By Ashwathi Menon, Bioinformatics & Public Health Major, Student Staff Member

The first thing that comes into play is performance.

The jewelry. The eyeliner so sharp that it can be seen from the last row. The well-rehearsed smile remains unshaken under the lights of the stage. My South Asian heritage comes into our lives through performance—through the vibrancy and color of the thematic films, through dance, and through the celebrated aesthetics.

However, for us, in the South Asian diaspora, culture goes beyond performance.

It is memory. It is an inheritance. It is a translation. It is survival.

During APIDA Heritage Month, there is one question that loops me more than others: how often does culture become something to consume before it is even understood as something normative to society? How can people be impressed by the beauty of South Asian culture without understanding much of the life, struggle, and history that lies beneath it?

Sometimes, being a South Asian woman raised in a Western society means negotiating these two things every day.

Bharatanatyam is a classical dance from Southern India, characterized by storytelling using the language of dance, rhythm, and expression. The hand gestures, called mudras, form an entire language on their own. A single movement can symbolize a flower, rain, heartbreak, prayer, or power. The eyes shift deliberately. The posture remains grounded and strong through aramandi, the half-seated position that forms the foundation of the dance. The face carries emotion just as much as the body does.

In Bharatanatyam, you do not simply dance. You communicate.

The drishti bhedas, the controlled eye movements, require directness. The mudras ask your hands to speak confidently before your voice ever does. The entire form teaches you to take up space physically and emotionally without apologizing for it.

I think that mattered to me long before I had the words to explain why.

The nature of diasporic communities is inherently complex. You were raised with a profound understanding of your homeland, knowing that it exists and yet feeling distant from it. Your traditions have been taught to you secondhand, filtered through generations of parents, language, culture, and customs.

Some days, I feel deeply rooted in my culture. Other days, I feel like I am constantly trying to prove my authenticity, not only to others but also to myself.

Too American in some spaces. Too Indian in others.

I imagine many APIDA students understand this feeling all too well: the struggle of protecting your culture while constantly adapting- the exhaustion of translating yourself so others can comprehend better. It’s a feeling that’s familiar in your day-to-day environments, from classes to leadership positions to informal social gatherings.

Growing up, I’ve repeatedly seen people perceive South Asian women as their projections until they actually get to know us, the studious model minority. The accomplishments are noticed before we are. But life, and especially identity, is far more complicated than this.

Dancing was one of the few things where I ceased to feel pressure. Not because it solved all the conflicts inside me, but because it let me exist amidst them. Bharatanatyam made me realize that strength and grace did not negate each other, that rigor and emotion could coexist, that being visible could be both vulnerable and invigorating.

And perhaps that is why dancing holds such personal significance for me.

Not because of the act of performance itself, but for everything else it represents: continuation, preservation, the refusal to silently vanish.

Especially now, in APIDA Heritage Month, I consider how many children of immigrants go through life translating themselves for everyone else. Softening names. Bringing light to cultural practices. Adapting oneself to be easy to comprehend, bringing centuries’ worth of history into spaces never designed to accommodate it.

But with dance, there is no need for translation. My body just gets it.

Under vivid stage lights, my hands move instinctively through mudras, reflections of the younger version of myself who practiced relentlessly for years. My eyes meet the audience with confidence.

I am finally whole.

By Claudia Gerry Social Work & Gender, Women’s and Sexuality Studies Major, Student Staff Member

Forward

This literature review was my final paper for Dr. Maria Celleri’s Methodologies in Gender, Women’s, and Sexuality Studies (GWST 300) course. I feel that this topic heavily applies to the work the Women’s, Gender, and Equity Center does. As a student staff member, I see how Title IX fails survivors, I see how it hurts survivors, and I see how it makes survivors’ lives just that much harder. I plan to continue this research and present it at URCAD 2027 in order to advocate for change not only on our UMBC campus but across the United States. So… here is a sneak peek!

Introduction

Sexual misconduct is a major problem everywhere, but specifically on college campuses. Sexual assault is defined as any form of unconsensual and unwanted sexual contact, which can include physical contact or sexual coercion (Holland & Cipriano, 2021). Sexual harassment within education is defined as behaviors sexual in nature that are “sufficiently severe, persistent, or pervasive to limit a student’s ability to participate in or benefit from the education program, or to create a hostile or abusive educational environment” (Holland & Howard Valdivia, 2026). Women and LGBTQ+ undergraduate students face the greatest risk of enduring sexual misconduct (Holland & Cipriano, 2021). Those who experience sexual assault often endure many mental health challenges and harms to their education (Holland & Cipriano, 2021), especially if they do not utilize support resources. The campus climate can foster barriers for survivors using these resources. Many survivors feel a minimization of sexual assault, fear of negative treatment, and have social-emotional concerns (Holland & Cipriano, 2021). Awareness of sexual violence is rooted in the second-wave feminist movement. But, this awareness mostly focused on the voices of white, well-educated women. There is a persistent struggle to understand the intersectionality of sexual assault (Jessup-Anger et al., 2018), even though this issue can affect every identity. This Literature review addresses how the implementation of Title IX policies affects survivors of sexual violence within higher education systems in the United States. To begin to understand this, we must know what Title IX is and how it has been implemented through time.

What is Title IX?

Title IX was passed in 1973 as part of the education amendments and is a civil rights law (Kaufman & Nelson, 2025). The main focus of this law is to prohibit sex-based discrimination in educational settings funded by the federal government (Kaufman & Nelson, 2025). Originally, the focus was set on inequality in admissions and educational opportunities, but the scope has widened since then (Kaufman & Nelson, 2025). Title IX has been used to increase access to women’s sports and require educational institutions to address sexual harassment and violence (Kaufman & Nelson, 2025). At the surface level, this law seems to help survivors of sexual assault, but in reality, it often harms the survivor more than it helps. 

Every institution’s Title IX policies vary due to different levels of staffing, budget, and number of support and advocacy services. One uniform requirement across all institutions is the requirement of at least one Title IX coordinator, no matter the institution’s size (Kaufman & Nelson, 2025). The Title IX coordinator is located within the Title IX office, which at most universities is housed under the institution’s Equity and Civil Rights department. 

The applications of Title IX have changed numerous times through new legislation, Office of Civil Rights (OCR) guidance, and presidential letters called Dear Colleague Letters (DCL). In 1980, Alexander v. Yale argued that sexual harassment in educational institutions constitutes sex-based discrimination under Title IX (Holland & Howard Valdivia, 2026) and is still the precedent today. The main acts passed that affect Title IX are: 1990 Clery Act, 1992 Campus Sexual Assault Victim’s Bill of Rights, 1994 Violence Against Women Act, and 2013 Campus SaVE Act. These acts mainly attempt to address funding for survivor services, requirements for prevention training, and public disclosure of crime rates. 

What really affects Title IX implementation the most are DCLs. In 2011, the Obama-era DCL was released. The Obama DCL called attention to the issue of sexual violence on college campuses, reminded Higher Education Institutions (HEIs) of Title IX guidelines, and added additional recommendations. This letter classified sexual violence under the umbrella of sex discrimination under Title IX, lowered investigatory standards of proof,  and made it legal to withhold funds from HEIs for not complying (Kaufman & Nelson, 2025). In 2017, the  Donald Trump era DCL was released and focused heavily on concerns for the (rights of the) accused (Holland & Howard Valdivia, 2026). The Trump DCL withdrew the Obama DCL and announced new regulations. The main changes were changes in definitions of sexual violence, limited the scope of what HEIs are required to address, added more requirements for formal adjudication, and emphasized the rights of respondents over the well-being of survivors (Webermann et al., 2023). In 2024, the Title IX regulations were changed once again by Joe Biden’s administration. These regulations expanded the scope of conduct covered under the policy and for the most part were similar to 2020 but gave HEIs more discretion (Holland & Howard Valdivia, 2026). Today, we are under the 2025 DCL. This DCL edits the 2024 regulations to include that HEIs “must continue to comply with the 2020 Title IX regulations and operate under the presumption of (inaccurate) binary, biological sex” (Holland & Howard Valdivia, 2026). Overall, Title IX policies have been said to be a political football being passed around and changed with every administration. This makes Title IX regulations hard to understand for the average person. So, not everyone understands their rights and what is expected of their institutions.

Title IX in Action

A theoretical framework to understand the importance of survivors’ interactions with the Title IX Office is the theory of institutional betrayal. Both Webermann et al. (2023) and Holland and Cipriano (2021) use this framework to understand the effects of Title IX on survivors. Institutional betrayal shows the unique ways institutions can harm marginalized groups and “conceptualizes wrongdoings perpetrated by an institution when people are dependent upon the institution and can expect that it will protect its members from harm and will respond appropriately if harm is endured” (Holland & Cipriano, 2021). Students expect their institutions to take steps to restore their access to education, but when the institution fails to do so, there can be negative consequences that can include erosion of trust and belonging at the institution (Holland & Cipriano, 2021). Failures of the institution can be: failure to prevent abuse, normalizing of abusive contexts, difficult reporting procedures, inadequate responses to reports, cover-ups, misinformation, and punishing survivors (Webermann et al., 2023). Survivors who experience institutional betrayal report increased levels of psychological harm (Holland & Cipriano, 2021).Title IX overall affects survivors negatively. 

First, Title IX cases are supposed to take up to 60 days to be resolved, but the average length of cases in Webermann’s study is 175.36 days (Webermann et al., 2023).  Many institutions elect to have the minimum number of coordinators- one. Staffing levels in the Title IX office affect how long cases may take (Kaufman & Nelson, 2025), so many institutions’ Title IX offices are not staffed enough for every case to be resolved within the 60-day timeframe. Many survivors see major variability in the transparency of their case. Some survivors receive multiple updates and reassurances about their case, while others get little to none (Holland & Cipriano, 2021). According to Holland and Cipriano (2021), “Recent research has found that the majority of sexual assault reports to Title IX Offices do not result in formal investigations and, of those that are investigated, there is rarely a finding of ‘responsibility’”.  Many survivors believe that the length of their case affected the outcomes. For example, witnesses may forget parts of their story over time or the respondent might leave the institution before disciplinary action is taken (Webermann et al., 2023). 

Second, many survivors report negative treatment from the Title IX office. This negative treatment can include victim-blaming, name-calling, stalling of cases, and being told the institution can do nothing about the case. Holland and Cortina (2017a) found that of the three main support systems they examined (Title IX office, sexual assault center, and housing staff), the Title IX office was not utilized by survivors because of  “negative emotions, consequences, contextual characteristics, minimization of behaviors, and alternative coping strategies”. According to Holland and Cipriano (2021), negative reactions to sexual assault disclosures can cause significant psychological harm for survivors.

Third, many survivors experience barriers in receiving support. Kaufman and Nelson (2025) found that “Too often, survivors of sexual assault do not know where to turn and do not receive the support they need despite the seemingly ‘robust’ federal legislation that seeks to address campus sexual violence”. Many survivors deliberately avoid the Title IX office due to fears of poor treatment (Holland & Cipriano, 2021). Within Webermann et al.’s (2023) study, many participants felt unclear about the Title IX reporting process and their options. 

Survivors are expected to retell the worst moments of their lives numerous times, reliving it every. single. time. According to Webermann et al. (2023), the survivors in their study had to tell their stories to 2.88 different offices/individuals, not including formal grievance procedures or court procedures. If a survivor wants to make a report and seek justice, they are put in more harm. To help themselves, they have to harm themselves. “It was not just the outcome of their case that caused harm but also the process itself”(Webermann et al., 2023).

Future Steps

Due to all these reasons listed above, survivors are discouraged from standing up for themselves. Working at the Women’s, Gender, and Equity Center (WGEC) has shown me how Title IX  actually operates in real life. In my personal experience, the system has failed survivors. Many survivors seek support from the WGEC, as we are a confidential space, and they do not want to bother with reporting to the UMBC Title IX office. The reasons I have heard are: knowing how the office treats other survivors, knowing how many times they will have to relive what they have gone through, concerns over social circumstances, minimization of what happened to them, and many more. With the perpetual changing of guidelines, many survivors do not understand what their institution can do for them anymore, making them give up and move on. At many institutions, there are requirements for mandatory reporting, where staff and faculty are required to report sexual misconduct disclosures to the Title IX office. Many staff and faculty are in the same boat of confusion about what the guidelines are, leading individual reporters to either report too much or too little. In my experience, professors are not trained on what is to be reported and what happens to the student after a report is filed. This leaves students cautious about talking about their experiences in fear of being non-consensually reported.

Many changes need to be made in order to ensure the success of survivors. First, there needs to be an implementation of an oversight committee to ensure the Title IX office acts swiftly, equitably and with accountability (Holland & Cipriano, 2021). This committee could also oversee trauma-informed training for Title IX Office staff and mandated reporters. “Using formal supports that are trauma-informed and survivor-centered can promote psychological well-being for survivors” (Holland & Cipriano, 2021). Second, there needs to be an effort to address the root cause of sexual violence instead of focusing on the aftereffects. “Although most universities comply with Title IX, many side-step confronting the root causes of normalized sexual violence and avoid teaching the realities of campus sexual violence, leaving students confused, isolated, and unsure of how to address the trauma that they or their friends experience”(Kaufman & Nelson, 2025). Third, to address institutional betrayal, we must flip it to institutional support. This can include “supportive responses from individuals within institutions to survivors, such as believing them, apologizing for their experiences, connecting them with resources, and providing autonomy in what happens after reporting”(Webermann et al., 2023). Lastly, frontline workers within the survivor support services need more say in the implementation of Title IX. “Oftentimes, frontline workers, such as victim advocates, are absent from the policy table, yet this article underscores the importance of their positionality and experiences for addressing vulnerabilities in the campus sexual violence intervention system”(Wies, 2015). 

 Conclusion

Ultimately, under the system we have set in place, Title IX is failing survivors of sexual violence in HEIs in the United States. Survivors are expected to advocate for themselves when their words have been ignored in the past. The Title IX office worries too much about getting sued by the respondent to bring justice for the survivor. Survivors experience major mental health and educational challenges even though Title IX is supposed to ensure equal access to education. If a survivor reports their institution for violation of Title IX policy, the report can take years to process, so Title IX offices are not held accountable. This is why we need to change the policy ONE last time. Modifying Title IX every few years only causes more confusion. We need to support survivors. Survivors need to feel supported, seen, and heard by their institutions.

References

Brubaker, S. J., Keegan, B., Guadalupe-Diaz, X. L., & Beasley, B. (2017). Measuring and reporting campus sexual assault: Privilege and exclusion in what we know and what we do. Sociology Compass, 11(12), e12543. https://doi.org/10.1111/soc4.12543

Holland, K. J., & Cipriano, A. E. (2021). Does a report = support? A qualitative analysis of college sexual assault survivors’ Title IX Office knowledge, perceptions, and experiences. Analyses of Social Issues and Public Policy, 21(1), 1054–1081. https://doi.org/10.1111/asap.12271

Holland, K. J., & Cortina, L. M. (2017a). “It Happens to Girls All the Time”: Examining Sexual Assault Survivors’ Reasons for Not Using Campus Supports. American Journal of Community Psychology, 59(1-2), 50–64. https://doi.org/10.1002/ajcp.12126

Holland, K. J., & Cortina, L. M. (2017b). The evolving landscape of Title IX: Predicting mandatory reporters’ responses to sexual assault disclosures. Law and Human Behavior, 41(5), 429–439. https://doi.org/10.1037/lhb0000253

Holland, K. J., & Howard Valdivia, R. L. (2026). Title IX and Sexual Violence in Higher Education: A Mapping Review and Assessment of Policy Implementation and Effectiveness. The Journal of Sex Research, 1–19. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224499.2026.2623649

Jessup-Anger, J., Lopez, E., & Koss, M. P. (2018). History of Sexual Violence in Higher Education. New Directions for Student Services, 2018(161), 9–19. https://doi.org/10.1002/ss.20249

Kaufman, S. B.-S., & Nelson, L. (2025). Interpreting title IX: A feminist legal geography of sexual assault prevention on U.S. college campuses. Political Geography, 116(5), 103252. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.polgeo.2024.103252

Webermann, A. R., Holland, K. J., & Murphy, C. M. (2023). Student Experiences Reporting Sexual and Gender-Based Misconduct to the Title IX Office at a Public State University. Violence against Women, 30(6-7), 107780122211502. https://doi.org/10.1177/10778012221150274

Wies, J. R. (2015). Title IX and the State of Campus Sexual Violence in the United States: Power, Policy, and Local Bodies. Human Organization, 74(3), 276–286. https://doi.org/10.17730/0018-7259-74.3.276

By: Bekkah West, Social Work Major & WGEC Intern, Psychology Minor

Growing up, I did not understand the gravity of how symbols of hate could tangibly impact a person; how they justify violence, hostility, stigma, and prejudice. You can attribute that to my ignorance, privilege, the developing brain, social conditioning, the predominantly white, rural, and conservative area I grew up in. Whatever the root may be, what is important is that I do now (and have for some time) grasp how crucial it is to not just spout promises of inclusivity and diversity, but to do your best to prove it in action through various means, like through curating a culturally responsive physical environment or following through on committing to advocating for those who are marginalized—or at the very least, not putting them in harm’s way. I fear we as an institution are failing the LGBTQIA2S+ population we serve and our value of inclusive excellence by allowing private corporations such as Chick-fil-A to establish ground here and profit off our student body who may have to compromise their morals and/or sense of safety for an edible meal. It is not “just about chicken” and it is quite literally that deep; or perhaps only as deep as people feel comfortable exploring themselves, their values, and living them fully. 

To give a little background for those who may not know, along with over a dozen employment discrimination filings between 1988 and 2007, Chick-fil-A has a long and extensive history opposing gay marriage, publicly denying the validity of the LGBTQIA2S+ community, and donating millions to various organizations set on endangering this population by denying them their human rights and legal protections. Such organizations include the American Family Association (AFA), the Family Research Council (FRC), Exodus International, the Salvation Army, and the Marriage & Family Foundation. The company attempts to conceal their heterosexist views and intentions through the veil of conservative, Christian principles. CEO, Dan Cathy incited protests in 2012 nationwide for encouraging the “biblical definition of the family unit.” It was not until around seven to eight years later that the bad press and pressure would fold Cathy, at least in part, with him officially announcing his discontinuation of donations to organizations with “political agendas.” 

In all reality, Dan Cathy just stopped publicly donating to hateful organizations and instead created a private arm of Chick-fil-A, “WinShape”, where he donates to others such as the National Christian Charitable Foundation, who actively opposes the Equality Act, which could amend the current laws to protect LGBTQIA2S+ individuals from discrimination based on how they identify or what their sexual orientation may be. This was only discovered after financial reports were released, and Chick-fil-A and its affiliates appear to continue to dodge any real answers to questioning on these deceitful means of abating public disapproval. Without this as public of an issue as it once was, people may not know that they are still giving their money to a company that has every intention of investing in the devaluing and oppression of the LGBTQIA2S+ community. This is where you, like I once did in my teens, may be thinking to yourself that your individual contribution could not possibly make a difference in the grand scheme of things. This is also where I was, and you very well could be, perpetrating harm unintentionally, in complacency. Just as we see, at times, in our country’s voting process, or in action and lack of consistent progress toward any other pertinent social issue that does not typically impact the majority and/or one directly. 

This shortfall in collective action by our campus community can mean Chick-fil-A’s presence on campus leaves some LGBTQIA2S+ students feeling rejected, unsafe, and/or at the very least, uncomfortable. This company is a national symbol of violent discrimination, conversion therapy, trauma, abandonment, and anti-LGBTQIA2S+ rhetoric. Their existence says to LGBTQIA2S+ community members that you are never fully protected or accepted here, in this world, even with offices set up specifically for your population on the exact same campus. It says, a chicken sandwich holds more weight to this institution than the rights and sentiments of the LGBTQIA2S+ students, staff, faculty, and allies on this campus. How can one feel comfortable expressing their true selves fully, with safety and dignity, on a campus that would proudly set such an establishment up—one that vehemently denies their right to exist and love as they please? To overlook this would go against much of what UMBC’s mission and vision is. 

This discussion cannot be had without the acknowledgement that 1) there is no entirely ethical consumption under capitalism and 2) there are people of low-SES who may not have a choice between eating what is available and choosing something more ethical. It is a privilege to be able to consume ethically nowadays. That said, there are ways of minimizing harm that we should all try our best to accomplish. There are many different on- and off- campus options outside of Chick-fil-A, and many potential opportunities to partner with new companies, local and otherwise, of equal or lesser cost to the institution. Redirecting funds to finding other non-discriminatory options and the university upholding its statements on inclusion and social justice is possible, shown through many other college campus experiences across the country, and even here in Maryland, such as at St. Mary’s College. We should hold our partners to the same standards we hold ourselves and our community. 

There are many ways we can come together as a community to resolve this issue, and I encourage fellow students at UMBC to think about and engage in these ways, if possible. Organizing a campus forum, where students, staff, faculty, dining services, and other administrators can make their voices heard would be valuable. Petitions could be started to collect signatures for the partnership to be discontinued. The Student Government Association could potentially get involved, structuring this in a way that is sound and getting people together in a concentrated effort. Educating each other on the dishonest and harmful background of Chick-fil-A is crucial, as well, even if it can be uncomfortable—your cisgender and heterosexual peers will never know what it is like to have to worry about being and/or feeling victimized in this way. 

I am making a call for action not just as an advocate to the LGBTQIA2S+ community or because it is the right thing to do, but as an identifying member myself. We should follow in former Washington D.C. mayor Vincent C. Gray’s footsteps, letting Chick-fil-A know it is not welcome in our city, dubbing it “hate chicken.” Do not get me wrong, I do not think poorly of the students and staff who work hard every day to serve students food at Chick-fil-A here on campus, as they may just need the income, location, and a schedule that works for them. There are larger powers at play here who are more responsible for creating an inclusive and socially just environment for said people to work within. What I believe was part of my responsibility was to bring attention to this issue, firstly, and now to observe how my community will move with me from here. Similar attitudes have been shared with me on campus in the last year and a half I have been here, and I am grateful to have a platform to bring light to such concerns.

-By Amy Taylor, Social Work/Music Major

Humans are wired for belonging. We crave connection, shared purpose, and safety within groups. But not every group that promises community delivers it. Some take that longing and twist it into control. It often happens slowly, without people inside the group noticing. Nobody is immune to these organizations because they prey on people who are going through any sort of life change or who feel alone. As a college student, being away from family and friends for the first time can make one vulnerable to groups that offer “instant community.” College is a time when many students are rebuilding their sense of belonging from scratch, which makes it both exciting and vulnerable terrain.

Born Into Control

I learned about community and control during my earliest years, primarily through what community was not. I was born into a family of eight kids, the third-born and oldest girl. For the first 20 years of my life, my parents raised my siblings and me in a high-control organization (HCO). I knew nothing about a healthy community because the HCO dictated where we went to church, what type of education we received or did not, what we wore, what we did with our time and money, and who we would associate with. 

Identity and Expression

High-control organizations prescribe identities to their members, leaving little room for self-expression or discovery. As a child, I was forced to wear clothes I hated, such as long skirts (never pants) that swept the floor in length. My parents made sure that I was painfully modest, wearing baggy shirts that covered any indication that I was a woman, including my collarbone. At the large HCO conferences my family frequented, we had to wear white tops and long navy skirts. The message to me as a woman was clear: ‘cover up, sit down, shut up.’ I am thrilled to say that I overthrew their control, and today I enjoy putting outfits together that express who I am. I dress in vibrant colors and patterns, and even sport blue hair. These little things express my freedom as an individual; they bring me joy and, in a way, make up for lost time. I learned, through contrast, that true community embraces individual expression and differences. In a good community, you can be yourself, because conformity isn’t a value or a virtue.

Leadership and Power

In a healthy community, leadership styles are transparent, service-oriented, and accountable. High control organizations are authoritarian, hierarchical, and unquestionable. The leader of our HCO was not a musician, but he would put families on a pedestal if they were. They were treated with more respect and admiration than other members of the organization. Until they slipped up, of course, if one member of the family committed some faux pas, they were publicly shamed, shunned, and/or banished from the graces of the HCO. To this day, I don’t enjoy being placed on a pedestal for any reason, especially music. While I believe that music is a gift to be shared, I refuse to believe that I am ‘special’ because I’m a musician.

Information and Education

Access to information is, undeniably, a fundamental human right. In a healthy community, that right is expressed through open communication and transparency as well as access to all information. This was not my experience growing up in a high-control organization. All children were restricted to be “homeschooled” for all 12 grades and even beyond. I put the word homeschooled in quotation marks to avoid confusion. I did not receive a proper education. 

My days were spent absorbing propaganda released by the high-control organization. This propaganda was designed to distort our thinking by twisting history, science, or any other “school” subject into wild and wrong teachings for us to assimilate into our lives. When I wasn’t busy poring over propaganda, I was taught to read, write, and perform simple arithmetic. That’s all. When it came time for me to learn algebra, I didn’t understand what the book was telling me, and I went to my mother and asked to be placed in tutoring. Her response aligned with the HCO’s teaching; she ripped the book out of my hands and said, “One day you are going to be a wife and a mother; you don’t need to learn algebra.” At the age of thirty, I enrolled in community college, received some tutoring, and crushed four semesters of algebra, a fact that still makes me proud today. 

My mother’s censorship reached into what we read as well as what we watched. Each book that entered our house had to be approved by both my parents and the high-control organization. Once, I was given a Molly American Girl Doll book. My parents declared it evil and threw it out the day I got it. Most books I wanted to read got thrown out. We were, instead, encouraged to read about Christian martyrs, all of them coated with the subtextual suggestion that I would perhaps one day face the same fate. While I hope most parents would protect their young children from witnessing violence in movies, my parents were obsessed with it. I was banned from watching Disney movies (I saw my first one at the age of 21), but I was encouraged to watch Christians being burned at the stake (because that might be me one day). My earliest memory of films is watching a movie about Dutch nazi resistor Corrie ten Boom and her time in a concentration camp – incredibly violent, and totally inappropriate for a six-year-old. Instead of having access to age-appropriate material for learning and growing, I was being inundated with frightening messages about what my future would hold. Fear is the glue that holds high-control organizations together.

In a high-control organization, information is controlled, restricted, or distorted in some way. It might not look exactly like my story. Still, censorship and the fear of information are a dark road meant to keep people ingesting pre-selected information while discouraging critical thinking.

Freedom of Thought

Freedom of thought is essential to healthy communities; these communities encourage questioning, critical thinking, and dialogue. In a high-control organization, doubt, dissent, or independent thinking is discouraged and even punished. Thinking for myself was considered dangerous because groupthink was the only acceptable way to exist in the high-control organization. As a Christian, I was heavily shamed for asking questions and threatened with ostracism from my church and the HCO. 

Leaving the Trap

That being said, my diaries were my place of refuge. I wrote endless questions in there, and I compared what I was experiencing in my family to other families or individuals I encountered. I felt safe writing in these diaries because no one ever read them. I was able to think critically about all my experiences, and even at the tender age of ten, I was aware that something in my little world wasn’t quite right. 

Often, people ask me, “How did you get out?” The answer starts with those diaries and a kids’ radio program that depicted children who liked being near their parents (shocker) because their parents were kind to them. I was afraid of my parents. To me, these programs were a stark contrast to the way I was being raised, and I started journaling, ‘Do I deserve to be treated better?’ Eventually, I came to the conclusion that my parents were never going to care for, protect, or provide for me the way I needed. When two of my brothers planned to move out, I moved out with them. 

Building True Community

The ramifications of leaving both the family and the high-control organization were daunting. I was threatened with excommunication, and while that was painful, it no longer felt like annihilation because I was ready to start creating a community of my own. Eventually, I learned through trial and error that the best communities are the ones you forge on your own, not pre-packaged ones that offer instant friendships, pre-made activities, and, eventually, a boatload of hidden rules and restrictions. Today my community is thriving. I have friends and family who are close to me; we stay in regular contact, and together we support each other through all of life’s ups and downs. I am open and friendly with many people, but I have a close circle of friends who are my ride-or-die. I’m thrilled that that circle of friends does not have a leader lording themselves over us. It feels good to be free.

What I’ve noticed about belonging and inclusion is that while high-control organizations accept people conditionally based on conformity and a twisted sense of loyalty, healthy communities base them on empathy, diversity, inclusion, and respect. Today, I get to choose the people in my circle. We laugh, cry, and grow together. There is no hierarchy, no hidden rules, no fear. Just connection. That’s what community should be.

Coming and Going

So if high-control organizations are so awful, why do people join? Answer? They don’t. No one wakes up one day and says, “I wanna join a cult” or “I want someone else to prescribe my identity” or “I want some leader to dictate everything I do.” People don’t willingly or naturally give up their freedoms. There are well-defined psychological, physical, emotional, and social manipulations that lure people into these organizations. In the beginning, it’s all very exciting because we think we’ve found our tribe.  Only time reveals the trap: HCOs want to use you and discard you. When it comes to exits and boundaries, an HCO will leave you feeling discouraged, shamed, or punished. Sometimes, the threat of losing everyone in the group is a powerful manipulation to make you stay. However, healthy groups allow people to leave freely without stigma or threats.

What About You?

College is often a time of transition, self-discovery, and searching for belonging. You might meet groups that promise friendship, meaning, grandiose purpose, and “instant community,” but it’s important to pause and think critically. Healthy communities celebrate your individuality, encourage your questions, and let you come and go freely. High-control organizations, on the other hand, disguise control as care and conformity as commitment. Before giving away your trust, ask yourself: Can I be fully myself here? Can I speak up, disagree, or walk away without fear or shame? If the answer is no, then it’s not a tribe, it’s a trap. You deserve relationships and spaces where your freedom, curiosity, and identity are safe. True community doesn’t require you to shrink, it helps you grow. In the end, the difference between a tribe and a trap is freedom – the freedom to think, to question, to express, and to leave. True community doesn’t demand your loyalty; it earns your trust and your love.

If you are caught up in a high-control organization, remember there is hope, help, and resources on the other side. There are many people (including me) waiting to support and encourage you on your journey to find a healthy community. Leaving is hard; it’s easy to feel really alone, especially if your family or close friends stay in the HCO. But I’d encourage you to remember that your journey is just starting. The world is full of many people waiting to connect with you. Get some support, tell your story, and stay free.

Resources

International Cultic Studies Association https://www.icsahome.com/

Freedom of Mind Resource Center (founded by Steven Hassan, cult expert and former member of the Moonies)

 freedomofmind.com

The Open Minds Foundation

openmindsfoundation.org

Focuses on education and awareness about undue influence, manipulation, and coercive control.

By: Ashwathi Menon, Bioinformatics & Public Health Major

When I first entered the world of neuroscience lab work, science seemed to be all about being objective: clean lines, sharp corners, and no emotion involved whatsoever. It all seemed to point to the notion that too much emotion clouds one’s vision; you didn’t want emotion near your microscope. But as I stood at my lab bench operating my RT-PCRs on rat hypothalamus samples, it hit me just how much emotion was already infused into everything we did. It takes patience to accurately pipette one perfect microliter of liquid. It takes collaboration to run repeated tests. It takes the knowledge and obligation to know your own scientific pursuits may one day impact an individual’s life; the entire point being care is not the opposite of science but its pulse instead.

This is not something one can read in books or lectures. It is something my grandmother taught me: my Achamma. She suffered from a stroke just over a year ago, and since then, I have been assisting my family with her care. Watching her relearn to move her arm or to pronounce a few words sparked my own interest in the same paths inside her mind because these paths looked just like what we discussed and viewed in class, but instead of graphs or PowerPoint presentations, they were hers.

In science, we’re expected to measure everything: voltage, pH levels, and reaction time. But there is no measuring the act of holding someone’s hand while they forget your name, or the strength required to continue to come back to them anyway. This is the kind of labor women have always done. Unacknowledged labor, uncounted labor, but vital labor nonetheless. It is this kind of labor, the kind of labor devalued by society as care, that fuels scientific progress itself. This is one thing feminism helped me recognize.

As someone who works in scientific research, I have been struck by how often science attempts to polarize emotion and intellect. You’re legitimate if you’re logical, but weak if you’re empathetic. But beyond just hurting women in science, this kind of false dichotomy also hurts science itself. The questions we ask in scientific research come from who we are. When more women, and especially women of color, enter science, we bring questions that have never before been asked.

One thing feminist theory often addresses is “ethics of care,” because care is not something to be scorned but rather something to do with moral and intellectual power. This is what I think of every time I go to lab work. This is what I do every time I label a vial of cells or give a presentation or stand up to talk about my findings: practice care for my field and help to transform it from something that once made me feel small to something that contains care.

When I first embarked on my research internship at the Walter Reed Army Institute of Research, I noticed that I was among the youngest individuals in the lab setting. And yes, I recall wondering whether my voice would really carry any weight or whether anyone would take me seriously at all. But every time I decided to speak out or share my thoughts on whether to use this or that approach, I realized that confidence didn’t lie in being loud but in being anchored to my values instead. And this is something feminism showed me before science did.

It is to walk a high wire between precision and patience, between brains and intuition, and between being strong and being soft. But it seems to me now that these things are no longer on one side or the other of any kind of divide. The most excellent scientific minds happen to approach things whole-brained or whole-hearted, asking “who” questions. Who is helped? Who is hurt? Who is not being allowed to participate in this conversation?

At times, I wonder what my Achamma would have thought if she were to witness me now in my lab setting, my gloved hands steady and strong around my work involving data and fluorescence. But she would smile and remark matter-of-factly, “You’re still taking care of people.” And she would be right because science is nothing but another expression of “caring for others” or our “world” around us.

Perhaps care itself is not what serves as a distraction from science but is rather what makes science human. Perhaps future generations of women pursuing science can forget having to choose between being kind and being smart because we have always been both.

by Katlynn Seghetti!

Or, a gentle recap of an endlessly busy semester, and a philosophy of activism

One of the main struggles people have getting involved with activism is getting started, knowing where to go, what your strengths are, and how long you can keep going. Ironically, I’m having the same issue with this blog post. At the beginning of the semester, I had a grand plan of detailing a long list of things I’ve done, and providing places for readers to go to get involved. Coming up to the end, I’ve been struggling with the concept of being ‘done’. 

What have I ‘done’? What ‘counts’ as success? Everyone around me is so affirming that Good Things Have Happened because of my work, which I know, logically, is true. There is still a part that feels like the work is incomplete, and the perfectionist in me doesn’t like incomplete endings. 

But, that’s really what you have to do, make sure the project continues after you leave it. Activism that can continue is the goal, and inspiring others to take your place (and, of course, change it up in their unique way). What I hope I’ve done, if the title is any indication, is helping make UMBC feel more like a ‘home’ for neurodivergent folk. Home is a loaded word, in my mind, but the ‘home’ I want is one rooted in support and care; unconditional and enduring. A ‘home’ is something you feel comfortable leaving and coming back to, even if you don’t have a reason why. 

A lot of firsts happened this semester: the UMBC Neurodiversity Club, Headspace’s creation, and other events centering neurodivergent people. I know, without a doubt, I’ve done well. But I could do more. Another year as an undergrad student, and I can iron out the details, make better what’s in place, another B.A, do a real GWST capstone project around autism.

Then I think, “and then what”? With activism, it seems like you will always find more work. It simply will just be there. What hits harder now, is that with RFK Jr. as head of HHS, and his apparent disdain for the lives of autistic people, the feeling of not doing ‘enough’ is heavy. Part of this is likely fear because of chronic illnesses, wanting to make sure I do good while my body is still (relatively) in decent shape. I know UMBC has so many students willing to cause some trouble, and they (you) will keep up the move to a more (neuro)diversity-affirming world. We are far from being a ‘home’ yet, but there’s attention on where we’re struggling, and more space has been intentionally carved out for us. 

I thought it would be clever to leave this off on an unsatisfying conclusion, but I think instead, I’ll leave off with a few significant organizations that I found so helpful (and most are run but autistic individuals!)!

• Autistic Self Advocacy Network (ASAN)
• Embrace Autism (Link)
• UMBC SDS 101 Page (Link)
• Autistic People of Color Fund (APOC) 
• Autistic Women & Nonbinary Network (AWN)

Please, get involved with the neurodivergent community in some way, especially if you aren’t. It will be odd, it will feel uncomfortable, but that is how you know you’re learning and unlearning and relearning. Take care of yourselves, and a reminder that activism can look like anything, loud and quiet, big and small!

“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.” – T.S. Eliot

It’s 2021, senior year of high school, and as the COVID-19 pandemic continues to surge we sit anxiously at our computers awaiting responses from the universities and colleges we’ve applied to. Few students dare to break from tradition, choosing instead to follow the well-trodden paths of their parents, grandparents, siblings, or cousins. In Texas—especially at this small Catholic school—tradition carries immense weight, shaping the choices of most graduates. 

Because of this, it’s no surprise that when a peer decides to go to an out-of-state school, it’s met with shock and skepticism. “Are you sure you want to move so far away?” they ask, voices tinged with disbelief. “How could you leave your family? What are you even going to do out there? Isn’t it easier to just stay here?” These questions often carry an undertone of judgment, as if breaking away from the familiar is a betrayal of the community or an unnecessary risk. 

I was no exception to these questions when I announced that I would be going to the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, (UMBC). Still, I knew deep down that Texas had given me all it could. Despite coming from a liberal family, we couldn’t escape the suffocating grip of conservatism that shaped so much of life in San Antonio. In my 18 years there, I was taught to love Jesus and my family, to believe that abortion was the ultimate sin, and that rape could never result in pregnancy. Texas seemed determined to isolate itself from the rest of the world, and I realized no one around me was going to show me what lay beyond its borders. If I wanted to see the world for what it truly was, I had to leave and discover it with my own eyes.

It wasn’t easy. I often found myself going to great lengths to reassure people that, despite the stereotypes, not everyone in Texas was a bigot. It was true that my life experiences had been limited, but more than anything, I wanted to learn and grow. Being away from my family was a constant challenge. While I formed wonderful friendships, my peers had the privilege of going home after a tough week or celebrating their birthdays with loved ones. My visits were restricted to Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, and the ache of homesickness sometimes made me question my decision. Yet, I knew deep down that this was a path I had to follow—a necessary step to discover more about myself and the world, no matter how hard it was.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t required to wear a school uniform, and people asked me about my pronouns and sexuality—things that had never been part of the conversation back home. Here, there was no assumption that I was straight or that I had to stick to she/her pronouns. It was liberating in a way I hadn’t imagined. Every weekend, I called home, brimming with excitement about what I was studying and experiencing. I’ll never forget how thrilled I was to discover new ideas and perspectives that challenged everything I thought I knew.

Reproductive health, in particular, was something I had no idea about when I arrived in Maryland. Growing up in Texas, I was steeped in a culture that avoided honest conversations about sex, contraception, and bodily autonomy. Misinformation shaped my understanding, from the stigmatization of abortion to outright falsehoods about pregnancy and assault. At UMBC, I encountered a starkly different reality—one where access to accurate information and open dialogue about reproductive health was not only encouraged but normalized.

Learning about comprehensive sex education, the science of reproduction, and the policies that impact reproductive rights empowered me to think critically and advocate for myself and others. It has been a transformative experience, allowing me to see how much I had been denied back home.

UMBC felt like an entirely different world, one that revealed just how sheltered my life in Texas had been. I was thrilled to finally learn the information I had missed out on growing up—knowledge that felt empowering and long overdue. More than anything, I wanted to return home and share what I had discovered, to challenge the misconceptions that had shaped so much of my upbringing. I realized how fortunate I was to have the opportunity to attend college out of state, knowing that not everyone has the privilege to explore life beyond the boundaries of their hometown.

Four years later, now in my senior year of college, I am planning for life after graduation—a future that once felt bright and full of promise but now seems clouded by the aftermath of the recent presidential election and its implications. Returning to a conservative state like Texas feels overwhelming, knowing I may encounter skepticism or resistance from those with deeply different views. As a woman, I’m acutely aware of the rights that have been stripped away, and the thought of going back fills me with fear. Yet, my love for my family and my desire to support girls like me—those who don’t have the option to leave—outweigh my hesitation. I want to make Texas a better place for them, a place where they can thrive despite the challenges.

When I share my decision to return to Texas, the reactions from friends and colleagues are often a mix of shock and fear. “Why would you go back there?” they ask, eyes wide, their voices filled with concern. I can’t blame them for their alarm—after all, I’ve spent years speaking openly about the challenges of growing up in a conservative state and the liberating experiences I’ve had here in Maryland. But despite their worry, my decision feels right. Texas shaped me, for better or worse, and I can’t turn my back on the place or the people who are still there, navigating the same struggles I once faced. Yes, moving back is daunting, but it’s also a chance to bring the knowledge I’ve gained and the perspective I’ve developed to a community that needs it. And while leaving the supportive and progressive environment I’ve built in Maryland is bittersweet, I know that going back is not a step backward. It’s a step toward creating change and making my home a place where others like me can see a future worth staying for.

I understand that meaningful change won’t happen overnight, but I truly believe that progress is possible. 

What comes to mind when I think of an activist are images of figures like MLK Jr., Gandhi, Rosa Parks, and others who became symbols of resistance, fighting for civil rights, freedom, equality, or education. This association has made activism feel out of reach for me, something only the Malcolm Xs and Malala Yousafzais of the world can do. I never felt I had the ability or power to do things like organize a protest, start a hunger strike, or other major forms of activism, therefore I didn’t consider myself an “activist.” Yet, I always spread awareness on social justice issues that I’m passionate about, whether it’s posting on my social media channels, implementing themes into my photography, or academic writing.

While social media activism has become synonymous with “slacktivism,” spreading awareness within one’s circle of influence is the first step toward creating change. Problems that we face as individuals are often public issues, even if it feels like we are the only ones struggling. Therefore social media can be a key tool in organizing for change because the more we talk about issues important to us, the more can be done to address them. I often find myself asking “what can I do about it?”, waiting for some opportunity to present itself before I get involved as an “activist.” But I am reminded of President JFK’s famous quote “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” This mentality requires us to self-reflect on what skills we bring to the table.

Activism can take shape in many forms. Rallying in the streets of DC, chaining myself to a tree, or engaging in sit-ins aren’t the be-all end-all of activism. I often shy away from activism because I think I don’t have the position or power to be an activist. However, anyone can be an activist if you utilize the skills and resources you do have. Social change relies on an ecosystem where each of us plays a different role. This framework developed by activist and writer Deepa Iyer, calls us to reflect on our roles in the social change ecosystem. Whether we’re the healers, experimenters, storytellers, disrupters, Iyer says everyone has a role to play in the “pursuit of equity, shared liberation, inclusion, and justice.”

Reflecting on my personal experience, I’ve been able to engage in activism through the opportunities I’ve found at UMBC. In March of 2024, I was a participant in the Alternative Spring Break (ASB) experience through the Center for Democracy and Civic Life. During this trip, I was part of the group called “Improving Life After Prison” which was looking into the incarceration system in Baltimore City. We met with various community leaders, organizations, city officials, and those with personal experience in the incarceration system to get a better understanding of the issues people face and the work being done to address them. Although the trip was just a few short days, it was very eye-opening for me, as it was not an issue I was familiar with prior. I was inspired to engage in this important work myself, and decided to apply for an ASB leadership position this year. For the past few months, my co-leader and I have been working to develop an ASB program for Spring 2025, around environmental justice and sustainability. Our hope is to give this year’s cohort as meaningful of an experience as it was for us, so that they may develop the skills and confidence to create change beyond ASB.

As part of my role at the Women’s Center, I’ve also been given the opportunity to engage in activism through the work we do. In many ways, we are working to bring about social change, such as changing the campus climate to that of a more inclusive environment. Through discussion-based programs, educational workshops, or the Take Back the Night Rally, the Women’s Center has empowered me to engage in activism in ways I didn’t think possible before.

Photos taken by me at the Take Back the Night rally 2024

Engaging in student activism has been a transformative journey for me, one that wouldn’t be possible without the many opportunities UMBC provides. It’s taught me that activism isn’t just protests and rallies, it’s a mindset and commitment to making a difference, no matter how small the act may seem. Whether it’s through organizing events, amplifying voices, or fostering meaningful conversations, as students we have the unique power to create ripples of impact. My journey is ongoing. But it has reaffirmed for me that anyone can be an activist, as long as they are driven to make the world a better place.

Positionality Statement:

This blog post expresses my perception of activism as a queer woman of color. I implore readers to keep a sense of humanity and activity with them throughout daily life, not just when convenient or absolutely necessary.

Using Education for Liberation

When I first embarked on my undergraduate journey I was eager to learn, but unsure what knowledge I would value the most. I knew there was so much about the world that was kept hidden from me, and I was more than willing to find it. As a queer Black woman, I have always been intimately aware of the injustices that intersect with my identity, however, it was college (not the institution itself but my peers within it) that pushed my mental boundaries and expanded my worldview to understand and acknowledge the blatant human rights violations and social justice disasters occurring worldwide. As individuals with access to higher education, we have been given a wealth of knowledge, and with that, a mountain of responsibility. It is up to us to advocate for and protect individuals who aren’t able to do so for themselves. They say college students are rarely on the wrong side of history, and I truly believe that is because of our ability to fully embody the humanity that seems to be lost within the organizations that surround us. Moreover, our ability to access individuals and their stories from across the globe instantaneously only heightens the moral obligation to act.

The Radical and The Routine

Activism is intrinsic, it is something you feel and enact constantly, whether it is obvious or not. Throughout my academic journey, it became increasingly clear that to be silent is to be complicit, there is a responsibility that is only growing as time goes on. A moral obligation to not just know and sympathize, but to act. Awareness is the first step we are equipped with through education. However, there is always a need for not just an activist perspective, but an activist lifestyle, ingraining these values so deeply that they become second nature. There is a question that I had to answer for myself: what does it mean to live as an activist?

There is so much more to activism in addition to the marches, protests, and sit-ins. While those are increasingly valuable and celebrated forms of resistance, activism can be quiet but just as strong. In my experience, there is a necessity for both forms of activism. It is necessary to be aware, to be angry and horrified with everything you see, because what we are witnessing, what we have been witnessing for so long, is not normal, and shouldn’t be treated as such. But with all the global catastrophes occurring in the world right now, there is simply not enough time in the day to attend every protest and sit-in. With that, I want to implore my fellow students to find value in daily forms of activism. Activism is in who you associate with, what you buy, who you support, what you learn, and how you speak, the power within that is unprecedented. When you look at activism as living your values in any way possible, it is clear that it is the most accessible activity in the world, truly anyone can do it.

A Call to Action

What I want everyone reading to take with them, is that we can never be passive participants in conversations about the future, we need to be active and fight for it. Since the creation of the internet, we have been able to witness and access injustice from our fingertips. There is responsibility within that, it is crucial that we keep our sense of humanity close to our hearts, and continue to fight for what is just. Throughout my time as an undergraduate student, my understanding of this responsibility has only intensified and I’m sure the same can be said for all of my fellow students. It is understandable and healthy to acknowledge the burnout that comes with being an activist, but understanding that activism can be adapted based on what you are able to give, makes it so much more accessible.

You have to act as if it were possible to radically transform the world. And you have to do it all the time

– Angela Davis

Why is it that women are expected to take up as little space as possible? In elevators, we’re always in the corners making room for others. On crowded sidewalks, we’re the first to let others pass us. In our classrooms and offices, we observe without ever speaking up even when we’re qualified to do so. We speak only when spoken to, which is even more true for women of color. I often find myself sitting in the back of classrooms and not raising my hand unless absolutely necessary, especially in classes with white professors and majority white students. Many of them are conditioned to advocate for themselves, so they tend to be the most vocal. Because of this, I don’t feel like I can raise my hand in class, even when I want to. While it may not be because of social conditioning, it could be that people are just not cognizant of when to take up space or when not to.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with white students raising their voices, except for when it’s at the expense of students of color. Historically, people of color and especially women of color have been left out of academic spaces in the US. Further, our histories have been erased or “whitewashed” in academia, which is why it’s even more important to amplify the voices of students of color when it comes to discourse around our histories and the intersecting issues affecting our communities. A 2012 study from Smith College explored Black students’ silence in classrooms at predominantly white institutions, and found that teaching material that centered around European-American history and culture influenced the silence of Black students.

Implementing the “Step Up, Step Back” model can be effective in ensuring that students have a fair chance at participating in discussions. Stepping back calls us to provide space for others that are willing and able to step up, and not take away their opportunity to contribute. If you are in the position to step up, you should first be aware of whether there is anyone else who can or should be the one to step up in that situation, and encourage them to do so, or rather, give them the space to do it. The silence may be uncomfortable at first, but we must give ourselves and others time to process before we raise our hand. Stepping back allows us to listen to someone else’s perspective that we would miss if we only heard our own voice. It’s very important to take the time to learn other perspectives, especially at a diverse school like UMBC.

Professors also play a huge role in how comfortable students feel engaging in their classes. They can encourage student participation by diversifying their content and literature from different backgrounds. Most times, we read outdated texts and learn about theories from white people, when we could implement more scholarship from people of color. It’s important to learn about new narratives regarding marginalized communities, because it can be damaging when we only ever learn about the same stories over again. For example when we learn about Black history, the struggle narrative is perpetuated by more emphasis being placed on learning about slavery and the Jim Crow era, rather than stories about Black people thriving. When negative messaging about one group is taught while another group is glorified, students of color have a hard time connecting with the content.

UMBC is supposed to be a model for diversity and inclusivity, but it is lacking in its content. It isn’t until students of color feel seen and welcome in their classes, that the university can truly reflect the values that it stands for.