I work at the Coffeehouse hidden behind Epworth dorm. For those who have never made the journey through the East Campus backwoods, you may have heard rumors that the Coffeehouse is “exclusive.” I admit in writing that this is true. Of my friends, few are not on the Coffeehouse payroll. It’s paid work, but more importantly, it’s a social circle. It isn’t qualification or achievement that get someone in, it’s something in the way they dress. It’s attitude. It’s taste. It’s pride in punk, in an anti-Duke sense of cool. Or, it’s nepotism—you know someone or you don’t—which is the route I personally took.
In no particular defense or attack of the anti-establishment establishment, the Coffeehouse isn’t the only hyper-exclusive space on campus. But in an effort to promote diversification of campus groups, the Coffeehouse is where I, someone with full-hearted investment in the outwardly inscrutable culture, start.
The fellow students I work with are mostly white, and the vast majority do not qualify for work study.
A briefing on the mission and purpose of the Coffeehouse explains the irony of the staff’s homogenous composition. The Coffeehouse regularly hosts shows throughout the semester that invite a wide variety of artists from the revolutionary spoken word duo, DarkMatter, to musicians like Diaspoura, whose art is informed by her work as a community organizer in Charleston.
As for Duke-sponsored events, it follows suit that while the Coffeehouse welcomes events sponsored by groups like the CGSD and Jazz@, it doesn’t hesitate to reject proposals to host fraternity or sorority parties or to open the space to performing groups that have access to very public spaces on campus like Page auditorium. The Coffeehouse provides a space strictly for those who are traditionally denied space.
I love the Coffeehouse. I love the people who work there—they are my friends and circle of support—and it’s remarkable how their eccentricities match, and in some cases best, the strange esoterism of the Coffeehouse itself. But the good times we’ve shared aside, there’s a duplicity between the goals of the Coffeehouse and those who keep the Coffeehouse running, but who don’t necessarily act to strive toward those goals.
The first staff meeting we had this semester, our general manager, who I should mention is a person of color himself, addressed that he hopes to diversify our staff. The year prior, the events we hosted were by and large punk bands, which tend to attract a white audience. This semester, he hoped to both book more diverse acts and to hire more people of color.
The former of the two goals was successful. We saw in just the past few months, thanks to our savvy booking manager—who is also a person of color—a number of acts by the likes of Helado Negro, Xenia Rubinos and Professor Toon, to name a few of the fantastic artists whose works speak, broadly, to cultural difference in white America. These were stunning shows—but put on by a staff that’s totally unrepresentative of the artists’ concerns.
On the staff’s composition. Immediately after our manager addressed the lack of diversity, another cautioned that we should hire people, foremost, on personality. I am puzzled by this. It somehow implies that individuals who bring diversity don’t have adequate personalities. What’s truly troubling is that I’ve heard this inserted and accepted as a valid point in conversations about selection and recruitment spread widely across campus.
In order for students to be accepted to a performing comedy group, they have to first be “funny enough.” To get into Greek life, they need to be “cool with us.” These are unspecific, arbitrary pseudo-identifiers that lead to groups recruiting, over and over again, people who are like them. The all-white comedy group will choose the auditioner whose humor most closely replicates their own. Those in selective living groups will take a liking to the rush-hopefuls most like themselves, rationalizing that “they just fit in better.” As for the Coffeehouse, we search high and low for the “like-minded.” In short, we are no better. Opposites don’t attract, and the homogeneity in group photos is proof of that.
Yet, I am opposed to intentionally selecting minorities for the sake of diversifying. Yes, they are agents of diversity—but they’re also, people. The funny thing about diversity is it makes groups look good—at the expense of the minorities. The easiest way to look progressive is to have someone to show for it.
I used to believe strongly that diversity can and should be manufactured. I reasoned that there are social dividers to strike down, and although inorganic social exchange feels forced, we’ll become more tolerant, accepting, better human beings for it.
But the person who carries the burden of discomfort, of having to educate others on the “story of their people” is always the token in the comedy group whose paper inclusion gives the group an opportunity to make jokes predicated on their minority status.
They are the person who must assimilate to the niche ideals of the Coffeehouse—otherwise, they’re deemed unfit to be an insider. But the dominant narrative of what’s fit or cool is decided by the current students who, at the Coffeehouse, are mostly white or relatively financially stable. Even if we hire students from more diverse backgrounds, they must learn to dress, speak and behave the “right” way, before they can truly become a member of the club.
I cannot offer a solution to the complicated effects of tactless, contrived or passive attempts at diversification, but I have a few ideas regarding hyper-selectivity. Programs like pre-orientation should be free, and students should be admitted on a lottery system. Greek life should cease to exist. Student-run organizations, like the Coffeehouse especially, should practice what they preach and refuse using difference as a reason to exclude. In the fall of 2015, of the full-time undergraduates enrolled, 46 percent were of European descent. How is it possible that there are many groups on campus that are 100-percent white?
Hyper-selection fails at creating an inclusive campus for all. It’s a start that the two managers at the Coffeehouse make strides to restructure the space, but until Coffeehouse culture becomes reflective of the artists we invite and the diversity we promote, there’s work to be done. It’s in all our best interests to resist stratifying, to create an inclusive campus, to foster community—we need to stick together!
Jennifer Zhou is a Trinity junior. Her column, "just like a woman," runs on alternate Thursdays.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.