Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Standing On Unknown Shoulders: Why Black Kids at PWIs Need To Support and Appreciate HBCUs





When NPHC decided to name their greek week, "A Different World," after the famed Cosby Show spin-off about the HBCU experience that ultimately inspired millions of Black children to attend college, it was no surprise that the Mary Lou Williams Center (MLWC) saw a golden opportunity to inspire, educate and reflect.  NPHC week takes place on the same week Duke faces Durham's only historically Black University, North Carolina Central University (NCCU), in football.  While there has always been a strong connection and history between Duke and NCCU, particularly in the sports, NPHC's programming ultimately opens the door for other considerations beyond this mighty sports tradition.  We know for sure that NCCU's NPHC community helped to jumpstart Duke's Black greek community.  Too, quite a few of NCCU's students have studied at Duke, like Rev. Dr. William Barber...and quite a few Dukies have studied at NCCU, including our beloved Dean Sue Wasiolek.  But what more do Duke students, and Black Duke students in particular know about the HBCU experience?  




For members of NPHC, all roads lead to Howard University, as it is a critical place in the development of the Black Greek Letter Organization Movement.  However, for most Duke Black students, HBCUs are often seen as a caveat in the landscape of higher education.  And given class, race and prestige politics, some Black students (and administrators/faculty) might even see these schools as lesser than their own Duke experience, choosing only to engage (minimally) socially, and instead remain aloof to the critical intellectual, historical, and institutional legacies of HBCUs.


For the MLWC, we recognize the validity, magnitude, and beauty of an HBCU education...and its indelible fingerprint on the Higher Education landscape.  For us, invariably as a cultural center, we see HBCUs as having a rich and vibrant cultural tradition that seeks to be one of the mechanisms for educating their constituent communities.  Historically, HBCUs gave us students, who were the first to integrate places like Duke.  Educationally, most Black teachers (of a certain age) trained in the US were developed at HBCUs...so in our life times, if we have been taught by Black teachers, they were probably trained at HBCUs.  In our families, HBCU alums represent, in the main,  our personal advocates of excellence in education.  Lastly, the HBCU model of education, informs other culturally Black models of education around the world where indigenous populations have faced inequity in systems of apartheid.

So why should students at Duke have a thoughtful understanding of HBCUs even as they race to professions in Law, Medicine and Business?  Well, for one, without them, we could not be beneficiaries of a Duke education!  Too many of their fingerprints create the space we now inhabit.  At Duke, many HBCU alumni serve as resources and leaders.  From the esteemed Dr. Karla Holloway to the daring Dr. Paula McClain to the beloved Linda Capers, HBCU alumni make an indelible impact upon the Duke brand. Secondly, we continue to be in a place where many Black PWI alumni are leading (and have led) HBCUs.  Our very own Michael J. Sorrell, leads Paul Quinn College currently!  Thirdly, and probably most importantly, HBCUs continue to provide educational opportunity for a wider array of students (than most prestigious PWIs are willing to accommodate).  It is this point that the MLWC would emphasize as an ongoing social justice effort by HBCUs. And, as we embark on a journey to examine Black philanthropy, we believe that supporting HBCUs could be one easy way to ensure that the doors of education will always be available to anyone who seeks to access it.  

Moreover, this week's programming in the MLWC seeks to examine how "A Different World" poignantly addresses intra-racial conflicts.  And while we will be helping students consider how Hillman (the ficticious school of "A Different World") and Duke are both alike and different, we ultimately seek to help our students engage the HBCU experience even though they did not choose it.  We recognize that a current Duke student could be the next HBCU college president, philanthropist, and/or graduate/professional alumni.  At the same time, maybe a grandmother, father, friend, boss or future coworker is an alumnus of one of those institutions.  In this case, we seek to remind our students that an HBCU education is a beautiful stepping stone to success!

Join us all week long for programming around the HBCU through screenings and conversations about "A Different World."

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Playing Dead In Order To Live: A Reflection on The Terrorist Act at Mother Emanuel


At 110 Calhoun Street, in Charleston, South Carolina, a little girl played dead, after a white male terrorist shot no less than five clips of ammunition piercing at least 9 brown bodies during what was a prayer service.  The gunman, now identified as Dylann Roof, sat through an hour of prayer service, at Mother Emanuel church before offering a cringe worthy diatribe on why Black people in the US had to go; and after offering it, he followed his words as he executed black preachers, teachers, elders, mothers, fathers, politicians, and ushers.  However, a little child survived this incident by playing dead.

The thought of what that child endured in that time period has made me cringe, cry, pray, and curse.  As I sat at a conference more than 700 miles away, I thought about that little girl, and the many who were directly involved in and victimized by the incident.  And, I thought about the many ways my story laid on the floor of that church bleeding out in agony.  You see, I am from South Carolina, and I am a graduate of Lexington County schools where Dylann Roof attended school.  I was raised in the AME church, and a preacher.  I am an Alpha, like brother Pinkney.  I attended CAU, like sister Cynthia Hurd.  And my family has been in the process of designing a family reunion in Charleston, where we had hoped to visit the famed Mother Emanuel AME Church.  For me, there are too many touch points that connect my life to those who went to church to seek Jesus' abundant life, and unfortunately found themselves dying after prayers that surely spoke of hope.

Meanwhile, in Indianapolis, I'd been seeking to make sense of my training institute where I had been putting difficult questions of race and culture on the table for Fraternity and Sorority professionals.  At the conference, I'd been pressing my colleagues to think about how conceptual frameworks of race work in our organizations, as we sat on the grounds of a Republican affiliated country club and hotel.  As many Black colleagues found themselves having taboo conversations about race, Black greek life experiences, and the challenges of working in predominantly white institutions, we began to form a small circle sitting next to each other as our facial expressions often indicated when we felt we were being fed political rhetoric, or outright lies about some southern fraternity/sorority traditions.  There were many times, we asked questions, but there were also quite a few times we set silent, seeking to not jeopardize burgeoning relationships and careers.

While we could have never imagined that the day before the close of the conference someone would walk into a Black church and shoot up the place, that was exactly what happened, pushing us to consider both the merits of our time at the conference, and how we might navigate the conversations that would later ensue.  It was a sobering and saddening moment.  While I found out late Wednesday night about what had happened, I really began my reading of the event on Thursday afternoon as I sat waiting in the hotel lobby.  Immediately, the stories of AME congregants sitting in the church caused uncontrollable tears to roll down my eyes.  I would periodically put down my phone because I couldn't take much more, but I would undoubtedly pick it up, seeking to know more, as my phone beeped with updates from friends around the country who wanted to touch base with me about the incident.

As I read the story of the young girl who played dead, I thought about the meaning of that - that a child would play dead in order to preserve her life.  What a heavy thought when we consider our lives.  This revelation manifested: it's funny how many of us play dead every day, trying to preserve our own livelihoods.  Now think about that for just a moment.  What does this really mean, you ask?  I'm wondering how many black people in places of leadership remain silent, IE dead, as black people wait for our advocacy.  How many black business professionals remain silent even as they note the depth of inequity in the economy? How many black education professionals stand silent in meetings where their ability to understand and advocate are necessary for student access?  I'm wondering right now, how many black pastors will overlook the nuances of race on this coming sunday morning, choosing to play it safe in the pulpit?  

Too many of us are playing dead every day that we live, work, and play in spaces of privilege.  Our respectability politics, our lack of cultural competency, and our lack of race consciousness, as well as a eurocentric, white supremacist system (along with its many actors) that leaves children lying on the floor playing dead as gunshots ring out.  Over the course of the past year, I continue to learn that while it may be unpopular, I have a responsibility to speak life and advocate for communities in peril.  The seminal question of the early 20th century asked in the Black Women's Club movement continues to be important:  "How will you move the race forward?"  Positions of advocacy are important in Republican Country Clubs, in meetings with Vice Presidents, at our Fraternity gatherings, and in our churches.  To sit in silence about racism and domestic terrorism, even as we advocate for better compensation packages for ourselves, is to stand outside of the traditions that make it possible for us to have access.  

Tonight, I don't just grieve the people who died, I also grieve a president who can't say race in a lame duck period of his tenure.  I grieve black pastors who talk about destiny and prosperity, but not about race, responsibility and community.  I grieve professionals who mumble under their breaths about things that should be voiced aloud.  I grieve students who collect opportunities for themselves, without asking themselves how they will use what they've been given to empower the world.  I grieve black people willing to say ain't that a shame, but nothing else.  I grieve. I grieve. I grieve.

Though Denmark Vesey's church is invoked in this passage, I am reminded of something that another radical black voice said.  Meet Nat Turner, who once said before his own death:"…I reverted in my mind to the remarks made of me in childhood, and the things that had been shown me – and as it had been said of me in my childhood by those by whom I had been taught to pray, both white and black, and in whom I had the greatest confidence, that I had too much sense to be raised, and if I was, I would never be of any use to any one as a slave."  As such, I have decided not to play dead in times of convenience, because no child should ever have to lay down in pulpits meant for hope playing dead as gunshots ring out...hoping to live to see another day.




Friday, February 27, 2015

There's Another Level Beyond The One Where You Gave Up...

So, I've been a little busy trying to put my own advice to good use, which has me not writing as much.  I'm doing a bunch of other things though...Family Reunion Committee (think convention).  I officially started an Event planning business (I've been writing a blog through the website...check me out www.beautieplanners.wix.com/dream).  I have a newborn, and he's up every three hours (love that kid Zack).  And, I have a really busy job that keeps me in high demand as a Student Affairs administrator.  With all of these things, I honestly have not had time to really write what is in my head.  However, if you stop by my office, I will gladly give you an ear full!

So let me get right down to what I'm thinking about as February comes to a close.  While I've been doing a whole lot of executing, I've been dreaming.  I've been wondering what it would be like to pastor.  What would it be like to sing on Broadway?  What would it be like to write a book?  What would be like to have a six pack?  What would it be like to run a multi-million dollar company, jet setting around the world?

These musings have re-emerged because I'm thinking about the scope of my life as I watch so many around me follow their dreams.  In many ways, it has me thinking about the choices that I've made, and reflecting on the choices I wish I had made.  I'm not saying it is all over; however, I am saying that their have been things that I have given up that I'm not so sure I should have.

When I was in college, I loved to sing, and I still do.  Every once in a while, I wonder what I could have done with that gift, if I kept singing.  I haven't sung rigorously in about two years, and I miss it.  Too, I've always wanted to be really in shape, but I've never managed to keep going to the gym because of schedule and because I lack the sincere will power to do so.  I don't really enjoy the gym or working out...it feels too much like a chore for somebody who didn't play sports for any point in my life.  Every once in a while, I flirt with the idea of getting a PhD and writing books.  I just can't bear to think about the thought of going back to school, and a solitary life with pen and pad.

Now I've given you a laundry list of all of my loves and passions and desires...and a list of all the regrets, I probably should really tell you what happened. If I'm really, really honest, I gave up.  I lost steam.  I got frustrated, and I had other things I could do.  I GAVE UP.  In life, the things we sometimes call choices aren't really choices at all.  Sometimes we just give up.  The reasons can seem really logical and make all the sense in the world.    But we must start by saying this, "I gave up!"  We've got to own that.

Giving up is understandable when the goal seems insurmountable, and it seems like the things you want are out of reach.  Giving up can be easy when people don't support you on the dream or affirm the gift.  Giving up can be really easy when opportunity seems to never be on the horizon.  Sometimes, the mundane life can be much more easy to live out, than the dynamic life.

And it can be really, really, really easy to live out safe dreams and safe realities.  At the same time, if you are like me, every time you see someone living out a dream that has been brewing in your head, it will remind you of the possibilities of life.  It will make you a little bit restless.  It will have you think, "is this it?"  I imagine that quite a few people who are depressed or who have hit a spiritual, career, or personal goal wall get here and wonder what's next.

I really don't have any answers, and the Black mother wit, "of keep on livin baby" seems incomplete for explaining the how and the why of giving up.  Maybe what we need is not answers but examples to remind us that we are all living testimonies to the very dreams that find us and haunt us.  Right now, I'm thinking of biblical Hannah in 1 Samuel who found herself with a husband and no child...while those around her seemed to have more than enough children, as they sought to be mean-spirited pointing out her barreness. 

I'm reminded of Hannah's radical prayer and worship life, partitioning God to bless her with a son, whom she decided to dedicate right back to God.   This can seem like an easy fix until you are knee deep into a year and a half of radical prayer and worship...and still no magical answer from God.  And what if it happens, and we are required unlike others to turn it over to God.  There are definitely some challenges to persevering...giving up can be a whole lot less painful.

I'm convinced that each of us has a Hannah story dancing in our hearts...and if we can be perserverant long enough, we might find out that we have a blessing inside of us too.  And, sometimes the things we desperately want, things that we told ourselves that we can't have, start by taking one step in the direction of just one of those dreams.  For me, lately, that's been starting my own business.  Striking out in this one area, has helped me deal with my issues of confidence.  And while I'm scared of failure, I'm excited to try.  In fact, starting this business has made me emotionally more eager to open my heart to the possibility of other dreams that I had put up in my spiritual and emotional "parking lot."  Starting the business has made me reflect on my life's work, as I've had to put together a portfolio. 

One day, a few weeks ago, I began to marvel at many of the things that I had counted insignificant.  Looking back made me realize that I had indeed made an impact.  It was in that moment that I realized the truth in a critique given to me a few months prior.  A colleague who I adore had asked me, "Sean, why didn't you apply for that?"  I fumbled with an answer, but she said something that resonated with the truth that I didn't want to hear.  She said, "I know why...you don't believe in yourself no matter how 'butter' you are?"  As we sat talking, I knew she was speaking truth to me...and when I began to put together my portfolio I had to sit with another truth: I was indeed "butter." 

What I'm saying here is less confusing than my example.  Sometimes we must look back at the work we have done, the training we have received, and the successes we've had...to see ourselves clearly, often overlooking the negative words that are sometimes corrupting our hearts and minds.  What I'm saying is that we must KNOW deeply that our value is larger than one moment of failure, one moment of brokeness, one moment of misplaced vulnerability...one moment of hopelessness.  What I do know...is that if you don't try...if you don't risk...you will always be stagnant and scared, and probably a little envious of others who are seeking to live out their dreams.

My one real admonishment is this:  fight the urge to become one on those people.
Let's get to our next level.  I know that we've given up before...but let's try again!

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Leftovers in the New Year: Deal with It!

After cooking through the holidays, you can find yourself with a lot of leftovers in your refrigerators. Half-eaten casseroles, pieces of pie, un-eaten filets, and crusted-over potatoes probably sit in your refrigerator waiting to be either re-heated or to be tossed into the garbage.  It's the new year, and still they sit hoping to be eaten for lunch or re-constituted in some new kind of meal.  However, they aren't the only thing lingering from last year.


Every year most of us make amends to start afresh with the start of January with new resolution.  We will lose weight!  We will clear out the closet!  We will start on a new journey.  Unfortunately, like the day old vegetables sitting in the fridge, there is much from last year that is leftover stinking up our lives like moldy stuffing or dried up turkey.

Things like unfulfilled dreams, good advice we haven't taken, calls we haven't made, and people we haven't forgiven are still lingering from last year waiting for our time and consideration.  Rather than focusing on those things, we would all rather sling slogans around, like "New Year, New Me" or "My Season Is This Season" or "Leaving It All Behind."  All of that is fine, but some of what is holding us back is in our past.  And we get so much bad advice from pulpits at Watch Night services, that sometimes we only hear this: "Jesus will fix the mess we made...because I have a Destiny."

But it's just not that simple. It can be hard to put down Ice Cream, Pies and Cakes...if you haven't ever done it...once.  It can be hard to say no to Ms. Wrong, when every time she comes over, ya'll find yourselves in a compromising position.  It can just be absolutely difficult to go to the gym, if you don't have a pair of gym shoes waiting.  All that I'm trying to say is that maybe we shouldn't overlook the small steps in life.

One of my friends used to recite a very well-known quote every time I was nervous about a new journey.  She would say, "Palmer, the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step."  It would annoy me every time she said it, but ultimately she was (is) right.  In this case, we sometimes must look back at the past and make sense of our dysfunction in order to move forward.  That's a very nice way of saying that you can't move forward without really identifying the problem.

For me it begins with esteem...and believing that I'm worth more than scraps.  For me, it begins with taking a long hard look at spending habits and health.  It does not begin with starting something new.  It begins with looking at what is old.  In some cases, I'm gonna have to throw out some junk.  In other places, I'm gonna have to ask for forgiveness.  And in many places, I'm gonna have to be more consistent...picking up where I left off.  I'm ultimately gonna have to deal with my leftovers in the New Year.

That's not so bad when we consider that sin was leftover in creation...and God decided that sin could not be the final word on the corruption of creation.  So God sent God's self in the form of Jesus to do a work which we could not do.  And since I'm meandering right where a Baptist preacher would begin "tuning up," might I remind you that you and me are created to do a work that can't be done by just waiting or trying to run away from it.

This year, let's deal with the leftovers!