Picture, if you can, what has gone through my head over the last week. I am a Yale graduate. More specifically, I am a graduate “of color†who survived the allegedly toxic racism of New Haven in the 1980s and 1990s, back in the days when there was still apartheid in South Africa and activists didn’t generally talk about Halloween costumes. I consider myself the inheritor of three parental figures: my Filipino father, my Puerto Rican mother (with slave roots in a sugar cane valley), and my mother’s white lesbian partner. So I can swing Asian, Latino, black, or white...