During this month, I got the chance to discover something. It was something that brought me back to the deepest roots within me, which are valuing education and making other people happy along with yourself. All of this I got in my course named Writing and Power taught by Kathleen Welch. At first, she appeared like another big glasses white professor who I had a 50/50 shot at relating to. I didn’t know that this class was the blessing my mental health and spiritual self-needed most. It was a small classroom in the library, with an occupancy limit of ten people. We trimmed the class size of students from ten, to six. It wasn't class, but morose felt like a session, or a Socratic seminar each time.
Unlike all my other courses, we did not look the same. This group of individuals I got the pleasure of having class with for my final in-person semester at OU was a blessing. I only had the course on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s, so every other day that I wasn’t in that class, I felt like I was missing out. The reason this course comes into play now during the semester, is because just two weeks after the first racial incident, another one occurred.
I can speak for a lot when I say that I didn’t even get a chance to breathe, or even smile after the first incident was "handled." If I wasn’t numb before, I most certainly was now. My expression throughout most of the day was defined as “I’ve had enough.” I distanced myself and pushed myself away from the same emotions other people were feeling. Before I knew it, another professor saying the N-word on campus turned into a sit-in within the administration building. This wasn’t a professor in Gaylord, this was another professor from another department. Yet, the impact was twice as heavy now.
As I sit here writing and reflecting on this moment, I understand the immense
foreshadowing that we were going to see. The amount of stupidity and ignorance one must have to say something especially after you’ve witnessed the entire campus try and tackle the issue just weeks before must be immense.
I continued going to class, juggling the thought of finishing a novel and reminding myself I was a student. Everything I saw everyone doing to bring attention to the issue blew past me. My close friend who also felt similar about participating was the first person I talked to about how I felt thing were going down about the second incident. I asked the staff at my dorm who I had worked with in previous semesters, if we could take bundles of water and snacks to the protesters. They were serious, which meant this was serious. As I walked inside and saw the news cameras burrowing inside with them and the leaders of the sit-in walking around checking on people, I stood there weightless almost. I internally asked myself "Do you even belong here?"
I knew that bringing those materials was the most I felt I could do not just for them, but for my own health too. The longer it went on, the more headlines and updates exhausted me. The demands that needed to be changed spread from the administration building, to the camps altogether. I was focused on this huge event that OU was hosting where I would meet more people that looked like me not just from my campus, but across others as well.
However, before we get there, we had to get through the sit-in. Our black emergency response team took hold of this one. Their efforts were to organize a sit-in (initially with a hungry strike too) . I forgot honestly how long it was, but my seriousness that I took it with quickly faded after the original write up of demands from the administration included a Popeyes in our food court.
I remember searching my school on google throughout the sit-in, seeing the words Popeyes, demand, and next to Black students all in he same headlines, like that which I cringed at. (And I don’t usually cringe at things). The sit-in was held in the main administrative building where the provost and other administrative leaders worked. At first it was a few students. However, as social media spread the awareness and attention to the sit-in, soon it was hundreds of students, faculty, , mentors and even advisors sitting and standing within the building. I admired the resilience because they stayed over the night and stuck throughout it. It was powerful in its own way.
There were things about it that I found riveting, and it truly sent a message of how fed-up the black community was at OU. Allies joined as well and I understood that. Looking back now, at the time I was deflated with energy to be a part and spend my time there for a multitude of reasons. I was thinking about my health, and mostly, I realized that I was doing my own part in my own way by bring snacks and water to those that were participating in on the hunger strike portion of it too. It brought meaning to the phrase "do your part."
What a strange event that took place too. The sit in had it’s results and pushed administration to make decisions that might’ve never been made altogether. It was successful for most of the demands it presented. When it was over and the protesters went back to 'normal' activities, I sat in class and folded on the inside. Failure, was the word that bounced in my own head. I sat in my classroom next to the only black classmate I had in the room, and I folded. Even after the protests were over, after the demands were met (some of them), and the message had been sent, my mind truly had enough even of being in a classroom. I saw my exhausted classmate who was one of the first members to initiate the sit-in and the toll it took on her. She hunched over the desk and barley looked awake or alive. She was tired, but me, emotionally I wasn't where she was. She looed to have some accomplishment to her, I had the opposite inside.
Why is this hurting so much? I thought to my own self, wanting the feeling of failure to go away. I wanted more people who looked like me in the classroom for my major. I wanted the pressure to understand the pain being felt to not be temporary for everyone. Most of all though, that day in class, I needed to not be there. I did something I never thought I was even capable of...I just left. I stood up and told everyone openly in that classroom that I felt terrible inside and that being there wasn't helping me at all. A true emotional breakdown, minus the tears. I'm sure my face could tell a better story than my words being typed or any words being said that day could convey. For me, when I left that room, I truly didn't feel like a student that much anymore. I was 'getting through' the semester, instead of striving and thriving to the end.
As I walked back to my dorm room, I thought of the conference that was soon upon me. I wanted the breath to relax, but I couldn't find it. It was onto the next adventure of this long arduous month.
After the sit-in, my life pretty much wasn’t the same as far as friendships and hanging out though. February was without a doubt the most socially active month I might’ve ever had. I attended my first pageant, hung out with the NABJ crew again, and from that night on, I was hanging out, planning stuff and excited for the conference.
The Big XII conference. It was a collection of different universities apart of the Big XII Committee where we hang out, network, and learn a plethora of skills and tools to be successful in life. The weekend gave me the chance to meet amazing guest speakers and even attend parties too. After a majority of Black History month being spent protecting and defending what it means to be a black student, just one weekend was designed to give strength back to everyone.
When the conference finally arrived, I took the pressure off my shoulders. I wanted to just be myself, because I was surrounded by so many black people who were like me. I was interacting with black students my age, with my interests, and even some having the same direction as me as far as life goals and whatnot. What a time to meet all these great new people…except I didn’t really. (I know, shocking). Instead, I bonded more with my guys in the NABJ and some other longtime friends of Gaylord. I felt relaxed though. It was a weekend I wished lasted a week.
Dressing up in business clothes throughout the day, listening to lectures on how to survive in today’s America as a black person, along with the gifts and talents that I have because "being black is its own superpower" was the empowerment I needed after an unpredictable month until that point. Also, the general assessments of the educational system, societal stereotypes and much more were on the agenda to give everyone a choice of what sessions they wanted to listen to on whatever topics to educate themselves throughout.
I realistically remember the parties we had, and the moments we made throughout. The conference gave me value as a black man. I felt happy, and comfortable. I also just laughed so much more than I normally do because everybody was cracking jokes and bringing laughter around me. The pre-games to the parties I would have with the guys, or the after parties where my different friends groups came together for the first time are timeless. Those three days were the last great days I had for the school year with everyone I could normally see. If I could go back to any point in time in this year, it would’ve been right before that conference, because after that, well…I'm sure you already know by now.
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