As a prospective student eyeing Oberlin College, the absence of a dedicated Ethnic Studies department initially raised a red flag. Scanning through Oberlin’s academic offerings, Comparative American Studies (CAS) seemed to blend into the background – another unfamiliar field possibly related to History, Politics, or Comparative Literature. However, a recent conversation completely shifted my perspective.
“Hey, how are you doing?”
“Fantastic! I’m absolutely loving the CAS department.”
“Really? People are that impressed with the professors? Maybe I should look into it.”
[Enthusiastically] “You definitely should. They’re genuinely real people who truly care about their students, committed to revolutionary ideas, and ready to advocate for collective liberation.”
“Wow, that sounds exactly like what I need!”
This exchange perfectly encapsulates the essence of the CAS department. It’s fueled by the vibrant energy of a recent event celebrating published works by six CAS professors, a moment where I felt seen and valued by those I admire within this institution. To offer a more comprehensive understanding, Professor Gina Pérez once described CAS in my Latinas/os in Comparative Perspective class as “the departmental home for ethnic and queer studies on campus.” I’ve come to see CAS as a hub for critically examining various forms of oppression, potentially encompassing all forms. Fields like Trans and Disability Studies seem to have naturally found a home within this inclusive framework. Despite its somewhat puzzling name, CAS effectively delivers what I, as a prospective student seeking an Ethnic Studies department, was looking for, and even more.
Admittedly, when asked about my major outside of Oberlin, I often simplify Comparative American Studies to “basically Ethnic Studies, but with a different name.” This shortcut, borrowed from a senior CAS major I admired as a first-year, has become ingrained in my vocabulary. While the actual naming process remains unclear, I’ve heard whispers of ongoing debates surrounding the “Comparative American Studies” title. My personal thoughts on the name are nuanced and worth exploring.
Initially, the inclusion of “comparative” felt perplexing. What exactly are we comparing? While comparison surfaces in CAS coursework, it doesn’t always appear to be the central focus. Are we comparing diverse identities and experiences within the United States? Are we contrasting different systems of oppression? Or perhaps juxtaposing oppressive ideologies with liberating alternatives? Is it about comparing the evolution of social movements across time and locations? Or even comparing academic disciplines as we synthesize them? Could it be an exploration of differing interpretations of “American” identity or participation in the “American” construct? Frankly, the precise meaning eluded me. During discussions in my Theories and Methods class, the prevailing assumption seemed to be that “comparative” signified a more overtly politicized interpretation of American Studies. I often felt like I was missing a crucial piece, as attempts to clarify the link between “comparative” and “anti-oppressive” often yielded vague answers. I’m left with fragments of possibilities, plausible yet not entirely convincing that comparison—rather than dismantling, relearning, interrogating, and envisioning freer ways of being—is the core mission of Comparative American Studies.
Then there’s the loaded term “American.” As a Latina student, deeply aware of the historical impacts of US imperialism on my community, “America” is far from neutral. During my initial semester, the name Comparative American Studies itself was a deterrent. Across the Americas, from Patagonia to the Arctic, “America” typically refers to the entire continent, not solely the United States. Like many CAS majors and faculty, I avoid using “America” to denote the US in casual conversation, mindful of the imperialist undertones of equating a continent with a single nation. Yet, the “America” in the department’s title specifically denotes the United States. As a first-year, a social justice-oriented department embracing “America” required a leap of faith.
Of course, no label for the land and society encompassed by the United States is without its issues. To be truly precise, I would preface every place name with “the land we call.” Nations and borders are social and legal constructs, a central tenet of CAS. The department could opt for a term like Turtle Island, rejecting names imposed by white supremacists. While powerful, removing “American” might alter the department’s specific purpose. CAS engages with “America”—the construct, the ideals, the systems, the geopolitical entity—to dissect it, to uncover profound truths about our lived reality within its boundaries. This critical engagement is why I chose to stay.
In Theories and Methods of Comparative American Studies, we were tasked with defining American Studies in our own words. My definition from almost a year ago would likely differ today, as my understanding of CAS evolves alongside my perspectives on academia, social movements, Oberlin, and the contributions of faculty and students. However, the concluding sentence of my initial definition remains significant: “American Studies diverges from most traditional academic fields by grounding itself in a moral imperative towards justice, often critiquing the very institutions it inhabits while championing equitable transformation.”
This brings me to the significance of “studies.” A crucial distinction exists between academic fields aimed at generating knowledge and fostering open debate, and those dedicated to facilitating collective liberation. This isn’t to say CAS and similar social justice-oriented departments (like Africana Studies and Gender, Sexuality, and Feminist Studies) don’t produce knowledge or encourage debate. Rather, their knowledge production is intentionally directed towards the emancipation of oppressed groups. Furthermore, their intellectual endeavors are intrinsically linked to direct activism. A reading from Theories and Methods, “American Studies as Accompaniment,” perfectly captures this concept. It posits that American Studies functions as an accompaniment to activism, akin to musical accompaniment to a melody. It’s not meant to be isolated but to engage in dialogue with broader social movements. This is evident in my own experience: during my two years on the board of Obies for Undocumented Inclusion (OUI), the unwavering support from the CAS department for every OUI initiative has been undeniable. CAS faculty are consistently trustworthy and supportive of OUI’s mission, a generalization not easily applied to every department.
This distinct orientation of CAS compared to traditional academic fields manifests in numerous ways, far more than I can fully grasp. From my viewpoint, it includes prioritizing sustained relationships and mutual benefit in research. (Traditional academic research often extracts data from participants for the scholar’s or institution’s gain; CAS explores reciprocal and genuinely supportive research models.) It also encompasses classroom environments that reject “devil’s advocacy” that retraumatizes marginalized students by sympathizing with oppressors. (Many departments excuse such approaches in the name of “open-mindedness” or avoiding “liberal echo chambers.”) Crucially, it validates lived experience as a legitimate form of knowledge. (Yes, Wendy Kozol indeed made “epistemology” one of my favorite words.) Therefore, the inclusion of “studies” in CAS’s name is not only fitting but essential. It highlights the fundamental inversion of traditional academic structures required for departments prioritizing moral imperatives and community care to thrive.
Majoring in CAS was not mandatory; I already had another major declared. However, choosing not to major in CAS felt impossible. It offered a community I yearned to be part of and a body of work I was driven to contribute to. Relationships are paramount, and the Oberlin students and faculty who inspire and support me most are connected to this department. I didn’t arrive at Oberlin expecting to be captivated by Comparative American Studies, but the work it undertakes, both despite and because of the challenges of supporting social justice within and beyond academia, fills me with pride as a CAS major. Deep gratitude for all that CAS provides.
