One day when I was sitting in my Journalism college course, one of the biggest potential stories on campus occurred, and everyone was dying to get the inside scoop. A white male on one of the university’s sports teams called one of his black teammates the N-word, and all hell broke loose. My journalism professor let out a cry that he and others tried to set up an interview with the white male student; however, it was to no avail.
For years I have been known for being a quiet and reserved individual, so it doesn’t surprise me when people become shocked at my skills and what I can produce. At that moment, I felt the need to speak up so that my voice could be heard. A male student and I were the only two African Americans in the class, so I confidently raised my hand and stated to the professor, “I will go after the story. He will talk to me.”
A hush hit the room, and all eyes peered upon me as if everyone had seen a ghost. In all honesty, I had no idea who this white male student was; however, as a Black woman, I wanted to look him straight in the eye and ask, “Why did you say it?” Call me nosey, intrigued, or someone who wants to know your family history business. Still, I wanted to investigate where this student’s roots resided. Because more than likely, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. At least that’s what the old folks used to say.
So I reached out to the white male, and he agreed to sit and speak with me on one condition; he did not want to discuss the racist incident. I obliged, and we met inside his dorm room to have a conversation. The white male was extremely nervous as I probed about his upbringing and background. Of course, he painted this vivid picture of how he was raised to be kind, intelligent, and thoughtful. Therefore I found it difficult to understand how someone with a fantastic family could allow the N-word to come forth with such ease around a majority of Black players.
Although my memory fades at times, one thing I felt when I walked away from our meeting was numbness; Basically nothing. His story sounded great on paper, but it didn’t take away from the fact of him saying the N-word. It was all fluff, and my professor chose to shelf the story until further notice. Soon enough, I created a path that allowed us to go back in for another round. Our story was eventually printed in the college newspaper. I’ve been digging around in my artifacts trying to find my clipping so I can highlight this pertinent moment in time.
The purpose of this story is to remind me and others that it’s time for us to stare racism and hatred in the face and ask ourselves, “What are we going to do about it?” All of the actions we’re taking are valid and ignite the passion we have towards the need for change in our judicial system and beyond. Too many Black lives are being lost way too soon, as data shows that our white counterparts are being treated with higher regard of dignity as their lives continue without any harm or little to no jail time.
Anyone who believes Black people are being treated fairly in the United States of America is deliberately blind to the mistreatment of those they call friends, family, coworkers, business partners, caretakers, and more. To walk, live, and breathe in our Black skin should be seen as a badge of honor, yet it is seen as a subconscious call for racist individuals to spew hate.
Laws need to be rewritten and/or changed. It’s time to vote and put the leaders in office who listen to their constituents and desire to bring people together for the greater good of humanity. In the words of Martin Luther King, Jr., “Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.” And if you only have love in your heart for the people of one race, you can’t lead me to the promised land. I will not allow you to lead me into a ditch and call it paradise. The devil is a liar.
Therefore to this new generation, I am excited to see how we can all come together to bring about a new change that will make our ancestors proud. The torch for justice is being carried on, and our time is now.
