For God, for country, and for diversity

Whatever your ethnic, racial, or geographic background, Yale has a place for you. By Kate Mason

It was my first night at Yale, and all 20 of us were crammed into my suite's common room. While some were gazing at the setting sun from the window or chatting shyly on our newly acquired couch, I sat quietly, staring at all the strange faces and wondering how in the world this place would ever seem like home. My freshman counselor shifted nervously in his seat at the front of the room, smiling and trying to put us all at ease. I closed my eyes and listened to the conversations around me. Questions that were already becoming routine since I had arrived at Yale shot out over and over: Where are you from, why did you come to Yale, what are you interested in, and what kind of high school did you go to? Not surprisingly, the answers flowed as easily as the questions: California, Minnesota, Honduras, and Singapore; music, sports, theater, and writing; public school, private school, art school, and science school. I felt as if the whole world were sitting in the common room with me. I was dazzled, overwhelmed, frightened, and more excited than I had ever been in my life.

When I arrived at Yale, I was expecting to meet all sorts of people. I knew that students would be coming from much further than my own East Coast home of Philadelphia, and I knew that everyone's religion, political views, interests, and passions would be different. Still, there was nothing that could prepare me for those first few days. There was no one who could have convinced me that I would be sitting in a room at the end of August, conversing nonchalantly with a Slovenian physics-lover who spoke five languages fluently and shared my love for cheese. There was no way I could have envisioned the friendship that would emerge between this atheist European and his two suitemates, a Mormon soccer player from Texas and a devout Protestant track runner from Alabama. And certainly no experience of mine could have predicted my own friendships with these individuals, who were so radically different from me in every way that a relationship under any other circumstances than these might have seemed impossible. Yet there I was a week or two later, hiking up East Rock with the Alabamian, munching on brie and crackers with the Sloven-ian and dancing to country music--a genre that I had previous-ly loathed--with the Texan.

In the middle of it all, I was also bonding with my own suitemates--a Japanese-American from New York, a Chinese American from California and a Korean-American from Minnesota--swapping life stories, tasting different kinds of food, and sharing our interests, goals, hopes, and dreams. At home, my friends had been mostly like me: white, upper-middle-class, and Jewish. At Yale, I had a couple of friends who were like that. The rest were Asian-American, African-American, native American, Catholic, Protestant, Hindu, and atheist--all from different economic classes.

It is true that there was an over-representation of upper-class students and an under-representation of African-Americans. It is true that there were legacy students who fit perfectly into my preconceived stereotype of the privileged, white Yalie. It was also true, however, that the legacy students were friends with those on financial aid, the black students were friends with the white students, and the Jewish students were friends with the Christian students. Multiculturalism was coming alive for me in a way I never thought possible, and I was fascinated by its power.

The world is not a perfect place, and Yale is no exception to that rule. Not everyone gets along with everyone else all the time. Sometimes there are misunderstandings, ignorance, and yes, even isolated cases of pure intolerance. This is inescapable when so many people who are so fundamentally different are put together and forced to live, eat, and work in one relatively confined place.

The amazing thing about Yale is not that it is a magical fairyland where no one ever gets hurt, offended, or discriminated against. It is not that when you arrive here, all of the world's problems suddenly disappear. What is exciting is that the vast majority of students come here with open minds, ready to learn about other people; eager not so much to put aside differences as to revel in them. The majority of the people I met wanted to be my friend, not in spite of the contrasts between us but because of them. Before coming to Yale, I had never been in an environment where there was so much appreciation for unfamiliar cultures, religions, and races, or so much interest in getting to know people with whom one would otherwise never think of pursuing a relationship.

I came here expecting to befriend people similar to those I had known in high school. Instead, I found myself becoming closest to those whose backgrounds were the most different from mine. At first, I was intimidated. I was afraid that we would have nothing to talk about, or that I would say something wrong and offend someone, or that I would feel uncomfortable and out of place. Instead, I discovered that the excitement of my new friendships lay in the fact that not only was it always possible to find commonalities, but that what we didn't share we could teach each other since we were always willing to learn about each other. I learned at least as much from my friends as I did in all of my classes freshman year, and I am sure that almost any Yalie would tell you the same thing.

Yale is incredibly diverse. Never again in your life will you find so many different, talented, and intelligent people in one place. When you arrive on campus and start meeting your classmates, you will be overwhelmed, frightened, nervous, and excited. But it will assuredly be one of the best feelings you've ever had. Breathe it in. Bask in it. Embrace it.

Graphic by Melanie Schoenberg.

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