Jan. 6: The Outsiders

Today’s subject is diversity.

And, yes, I can hear your groaning even now.

The mere sight of the word “diversity’’ probably conjures those mandatory meetings that you could never weasel your way out of, long boring meetings with binders that the instructor went through word by word while you sat there bored to tears.

At least, that was what always came to my mind whenever I heard that word.

But I will beg your forbearance and ask that you maintain some confidence in my ability to make this tedious topic both relevant and interesting.

Now, it’s not as though I ever had in mind that I would write about “diversity’’ as it relates to my new experience as an old student.

But throughout the day, the topic just sort of muscled its way into my consciousness and I feel obliged to commit these observations to print.

With two classes Thursday, I have now attended a class in all five of my subjects for the semester, which may well be a personal record. In my previous academic career as a disinterested student, it took me about two weeks to reach that milestone.

In each of those classes, the real implications of diversity emerged. I am talking about diversity as it applies to real people rather than some abstract notion, which is generally how the subject is presented in those torturous mandatory meetings held in a million stuffy conference rooms.

But I began to think of what diversity means a couple of hours before my first class started. I was sitting in the Student Union, killing time and watching the student world go by, when I noticed MSU basketball player John Riek walking toward me, a Chick-Fil-A bag in his hand.

This required no great powers of observation to pick him out. He is 7-foot-1, literally head and shoulders above the rest of the students who wandered through the food court.

It occurred to me that John Riek, by virtue of his enormous height, is conspicuous wherever he goes. I suspect there are many, many times when this is more of a burden than an asset for him.

Riek is a native of Sudan and is still trying to grasp English, from what I had read of him. He is far from a star player on the team. In fact, in what is now his second season at State, he rarely plays. So while he is almost always recognized, I doubt he is treated with the deference that most athletes at a major university enjoy. I suspect his life is full of uninviting stares, a life compounded by what is certain to be cultural barriers that he must find difficult to cross.
I suspect that John Riek must often feel alone and alien, an outsider, a stranger in a strange land. I bet he misses his family back in the Sudan. I bet he misses fitting in, culturally, if not physically. And he’s just a kid, still. It makes you wonder how he copes, to be honest.

It was just a passing thought and I soon headed off for my first class of the day, Journalism Ethics. As the instructor was going over the roll, she stopped on my name.

“Hmm...You’ve had some experience in the journalism field, haven’t you?’’ she asked.

“Yeah, about 30 years,’’ I said.

Turns out, the instructor – Frances McDavid – was working at the Columbus paper when I went to work there after leaving school.

At her insistence, I went over my resume’ briefly. It was a mistake. She spent the rest of the class, making side comments to me…”Slim can tell you about this’’ or “Was that your experience, Slim?’’ or “Tell them what this means in the real world, Slim?’’

It made me uneasy, to be honest, for I had the feeling that my presence in the class made her self-conscious. And that’s not right, either. Mrs. McDavid has been teaching journalism for 20 years. She knows the subject in a way that I can never know it, never having taught.

After class, I lingered so that I could tell her that I did not want to be treated with any deference, that she should consider me as just another student. But while I was waiting, a young lady was talking with Mrs. McDavid and I could tell by her demeanor that it was not a casual conversation.

The young lady was a Korean and she had approached Mrs. McDavid to express her extreme concern that she would not be able to succeed in the class. She seemed close to tears, shaking slightly. As a broadcast communications major, the class was mandatory. And after listening to Mrs. McDavid’s summary of the course, a great cloud of doubt began to settle on her.

Mrs. McDavid tried to reassure her.

“I can’t tell you whether you should drop this class or not. You’re going to have to take it sooner or later, though. All I can say is that I’ll help you. But I can’t guarantee the outcome.’’

I watched with sympathy. From what I know of foreign students, the stakes are incredibly high. They leave their home, their culture to study abroad at no small expense. For many, the family sacrifices greatly to give their children such an opportunity.

As a result, the expectations and pressures are enormous. They must not only pass, they must excel.

And there was this young Korean girl, thousands of miles from home, studying communications while fumbling with her Korean-to-English dictionary. How impossibly hard is that?

I spoke up.

“I won’t tell you what to do,’’ I told her. “But if you stay in this class, I will help you any way I can.’’

I don’t know if she’ll drop the class or not. I guess I’ll have my answer when class convenes again on Tuesday.

My last class of the day was Introduction to Public Speaking and again I felt myself drawn to two Asian students, who happened to settle into seats to my left and right.

There was Jeoungyong Kim from Seoul, Korea, and Toshiakama Yogamara from Tokyo, Japan (Don’t hold me to the spellings; they are strictly phonetic speculations on my part).

During the class, each student was asked to introduce themselves and tell the class a little about themselves. Both Jeoungyong and Toshi spoke in barely audible voices, often stopping as if trying to translate Korean and Japanese thoughts into English words. You could tell they were painfully aware of their limitations. They very idea that they will have to deliver four speeches during this class must be frightening beyond imagination.

I made a mental note that I will be their biggest fan in the class.

When it times for the speeches to begin – in about two weeks, our instructor told us – I will take both of them aside for a little pep talk. I intend to tell them that speaking before a class is not scary. Moving thousands of miles away from your home and family, that’s scary. Leaving your culture and your friends, that’s scary. Trying to meet the highest of expectations in a culture and language you are still struggling to understand, that’s scary.

When it is their time to deliver a speech, I intend to position myself in a seat in the middle of the back row.

“Keep your eyes on me,’’ I am going to tell them. “I’m an old friendly, non-threatening guy. I am your friend. You watch me. You’ll be fine.’’

I’m not from Sudan or Korea or Japan, but I, too, am an outsider. I’m old, compared to all the students I’m surrounded by. I know what it feels like to be distinctly different. And while no one has been mean to me, I do get the feeling that, at any moment, any of my fellow students may ask me for gas money, you know?

What I am discovering is that diversity isn’t very interesting when you’re looking at it from the outside. But when you are the one who is different, it’s something you never really escape.

Hey, I’ve only been in college for a week and I’m already learning!