How Can I Help?

About five months ago, I wrote a column for The Chronicle about the jury’s decision not to indict Darren Wilson over the shooting of Michael Brown. That column’s tone was probably dictated more by emotion than I would’ve liked, but the message was the same: Americans of color live with racial injustice every day, and, in the 21st century, that should make your blood boil.

Fast forward to last week where hundreds of people gathered at the steps of the Chapel to rally against the hanging of a noose on campus. As a statement, that rally seemed like an excellent way to illustrate Duke’s solidarity. However, as students and bystanders dispersed, the general feeling many people conveyed to me was one of fragmentation, not unity.

When President Brodhead took the podium, he was greeted by a resounding chorus of “Duke you are guilty!” Not only did this seem wildly off base, but it also set an uncomfortable precedent for the way that the campus dialogue has developed. People wouldn’t have showed up to that rally if they hadn’t cared, and the fact that such a widespread feeling of disenfranchisement—even fear—has emerged seems to have exacerbated the issue.

I know I want to help, but right now I don’t know how. The anger at the noose has permeated nearly every aspect of Duke. It doesn’t seem healthy to let such a single-minded and ignorant symbol color the University in its entirety regardless of the fact that there are deeper institutional issues that our student body, faculty and alumni need to confront.

A lot of that flack has been directed at the administration whose message has frequently been colored as having an undercurrent of racism. Not every email and speech has been articulated perfectly, but to consistently decry the administration as enabling a racist environment doesn’t seem true. They wouldn’t have acted swiftly and intently if they didn’t care, nor would they have shown up at the rally.

A lot of criticism has been directed at the use of the term “colorblind” in the President and Provost’s message to the student body. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the most apt word to use, but to misconstrue it as indicative of racial ignorance seems far-fetched. In my eyes, that email aimed to illustrate the administration’s emphasis on maintaining a university with a “broad measure of inclusion and openness to others’ experience and points of view.” Even if they faltered, condemnation isn’t the right way to greet an attempt to step forward.

I’ll never claim to have lived racism, but I will go so far as to say that I’ve seen it. It’s made me angry, and it’s made me ask why. I grew in a city with a history of condoning prejudice, and when I finally started to recognize that my everyday experience differed from my peers based on something as arbitrary as skin color, I knew I wanted to take part in making that go away.

However, this environment doesn’t feel like one where I can help, nor does it seem like one where that’s wanted. So much of the conversation revolves around “you don’t understand,” or “that’s what I would expect you to say.” It hurts to hear, and I wouldn’t put it past myself to hold a similar line if I felt as targeted. Yet, it’s a dialogue that won’t foster inclusivity. To get to the place we all want to go—save the few and irrelevant ignoramuses—there’s likely going to be several missteps. However, branding hastily crafted words as synonymous with ill intentions does a disservice to the conversation as well as those trying to get involved.