Why My University’s Messages About ‘Belonging’ Ring So Hollow

Belonging doesn’t just mean being there.

My university loves to talk about its diversity. I mean, why be in the most diverse city in the country if you aren’t going to brag about it? Various cultural/diversity celebrations are frequent, and there are signs with messages like “You belong here” plastered all over campus.

But do I belong there?

The faculty says I do. The sign outside my room says I do. The little cartoon wheelchair user on the student center’s posters say I do.

My experience, however, gives a much different impression.

I spent my entire first year of college fighting with the housing department because the front door of my dorm wouldn’t open automatically from the outside. I would literally just have to wait for someone to walk by and let me in to the place that was supposed to be my home. This didn’t get fixed until I tweeted a picture of me sitting outside in 40 degree temperatures.

My dorm didn’t used to have an automatic door. I requested one, as did three other students in wheelchairs, but we were told that it was too expensive. That changed when I got my arm shut in the door and broke it. After that, the price didn’t seem to matter.

Me getting stuck between sets of double doors has become such a common occurrence that no one in the theater building or my dorm is concerned anymore when they randomly find me there. I’ve even met multiple members of the UH basketball team this way due to the proximity of the gymnasium and the theater.

The theater building’s doors do open automatically, but not after five in the afternoon or on weekends. This also happens to be when rehearsals and performances are held. I’m literally required to be there at a time when the building’s inaccessible.

My school also has a habit of taking things that were perfectly accessible and mucking them up. There used to be napkin dispensers on every table in the dining hall, but now there’s central dispensers on the counters. They’re usually so far back that they can’t be reached from a wheelchair.

There’s also these robots the school brought in that deliver food to people on campus. They run on AI, and it’s not a very good one. They can’t get out of the way of a wheelchair to save their little robot lives, and they have a tendency to pile up on the ramps. I’ve gotten stuck in the street because of them before.

The dining hall staff used to provide straws for disabled students. You had to ask an employee to get one from the office, but they were available. When the dining hall manager changed in my second year, the straws went away, so we had to bring our own. That didn’t stop them, however, from putting up a sign shaming people for using straws. Straws they didn’t even provide.

This isn’t even every issue with my school. Given all this, it’s hard to feel like I really belong there. Honestly, more often than not it feels like the campus itself is being actively hostile to me. It’s like instead of being welcoming, it’s trying to get me to leave.

I don’t belong there. I exist there. And I’ve decided that’s not my problem anymore. If they don’t want me there, that’s fine. I won’t ever show up again to one of those stupid back-patting events their donors go to. No free diversity points for them.

If they want diversity points, they’re going to need to actually work for it.

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