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BY JOSH COHEN

In print | Published November 16, 2006

“11.6 percent of what? It’s still predominantly white. If you hadn’t read the article, you wouldn’t even notice.”

This was one black student’s response to the top headline in the right column of our college’s homepage: “Swarthmore Named New Leader in Enrolling Black Students.” The key sentence from the article to which the headline links boasts: “Once again there are 43 blacks in this year’s entering class. As was the case eight years ago, black students make up 11.6 percent of all freshmen at Swarthmore.”

The implication, clearly, is that we are the ideal liberal arts college for black students. But while 43 and 11.6 may be relatively legitimate in a quantitative analysis of institutions, they are meaningless in the messy and non-quantifiable world of individual interaction. So I asked several black students: Is the promise of an ideal environment fair to prospective black students and their parents?

I received two types of answers: an immediate “no” and an eventual “no.” I admit, I was not expecting too many affirmatives; I might have even betrayed the expectation by asking at all. But my own reasoning was formed in vague sociological terms like “racism,” “oppression,” “alienation” — words that were immediately and instructively given meaning beyond my inherited outsider’s vocabulary.

“I had heard about it before it went on the Web site, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We worked really hard to get more black students here and it paid off.”

This was what one junior told me and it recalled my own initial sentiments: this was progress. But he said it to me rushed, like this was all that could, and maybe should, be said. Then he added: “I just hope they all stay. The retention rate hasn’t been so good, you know.”

As we talked, the second part of his statement became a discussion of what several other black students would reaffirm: that there is a prevailing need at Swarthmore not just for more black students, but for a better, stronger and more meaningful black community.

“When you check ‘black’ on your application, you automatically get signed up for all the support groups. And they do their thing, SASS, you know. But only a few people really stay with it. The meetings get thinner and thinner and really it just doesn’t feel like there are enough ways for black people to support each other every day in this system.”

Our school, one junior said, demands a certain amount of self-sufficiency that precludes the connection you might find, say, in a fraternity or a sorority at a large school or, simply, with more free time. Cruelly enough, it seems that the very draw of Swarthmore — its intense education — is a factor in solidifying the alienation and frustration felt by so many black students.

“Almost all black students I know talk about transferring. I filled out the applications. But it’s not because it’s too hard, which is what people think. It’s because we want to be somewhere we can have an actual community.”

Racism is endemic to society and its institutions. Are there aspects of Swarthmore in particular that are detrimental to the black experience?

Something one female junior said stuck out in particular, because it deals with something common to the happiness of college students everywhere: love, or at least the possibility of it.

“If you’re looking for a man, you’re not going to find him here. That’s the first thing we tell you here if you’re a prospective black female. I don’t know if you noticed, but a disproportionate number of the black males here aren’t exactly available.”

Swarthmore seeks out a certain type of black male — artistic, “not generic,” often gay — that is reflective of its liberal ideals. For black females, this same idealism that drew them here takes its toll on their non-academic lives. It results, she said, in a frustrating reality which can only be justified by trade-offs — “I’ll get a good education and get out, and I can go into Philly if I need to” — and by a cynical acceptance and an endless rationalization of an unwanted but imposed solitude.

Sixty-two years ago, the word on everyone’s lips was “integration.” It held the hopeful connotation of harmony and equality. It implied a society in which racial distinctions would lose their meaning and dreams could be equally realized. The college catchword today is “diversity,” which as a goal does not embody the same scope of ambition that “integration” once did.

And yet the two words are used synonymously — or, at least, casually — in progressive discourse. That there are more black incoming freshmen at Swarthmore means greater diversity, but not greater integration; at best, it means that there is a greater likelihood of integration, which is hopeful but should not be confused with actual success.

In reports like these, though, success — ultimate Number One success — is implied.

The underlying logic is simple and purposeful: numbers are facts; facts are substance; the more, the better. But better for whom? The very nature of rankings, of being Number One, grants Swarthmore a certain worthiness and pride. But is what’s good for Swarthmore good for its black students?

After all, who was this headline really for? I doubt too many students gave it a second thought, if we even saw it all. The Swarthmore homepage is for prospective students, parents, those interested in learning more about college. To put this headline on the front of its homepage is to coyly suggest that Swarthmore is the ideal liberal arts institution. Period.

“Definitely,” more than one student agreed. One freshman added: “This is mostly about self-congratulation and getting more students to come here.”

“Diversity,” if it is to benefit some group and not just to exist in and of itself, seems directed more to the satisfaction of the likely white liberal student than anyone else. “I’ll bet it made a lot of kids here happy,” one student said. Members of the administration, too.

This ideology, which celebrates solely the number of black students, recalls, painfully enough, the caricature of two liberal white kids boasting to one another of how many black friends they each have. As if black people were some sort of currency to be accrued. A means to some unidentified, though unquestionable, greater social end.

It isn’t the movement I — nor, I imagine, most of us — want to be a part of. But it is the discourse that has come to dominate progressivism, and which in its self-congratulation and delusion has hampered the realization of its very goals.

Better numbers do not mean better experiences. If we really want to celebrate our Number One ranking, we should admit temporary defeat. And that may mean not increasing the percentage of incoming black students until the ones already here feel like they belong.

Josh Cohen is a sophomore. You can reach him at jcohen2@swarthmore.edu.

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