As an administrator and faculty member at one of the nation’s most racially diverse research universities, I have seen commitments to “diversity work” ebb and flow over the decades. The ebbing is not due to a lack of commitment or conviction. Rather, it can be debilitating to meet the demand for free lessons in cultural competency, while at the same time negotiating constant resistance to such work from other quarters on a daily basis, and even during downtime. It is the very people who are the most committed to doing diversity work who are experiencing this diversity fatigue.
Of course, we in higher education are also battling another type of diversity fatigue, among those who see diversity efforts as merely politically correct. Yet others are just generally tired of the term “diversity,” which they believe has been so co-opted and diluted that it no longer has any meaning. (That has also been the case with its predecessor, “multiculturalism.”)
But for many folks of color in the academy, the language of diversity itself is tired and appears to be bandied about primarily for branding purposes. Such battle fatigue plagues our underrepresented faculty and staff members and students, who must balance feelings of frustration, anger, and devaluation with a lack of mentorship, uncertain resources, and, often, additional family-care responsibilities. These are all familiar realities for academics of color and first-generation scholars.
In this special report, we look at diversity through a somewhat novel lens — that of geography. Our coverage examines how a college’s location affects its mission, its ability to recruit students and faculty members, and its campus culture.
Underrepresented faculty and staff members share the burden of diversity work in many visible and invisible forms: They often assume heavier workloads in teaching, advising, mentoring, and counseling, and spend more time on outreach, recruitment, training and workshops, and other service work. While their institutions benefit from collective gains in student success, those who do this work find it exhausting to do more than their fair share, indefinitely.
Those scholars must also argue vigorously for the value of one another’s research and additional teaching contributions. The University of California’s Systemwide Academic Senate labored for at least five years to approve minor changes in the system’s Academic Personnel Manual, designed to give proper merit value to diversity work across teaching, research, and service categories in the tenure and promotion process. Historically, at many universities, most such work has been relegated to “service.” During the Senate discussion, some people asked, “Wouldn’t this penalize those who don’t do diversity work?” No, those folks will continue to be rewarded despite making little to no contribution to diversity — just as they always were. The change prevents punitive assessment and undervaluing of this additional academic labor.
Graduate students feel the same disciplinary and departmental tensions and frustrations, but have even fewer resources at their disposal than faculty members do. Many break under these pressures and fail to continue into the professoriate or into jobs that make use of their skills. Despite these struggles, graduate students at my institution have been among the most proactive groups in seeking out ways to help our academic departments improve.
The university system’s Irvine, Riverside, and Los Angeles campuses all have groups for graduate students of color, and Riverside has piloted a well-received diversity-certification program through its Graduate Division as a result of growing interest among graduate students themselves. They are often on the front lines, encouraging more faculty attention to the needs of first-generation, undocumented, and international students, as well as to those who struggle with disabilities, housing and food insecurity, and gender discrimination.
There is no easy way to relieve diversity fatigue. The underlying equity issues it reflects have built up over many years, and it will most likely take many more years of work before we see drastic improvements.
At Riverside, we have attempted to hire more underrepresented faculty members and women in STEM fields over the past three years through a holistic approach that includes mandatory online training and workshops for search-committee members. The workshops include discussions of diversity data and how implicit bias can affect the faculty-search process. Those sessions, convened jointly by a number of campus offices, and other practices have helped us raise the percentage of underrepresented faculty members hired over the last three years by about nine percentage points.
The university system, meanwhile, has established a group of faculty-equity advisers — senior professors who provide advice and support on equity issues. Seven of the 10 UC campuses have such programs. On our campus, they are compensated for that work.
Understanding how deep-seated institutional hierarchies perpetuate inequities can also help in retention. It is important to avoid a rhetoric of “replacement.” The idea that we can simply replace departing faculty members of color and other underrepresented scholars with new faculty members and graduate students of color disrespects the caliber and expertise of those who leave. If we do not assertively address campus-climate issues at the departmental and college level, faculty members and graduate students of color will continue to leave.
Meaningful diversity work cannot be seen as something that is supplemental or remedial, or touted only in times of crisis or promotion. Diversity is not philanthropy. For diversity work to thrive, it needs to be part of everyday life on campus — for everybody.
Mariam B. Lam is associate vice chancellor and chief diversity officer at the University of California at Riverside, and an associate professor of comparative literature and Southeast Asian studies.
