrast, Amanda and Madison do not have access to the same type of rich language to describe their perspectives. Amanda struggles to find words, often falling back on generalizations like “blah blah blah” and “stuff.” She has not been exposed to the same types of academic language that Brianna uses in her analysis of the party. Similarly, Madison uses the word “alienized” rather than the more standard “alienated,” suggesting she has not talked about this idea frequently. Tyler’s language differs as well, relying heavily on sarcasm. He sardonically says, “Fun should be banned, as someone somewhere will get offended.” Rather than offer a direct argument, he manages to convey his point as well as demonstrate his disregard for the issue. It is important to note these differences in language, as they help communicate the speakers’ life experiences and perspectives. These differences in diction might also inform how practitioners craft responses to theme parties. Intent. All of the narratives discuss the intent of the party and the party planners. Madison and Tyler both assert that the party was intended to be fun. Madison goes further in defending the intent of the party by saying that it was meant in celebration of hip hop culture. She argues that because the intent was benign, Theta Xi should not have been punished. She does note that the students who planned the party may be ignorant about cultural appropriation, which means that U- M should make the effort to educate them. This places the responsibility for the party back on the university, rather than on the students who planned it. Amanda and Brianna agree that the students who planned the party are ignorant. However, they both believe that ignorance does not relieve responsibility. Amanda says that some U-M students “blissfully engage with their ignorance” and as

a result do not learn anything new during their time on campus. She asserts that someone should have known better and stopped the party. Along these lines, Brianna cites the letter that Theta Xi president Eric Quang (2013) wrote. In this letter (available in Appendix D), Quang asserts that he did not intend to be harmful. But Brianna argues “It doesn’t matter if he had good or bad intentions—the impact they caused remains the same.” In contrast to Madison, who believes that the intention of the party matters, Brianna asserts that the party still causes harm even if the fraternity did not mean to cause harm. She agrees that many U-M students are ignorant about race and privilege, but argues that ignorance does not offset responsibility. Instead, White people should seek out classes and organizations that will help them understand their own privilege. Brianna states that the “burden to understand is on White people, not on people of color to explain.” The narratives take different approaches to understanding intent and ignorance – while Madison and Tyler believe that the intention of the party matters, Brianna and Amanda argue that the fraternity is still responsible for their mistakes, even if they were ignorant about the harm it could cause. Culture. There are interesting connections in how the narratives approach the role of popular culture and hip hop terminology. Each speaker considers who is allowed to use terms like “ratchet” and who is allowed to enjoy hip hop music. In other words, is this culture reserved for the use of Black people? Madison indicates that “ratchet” and “twerking” are part of popular culture that is accessible to everyone who enjoys hip hop music. She perceives the party as a celebration of that culture rather than any kind of insult. Similarly, Tyler argues that the words are a part of hip hop culture, which is not necessarily Black. He cites a letter written by Allen Wu (2013), who initially planned the party and made a similar claim about the nature of hip hop terms. (The full text of this letter is in Appendix C.) Tyler also uses sarcasm to emphasize that this fraternity is not alone in using these terms, saying “Silly White fraternity boys, only rappers and Hollywood actors can talk like that.” Madison and Tyler both express ownership of hip hop culture and terminology. By contrast, Amanda asserts that White students do not have the authority to use those terms “because they don’t know the history of the words.” Although she is unclear on the history and meaning of the word “ratchet,” Amanda knows that she should not use it. She is content to allow people who are “within the community” define the term and how it should be used. Brianna, however, asserts that no one should use these terms. As a Black woman, she does not see “hood” culture as anything she wants to celebrate or claim. She sees it as contributing to the denigration of “the Black feminine body.” She also cites the pop artist Miley Cyrus as a key example of how White people appropriate Black culture while being unaware the significance of the terms they are using. As White people,

Tyler and Madison feel that they have ownership of hip hop culture, while Amanda feels no such ownership. Brianna simply rejects the whole concept as derogatory. These three approaches to the terms “ratchet” and other elements of hip hop culture are central to the differences among these perspectives. These narratives take different approaches to the Theta Xi party, ranging from believing it is insignificant all the way through complete outrage. The speakers take different approaches to the language they use in discussing the issue. They have a range of perspectives on what it means for the party hosts to be ignorant or unaware of the problematic nature of the party. Finally, they disagree on who has the authority to use terms related to hip hop culture. This examination of the differences between these narratives leads to my assessment of U-M’s response to the theme party and how U-M could have considered these multiple perspectives as part of their response. Assessing U-M’s Response In responding to hate incidents, colleges can choose from a variety of possibilities, including everything from campus-wide emails, forums, task forces, punishment, curricular changes, and cancelled classes (McDermott, 2013). For most of these interventions, there is little research on their effectiveness. In U-M’s case, staff members chose to send an email, to host forums, and to discipline the fraternity. Here, I use the composite narratives as a means of assessing these steps. At the end, I provide recommendations for adding to these responses by acknowledging multiple perspectives on the theme party. University-wide email. One thing all of the narratives share is a discussion of the official university email, which was sent by three members of the U-M staff on October 31, 2013. This is reflective of the widespread nature of that email. While U-M responded in several ways, none was cited with as much regularity as the email. For that reason, I am examining it in depth here. The email set the tone for the events that happened later. Moreover, emails like this one are relatively common in responding to campus incidents, so the lessons learned here may be useful for other campuses (de Haven, 2009). Ahmed (2012) discusses the importance of institutional communications like this one in endorsing diversity goals within an organization. Despite their relative frequency, it is rare for colleges to publicly assess the impact of such emails. The email responding to the Theta Xi party was signed by three members of the university staff, Royster Harper (Vice President, Student Life), Laura Blake Jones (Dean of Students), and Mary Beth Seiler (Director of Greek Life) (personal communication, February 12, 2014). On October 31, 2013, this email was distributed to all students, staff, and faculty at U-M (Wassman,

2013). The email explained that a party was planned, but that it had been cancelled and corrective steps had been taken. It stated that the party was unacceptable, and concluded by reaffirming a commitment to “thoughtful, challenging conversations about social identities.” The text of this email is in Appendix B. Two of the narratives indicate that they believe that some people appreciated that the email provided a public acknowledgment of the event. However, the narratives all indicate disapproval of the email. While Tyler and Madison see the email as unnecessary, Amanda and Brianna see it as insufficient. I focus on three elements of this email and how these elements were interpreted by participants. The three aspects of the email that seem significant are the vagueness of the email, the broad language that was used in assessing the party, and the assertion that the situation is under control. Vagueness. Three of the narratives mention that the email seemed vague. The email is brief – about 300 words. It does not name the fraternity or the theme of party, labeling it as “an offensive themed party.” The vagueness may have been an attempt to not duplicate the problem by repeating the problematic language from the party invitation. Brianna believes that the vagueness was an attempt to avoid alienating alumni who donate to the school. Madison explains that the vagueness of the university email meant that the campus community turned to online news sources in order to learn more about the party. Thus, the vagueness of the email did not control the flow of information about the party. Information about the party was readily available, since I, as an outsider to the community, was able to locate a screenshot of the invitation on Twitter and in several news sources. I also was easily able to learn the names of the students involved in planning the event. This indicates that the vagueness of the email did not protect confidentiality. Determining the amount of information to release about any situation can be difficult. Too little information can lead to distrust, confusion, and exacerbating the situation. Releasing too much information can violate privacy, or spread disinformation before details have been confirmed (Costello, 2001). In cases where it is unclear how much to disclose, Jablonski, McClellan, and Zdziarski (2008) recommend erring in the direction of sharing more information, rather than less. U-M might have considered including selective information in the email or sending a follow-up email that provided more information. Broad wording. The email is also broadly worded, including everyone in the incident’s impact. It is sweeping in its assessment of the party, saying that the “language of the invitation and theme of the party denigrated all women and African American/black identified people.” By using the word “all,” the authors make a declarative statement that tells people that they have been

insulted regardless of their own perspectives. I believe this is what Brianna is responding to when she says “I got an email telling me that I should be offended as a woman of color.” The email instructed her about how she should feel, rather than inviting her to share her perspective. Rather than allowing people to form their own interpretation of the offensiveness of the party, the email makes a singular statement. In a similarly broad turn of phrase, the email says that the party “harms everyone in the community.” This phrase imagines a singular community at U-M. While it is reasonable to want to believe that there is a sense of community across the university, the narratives do not illustrate that people feel that sense of community. In a basic example of this, Amanda says, “I’m not really plugged into the undergrad community, so I can’t say the full response.” Graduate students do not always feel that they are a part of the same university community as undergraduates. Likewise, Tyler and Madison clearly do not feel harmed by this party, and so are not likely to see themselves as being included in the statement about the U-M community. It may be this sweeping language that Tyler is responding to when he says sarcastically that “Fun should be banned, as someone somewhere will get offended.” Rather than talking about the specific people who have been hurt and why, the email assumes that everyone will share the same level of disappointment with the party. While the broad language intends to join together the readers against the party, it makes assumptions about the level to which individuals may feel that they are part of a singular community. Similarly, the email neglects to include the differing identities impacted by the party. Brianna notes this when she says that U-M “automatically called it racist, rather than classist.” The sweeping language makes it difficult to examine intersections of privilege. While the broad wording attempts to unequivocally denounce the party, it has the effect of making certain people feel more disconnected. The email also uses broad wording in defining the source of the problem. It says that the party is a result of “negative stereotypes and misogynistic behavior [that] are woven into popular culture today.” This echoed in Brianna’s reference to Miley Cyrus and her assertion that college students learn to appropriate Black culture by following the lead of pop culture. This portion of the email may lend credence to Tyler and Madison’s claim that the party is only a reflection of popular culture. If college students are merely reflecting popular culture in choosing a party theme, are they really to blame? The broad wording may actually serve to diffuse blame rather than place responsibility on members of the U-M community. Situation controlled. Finally, the email sends a message that U-M officials have the situation under control. In passive voice, they write that the “event has been cancelled” and that an

“apology on behalf of the fraternity is forthcoming.” They assert that the Dean of Students, the Bias Response Team, the leadership of Greek Life, the Interfraternity Council, and the national fraternity council are all part of crafting an appropriate response. By listing all of these groups, the authors are showing that they are not acting unilaterally. They also promise “educational forums” and “educational interventions with the fraternity.” The authors are communicating that they have a plan in place for the next steps. While these are vague promises, they are all meant to send a message that the situation is something they have under control. Presumably, the writers of the email are attempting to calm the situation by listing these actions. Because the authors suggest that the situation is under control, they do not leave room for input from the reader. The email does not contain requests for people to talk about what the party meant to them or any specific actions that people can take to prevent these parties in the future. Instead, the authors say “It is our expectation that significant learning for the campus community will emerge from these offensive actions.” If the campus community will be learning, then it seems that the authors of the email will be the ones teaching. This again affirms that the authors have the situation under control and that there is no need for students to educate each other. This may have the opposite impact than what was intended. If university officials have the situation under control, then students may not be invested in the outcome. Yet Amanda’s narrative ends with an indication that the situation may not in fact be under control. She notes that the email was sent in a reactionary way, after an incident has happened. She then says that the same thing occurred when the BBUM movement began – the situation was acknowledged but did not lead to an ongoing discussion. She asserts that it is the students who keep returning to the issues, rather than the university. If the email is attempting to affirm that the situation is controlled, but people do not see other actions taking place, they may discredit the message. University forums. While U-M apparently hosted forums in response to the Theta Xi party, I cannot provide a thorough assessment of them. None of my participants said that they attended these forums. Moreover, I was not able to find coverage of these forums in the student newspaper. While the forums may have been helpful for those who attended, they do not seem to have impacted the larger community. Without more information about these forums, it is hard to give an assessment of them. I was able to determine that the BBUM movement led to a series of in- person discussions, speak outs, and protests (Greenberg, 2014). This indicates that many people might attend some kind of dialogue session at U-M, especially when it is student-led.

In any case, it is important to note that there has been very little research into what makes an effective forum following a campus incident. These types of forums often attract attendees who are already engaged in diversity dialogues, leading some to question if they achieve their goals (Grasgreen, 2013b). Some students appreciate the commitment it takes to take a public stance responding to hate incidents. Others simply ignore the forums and choose to occupy their time in other ways. Having attended this type of reactive forum at several colleges, I have seen people in attendance express frustration that the forums were only “preaching to the choir.” In other words, people who already disagree with the hate incident are the only people who will attend. They will usually come to show support for those who have been hurt and to air their own frustrations. But those who commit hate incidents or do not see them as a problem are unlikely to attend this type of forum. While they seem relatively common in response to negative campus incidents, I have not yet found a model that describes how to host an effective forum or what the intended goal of such an event might be (Grasgreen, 2013b). Overall, the impact of these forums seems ambiguous. Theta Xi disciplinary action. In addition to the email and the forums, U-M held a formal hearing against the Sigma Chapter of Theta Xi (Adamczyk, 2013a). The hearing was held with the Greek Activities Review Panel, as it was decided that Wu was acting on behalf of the fraternity at large when he planned the party. This student-led panel has the authority to adjudicate policy violations by members of Greek organizations (Bylaws of the Greek Activities Review Panel, 2009). The justices on the panel concluded that “the actions of Theta Xi created an environment that prompted feelings of anger, appropriation, and disappointment, not only within students of color and women, but the entire university community” (Jones, 2013, p. 2). These actions thus violated the non-discrimination portion of the Standards of Conduct for Recognized Student Organizations, which prohibits creating an unwelcoming or hostile environment based on various identity categories (Adamczyk, 2013a; SOAR 2012). The panel also found that Theta Xi was in violation of their own constitution, which states that members of the organization will “behave in such a fashion that promotes Brotherly love and goodly fellowship,” and that “no harassment, bigotry, or discrimination shall be tolerated by the Sigma chapter” (Jones, 2013, p. 2). The panel recommended suspension and five sanctions, which were approved by the Dean of Students (Adamczyk, 2013c; Jones, 2013). The sanctions included requiring members of Theta Xi to attend a series of educational sessions on bystander intervention, campus climate, and the media. Theta Xi members were then required to create their own educational workshops and present them to sororities and fraternities. I have not been able to determine how many of these

sanctions have been completed. It is beyond the scope of this project to assess if this disciplinary action was effective, although it would be interesting to talk to members of Theta Xi to determine what they learned from the process. In any case, the sanctions seem specifically designed to draw attention to the complexities of race, gender, and culture connected to the party theme. The sanctions emphasize the importance of deeper thinking about the problematic nature of the party theme. The decision ends with a statement from the panel about the larger culture at U-M, saying “although the actions of Theta Xi represent an instance of social justice issues on campus, [. . .] these problems are present throughout Greek Life and the greater university community” (Jones, 2013, p. 5). The panel emphasizes the larger cultural issues that are reflected in the actions of Theta Xi. While I cannot assess the impact of these disciplinary measures on the students who participated in them, I can highlight portions of the composite narratives that react to the disciplinary process. On the whole, the narratives show little knowledge of the disciplinary process, especially compared to their knowledge of the university-wide email. Perhaps the lack of knowledge is because the email was sent directly to the entire university community, while information about the disciplinary process was released through the student newspaper several months after the party surfaced. The narratives do not demonstrate a high level of respect for the judicial process. Madison is fairly disdainful of it, calling it “punishment.” She says that the “trial” found that the fraternity violated “the university’s diversity and ‘expect respect’ and etcetera clauses” Here, she is somewhat dismissively referring to the “Expect respect” campaign supported by the U-M Student Life office, which invites people to report bias incidents and support social justice efforts (U-M Student Life, 2008). Her language reflects a legalistic rather than educational understanding of the disciplinary process. This at odds with the expressed intention of the sanctions, which asserts the value of learning more about racism and sexism within popular culture. Similarly, Amanda’s impression of the disciplinary process is that “The frat was put on suspension. They were told not to have the party. But really, how much did that impact these students? What did they learn from this whole situation other than like, don’t make an obvious Facebook advertisement for the event?” She knows that the party was cancelled and that Theta Xi was suspended. However, she seems unaware of the educational interventions that were part of the sanctions. The impact of these educational sanctions is reduced if other members of the community are unaware of them. It means losing a chance to share the importance of this kind of education. U-M could have sent a follow-up email that provided updates about the disciplinary action. This would have brought more information about the well-reasoned sanctions placed on Theta Xi. The email could have

highlighted the fact that the sanctions were largely designed by fellow students on the Greek Activities Review Panel. This would have provided clarity about the process and reassurance about U-M values. Moreover, it could change Amanda’s perception that once these things happen “you don’t hear about it ever again.” Overall assessment. U-M responded to the theme party by sending an email, by hosting educational forums, and by sanctioning Theta Xi. These are all relatively common ways to respond to hate incidents on campus (McDermott, 2013). Yet there are few guidelines for how to go about this or how to assess such a response. While colleges generally have a protocol for responding to crime or other negative incidents, the steps for responding to a theme party are far more ambiguous (Garcia, et al., 2011). These guidelines may exist on an informal or internal basis, but it is also possible that colleges are primarily responding in a reactive manner (de Haven, 2009). Jablonski, McClellan, and Zdziarski (2008) emphasize the importance of openly assessing this type of response and listening to feedback. Assessing the email, forums, and sanctions through the narratives suggests several places where the response could be improved. Because the email was the first exposure many people had to the theme party, it is especially important to ensure that it communicates what the authors had intended. The composite narratives are relatively critical of the vagueness, broad wording, and sense of control sent by the initial email. In the future, colleges responding to theme parties may want to consider selectively releasing more information, using more specificity in denouncing the incident, and inviting community perspectives. I have little evidence with which to assess the forums, so will suggest that this is an area that should be further studied. Personally, I was impressed with the student-led judicial process and their educational efforts. However, the sanctions do not appear to have been widely communicated. The composite narratives do suggest that further public statements about disciplinary actions could help inspire confidence in the judicial system, highlight student self-governance, and promote university values. The effectiveness of the sanctions on members of Theta Xi is also an area for further study. In sum, U-M appears to have responded effectively to the initial incident as well as to members of Theta Xi. Still, there is room for growth in how these efforts are communicated to the larger university community. By providing outreach based on the multiple perspectives that exist on the party, U-M could have been more effective in their response.

Addressing Multiple Perspectives I began my research with a desire to look at multiple perspectives on this incident. This means that I am probably more sensitive to the ways in which the U-M response did not take a variety of perspectives into account. Still, the U-M response endorsed a single narrative about the event. Their use of sweeping language and universal condemnation of the event alienated a variety of students. Naturally, it did not connect with the people who saw the party as a non-issue. They would see any response to the party as an overreaction. However, it also did not connect with people who were outraged by the party. From this perspective, U-M’s email did not go far enough in addressing the larger issues. By sticking to a single take on the party, U-M’s response satisfied very few people. Before deciding on their response to this incident, U-M could have reflected on the range of perspectives that are likely to exist on this type of theme party. While Tyler believes that people overreacted to the theme party, Brianna asserts that the reaction did not go far enough. While Madison believes that the party planners did not intend to be offensive, Amanda argues that they should have known better than to use this theme. It is possible that different perspectives need responses that are tailored to their position, rather than a universal response. For students like Tyler, it is important to address White privilege in a developmentally appropriate way, rather than expecting them to automatically understand how a hip hop-themed party could be problematic. For students like Madison and Amanda, it is important to provide venues where they are encouraged and supported while they discuss complicated issues of race and identity. Students like Brianna also deserve the space to tell their story, rather than be told how they should feel about a particular incident. When responding to hate incidents, these different perspectives need to be addressed. While no single response will ever please everyone, it would have been helpful to acknowledge that there are multiple ways of looking at the situation. For example, the initial email could have said, “While we recognize that some people saw the party as an exploration of hip-hop as a musical genre, we believe that it involved harmful, stereotypical representations of Black people.” This would signal that they had considered the intention of the party (which might address some of Madison’s concerns) and explain why the impact mattered more than the intention. It would also explain why they felt this particular party rose to a threshold that merited a response. Likewise, they might say, “We know that there are many components that help build a safe racial climate for students. We hope that by responding to this particular incident, we can positively contribute to the overall climate.” This would acknowledge that they are aware that some students feel that there are

larger issues. Staff could have also followed up later with a second email that explained the judicial sanctions and what they were intended to accomplish. This would have represented a second opportunity to affirm the values of inclusion and to ask for input from students with diverse perspectives. Perhaps a response that acknowledged the breadth of perspectives that exist on the incident would have allowed more people to feel heard. While colleges like U-M generally have a robust disciplinary system in place for responding to them parties and other hate incidents, there is little guidance on how to work with the campus community as a whole in the aftermath of such an event. Public opinions can be difficult and shifting. However, by focusing on the knowledge that multiple perspectives exist on these hate incidents, practitioners can be more prepared for hate incidents. In my conclusion, I bring these lessons learned from my research into a larger framework of recommendations for practitioners.

Chapter 5: Conclusion This project began with a focus on the multiple stories that are generated out of a hate incident. Hate incidents as a category include a range of behaviors, such as physical assault, vandalism, theme parties, and hate speech. All act to belittle an identity group. They also have a unique impact on the communities where they occur. The range of perspectives generated by hate incidents means that it can be difficult for colleges to respond in a way that supports the entire campus community. While the theme party planned at the University of Michigan is only one example of a hate incident, it offers several lessons that can be helpful for practitioners and researchers alike. In this section I provide some suggestions for practice with respect to theme parties, including preparing, responding, and assessing. Finally, I assess this research and consider areas for future research. Prepare While many campuses plan for large scale crises, such as a campus shooter, they are often less prepared for smaller scale events like theme parties (Garcia et al., 2011). Given the frequency with which students seem to plan theme parties, it is unrealistic to think that they will not happen at any particular campus. Student affairs practitioners should think ahead about who should be involved in crafting a response, what types of responses should be used, and how information will be shared (Downey & Stage, 1999). Moreover, it is important to consider that theme parties do not occur in a vacuum; they are related to overall campus climate. Practitioners should stay in touch with their campus’s climate so they are aware of what students are experiencing. In preparing, practitioners should educate the campus at large and consider consistency in how they will approach a theme party. Create a team. Student affairs practitioners should think ahead about how to respond to any sort of hate incident on campus. This means considering who should be involved in crafting a response (Downey & Stage, 1999). Zdziarski (2006) discusses the need for a team that comes together to create a plan that would create protocols for different circumstances. At U-M, the group responsible for hate incidents is called a Bias Response Team and many other colleges have similar groups (U-M Student Life, 2008). This team should be made up of representatives from around campus, particularly individuals involved in providing diversity education. This team may want to connect to the community at large, educating them about who they are and what they are prepared to do. At many colleges, the bias response team creates a process for reporting bias incidents as well. This may include a hotline, a website, and an email address where members of the community

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can report bias incidents that may not necessarily rise to the level where they would need to be reported to the police. A bias response team can also be proactive by auditing campus climate in general and identify areas where the campus may improve services. Stein, Vickio, Fogo, and Abraham (2007) discuss a network analysis approach for improving campus response to incidents. For example, everyone involved in providing support to students can analyze their responses to previous hate incidents, discuss hypothetical incidents, and then identify areas where information could have been shared more effectively. The end result allows the practitioners to work together to support students rather than working separately. Each campus will take a different approach to constructing this team, taking into account the specifics of the campus (Rollo & Zdziarski, 2007). The important element is thinking in advance about responding to hate incidents. Consider consistency. When planning for the possibility of a theme party, colleges may want to think about how they can be consistent in their responses. One of the concepts that emerges across the different narratives is an assertion that the reaction to this theme party is inconsistent with other university actions. Brianna says that she was “surprised that the university decided to respond to this event, because it seems like many parties and Greek oriented events in general promote ideas that would have a generally negative effect on a diverse social climate.” Similarly, Tyler lists other theme parties that have not garnered any kind of response from U-M. By responding to this party but not to a “White trash” party, U-M staff risk suggesting that it is acceptable to make fun of one group but not another. Madison blames the cancellation of the party on one person who took her complaints to the university. She does not see it as part of a larger initiative to make the campus more inclusive. The response seemed inconsistent when compared to how the university regards other parties. For the average student, this opens up multiple questions. Why respond to this party in particular? Are other parties in danger of being shut down? Does the university regularly review party themes on Facebook? From this perspective, the response leads to mistrust rather than feeling affirmed by inclusive community values. This suggests that practitioners should think ahead about responding to theme parties and how to be consistent in that response. Responding with consistency can be quite challenging because of the variety of themes that are possible on college campuses. Sororities and fraternities host these types of parties on a regular basis, with themes that can range in how risqué they are (Clapp, et al., 2008b). Madison notes that the “Hood Ratchet” party was meant as an alternative to the presumably more innocuous “Country Thursdays” that Theta Xi hosts regularly. Tyler and Amanda cite other theme parties like “office

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hoes and CEOs” and “White trash” as events that go on regularly without university intervention. In my research, I gathered a broad list of party ideas with varying degrees of outrageousness. This included themes evoking punk rock, trailer parks, St. Patrick’s Day, rednecks, togas, the Jersey shore, the Olympics, and skinheads. Another popular party is the “Anything But Clothes” theme, where partygoers make costumes out of trash bags, newspapers, caution tape, and anything else that is not clothing. When put into practice, most of these themes support Frietas’s (2008) assessment that they are designed with the purpose of encouraging women to wear revealing clothing. All of these themes raised in comparison with the “Hood Ratchet” party, in the same way that Amanda asks about the acceptability of a Cinco de Mayo party. Many themes may be mostly benign. For many of the party themes, implementation shapes their impact. For example, an Olympics party might involve watching the Olympic Games on television. Or, as happened at the Kappa Alpha Theta sorority at Columbia University, students might use an Olympic-themed party as an opportunity to dress up in stereotypical costumes from different countries (Zhang, 2014). This included representing Mexico with thick mustaches, sombreros, and maracas; Japan with chopsticks worn in the hair; and France with baguettes and berets (Mixer mix-up, 2014). This Olympics party stands as an example of how parties can vary in impact and intent. The wide range of possible party topics means that practitioners should consider in advance how the themes might impact students on their own campus. Because of the range of possible parties, it is important for practitioners to craft guidelines for responding. This would mean thinking ahead about the circumstances under which a college would respond to a particular party. Would staff respond only if a student complained? Would staff respond only if the party used a racial slur? Staff might then need to explain to students why they were responding in a particular circumstance. This is partially what Madison is asking for when she asks for “a stronger, clearer guide for where the university’s line is for what’s an appropriate party.” These guidelines could help students think through the difference between an “Anything But Clothes” party and a party that turns racial identity into a costume. Although it would be impossible to predict and define every kind of party that could emerge, it would make sense to have guidelines about the types of parties that would lead to interventions. Then, if a problematic party occurred, the institution could return to the guidelines to explain the issue. This would allow any college to be more consistent in responding to theme parties. A measure of consistency and transparency about why the decision process may help colleges in crafting responses to problematic theme parties. Practitioners would then be able to talk about values expressed in the guidelines instead of reacting

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to each situation individually. These guidelines could then be used to help educate students about principles to consider when they are planning a party. Educate. Planning ahead can help practitioners provide education that respects a variety of perspectives and developmental levels. College students are in a wide range of positions with regards to developing their own identities. Throughout college, students hopefully develop with respect to their sense of self and identity. Student affairs practitioners are positioned to help assist in this process (Evans et al., 2010). They should craft education that helps address students’ developmental capacities for learning about diversity. Practitioners may use a model that looks at multiple domains of identity like that of Abes, Jones, and McEwen (2007) or may use a model specific to the development of a particular identity (such as the multiracial developmental model proposed by Renn [2004]). These models of identity development help illustrate how different students may interpret the same message in different ways, based on their life experiences. Therefore, approaches like the Developmental Model of Intercultural Sensitivity (Bennett, 1986) and the curriculum used by Tatum (1993) can be helpful in providing education that reflects the needs of students at different developmental stages. Since colorblind racial attitudes are linked with condoning theme parties, providing education that combats colorblindness may help prevent such a party (Tynes & Markoe, 2010). This education should also use the lens of popular culture as it relates to race and gender. All of the narratives touch on the role of popular culture with respect to hip hop music, which could lead to reflections on how racial and gender norms are communicated through music, television, and other media. In the semester after the Theta Xi party, U-M’s Greek Life office cohosted a screening of the 2006 film Hip Hop: Beyond Beats & Rhymes (Hip Hop, 2014). This film examines misogyny, homophobia, and violence within hip hop music, as well as the role of commercialism in promoting the music. Programs like this could help preempt theme parties. Using these frameworks means creating educational programs that can address the needs of students like Tyler in addition to the needs of students like Brianna. It may be possible to preempt theme parties by educating students about the ways that these parties impact their peers. This might mean asking students probing questions about what they are communicating when they use a certain culture as a costume. If certain White students are genuinely unfamiliar with the way that many Black students interpret blackface as a practice, then perhaps providing an educational event about the history of blackface could be helpful (Lott, 2013). Another possibility for this type of education is the “We’re a Culture, Not a Costume” poster campaign developed by student educators at Ohio University (STARS, 2013). The posters show real

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students next to someone wearing a costume that is a stereotypical depiction of their racial background. A Black man in a plain t-shirt stands next to a White man who is wearing blackface, heavy gold chains, and pulling a gun from his waistband. A White man in a black button down shirt sits near a White man with flannel, a banjo, a trucker hat, and a scruffy beard. A group of Asian students in red shirts look skeptically at a White woman who has white makeup on her face, a kimono, a topknot with chopsticks, and a fan. These posters ask students to consider the impact that their costumes have on their peers. Each image shows the difference between costumes and the lived experiences of Ohio college students. Education like this represents a chance to think proactively rather than reactively about theme parties. In my narratives, it seems that Tyler has been exposed to an educational campaign like the one used at Ohio University (STARS, 2013). He comments on it as one of the many restrictive, silencing diversity programs that he has witnessed. It does not appear to have changed his mind about the acceptability of these costumes. Tynes and Markoe (2010) suggest that students who have colorblind racial attitudes are less likely to find theme parties and racial costumes problematic. However, at least Tyler has been exposed to those perspectives in a way that he remembers. Perhaps in future, with more discussion and exposure, he may be more receptive to this alternate perspective. While education like this may not prevent all problematic theme parties, education will at least provide students a framework through which to consider their actions. Any education that helps prepare people for talking about race may be productive. Both Madison and Amanda suggest that they need more experience talking about racial issues. Having grown up as White people, they have often been discouraged from talking about race (Hartigan, 2010). Often, White people have learned that people of color are the only ones qualified to speak about race. Amanda’s long pauses and hesitation as she attempts to explain the issues with the party suggest that she has not had many opportunities to express why “it’s not ok.” At another point, she says “who knows if I even have the place to even speak about this.” Similarly, Tatum’s (1992) White students struggled to talk about race, even in the context of a class titled “The Psychology of Racism.” Any education that attempted to address the role of White students on campus would need to work against the learned barrier that prevents White people from speaking about race. Education like this could potentially prevent theme parties. Respond Should a hate incident happen on campus, practitioners will then need to decide if their plan should be put into practice. This will look different depending on the needs of the campus. This

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first means thinking back to the guidelines established by the bias incident team and determining if the incident is serious enough to warrant a response. If the incident does meet that standard, the team should evaluate campus needs and communicate information. Merriman (2008) notes that teams do not get a second chance to respond correctly, so it is important to be methodical in responding. Throughout the process, the response should acknowledge the breadth of perspectives that exist with respect to theme parties. Practitioners can begin by communicating information as much as possible. Then, by encouraging dialogue and engaging with complex issues of racial identity, campuses can respond to racial theme parties in a way that addresses multiple perspectives on the issue Share information. When a hate incident occurs, the bias response team has a difficult task in deciding how much information to release to the general community. Releasing too much information can violate privacy or put information in the wrong hands (Costello, 2001). However, as occurred at U-M, not enough information leads to confusion, distrust, and skepticism. In cases where it is unclear how much to disclose, Jablonski, McClellan, and Zdziarski (2008) recommend sharing more rather than less. Practitioners should think through how much information they are willing to share and the costs of not providing more information. Information sharing should take place repeatedly, rather than just a single time. This means communicating immediately after the theme party has been identified and throughout the process until the issue has been resolved. It is especially important to communicate information about the judicial process. If U-M is a typical example, there are generally good practices in place for providing disciplinary sanctions against people who plan a theme party. Following the U-M model for discipline could be a good start for an immediate response. U-M staff members responded quickly to knowledge of the Facebook invitation and requested that the students cancel the party. They then determined educational sanctions following established protocol. Many colleges have similar practices in place for responding and sanctioning the perpetrators of hate incidents. However, these sanctions are not often communicated to the campus community at large. At times, there may be legal or privacy restrictions that make it difficult to share much information. Still, colleges should consider releasing whatever information they can about the disciplinary process. This serves cautionary, educational, and supportive purposes. First, transparency about the disciplinary process may serve as a warning to someone else who might consider hosting a theme party. They might consider choosing a more innocuous theme, rather than a racially inflammatory theme. It can be educational for the community at large, as staff members explain both the disciplinary process and why particular

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sanctions were chosen. Finally, public communication about the sanctions may help people who were troubled by the theme party feel supported. For example, in Brianna’s case, more knowledge of the specifics of the educational sanctions against Theta Xi might make her feel that the larger climate issues behind the party were being taken seriously by U-M. These three purposes (cautionary, educational, and supportive) for communicating about the judicial process all help address different perspectives on theme parties. All of this suggests that colleges should consider being as public as possible about their disciplinary process after hate incidents. Encourage discussion. Assuming that the judicial process of identifying and disciplining the perpetrator will continue regardless, the bias response team can turn their attention to the needs of the larger campus community. Encouraging dialogue and discussion after a hate incident can be productive. Fortunato (2008) offers one model for this kind of discussion, showing how Duke University used websites and forums to respond to a campus crisis. Duke’s response allowed them to accept responsibility for the environment that allowed the crisis and demonstrate that they were taking corrective action. In a similar fashion, colleges can help students participate in dialogue held in print, hosted by students, and within classroom settings. All four of the narratives engage with the idea of encouraging discussion in some way. Amanda asks for an open discussion, while Brianna argues for a more comprehensive approach through “mandatory diversity education.” Likewise, Madison suggests that she would appreciate some guidance on some of these issues. While they offer different suggestions for how to achieve this, all three suggest that they would be responsive to diversity education on campus. Tyler’s approach is somewhat different, but there are signals that a dialogue might appeal to him. His insistence on First Amendment rights and the idea that “no one can speak their mind just because it might offend” suggest that he might be interested in the opportunity to speak his mind. It could be interesting to discuss First Amendment protections with Tyler in this context. This might have to be framed differently to appeal to his different perspective, but it is possible that he might be able to participate in a dialogue and learn at the same time. The need for continuing dialogue and discussion is especially underscored by Amanda throughout her narrative. She is occasionally at a loss for words and is searching for an adequate way to express her perspective. When she begins to describe what the word “ratchet” means, she does so with hesitation. She says that as a White person she “can’t speak to that.” At multiple times, she hesitates with trying to explain her standpoint on the issue. She has difficulty explaining the problems with the party to her friends. She knows that the incident was “obviously offensive” and

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yet struggles to say more than “it is not ok.” At the end of the narrative, she says, “I think there are a lot of other students like me who probably want to talk this through and figure out why it’s not ok.” She is looking for guidance on how to express her feelings about the incident and about race in general, and would like the university to help support that discussion. Amanda’s narrative emphasizes the value of dialogue. Written dialogue. The first logical place for dialogue is through written communication, especially online. This method does not require much advanced notice or work, and only someone interested in writing about the topic. The U-M student newspaper, The Michigan Daily, proved to be a rich site for this type of dialogue. The paper published several articles about the cancelled party and the university response (Adamczyk, 2013a; Adamczyk, 2013b; Shahin & Amron, 2013; Wassman, 2013). They published the official apology from Theta Xi (Wu, 2013). They also published a series of “Viewpoints” from different student perspectives. This included one from Erin Fischer describing her response to the theme party and why she filed a report about it with U- M officials (Fischer, 2013). Other Viewpoints were titled “Perpetuating harmful stereotypes” (Moody, 2013), “The hip-hop excuse” (Bregman, 2013), and “The rise of the non-apology” (Khalil, 2013). The articles made a valuable contribution to sharing different perspectives. Moreover, students responded to these articles with online comments. These comments made up a portion of my research data and they are also cited by Amanda in describing the conversation on campus. The comments reflect a broad set of perspectives. They also contain some dialogue, where posters respond to the comments that appeared previously and return to follow up on responses to their posts. The Michigan Daily also subsequently began running a series of articles called “Michigan in Color” (Fadlallah, Gebreziabher, & Upadhyaya, 2014). Michigan in Color is a series of opinion pieces written by U-M students of color. They were published in most issues of The Michigan Daily in the spring semester of 2014. Comments on these articles are generally positive, with students thanking the authors for sharing their perspectives (e.g. Ngo, 2014). This suggests that student newspapers are important places to support and encourage student dialogue. Amanda also cites Twitter as a venue for dialogue. Some of the early response to the theme party took place on Twitter. Eventually this Twitter discussion led to the BBUM movement, which was a much more comprehensive response to campus climate. Brianna cites BBUM as being helpful in bringing problems to the forefront that had previously been normalized. The sheer volume of tweets with that hashtag suggests that it was a productive outlet for people who felt marginalized on campus. Colleges might want to tread lightly in engaging in this kind of Twitter dialogue, but it can

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be productive. Ultimately, the BBUM movement and the subsequent in-person events were helpful for the people who participated. Moreover, the BBUM discussion appears to have contributed to material change on campus. Provost Martha Pollack cited the BBUM movement and contributions from the Black Student Union (BSU) as pivotal in helping identify action steps to improve campus climate (Cunningham, 2014). Discussions between the BSU and university staff have led to resolutions to improve enrollment numbers of students of color, provide more race-based education to students, increase funding for the BSU, and other key improvements. All of this emphasizes that campus dialogue can lead to material change. Student-led dialogue. Another method for continued dialogue is to encourage students who are interested in talking about identity on campus to lead the initiative. Institutional support is necessary to sustain the efforts over the years, but the energy can come directly from students. Students who express interest can be involved in an educational effort like the STARS (2013) student educators at Ohio University. These students meet regularly, create awareness campaigns, and provide workshops on race and identity. Students can also be involved in a program through the Sustained Dialogue Campus Network (SDCN, n.d.). Sustained Dialogue trains student facilitators to help their peers develop relationships across difference through small group discussions that take place over the course of a year. Likewise, there are programs like this that exist at U-M, as Brianna notes in her narrative. One of the better known examples of this is the Program on Intergroup Relations, which uses experiential education to teach students about social justice and intergroup relations (IGR, 2014). Student-led dialogues such as these programs are shown to help influence peer’s perspectives on diversity and inclusion. However, as Brianna also notes, White students are reluctant to challenge themselves by attending these initiatives. Perhaps a more sustained effort on behalf of university staff could help encourage students to join these organizations. Any sort of continuing dialogue program can provide a venue for students of color to articulate and legitimize their experiences (Garcia, et al., 2011). They can also help White students listen to their peers and share their own perspectives. A dialogue program might help a student like Madison appreciate that even good intentions can be harmful. It also might make a student like Brianna feel that she is contributing to the campus knowledge about diversity. Embracing the value of programs like these can help campuses continue talking about issues even after the hate incident has passed. Classroom dialogue. Finally, these types of discussions can also occur within the classroom. This could be through classes that are designed specifically to address race and ethnicity.

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Brianna notes that the “one LSA race & ethnicity requirement class isn’t enough for some students.” She is referring to the College of Language, Science, and Arts (LSA), which requires students to take a three credit class that contains substantial content from three areas: the meaning of race, ethnicity, and racism; racial and ethnic intolerance and the resulting inequality; and comparing discrimination based on race, ethnicity, religion, social class, or gender (U-M LSA, 2014). However, some students argue that many of the courses that fulfill this requirement are history classes that approach racism with too much theory (Michigan Daily Editors, 2013). These students would prefer to see classes that directly deal with race, ethnicity, and other identities as they are experienced at U-M. Providing more classes that help students engage in dialogues about identity can help students develop more nuanced understandings of racism and their own privileges (Tatum, 1992). Colleges may consider providing a variety of classroom options for students to examine identity and privilege. Even if it is not a class that specifically deals with race or identity, academic classes can take time to address current issues on campus. Indeed, Amanda’s suggestion that this kind of dialogue could take place in existing classes is supported by several researchers. Hao (2012) used a “Cowboys and Indians” theme party at the University of Denver to spark a classroom conversation about representations of Native Americans in popular culture. Huston and DiPietro (2007) demonstrate how faculty members can use classroom time to assist students in times of campus stress. They interviewed faculty members in order to understand how the faculty engaged with students about the events of September 11, 2001. Many faculty reported being unsure about how to respond. Still, almost two-thirds of the faculty raised national events during class time. This was more frequent in departments where a dean had encouraged faculty to raise the issue in class. Most faculty told their students publicly that class needed to continue, but that they would be open to review sessions or additional meetings if needed. Other faculty opened up a discussion of the events, and others offered an extension on certain projects. Students reported that they preferred to have some kind of classroom acknowledgement of what happened on September 11th, regardless of what that acknowledgement looked like. Huston and DiPietro (2007) assert that if the incident is of significant impact, it is a good idea to for faculty to bring it up in class in some way, in ways that make sense within the structure of the class. While faculty members are often unsure about how to respond to incidents (Streufert, 2011), Jablonski, McClellan, and Zdziarski (2008) suggest training faculty about responding in times of campus turmoil. This may not mean that every class would turn into a dialogue about a theme party or other hate incident, but that it could be raised if the

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faculty member was inclined to do so. With support, faculty can learn ways to integrate campus events into their classroom. Class discussions can be a rich site for dialogue after a hate incident. Engage with complex racial issues. In responding to problematic theme parties, practitioners need to be prepared to handle complicated issues of racial identity. Addressing these issues is part of working to address the multiple perspectives on the theme party. One of the perspectives that remained underexamined by official U-M communications has to do with the racial identity of the students who planned the party. Allen Wu is the Theta Xi member who wrote the Facebook invitation, and Eric Quang was the Theta Xi president at the time. They represented Theta Xi at the formal hearing held by the Greek Activities Review Panel (Adamczyk, 2013c). Neither student named their racial or ethnic background in the articles I read. In his open letter to the campus community, Wu labels himself as “a fellow minority,” without being more specific (Wu, 2013). An article in The Michigan Daily featured a picture of Wu and Quang at the panel; based on that picture and their last names, many commenters on that article labeled the students as Asian (Adamczyk, 2013c). Quang is a common Vietnamese surname and Wu is a common Chinese surname (Lauderdale & Kestenbaum, 2000). The assumption that the fraternity brothers are Asian American (or Asian) influenced several perspectives in these narratives. Some argue that their Asian identities means that the party was not racist, while others assert that this does not alleviate any of the seriousness of Theta Xi’s actions. Wu and Quang both seem to take the stance that their racial identities make their actions less harmful. Wu (2013) writes in his open letter (see Appendix C), “as someone who has experienced firsthand how racism, whether blatant or subtle, can affect our emotions and livelihood, I apologize for any hurt that I’ve caused in our community.” The construction of this sentence focuses on Wu’s experiences with racist actions. It treats “any hurt” caused by the party as hypothetical, while depicting his “firsthand” experiences with racism as a reality. In this way, he argues that a person with his racial background is not likely to be a racist. In his letter to the U-M student body (see Appendix D), Quang (2013) asserts that Theta Xi includes members who are “Caucasian, African- American, Asian, Christian, Jewish, and Islamic.” His listing of these groups is part of an argument that Theta Xi is an inclusive organization, not a racist one. Madison makes the same point, saying that Theta Xi has “Black, Asian, south Asian, and Jewish members,” arguing that this means that the fraternity brothers cannot be racist. She says the party “was not intended to come across as racist at all, especially considering this fraternity is one of the most diverse social fraternities on the university’s campus.” The suggestion here is that quantitative representation of underrepresented

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racial groups is evidence that the fraternity cannot be racist. From this standpoint, Wu’s and Quang’s racial identities are evidence that the party was relatively harmless. Other perspectives assert that Wu’s and Quang’s racial identities do not make their actions any less serious. Brianna notes that Theta Xi’s “president is Asian American, and he to some extent defended himself as a minority as well.” Brianna is skeptical of the idea that Quang’s Asian American identity alleviates the harm that he caused. Amanda agrees, but she also does not quite know how to interpret the meaning of racist acts perpetrated by Asian Americans. Amanda says “I read that the president and the guy who planned the party are both Asian. Part of me thinks, like as a minority, you should be much more sensitive to that.” Much of U.S. cultural narrative around racism is built around Whites being racist against Blacks, and adding Asian people to this framework is often complicated (Tatum, 2003). Amanda does not know how to make sense of this, suggesting that perhaps the racist act of hosting the party was a way for Asian students to act more like White students. She playfully imagines the Asian students saying “Listen, I’m just like you White guys, I can be completely racist also! Come be my friend!” Indeed, Franklin (2002) found that young people often use hate speech as an attempt to fit in with their peers. Moreover, Tuan (1999) found that many Asian Americans grow up in environments that espouse colorblindness in a way that is similar to the environments where many White Americans grow up. In certain circumstances, Asian Americans are able to act as though race is inconsequential and are able to become “honorary Whites.” However, this “honorary White” status is tempered by the racism that Asian Americans also experience. Tuan’s (1999) research provides background for some of the issues raised by this party, and practitioners might consider raising these issues with students who are interested in discussing them. Both Brianna and Amanda believe that Quang’s and Wu’s racial identities are relevant, while still believing that the actions have caused harm. This discussion of Quang’s and Wu’s racial identities did not appear to be addressed in any systematic fashion by U-M’s public responses to the party. Nevertheless, it is worth asking, because it is of interest to students, what difference does the racial identity of the party planners make? If the fraternity president had been White, would the discussion have been the same? If the same imagery and language had been used by one of the organizations in the National Pan-Hellenic Council, which represents historically Black fraternities and sororities, would U-M have intervened? If the party had been planned by Black, White, or Asian American women, would that have changed how campus had reacted? Considering the complexities of these questions should be part of the

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process of providing multiple perspectives on racially-themed parties. These issues should be raised as part of campus dialogues. Assess A college should not simply move on once the major elements of the incident have been resolved. Regardless of how a college chooses to approach responding to a theme party, it is important to assess that response. De Haven (2009) argues that negative campus incidents should be recognized as a chance for assessment and growth. Whether it is through interviews, survey data, reading online comments, or other research methods, colleges should continue to learn more about how their work is interpreted by the campus community. This will allow them to support the community better and respond more effectively in the future. Practitioners can assess their response through several methods. My research structure shows one process for assessment, as any practitioner can easily read the comments on an online article to learn about perspectives on the incident. Online comments are a particularly interesting method for this assessment. They offer nearly instant and uncensored feedback that shows a range of reactions to the theme party and any administrative reactions. While my research shows that many of the comments will be irrelevant or offensive, some will be helpful in helping to see how members of the community are reacting to the incident. Informal conversations with students and other community members can also help assess the college response. Whether it is through an intense assessment such as my project, short focus groups, structured dialogues, or existing programs, colleges should assess their responses to incidents. This information can be used to provide further education to the campus community and to improve future responses to similar incidents. After the event has passed, colleges can reflect on the climate that allowed the event to take place. Amanda notes that after U-M responded to the party, “you don’t hear about it ever again.” This impression can be countered by consciously returning to the issue. When a hate incident occurs, it may be worthwhile for a college to return to the subject six months or a year later (Jablonski, McClellan, & Zdziarski, 2008). This type of institutional reflection has the possibility to illuminate structural issues and potentially prevent an incident in the future. Continued learning will contribute to improved student affairs practice. By returning to the incident, colleges will be able to assess if their response to the incident was appropriate and also improve future responses (de Haven, 2009). Students like Brianna are clearly able to think critically about the college response. They would probably be glad to share their perspectives as part of such an assessment. Through

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this process, colleges will be able to continually communicate the message that campus inclusion matters. They can also continue to educate about the issues raised by the theme party. No educational campaign is ever complete, especially as new students, staff, and faculty join the campus community every year. It is important to continually find ways for people who feel alienated – whether they are coming from Tyler’s perspective or Brianna’s perspective – to be able to be heard. Otherwise, colleges will respond to incidents as they occur but neglect to look at the larger picture. It is important to counter that with consistent, continued dialogue. No single response will ever solve problems related theme parties or racial climate on campus. Everyone who looks at a theme party brings their own preconceptions about race, gender, sororities, and fraternities. Each of these positions will vary based on identities and experiences, and a university cannot control these perspectives. Yet there are steps that colleges and universities can make that will help address some concerns, through planning ahead, responding in a way that respects multiple perspectives, and assessing that response. Assessing this Project This project addressed the larger issue of responding to campus hate incidents by focusing on a single incident. The “Hood Ratchet” theme party planned at the University of Michigan is one example of a campus hate incident that has diffuse effects on the campus at large. My research allowed me to examine these multiple perspectives in depth and offer suggestions for responding to theme parties. My work offers a model for examining the significance of campus hate incidents. I was able to achieve my goal of examining the variety of perspectives that exist on a single hate incident. Through closely reading the online comments, the results from the survey, and the transcribed interviews, I have a deeper appreciation for the range of concepts that this incident evoked. These narratives and the recommendations I have drawn from them are useful in seeing the breadth of possibilities linked to a single incident. In the final assessment, I find some shortcomings as well as some strengths. My research is somewhat hampered by the limited number of participants in the survey and limited number of interviews. When I began research, I knew that it would be challenging to recruit participants as I did not have an institutional connection to U-M. Not being able to visit the campus in person limited my access to potential participants. I also knew that the college site may not be interested in granting access when I was examining a sensitive topic. An ongoing investigation makes it legally challenging for college personnel to talk about the specifics of any incident. Thus, I was not able to distribute the survey as widely as I would have liked and I did not have the number of participants I

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had hoped for. This limited the depth of my data. However, the interviews and survey responses I did receive were very instructive, as were the online comments. Through this research, I was exposed to a broad set of perspectives. These perspectives developed into compelling narratives that accurately depicted a range of responses to the incident. The narratives provide a useful evaluation of the campus response to the theme party and suggestions for practitioners who are tasked with responding to these incidents in the future. Overall, my project is successful and offers a unique contribution to higher education literature. Future Research Based on this project, I would like to suggest directions for future research. Other scholars might consider research on theme parties, on other hate incidents, or on campus responses to crisis. In each of these cases, my research approach offers a model for continuing research. The progression of this incident seems very similar to other campuses that have had theme parties. In most cases, the theme parties are first revealed on social media, college staff censure the hosts, and the student body reacts with a variety of opinions. Further research could examine each of these steps to determine the ways that they shape campus reaction and campus climate. If this research were repeated at other campuses, it could be interesting to see which aspects of the campus reaction were unique to U-M and which were common across campuses. Scholars could take my research methods and apply them to other negative incidents on campuses. A theme party is one minor example of the range of possible hate incidents that could occur on a college campus. Vandalism, harassment, and assault can also be motivated by discriminatory impulses. Each of these incidents is likely to come with its own web of associations that would shape a variety of perspectives on the event. Future research could follow one of these incidents to see if the gravity of the situation impacts the variety of responses. The same could be said for incidents even if they are not hate-motivated. Any sort of campus event, whether it is a controversial speaker or a national disaster, is likely to evoke a variety of perspectives. Whenever campus professionals respond to one of these events, it is worth assessing their responses to see if it has the desired impact. My research design offers a novel approach to any of these future research possibilities. Using online comments as a source for data provides access to perspectives that people may not share in person or on a survey. Combining the online comments with other sources of data will help practitioners understand the variety of perspectives held by their campus community. Composite narratives can help make those perspectives easier to understand and more memorable

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for those tasked with supporting the campus community. Thus, my research methods are well- designed for assessing other campus incidents. For this project, I chose to focus on narrative research as a means for understanding this event. Other research strategies might have led me to different results. One approach could have involved a more thorough semiotic analysis. This would mean examining words and what they signify within a particular context (Chandler, 2002). I gave a cursory examination to the word “ratchet” – a deeper poststructural analysis could examine how that word is used within Black communities, White communities, and at U-M. The word has a history of use as a derogatory term and has material effects on people (Foucault, 1994). A poststructural analysis might focus on how the word is more often used against women than men, and how socioeconomic status is connected to the term. Similarly, discourse analysis could examine how the term is connected to power relations (Lenzo, 1995; Rogers, 2004). Alternately, I could have chosen a stronger emphasis on developmental approaches to diversity education. For example, Bennett’s (1986) developmental model for intercultural awareness maps on quite closely to my narratives. Each narrative shows an increasingly complex understanding of cultural differences. These differing approaches could provide different lenses on the issues raised by theme parties. Another possible approach would be focusing on theme parties through theories of performance, performativity, and parody. From this perspective, race is a cultural construction that only seems innate because we are constrained to its limited framework (Butler, 1990, 1993). As Hartigan (2010) says, “We do race when we socialize or consume, but usually in ways we hardly notice” (p. 7). Jackson’s (2001) analysis of racial performativity asserts that being understood as Black or White can be a product of behavior, mannerisms, and clothing. Networks of racial, gendered, and classed expectations create boundaries for performing one’s identity. Jackson’s perspective on racial performativity is based on the experiences of Black residents of Harlem, New York. A similar discussion about perceptions of racial performance on a college campus could be very fruitful. When White or Asian students dress as Black people, they are accessing cultural signifiers of race. It is possible to look at this type of performance as racial drag. Just as it is possible for gender drag to demonstrate the cultural construction and imitative nature of gender, it is possible for racial drag to illustrate the way race is performed in the U.S. Just as gender drag is not necessarily subversive, racial drag can reinscribe racial norms (Butler, 1993). Hyperbolic presentations of Blackness as performance (such as minstrelsy) can both illustrate the constructed

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nature of race and mock Black people (Lott, 2013). A deeper examination of the performed nature of race on college campuses could provide a new perspective on racial theme parties. Another potential researcher might choose to focus more on the gendered nature of particular theme parties. For this study, I chose to focus primarily on racism within the Theta Xi theme party, and only touched on some of the sexism present. I did this because most of the participants focused their reactions around race, and only tangentially mentioned sexism. However, my pilot study focused on a hate incident that primarily focused on gender. This study also highlighted a wide range of perspectives, including a sense that sexism is rampant across campus and a sense that the entire incident had been an overreaction. Intriguingly, one of the narratives in this pilot study was very similar to that of Madison; both narratives acknowledge that the incident itself was extreme, but defend the intentions of the men involved. Further study might examine what women gain from supporting organizations that promote certain sexist behavior. Taking this approach to a gendered theme party would likely elicit rich information. The terms “ratchet” and “twerk” are often used in gendered ways, as was the image that accompanied the Facebook invitation (see Appendix A). Many other theme parties are explicitly gendered, as in parties identified by Freitas (2008), including “pimps and hoes,” “maids and millionaires,” “professors and schoolgirls,” and “CEOs and office hoes.” Indeed, as the narratives illustrate, such gendered party themes are relatively common but do not usually elicit responses from university staff. Further study might examine why students find such parties entertaining, how students interpret gender roles, and how practitioners can best respond to gendered theme parties. All of these possible research directions could be fruitful, as there is a lack of understanding about collegiate theme parties. These approaches offer possible steps forward as colleges attempt to understand the meaning of theme parties on campus. Closing In this project, I sought to address two questions: How do people on a college campus make meaning of a hate incident? And how do the identities of people on a college campus influence the way they understand a hate incident? Answering these questions led me to deeply examine the variety of perspectives that exist on a single hate incident. Within this study, I found that past experiences with diversity education and conversations about race can dramatically shape how members of a college community interpret the meaning of a hate incident. I also found that practitioners should take these diverse experiences into account when they are crafting responses to

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hate incidents. Hate incidents have a distinct impact on the communities where they occur, and that impact varies based on community members’ experiences and identities. Theme parties are just one example of a large range of possible hate incidents. Nevertheless, the principles for preparing for and responding to hate incidents remain the same. Practitioners should consider preparing for a wide range of hate incidents. They can do this by gathering a team, educating in advance, and considering how to be consistent. Should a hate incident occur, practitioners can do their best to communicate information and encourage discussion. They can also help the community engage with complex identity issues raised by hate incidents. Finally, practitioners can return to the incident to assess the success of the response. A methodical approach to hate incidents can help improve campus climate overall. I am grateful for the opportunity I had to examine this incident in depth. It has left me with a deeper appreciation for the range of perspectives that exist within a college community. More than ever, I am convinced of the value of developmentally appropriate diversity education. This project has also made me more cognizant of the difficult decisions practitioners must make when faced with negative incidents on campus. I know that practitioners must balance many competing priorities when crafting their responses. As I endeavor to move into leadership roles in student affairs, I hope that learning from such incidents will help me provide appropriate responses in the future. I believe this project will strengthen my ability to plan ahead, respond in the moment, and assess incidents after they occur. Ultimately, theme parties are an intersection of two things that are difficult to talk about with students—alcohol use and privilege. The wide range of perspectives that exist on these subjects means that it is hard for practitioners to know how to respond. Some students will not see a party as a problem, while other students will see most responses to theme parties as insufficient. The sheer number of them occurring on different campuses suggests that students will continue to host racially-inflected theme parties. But silence is not an option if colleges are to have any hope of preventing problematic theme parties or any other hate incident. Colleges can plan ahead by considering how they would respond to theme parties and other hate incidents. While the recommendations for responding will vary based on the needs of each campus, it seems clear that there is a need for more conversation and dialogue to examine these different perspectives. Continued education, discussion, and assessment can help campuses positively impact campus climate.

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Appendices Appendix A

Screenshot and text from Facebook invitation to “Hood Ratchet Thursday” party at Theta Xi Image from Shenouda (2013) Text from Xavier (2013)

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

======UPDATE======TWERK CONTEST AT MIDNIGHT CONTACT ALLEN OR TUDOR TO REGISTER WINNER GETS A KINDLE TOUCH ***************************** THETA XI + WORLDSTARHIPHOP= BRINGING THE BIGGEST PARTY TO HIT THE AA AREA DONT MISS OUT ON THE MOST RATCHET PARTY OF THE YEAR. STARTED FROM THE BOTTOM NOW WE HERE BUT NOW WE GOIN BACK TO DA HOOD AGAIN! WHEN: THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 7TH TIME: 10PM

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LOCATION: XXXXXXXXXXX WHO: RAPPERS, TWERKERS, GANGSTERS (NO BLOODS ALLOWED), THUGS, BASKETBALL PLAYERS, BAD BITCHES, RATCHET PUSSY

18+

HOOD IDs WILL BE CHECKED AT THE DOOR VIP GUESTS WILL HAVE ACCESS TO: EXCLUSIVE LOUNGE PREMIUM 40s DRAKE’S TEARS THUN THUN THUNS ***********************************************

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Appendix B

Text of Email Sent to Members of U-M Community, October 31, 2013 Personal communication (February 12, 2014)

From: E. Royster Harper Sent: Thursday, October 31, 2013 10:02 AM To: [email protected] Subject: Fraternity Party Incident

Dear U-M students,

We were deeply disappointed to learn that members of a university fraternity had planned an offensive themed party for November. The language of the invitation and theme of the party denigrated all women and African American/black identified people through racial stereotypes and cultural appropriation. This behavior is offensive, disrespectful and unacceptable at the University of Michigan. It is unhealthy and harms everyone in the community. It is in direct contradiction to the values, policies and expectations of the University and will not be tolerated. Immediately upon being informed, the Dean of Students, the coordinator of the Bias Response Team, together with the leadership of Greek Life and the Interfraternity Council (fraternity governance body) met with the fraternity chapter president to discuss the issue and begin taking appropriate corrective steps. The event has been cancelled. We also are working collaboratively with the national fraternity headquarters, which has imposed restrictions on the fraternity until a full investigation occurs. An apology on behalf of the fraternity is forthcoming. Educational interventions with the fraternity will occur as well. Disturbingly, negative stereotypes and misogynistic behavior are woven into popular culture today. We believe this reinforces the ongoing need to continually pay attention to diversity and engage in thoughtful, challenging conversations about social identities. It is our expectation that significant learning for the campus community will emerge from these offensive actions. We are in the process of planning educational forums. With this and other measures we expect to repair the harm that has occurred in this situation and prevent its reappearance in the future. There is more work to do. Please contact us with thoughts or ideas about this work or other educational efforts.

Sincerely,

Royster Harper Vice President, Student Life

Laura Blake Jones Dean of Students

Mary Beth Seiler Director of Greek Life

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Appendix C

Text of Viewpoint in The Michigan Daily, written by Allen Wu, October 31, 2013

As the host and author of the event “Hood Ratchet Thursday,” I would like make a formal response to Erin Fischer’s viewpoint. First, I would like to sincerely apologize for any negative emotions that you and any other offended members of the community may have felt. Let me be the first to admit that the party’s theme and the language used in the event description were insensitive and distasteful. Please allow me to clarify my motivations behind this, because it was never my intention to purposefully offend or degrade another culture or gender. “Hood Ratchet Thursday” started out as an idea for a party centered around hip-hop music—a genre that I’ve grown up with and still love. As with all music, it’s nearly impossible to separate from its culture, and hip hop has a particularly prolific one that pervades mainstream consciousness. At most college social events, the music of choice, if not electronic dance music (EDM) or pop, is hip hop. Thus, hearing, and rapping along to, the lyrics of A$AP Rocky’s “Fuckin’ Problems” or Juicy J’s “Bandz A Make Her Dance”—the songs from which I derived the phrases “bad bitches” and “ratchet pussy” respectively—or other vulgar songs on any given night while out with friends is not unheard of, if not commonplace. Mainstream hip hop is now dominated by rappers who glorify sexist and superficial themes. These are the artists whom the media promotes and whose music we all consume at social events and at our own leisure. As an avid consumer of the music, it’s easy to get caught up in the lyrics and attitude. Herein lies the first mistake I made: trying to emulate the culture and attitudes prevalent in the music. Of course, I’m aware of hip-hop’s roots in African-American culture, and I understand why so many are upset at my usage of the words “ratchet,” “twerking,” etc. But let me be clear: in no way was it my intention to appropriate Black culture. I was attempting to emulate the distasteful party culture of hip hop, not as a synonym for Black culture, but rather as the musical genre that is consumed by all races. Because, at least in my opinion, when hip-hop culture reaches the level of appeal which it enjoys with listeners of all races and different cultural backgrounds, it transcends strictly racial definitions. And that’s how we can sometimes forget, as I did, that it’s not always OK to emulate respected hip-hop artists; that racial sensitivity is no small issue; and that people can, and will, negatively perceive Black culture because of media and social stereotypes. I wish that we lived in an age where we as people could collectively celebrate the music that we consume without aggravating racial sensitivities. It pains me to see that “hip-hop parties” are immediately cast under a racial lens, even if not so intended. Just because we celebrate and enjoy the music and terminology used by predominantly Black hip-hop artists, that does not mean we are attempting to appropriate Black culture. We take it for what it is, and that’s hip hop as music, and thus, hip-hip culture. If current hip hop is dominated by terminology like “twerking,” “ratchet,” and “swag,” then that’s what its audience absorbs as hip hop: it doesn’t have to be Black. But if people perceive it as so, then I agree that it’s completely inappropriate. As a fellow minority, I sympathize with you for the racial prejudice leveled against you. I could never pretend to understand what you face. But as someone who has experienced firsthand how racism, whether blatant or subtle, can affect our emotions and livelihood, I apologize for any hurt that I’ve caused in our community.

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Again, I would personally like to offer my sincere apologies to those affected by my lapse in judgment and would be open to joining the conversation on how we as a community could find ways to educate ourselves on controversial race issues so that we can avoid future misunderstandings, and move forward as a healthy, unified community.

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Appendix D Public letter by Eric Quang, released by The Michigan Daily, October 31, 2013

To the University of Michigan Community,

As you all may be aware, a Facebook event named “World Star Hip Hop Presents: Hood Ratchet Thursday” was created and emblazoned with the name of our fraternity, Theta Xi. Please know that this was not the result of a chapter decision, vote, or endorsement. The words, terms, and phrases in the description of the event were very insensitive, hurtful, and offensive. On behalf of my fraternity and its members, I sincerely apologize for the harm that this has caused to members of our campus community. I would like to apologize to all of the members of our student body, including those of all ethnicities, and to all women, for our extraordinary lack of consideration, and lapse in judgment. As a University of Michigan student, and member of Greek Life, I am embarrassed to have my organization affiliated with harmful misconduct by one of its members. The individuals responsible for the event would like to state that there was no intent to cause harm by way of stereotypes and other damaging views. However, we realize that the terms used in their context were harmful and offensive to our community at large. My fraternity would not like to encourage, whether intentionally or unintentionally, any tolerance of behavior that is offensive, harmful, or unjust. We are a diverse chapter hailing from many different ethnic and religious backgrounds, including Caucasian, African-American, Asian, Christian, Jewish, and Islamic. Unfortunately, we showed a lack of responsible judgment on this matter, and did not reasonably foresee the harmful consequences of our inaction to promptly stifle the event’s communication. Our Dean of Students shared that there is a problematic campus climate in existence, and that our event is another micro- aggression for individuals in the existing environment. Unfortunately, many on campus do not realize how fellow community members are affected by day-to-day microaggressions. We are only beginning to understand the nature of the deeply harmful effects of the event description, and will take steps as an organization to educate ourselves and others about the unfortunate actions which create micro-aggressions in our campus community. We will work diligently to prevent future transgressions that promote any sort of negative atmosphere. As a leader, I completely understand my role within the Greek community and campus, one that includes the goal of actively promoting a safe environment in which individual members are never wrongfully victimized, marginalized, or harmed. I am currently working with members from my fraternity’s National Headquarters and University officials to investigate how we can better educate my members, and the whole of the student body on ways to avoid the communication of harmful and offensive messages which our students have a right to be protected from, and to foster an overall community which upholds healthy values that we all strongly believe in. I look forward to further correspondence with those involved, and believe that it is my responsibility to see that the effects of this event are rectified in full. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Respectfully, Eric Quang Sigma Chapter President Theta Xi Fraternity

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