Allison C. Rost

On December 8, 1941—the day after “a date which will live in infamy”—then-president Aurelia Henry Reinhardt wrote a letter to all Mills families. With the hindsight of nearly 80 years, it’s a surreal read; the main point of the letter was not to offer solace or organize war efforts, but to reassure parents that the Mills campus was unlikely to face any danger from a Japanese attack. “The English Channel is 26 miles wide; New York is 3,500 miles from Europe; California is 5,500 miles from Japan and 2,500 miles from our nearest possession in the Hawaiian group,” she wrote. “May I assure you that there exists no reason to change in any way the schedule and curriculum of this college in the spring term which begins Monday, January 5.”

At that point, no one knew that many students of Japanese descent would soon opt to leave Mills, hoping to avoid separation from their families as they were forced into internment camps across the United States. In the years leading up to World War II, President Reinhardt had approached a number of European artists and intellectuals to offer them a place at Mills as the Third Reich marched across the continent and sent to concentration camps anyone it deemed a threat, including Darius Milhaud and other notable figures in the College’s history, but that welcoming spirit couldn’t protect some of her own students.

When it comes to political and cultural forces outside the campus gates, the College has historically been limited in what it can do to protect its students. But as an institution, Mills has long welcomed members of marginalized communities, and outside restrictions have not altered the campus culture of acceptance.

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Photographed the source image and developed the concept for the resulting illustration on the cover of the spring 2020 issue of Mills Quarterly.

Researched a variety of higher ed publication websites before turning to WordPress for the first standalone site for Mills Quarterly, enabling sharing and tagging of individual articles.

It’s tough for Sheika Luc not to choke up as she recounts her experiences as the first in her family, the daughter of immigrants to the United States, to go to an independent school and then on to college.

When she came to Burke’s as its new Director of Admissions in 2013, she was hopeful that no child would go through those same difficulties here.

“We have this phrase: There are 400 ways to be a Burke’s girl. I think about how we’re doing on that, if it’s actually living and breathing in our classrooms and on the playground,” she says. “We live in San Francisco, and there are millions of ways to tap into diverse ways of thinking and diverse ways of being in the world. We don’t need to search for it — it’s here.”

On the heels of a charged election season, the open embrace of “diversity” can seem like a politically motivated move. But at Burke’s, it’s part of educating our students for the 21st century, where the ability to fully navigate the world (and its broad representation of humanity) around you is essential. Developing those skills, also known as cultural competency, is so vital that it’s codified in Burke’s current Strategic Plan.

The pursuit of a more inclusive and diverse campus is also inspired by what’s best for all Burke’s girls, whether they’re granddaughters of alumnae or from a family that doesn’t speak English at home — or both. Experts say that different perspectives and backgrounds are essential to a vibrant, meaningful classroom environment, and through recent and upcoming work, Burke’s intends to prove that’s the case for all of its students.

“A genuinely diverse and inclusive community is an amazing experience for all 400 girls,” says Head of School Michele Williams. “We’re trying to help girls develop into who they are so they know themselves and, in turn, appreciate and understand the common humanity we share and the strength in our differences.”

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