Last year, I returned from my hometown of Mardan, Pakistan, with a suitcase full of brightly colored kurtas and traditional shawls as gifts for my American college friends. Excitedly, I distributed them, imagining my friends proudly showcasing these tokens of my heritage. 

Instead, I was met with hesitant smiles and nervous laughter. One friend quietly asked, “Do you think people will think I’m appropriating your culture if I wear this?”

This wasn’t the joyful exchange I’d envisioned — it was awkward, cautious and distinctly American. My friends weren’t worried about offending me, an actual Pakistani; they were worried about offending their white peers at Whitman.

Shortly thereafter, Whitman’s Greek life was plunged into its own cultural anxiety crisis, dubbed “TogaGate” by students on social media. A traditional fraternity and sorority “toga party,” a staple event for generations of students, was abruptly canceled after accusations that wearing togas constituted cultural appropriation of ancient Roman culture. 

The Panhellenic and Interfraternity Councils issued a solemn apology, acknowledging their “serious mistake” and replacing the toga theme first with a “White Out,” and eventually canceling any theme altogether to avoid further controversy.

As an international student observing this spectacle, I felt a profound sense of disbelief. Cultural appropriation — the adoption of cultural elements from oppressed or marginalized groups without respect or context — is indeed a real issue. It is harmful when elements from minority cultures are commercialized, mocked, or trivialized, reinforcing harmful stereotypes and inequalities. 

But a toga party? Ancient Roman culture, long assimilated into Western civilization and universally celebrated through art, architecture and democratic institutions, can hardly claim victimhood. Italians today are not oppressed because American college students don toga sheets at fraternity parties, any more than contemporary Egyptians feel oppressed by students dressing up as mummies for Halloween.

The irony deepens upon closer scrutiny. The SFL members most vocal about the supposed harm of toga parties had previously embraced the very tradition they condemned. Instagram posts from previous years proudly displayed smiling sorority members draped in white sheets. 

Where was the moral outrage then? The hypocrisy is staggering, suggesting that the sudden wave of righteous indignation was performative — an exercise in public relations rather than genuine cultural sensitivity.

Such performative sensitivity has troubling consequences beyond mere hypocrisy. As international students, we often become unwilling pawns in a game we did not ask to play. Our cultures are treated as fragile museum pieces, admired from a respectful distance but rarely touched. Rather than fostering meaningful exchange, such hypersensitivity creates barriers of fear and apprehension. 

My friends’ reluctance to wear the clothes I brought from Pakistan is not born from authentic concern for me, but from anxiety about social repercussions within a culture of hypervigilant political correctness.

Instead of bridging cultural divides, we deepen them, isolating international students further into enclaves of misunderstood politeness. Genuine understanding cannot arise from interactions sterilized by caution and anxiety; authentic cultural exchange thrives precisely in the messy, joyful imperfections of honest human connection.

Furthermore, the trend of students appointing themselves as “cultural saviors” — often without consulting the very communities they claim to protect — reinforces an insidious paternalism. It assumes minority groups lack the agency or capacity to express offense or discomfort independently. 

This misguided savior complex marginalizes the voices it purports to amplify. I did not ask for American peers to preemptively shield me from offense. If something truly bothers me, I have the voice and autonomy to speak up myself.

Whitman College, like many liberal arts institutions, prides itself on its inclusive, progressive values. But genuine inclusivity cannot exist under the shadow of constant suspicion and performative outrage. True respect emerges from genuine curiosity, vulnerability and mutual exchange. When students nervously ask permission to celebrate cultures other than their own, it does not reflect enlightened sensitivity — it signals a profound failure of intercultural dialogue.

The controversy surrounding TogaGate illustrates a disturbing trend: Universities are increasingly sacrificing authenticity and meaningful engagement at the altar of performative virtue signaling. 

My plea, then, is straightforward: Reject the false comfort of performative cultural sensitivity. Embrace authenticity. Encourage open, sometimes uncomfortable conversations. Allow international students — and all marginalized voices — the dignity to speak for ourselves. Trust us to distinguish between appropriation and appreciation.

If Whitman College truly values diversity, equity and inclusion, it must discard superficial measures that merely perform sensitivity, replacing them instead with genuine curiosity and robust dialogue. Until then, campus life risks becoming a sanitized, anxiety-ridden stage — one robbed of the vibrant cultural exchanges that our students from different cultures work hard to facilitate to make our community truly rich and alive.

Whitman does not need cultural saviors policing every interaction. We need friends willing to genuinely connect, even — and perhaps especially — through the shared laughter and imperfections of cultural exchange.