Today’s affirmative action debate centers on the University of
Michigan’s “Selection Index,” which gives black, Latino, and Native
American undergraduate applicants automatic bonus points. But such
systems should never overshadow the deeply personal nature of
race-based policies.
In 1996, my high school sweetheart and I ranked atop our class.
I had a grade-point average above 4.30 and she just slightly below.
As I co-captained the volleyball team and co-founded the poetry
club, she entered swim meets and helped coordinate the honor
society. After school, she tutored elementary students, and I
delivered pizza. We served as student senators, volunteered at
local charities, and scored 1270 on the SAT (I later retook the
exam and reached the 1300s). Besides enjoying the same education,
we lived in comparable middle-class Los Angeles County
neighborhoods. With nearly identical records and backgrounds, we
applied to the same top schools, including Harvard, Princeton,
Stanford, and Claremont McKenna College.
The similarities ended there. Though we both had immigrant
backgrounds, her family came from Mexico and mine from the
Philippines. Eventually, whereas she earned admission to all but
one school, I got rejected from all but one school. Of two equal
candidates, university officials preferred the Mexican American to
the Filipino American.
These results aroused mixed emotions. I acknowledged my
weaknesses and understood the selectiveness of elite universities,
so I accepted some rejection. At the same time, I wondered how a
comparable applicant could have fared much better than I did. I
tried to appreciate my one opportunity, but I envied my
girlfriend’s many opportunities. Since she graduated salutatorian
and I valedictorian, I questioned her qualifications. Yet how could
I harbor doubts when I saw how talented she was and how hard she
had worked?
Beyond such feelings lay bigger concerns. The schools obviously
categorized my girlfriend as an underrepresented Hispanic and me an
overrepresented Asian. The categories assumed that I belonged more
with my Japanese American classmates than with my Mexican American
prom date.
This assumption, however, captured just part of my story. Though
I shared certain values with Asian Americans, I also shared certain
customs with Latinos. In some respects, especially where Catholic
and Spanish influences were concerned, I arguably had more in
common with Latinos. On Sundays, for example, I occasionally
attended Spanish-language Mass and followed the homily, which
contained words that Tagalog speakers understood. Yet these
commonalities seemingly went overlooked.
Consequently, on the most selfish level, I missed out on an
“admissions hook.” More important, by treating me as a member of
one particular group, the schools effectively recognized some
personal characteristics over others. Did they thus consider the
“whole person,” as they purportedly sought to do?
Of course, the task of evaluating thousands of applications
required schools to group applicants. Because the schools placed a
high priority on diversity, I expected them to diversify wherever
they could.
My expectations seemed unmet. In 1996, Berkeley admitted
approximately 8,000 California residents, of which 34% were Asian
Americans and 16% were Chicanos and Latinos. These figures
contrasted California’s general population, of which 11% was Asian
American and 29% was Hispanic. The contrast presumably justified
more outreach to my girlfriend than to me.
Of the admitted Asian Americans, however, only 6% were
Filipinos, even though our group made up a quarter of California’s
Asian Americans. I thought that Berkeley and other schools would
have addressed this mismatch, but they gave it little attention.
Instead, my girlfriend received preferential treatment over me,
despite our groups’ similar numerical disadvantage.
I present this story not to seek pity or handouts but to shed
light on a rarely discussed problem. Policy and legal debates often
focus on discrimination against whites and preferential treatment
of blacks, Latinos, and Native Americans, but seldom do they
consider the fate of everyone else.
Yet these groups encounter some of the most complex issues. My
experience, for instance, raises questions about cultural identity,
racial categories, and disparate outreach, and highlights subtle
contradictions. Though affirmative action strives to accommodate
minorities, it still overlooks group nuances. Though it strives to
promote diversity among groups, it fails to promote diversity
within them.
As an interracial couple, my girlfriend and I faced many
challenges, including different courtship customs and language
barriers. We respected each other’s culture, but we also kept our
differences from coming between us. That’s what America is all
about. During college admissions, race played a prominent role.
Perhaps because our applications had many similarities, schools had
to weigh the one factor that differentiated us. Ironically, while
we loved each other for who we were, schools treated us for what we
represented.
We overcame these difficulties and later got married. But as my
sister-in-law enters college and the Supreme Court decides the
Michigan cases, I hope that history doesn’t repeat itself.
