As a student at the University of Mississippi, I watched the recent visit by Turning Point USA (TPUSA) and Vice President J.D. Vance’s event with curiosity. Thousands showed up on campus, rain and all, to hear Vance and Erika Kirk speak. On the one hand, this kind of high-profile visit shows that Ole Miss is a stage where national conversations are happening — not just inside the SEC or in Oxford, Mississippi, but in the broader American story. That’s a plus for the university, the state, and the students.
For Mississippi, this visit signals a moment of flux. The state has long been tied to historic narratives of change — racial, cultural, and economic — and this event adds another layer. When national conservative youth groups come to campus, it draws attention (both good and bad) to how Mississippi is perceived, how its universities handle competing ideologies, and how its students respond. It can boost visibility, which the university can leverage. It also raises questions about what voices are being elevated and how inclusive the conversation really is.
From the student perspective, especially as someone invested in being a thoughtful participant rather than a bystander, this visit matters. It invites us to engage: to ask questions, to reflect on our beliefs, and to consider how we navigate a campus where such events happen. I see the positive side — the chance to hear different viewpoints, to sharpen my own thinking, to be part of a university that doesn’t shy away from big debates. At the same time, I recognize the concerns: Are all students equally comfortable? Does a large crowd drawn by one ideological group create a feeling of exclusion or intimidation for students who feel differently? That duality is real.
Now, speaking as a minority student — a young African-American man raised in the Mississippi Delta and attending a predominantly white institution — I bring a particular lens. When I see TPUSA on campus, I don’t automatically align with their ideology. My experience, my background, my identity give me different priorities: equity, representation, justice. So what does this visit look like to me? It’s both an opportunity and a test. An opportunity to engage, to challenge, to stand firm in my identity. A test of how open the institution is to minority voices when big events like this come through. Does the university ensure that when one group brings a platform, other communities feel safe, seen, and heard? Does campus culture shift in subtle ways when one ideological event dominates?
I don’t want to portray this as a negative moment for Ole Miss — far from it. The university has the potential here. The potential to use such a visit to expand its profile, to bring in national attention, to spark student engagement across lines. But the potential only matters if matched with reflection and inclusive action. As a student, I’ll look at: Are there paired events, are there forums where minority voices get equivalent space? Are we prepared as a community to say, “Here’s what we believe, here’s what matters to us,” not just “Here’s what’s being presented to us”?
In short: this visit means Ole Miss is still at a crossroads. It means Mississippi is still negotiating its identity in 2025 — one that wants to be modern, diverse, dynamic, yet rooted in its history. And for me, as a minority student, it means claiming space in that negotiation. Listening, yes — but also speaking. Engaging, yes — but also standing. The campus is bigger than any single event. Let’s hope this one proves to be a catalyst, not just a spectacle.
