9 minute read
Hopeful & Resilient
Personal reflections on the quest for social justice.
As America confronts systematic racial injustice, three members of the University of Hartford community share their personal experiences, reflections, and hopes that the end result—this time—will be a more equitable world for all.
Pearl Douglas has served as chair of The Women’s Advancement Initiative’s Board of Directors since July 2019.
—Pearl Douglas
Many of you read President Woodward’s message to the UHart community (in late spring), coming face to face with the deep-rooted history of racism in these United States— all stemming from the virtual murder of George Floyd, a Black man, by the hands of the police. According to Time magazine, “The nationwide protests on police brutality are now highlighting centuries of racist policies, both explicit and implicit, that have left Black Americans in the dust, physically, emotionally, and economically.” We can pick a 100-year old housing policy like redlining, for instance, as one key driver of racism in this country. Surely, we all know the effects of redlining in this country and in the state of Connecticut. According to Hartford Mayor Luke Bronin, “The more time I spend in this office, the more I see the profound consequences of our policy choices on housing, and on development, that have resulted in some of the starkest disparities you’ll find anywhere in the nation.” We can’t fix these systemic problems in The Women’s Advancement Initiative. However, we should create a space for honest conversations about race, America’s history with systemic racism, or our feelings about it, as uncomfortable as it may be.
I wrestled with my own feelings of horror, discomfort, frustration, hopelessness, feelings of cynicism and resignation, and then feelings of hope over the last few weeks. And I wondered out loud what my message would be. Then it became clear to me that my sole focus in this position, as chair of Women’s Advancement, is to represent the needs of our students. These are college students in their formative years, who applied to our Leadership program because we were offering them something more, something attractive; we promised to help mold them, to empower them with the necessary skills to thrive in the real world as leaders. We promised to create a better space for them to grow, to evolve, and to be empowered. That is our mission. And out of respect to them, I am not in favor of a hands-off approach to issues that affect them, political as they may be, like the social, economic, and systemic racism that affects many of our students. Racism is not an event, it’s not an issue, it’s an experience. It is a way of life. Every day. And according to President Woodward, we, as a community, have a responsibility to these students, and to each other, to do better.
From the beginning, LEAD (The Women Advancement Initiative’s Leadership Education and Development program) was intended to bring together a diverse group of students to support and empower each other, and we do that. Center for Social Research analysis showed that 57 percent of our LEAD students are minorities—Black, Hispanic, Asian, and multiracial. Our students come from 17 states and three countries. Last fall, the University created Diversity Week, hosted by professional facilitators (of color), which is all about creating a safe space for students to share, encouraging them to be open minded, and teaching them how to have difficult conversations about race in an open forum. Some of these students may not have ever interacted with someone outside their race until they stepped foot on campus. About one-third of our LEAD facilitators are minorities—all in the hopes of having positive representation, one that better reflects the student body. We need to do more. We, as LEAD, together with the University, should create an ongoing platform, a program, a safe space to keep the dialogue going if we want to be allies in the fight against racism, uncomfortable as it may be.
Topics like white privilege need to be discussed. In a recent article, the Huffington Post spoke to educators, activists, therapists, and professors about things that white people say that highlight their privilege without them realizing it. Things like “it’s not my job to fix racism because I’m not a racist.” Or “I don’t see color.” Or “there is no need to worry about the police if you are not doing anything illegal.” Or “get over it, slavery happened a long time ago.” Or maybe, ongoing conversations on disarming microaggression, the most common form of racism that I personally experience all too often. “Can I touch your hair? You speak good English, you are a credit to your race, you are so articulate, you are beautiful for a Black woman,” or a store owner following me around the store, or the element of surprise when I mention where I live, which is immediately followed by “What do you do? What does your husband do?” Microaggressions in the classroom, on campus, and in the workplace run rampant. These conversations and forums on racism, and even sexism, must be ongoing because these are not random events. These are embedded in the daily lives of our students both on campus and off.
It’s going to take a monumental shift to overcome biases and to become aware of our own microaggressions in our interactions with people different from us. We must educate ourselves and, most importantly, practice listening to feel the full level of pain to have understanding. We must educate ourselves to know exactly what we are standing for and why we are standing. Educating ourselves is the key to changing hearts and minds and to begin the process of creating a just system for all through compassion and empathy. The learning and conversations must not stop beyond this moment. And lastly, we cannot be about advancement if we are not on the right side of history with the Black Lives Matter movement or the Me Too movement, for that matter.
Brandon Evans ’20 (Barney School of Business, accounting major) served as president this past academic year of the campus chapters of the National Black Law Students Association and the NAACP.
—Brandon Evans ’20
Being a Black man in America, we have been unfairly treated, persecuted, and punished. The foundation of this nation was built on the backs of our ancestors. We are more “American” than any demographic in these United States. Struggle, hardship, and adversity is nothing new to us.
We have built up an awareness and thick skin for police brutality. We have uncovered the racism, implicit—and sometimes explicit—bias that is institutional racism. We have seen the effect of it in microaggressions. We have seen the mass incarceration of people of color in our prisons, and how this system is overpopulated at a rate never seen. We have elected a leader who endorses hate speech, bigotry, racism, sexism, and many other examples that do not reflect the freedoms enacted in our constitution. We have economic deterrents and a host of other issues working against us. With all these issues, we must be strong. Privilege runs deep in the roots of America, and these systems were built to protect those with privilege. We demand basic needs, not wants. People are in the streets protesting and risking their lives amid a global pandemic because we are tired of being sick and tired. This is a time for radical change.
History is a great way to predict the future. Throughout my years of education, I have always been fascinated by history— the important moments that changed the trajectory of times and places. The people who made a difference are who we remember. This is a movement bigger than our generation. I see it as a literal fight against the suppressed minorities in any demographic and the majority, who silently remain contributing to upholding power. The wealth in this country is unequal. The racial wealth gap is seven times higher for white Americans than Black Americans. Disrupting the system, making people in power uncomfortable for not defending and protecting minorities in need of justice, is part of the work of an activist.
This momentum we have must not go to waste. Hearing day after day of other police shootings of an unarmed compliant Black person who had his rights stripped and could have been prevented if this person were white is heart breaking. This is our moment to put an end to these issues. I should not feel like my life is in jeopardy whenever I see a police officer.
Bilal Sekou is an associate professor of politics and government. He teaches American National Government, How to Change the World, and Urban Politics.
—Bilal Sekou
Eight minutes and 46 seconds is the length of time it took for George Floyd to die at the hands of four Minneapolis police officers. It is a long time. I have not been able to watch the entire video. It is too painful—because it could easily be me.
I am a person of color, a man of African descent. Like most Black people that I know, I have had negative encounters with the police on a number of occasions over the course of my 53 years of life. And, like most Blacks, I am afraid of the police.
I grew up poor in a working-class neighborhood in Detroit, but now I am a tenured professor at the University of Hartford and live a somewhat comfortable middleclass life. I have three college degrees, including a PhD in political science from The Ohio State University. I have published articles in journals, presented papers at conferences, given talks at other universities, and been interviewed for my expertise on race and politics by newspaper reporters, on television, and on the radio. I am also the father of a college student.
But none of my degrees or other accomplishments will protect me from being stopped by the police or prevent me from possibly having my name added to the growing list of unarmed Black women, men, and children killed by them.
Like most Black children, I received the talk. I can hear my mother right now telling me, “If you get stopped by the police, keep quiet, be respectful, and do not do anything that might get you arrested or possibly killed.” Unfortunately, being stopped and arrested is fairly routine for many Black people in America. Dying at hands of the police is a realistic scenario we play out in the back of our minds whenever we encounter an officer, even for something as routine as failing to signal during a right turn.
As I watch the nightly demonstrations, looking at the crowds of people of color and whites chanting together that Black Lives Matter, I become hopeful that the growing awareness of the deaths of unarmed Black people will be the spark we need as a country to fully realize our nation’s potential and finally address the systemic inequities throughout American society.
I have been contacted by former students who are protesting in the streets. Their actions remind me of the most important lesson I have tried to communicate in all the classes I teach. If we work collectively to transform this country, perhaps we can finally get it to fully address the pandemic of racism and class bias that has plagued our nation since its founding.
