A few days ago, a friend and I maneuvered our way around an auditorium in Fuqua, searching for seats in our unusually large, 500-person lecture. We looked across the room and saw a mutual friend speaking with two strangers. Of course she knows them, my friend commented. Our friend is Indian, as were the two strangers. Ergo, they must know each other.
Halt with the flawless logic, please. I am Indian, so by definition, shouldn’t I know all three as well? Of course not, my friend explained: I am not a part of the Indian circle.
I hadn’t put serious thought into my social circle all year. My circle simply consists of my friends, some of whom happen to be Indian. My friend’s comment, however, made me think back to my first two years at Duke, when I was constantly aware of my ethnicity. Back then, it seemed that no matter what I did, everything was a reflection on my cultural identity as a South Asian.
If I had dinner with a group of South Asian friends, I was self-segregating. If I had dinner with a group of diverse friends, I was white-washed. If I studied in the library, I was being a typical, nerdy Indian.
Then, there was always the question of my major. “No, I’m not pre-med, nor an engineer, thank you. What’s that? Economics? Not interested in that either, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Many of the pressures to find the right group of friends and to be the “right amount of Indian” were internal, mostly stemming from my personal struggle to reconcile my cultural upbringing with my American values. Other pressures were rooted in a desire to defy the self-segregating norm that friends had warned me about before coming to Duke. I didn’t want to be seen as part of a stereotypical minority group. I wanted to be seen as an individual.
I worked hard to cultivate a social circle that made me feel comfortable with all aspects of my identity—not merely my most phenotypically obvious one. Still, to others, I am not part of the “South Asian clique,” which is a negative reflection on my ethnic authenticity. In order to prove I am authentically Indian, I should be visibly part of the South Asian social scene.
Self-segregate or not, it’s a catch-22.
Now imagine my friend had been talking to two strangers and all three were white. Would they be part of a circle? Would they be self-segregating? Would they be ethnically authentic? Or would they simply be three people who happened to know each other? Throw in something simple like the people being ethnic or racial minorities, and bam!—it magically becomes self-segregation.
I, however, cannot simply be friends with a group of people who ethnically identify as I do without self segregating. Instead, it is my responsibility, and that of any other individual who identifies as an ethnic minority, to actively seek out a diverse social network. The obligation to build multicultural friend groups lies on minorities.
But shouldn’t diverse interactions—whether diversity is defined as racial, ethnic, or something else—be facilitated by everyone? Shouldn’t the onus of seeking new perspectives and friendships be equitably distributed?
So to recap, no, I don’t know everyone who is Indian. And no, the Asians aren’t always studying together in the Link. Black students aren’t always sitting at the same table at the Marketplace, either. Look further than these seemingly exclusive circles: We are in a fantastically diverse community and individuals are getting to know individuals. I am not bound to be part of any one group, nor is it my responsibility to prove to others that I am a minority who values diversity. Our four years here are too short to limit ourselves to any exclusive circles. That would just be square.
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