On Friday, I walked toward the crowd gathered on the Chapel steps shaking with rage. Like others, I was infuriated by the sight of the #BlackLivesMatter poster for Patrisse Cullors’ talk defaced with an anti-Black slur. Even more so, I was disturbed by a conversation I had a moment earlier with the women of Zeta Tau Alpha sorority who were holding a fundraising event nearby.
When, following my request to suspend ZTA’s event for the protest’s duration, a white woman offered to turn off the music for 10 minutes, you reminded me what many of us already knew to be true. You reminded me that at this university Black anger, suffering and grief is worth just that: 10 minutes of the precious time of White students, like you and me. When you suggested that, after 10 minutes expire, Black students move their protest to the Bryan Center Plaza, you reminded me that we are not willing to make space for nor stand by our Black peers—let alone cease our joyous festivities to honor their pain. When one of you shouted that “it isn’t about race,” you reminded me that we would rather stay oblivious to the individual and collective roles we play in perpetuating and sustaining anti-Blackness, than sit with the discomfort of our own complicity. You reminded me of the painful truth of the words I had written on the poster I carried with me to the protest. “White folks,” it said, “we are all guilty.”
After the protest, I sat and watched a familiar spectacle: “interrupted” White students resuming their party, dancing to Black music. As an alumna and current doctoral student, I have watched this scene unfold over and over—when Black students at Duke are terrorized, we continue with business as usual. Sometimes, however, we may offer up 10 minutes of our time.
Anastasia Kārkliņa
Doctoral Student, Literature
Trinity ‘14
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