A fearful Penn ditches DEI. That’s not the way of leaders.
Watching Penn rescinding admissions, erasing references to diversity, and deleting inclusive language is like watching someone burn their own crops and salt their own earth for generations to come.
I was a young college student when I learned a lesson that has stayed with me for nearly 30 years. It is a lesson our current University of Pennsylvania leaders seem to need reminding of, so I hope you’ll allow me to share it.
It took place in an unassuming Penn classroom in the 1990s. We students were on dinner break from our three-hour evening history class, and chitchatting with each other. I don’t remember how exactly it came up since we were studying Benjamin Franklin and 18th-century history. But somehow the talk turned to our own century.
That was when I found out my classmates Jerry and Naomi Bernstein, two older adults who were auditing the class alongside us youngsters, had been activists in the 1960s civil rights movement.
Sometimes you have to challenge a bad law, a dangerous policy, a frightening authority figure.
They had organized with the legendary Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, more commonly known as SNCC. They had met the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. And here they sat, right next to me, casually eating dinner as they described the unpredictable and sometimes dangerous environment they had navigated to fight for what they believed in.
They were modest, emphasizing how many more risks others had taken. They were humorous, joking about the way big social change happens side by side with boring everyday logistics. Most of all, they were kind — to us, as fascinated onlookers, but also to each other. I remember being struck by how affectionate and engaged they were together, and how endearing it was that many years into their marriage, they were still sharing the pursuit of learning.
I don’t remember what else I talked about with the Bernsteins that night, or the rest of the semester. I don’t even know if they would have given that conversation a passing thought. To them it may have been entirely natural, a sharing of a few vignettes about their commitment to peace and justice work before we all turned back to the professor’s lecture on Franklin.
I graduated from college a few years later and went on to make a career in nonprofit advocacy. But I have never forgotten that conversation. It was an affirmation of my most deeply held values: Sometimes you have to do things that are uncomfortable, inconvenient, or scary. Sometimes you have to challenge a bad law, a dangerous policy, a frightening authority figure.
But you don’t have to do it alone. Indeed, you shouldn’t do it alone.
Activism and organizing are leaderful work. Yes, King rightfully receives worldwide acclaim. But there were hundreds of ordinary people alongside him who rolled up their sleeves and did their own work — one small, difficult (or boring) task at a time. The civil rights movement eventually won its transformational changes because those small actions accumulated over months and years.
I thought of the Bernsteins last week when I saw that Penn was rescinding admissions for hundreds of bright, ambitious young people, erasing references to diversity from its nondiscrimination policies, and deleting inclusive language from university websites.
It was horrifying news. It felt like watching someone burn their own crops and salt their own earth for generations to come, simply out of fear that an enemy might approach. This is not leaderful behavior. This is the behavior of scared individuals who have never practiced how to be courageous together.
Then I saw that in a meeting with state and local legislators, a Penn official had described diversity as a “lightning rod.”
In that long-ago class, I spent an entire semester studying Franklin. That may sound like a lot of time to spend on just one person, but there was a lot to learn. One of the things I learned is that Franklin invented the lightning rod. He did it to protect people.
Because a lightning rod isn’t a problem, it’s a solution.
A lightning rod diverts a dangerous electrical current so it can pass harmlessly into the ground, protecting the people and property it guards.
We are all we have to protect each other, but we are enough.
Penn’s leaders may be fooling themselves that cowering and complying in advance will protect their institution, their money, or even their people. But history teaches us that it won’t. Instead, we protect each other. Not by hiding or pretending we aren’t afraid — but day by day, one difficult choice at a time, standing with our friends and neighbors while carrying out the small ordinary work of change.
For Penn, leading transformational change can be accomplished in several ways:
Exploring ways to use Penn’s $22 billion endowment creatively to support groups targeted by federal policies. Yes, I know endowed funds come with restrictions. Put the accountants in a room with theater folks, facilities workers, and psychologists and see what kind of genuinely new ideas a world-class university can come up with.
Requiring evidence. Don’t react blindly to a headline-grabbing anecdote. Hold people responsible for demonstrating that the issues they claim exist are a real problem. Pretend it’s a procurement contract negotiation and take it that seriously.
Taking advice from people who have been putting in the sweat equity for years. Shaun Harper has some substantive recommendations for higher ed leaders. Community colleges that have been on the front lines can also be a valuable resource on strategy.
I paid for my Penn education in time and money, and in return, I received the priceless gifts of knowledge and community. That is what I learned from the Bernsteins, and what I want Penn’s leadership to hear: We are all we have to protect each other, but we are enough. We are more than enough.
Amanda Bergson-Shilcock is a 1999 graduate of the University of Pennsylvania and a lifelong resident of the Philadelphia area. She works in the nonprofit field.