The Opposite of Equity Is Inequity

Guest Opinion

I will never forget the day I was accepted into the University of Michigan. My immigrant mother called me in the middle of my school day to scream, “Li-Ann, we got in!” She used the term “we” because, in many ways, it was her accomplishment as well.

My mother didn’t have the opportunity to go to college or even high school. She was born into poverty, growing up in a two-bedroom shack with a dirt floor in 1950s Singapore. Her parents were both illiterate—her dad, my grandfather, forced eight pregnancies on my grandmother, trying to produce a son, and only succeeded with my Uncle Ronnie. The male heir was given one of the bedrooms all to himself while the seven daughters—Mollie, Annie, Mary, Jennie, Lily, Lucy, and Tina—were forced to share the other one. My grandmother slept in the kitchen, and soon after, my grandfather left to start a whole new family in hopes of producing more sons.

My mother, Lily, brought her daughters to America to give us a better life. These hopes came with a mandate to attend college. However, as two of the few non-white students in our competitive high school, it became clear that our environment was not a level playing field.

It was in middle school when I first realized most of my friends could ask their parents for help with their homework. In high school, I learned that other families were paying for private tutors and SAT prep classes. By the time college applications rolled around, I found out that some of my peers were getting in based on “legacy admissions,” a practice that gives special consideration to applicants whose relatives were alumni of an institution.

In his first week of his 2025 term, Donald Trump issued a series of executive orders targeting DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) programs in the public and private sectors. MEI, which stands for “merit, excellence, and intelligence,” is the new term Elon Musk has endorsed. This pivot seems to enhance a sentiment I have dreaded hearing all my life, “I don’t mind diversity as long as the candidates are good. I’m all about merit.”

But how does one define “merit” when Donald Trump started his company on a million-dollar loan from his father? What is “excellence” when the Economic Policy Institute finds that parental income is the leading predictor of a student’s academic success? What is “intelligence” if someone scores lower on the English portion of a standardized test but is smart enough to speak two or three languages?

I was deeply saddened by the news of my alma mater shuttering its DEI office under the pressure of losing federal funding. This office had boosted enrollment of first-generation undergraduates like myself by 46 percent. I fear that closing, rather than reforming, these programs only perpetuates the misconception that mediocre minorities are receiving advantages over white people based on the color of their skin. In truth, it’s been the opposite since America’s inception.

My Screen Arts & Cultures degree at U of M gave me opportunities and connections I never would have had otherwise as a filmmaker. My mini-series, The Blessing, explores interracial relationships through the lens of my Italian American husband, who married into my immigrant Chinese family. My latest film, Seoul Switch, imagines a world where an insecure Korean American college student finds out he looks exactly like the hottest K-pop idol in Seoul, and they decide to switch lives.

I’ve had the opportunity to share my work throughout Traverse City, holding screenings at the Dennos Museum, The Alluvion, and even my own home. I’d like to think my work has enriched our community and offered a different perspective through which audiences might see the world.

And yet, opportunities in Hollywood are disappearing in real time. To be clear, making films starring minority protagonists has never been easy. After a brief push for more diversity on screen in 2020, many studio executives have reverted back to believing only white A-list stars (Brad Pitt, Scarlett Johansson, George Clooney) can interest American audiences. On top of this, only 16 percent of 2024’s top 250 domestic-grossing films were directed by women.

It’s devastating to realize that the post-George Floyd initiatives aimed at acknowledging racial differences are now being called racist.

My mother always told me that college was merely the starting line to achieving the American dream. With a foreign-looking name like “Li-Ann,” I worried that admissions officers would block me from passing through their gates on the assumption that I didn’t speak English. So, I Americanized my name to “Liann.” However, I’ve since realized that hiding my diverse background only perpetuates the false belief that being different means being inferior.

Much like the essay I wrote to get into college, I hope this op-ed humanizes one of those statistics behind DEI. I hope my community will continue to call their representatives, vote with their dollars (look up companies that are folding to Trump’s EO and invest in those that are doubling down), and remember that the opposite of equity is inequity.

Li-Ann Kaye is an AAPI writer and director based in Traverse City. She enjoys exploring interracial stories through a cross-cultural lens.

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