I gained a sharper historical perspective on historically Black colleges and land grant universities from the article suggested for this week, depicting the progress and regression in the American history of race in higher education (Via: ‘The State Must Provide’ Is A Lesson On Inequality In Higher Ed, Past And Present: NPR). The segregation that divided white students and their black counterparts (and divides them still) is a fact of American history, which some public schools in some states would prefer to conceal, along with the history of slavery. I was born into the cognitive dissonance of segregation in the ’50s and ’60s – and that has now been revived in the guise of protecting white children from acquiring a negative self-image, as if obscuring the truth could protect them from that! On the contrary, camouflaging the historical truth perpetuates the shame and inequity that are legacies of slavery, segregation, and the under-funding of racially diverse colleges. Lasting reconciliation seems out of reach until we examine the past honestly and practice genuine acts of care.

My hometown is predominantly African American, which was critical in my early life development. I knew the vulnerability of our black community; where I grew up it was impossible to ‘protect’ white children from that reality. I observed on a daily basis the deprivation and struggles caused by segregation and racism. I empathized, and my black role models showed by their example how to survive patriarchy intact. Much later in life, I had the unexpected opportunity to teach for three years in the inner city of Brooklyn in a satellite program of Long Island University. I felt at home there in a deep existential sense. The students (black, Hispanic, Native American, and a few white students) brought to the multicultural literature we studied our common vulnerability to the dangers of a neighborhood riddled with the violence of drug dealers. Mutual caring was a natural response to the chaos going on just beyond the walls of our building. Students often expressed concern for my safety and always insisted on walking me to the bus or subway train at night, acts of caring that meant much to me. The students taught me about the ever-changing cultural composition and history of their neighborhood and its challenges. I came to identify with that history and to care about the future of Bushwick.

There was no Internet or email then, so we’d communicate by phone between classes. I was inspired by the students’ work ethic and perseverance and by their openness – to become my best self as their partner in learning, as a graduate student, and as a resident of NYC. We also took field trips on weekend days to the American Museum of Natural History as well as the Metropolitan and Brooklyn Museums of Art. And we celebrated various holidays with food and festivities. Our mutuality and shared sense of purpose came together for me as a paradigm of teaching in a holistic way. There was no ‘other’ in that context; together we were invested in becoming our best selves. All that I learned there has persisted in my ongoing efforts to be caring, brave, and resilient, always learning from students how to be better.