There wasn’t any racism at the university I attended 50 years ago. My school was all-white. Nor were women subjected to gender bias or date rape. There weren’t any women. But that didn’t mean there was no bigotry, no discrimination.

Almost from the moment we set foot on campus, we became subject to a “dominance hierarchy” that determined our status. By a mysterious but inevitable process, we separated ourselves into alpha and omega males, cool guys and square guys, winners and losers, the superior few atop the mediocre many. Membership in clubs was determined by ruthless interviews that separated the wheat from the chaff. Some of my classmates now recall feeling that they weren’t welcome, that they didn’t “fit in.”

Since then, women and minorities have been admitted and my school has become a better place. But ironically, many minority students report the same feelings of exclusion, of not being welcome, of not fitting in. Campus protests across the country have demanded that their universities become more sensitive, more welcoming, more inclusive, more comfortable and safe.

There have even been demands for “cultural affinity housing,” an ironic pitch for segregation. One of the troubling aspects of the movement is a challenge to free speech. Some alumni have written letters advising students that they’re overly sensitive, that they should concentrate on getting an education and that the world outside is neither comfortable or safe.

Unfortunately, feelings of exclusion are a common feature of the human condition. If my university had been all black, there would probably have been the same kind of hierarchy, the same exclusions, the same designations of insiders and outsiders.

Moreover, “diversity” isn’t just a matter of race. In spite of its racial homogeneity, my school in the ’60s certainly didn’t lack for “diversity.” We had introverts and extroverts, slackers and go-getters, Joe College party animals and reclusive book worms. We had our quota of jerks as well as quirky outcasts who went on to become spectacular successes.

Ideally, we should judge one another as individuals, not as members of a group. But in spite of attempts to promote inclusiveness and tolerance, regardless of social programs and legislation, human beings tend to self-segregate and associate with those they perceive as their “own kind,” whether by race, tribe, religion or other standard. That feeds the kind of identity politics that poisons our society today. It can lead to hatred and even warfare between “us” and “them.”

The great advantage of being white in America is that it liberates you from having to think of yourself in terms of race. You’re unlikely to be stopped by a policeman on account of the color your skin. You’re free to define yourself as an individual. That should be the goal for everyone. When will this ideal come to pass? When will we cease categorizing one another as black or white?

“Maybe in a thousand years or two thousand years in America,” says Ike McCaslin, a character in a story by William Faulkner. “But not now! Not now!” He can’t imagine a color blind America where race isn’t the defining reality. He tells a black woman, whose child was fathered by one of McCaslin’s white kinsmen, to go north and marry someone of her own race. She responds by evoking the only power strong enough to overcome prejudice and hate

“Old man,” she answers, “have you lived so long and forgotten so much that you don’t remember anything you ever knew or felt or even heard about love?”

— George Gurley, a resident of rural Baldwin City, writes a regular column for the Journal-World.