I used to hear the word "diversity" and roll my eyes. Sure, I considered myself an extremely accepting person of all types of people, but I'd always felt diversity was a ploy that undermined our meritocratic society. I was wrong. Attending last weekend's Gatorship — a leadership and diversity retreat sponsored by UF's Multicultural and Diversity Affairs office — not only changed my mind but also my life.
I attended a private high school with a graduating class of 90 students. For the most part, everyone was white, upper-class and pretty full of themselves. The strategic way in which my school prominently placed "diverse" students on its website constituted my only exposure to diversity.
Coming to UF, I felt that in recognizing this fault in my education I had defeated it. Yes, surely I embraced all types of people, I thought. So when I was applying for Gatorship and my friends were telling me it was a "life-changing experience," I couldn't help but be skeptical. What could I possibly have to learn? I wasn't biased, right?
Well, last weekend defied every expectation. I have come back from Gatorship a changed person: Both my cynical view on the world and my skeptical view on diversity have been transformed forever. I find myself obsessed with sharing everything I've learned with everyone I encounter.
I can't give away too much, but Gatorship is an intense and thought-provoking weekend retreat where 60 UF students participate in team-building activities, provocative workshops and extremely honest group discussions.
These discussions didn't so much ingrain us with definite answers as they challenged every assumption society has made about people. Assumptions such as it's OK to use the phrase "that's retarded" or "that's gay." In actuality, both of these terms are extremely offensive. By exchanging "gay" or "retarded" with the word "stupid," we make it OK to demean these groups.
Our language matters, and you never know who's listening.
It also challenged assumptions, such as the notion that those who speak another language or carry a thick accent are to be dismissed. Some of the most articulate and moving people I met at Gatorship were those who spoke with the thickest accents. Just because someone does not speak the language of the majority does not mean they are any less of a person or deserve any less respect.
I learned that my parents' socioeconomic status, and thus my privilege, is not something anyone can merely earn if they work hard enough. In fact, we have no understanding of the battles families wage every day, and we cannot tell someone how they should have lived their life or what wrong decisions they made. There are, in fact, enormous bureaucratic and circumstantial barriers in the way of the "American dream."
We also battled assumptions such as being handicapped makes you weak or less valuable. In fact, hearing both firsthand perspectives and secondhand experiences about people with handicaps moved me to tears. It made me appreciate all the things I take for granted: walking, speaking, even being able to type these words. Some of the strongest and most resilient people in the world are handicapped in some way and deserve all the more respect for fighting battles most of us cannot even imagine.
Taking the time to listen and having the courage to share my own experiences profoundly moved me. Never before have I been able to apply the life struggles of someone else to my own. Never before have I been able to connect with people's everyday hardships. Never before have I been so poignantly aware of the human condition.
And so, I guess if you had to boil it all down, Plato had it right: "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."
Garrett Bruno is a political science sophomore at UF. His column appears on Thursdays.
