How to know when you're in Dayton

Here is how you know you're in Dayton:  The local Kroger doesn't have baby carrots, but they carry 37 types of Mountain Dew.

Commencement

Like I said, the tensions will continue to simmer.  After the conflict between The Black Lives Matter group and the Patriots, the BLM folks demanded that the president of the university say in his commencement speech that black lives matter.  This student was putting pressure on the prez and he did not sit down until the president said that black lives matter.  The president did eventually say it. Sort of.  He said black lives matter, women's lives matter, veterans lives matter, ALL LIVES MATTER-- ultimately watering down the message.  As Baltimore was burning, he had an opportunity to speak to the issue of the moment.  As far as I'm concerned, he took the easy way out.

Next year should be interesting. 

A Dream Deferred

I must say, this semester was tense.  In the classroom and throughout the campus, the feeling was palpable.  News outlets throughout the country continue to report on incidents of police violence against young black men and women, yet our campus administrators remained silent.  At least two incidents in Ohio made the national news.  In August 2014, John Crawford lost his life at the hands of police at a Walmart practically across the street from our campus.  Administration said nothing.  Three months later, twelve-year-old Tamir Rice was gunned down by police in Cleveland.  Again, nobody mentioned it.  Actually that’s not true.  The students did.  They were talking about it all the time.  In class, in the dining halls, the dorms, and on social media, the students were trying to make sense of all the violence. 

Why were these cops killing young black men?  Why weren’t they being held accountable?  Could the same thing happen to me?   

A group of professors tried to hold a forum for the students to come and discuss their feelings about the atrocities being committed against African Americans.  Administrators swiftly stepped in to take over the forum, controlling the topic and tone of the conversation and always staying on script.  Once again the students’ voices were silenced. 

Tensions continued to rise. . . .

A couple months ago, a group of my students presented me with a racist letter that they received from a fellow student.  What began as a legitimate noise complaint, quickly turned into a racial diatribe about black people, including an explanation as to why “they can’t get anywhere in life.”  The administration moved quickly to soothe the students’ hurt feelings, but they still failed to address the larger issues at hand:  Nationally, African American men are under attack; locally, John Crawford’s murder reflects existing racial tensions in Dayton and growing hostilities about public transportation moving black and brown people into all-white neighborhoods and shopping districts; and finally on campus, African American students regularly feel marginalized, diminished, and excluded by university faculty and administrators.

The aforementioned issues ultimately led to a clash at the end of the semester between Black Lives Matter advocates and the group I will call The Patriots.  At a campus-wide celebration, the Black Lives Matter group asserted that the American flag was a symbol of racism, hypocrisy, and violence and, in a gesture of opposition to that hypocrisy, at least one student stomped on top of the flag.  In response, the Patriots did what patriots do.  They defended flag, God, and country.  Unfortunately, some students who disagreed with the flag-stomper quickly turned the conflict into a racial one.  At least a few Patriots shouted racial epithets to the BLM group and according to several students, told them to “go back where you came from.”  Considering nearly all the students at the university are from central Ohio, I assume this was a suggestion to go back to where their ancestors came from-- Africa.   Several days later, the Black Lives Matter advocates rallied on campus to, again, assert their belief that the American flag is a symbol of hypocrisy.  The Patriots also rallied to oppose the BLM group.  Things got extremely tense—especially when non-student groups began to show up:  Military veterans, bikers, nationalists, and others arrived to confront the Black Lives Matter group.  The two groups yelled and screamed at each other, which was difficult to watch.  The most tragic part of the whole incident is that both sides felt passionately about their cause, but neither side truly heard the other.  Meanwhile, our students continue to feel anger and frustration.  And racial tensions are simmering.  If nothing changes, I will be writing the sequel to this entry in the next academic year. . .  .

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

-- Langston Hughes

Black History Month. The Struggle Continues....

Every February, I participate in Black History Month celebrations and activities.  And every February, somebody does something ignorant in recognition of Black History Month, which only serves to remind us of the continued relevance and importance of Black History Month. 

Here is a photo a student sent to me yesterday of a menu from our campus dining services "celebrating" Black History Month:

 

The struggle continues.  Everybody stay woke.

It's A Different World

My significant other (S.O. from here on out) took a trip to Atlanta for New Year’s Eve and I got a chance to show him my old stomping grounds at Spelman and around the Atlanta University Center.  Wow.  I got really nostalgic for the days when Packard Hall was still a dorm (UM PHIIII!) and I was just a curly-headed girl from Cali running around Atlanta with the sorors, trying to figure out how the world worked.  I’m pretty sure Pete Rock’s “Reminisce” was playing in my head the whole time I was showing S.O. the campus and telling him stories about freshman year ’96 (I still ain’t told him about Freaknik ’97).  I travel back down South with some regularity, but since moving to Dayton, my memories of living in Atlanta have become much sweeter.  Yes, there are still things I hate about Atlanta—bougie negroes, the traffic, and the lack of an identifiable soul or spirit (Yes, Atlanta, I know you were burned down in the Civil War, but one would think you would have found your stride by now).  But there are definitely things I miss.  Like the nightlife, decent weather, and the charm of southern folks (see, here in the Midwest we have all of the racism of the south but none of the charm).  I also miss HBCUs.  Spelman, specifically.  I miss the cafeteria that serves TWO kinds of grits with every breakfast (I don’t even like grits. I just always liked that they’re there).  I miss R&B and Hip Hop being played at every event (felt like a family reunion every Friday afternoon at Market Fridays).  And perhaps most significantly, I miss being in a dynamic community of black women who are on the verge of taking over the world. 

I can recognize that my life in Atlanta was exceptional and not the experience of most black folk.  I realize that Dayton is like Anytown, U.S.A. and truly represents what life is like for the majority of Americans.  I can even admit that my experience here in Dayton has been humbling and eye-opening on many different levels.

But can’t I just reminisce sometimes about living in A Different World?      

  

This is Dayton

So as you probably can tell by my lack of entries for the whole fall semester, I got a little busy.  Once I realized that I’m going to be even more busy this semester and probably forever after (gotta love academe) I decided that I just need to suck it up and make time for the blog.  I’m going to try.  

Anyway, this is Dayton.  Beautiful place isn’t it?  

Although the persistent gray skies, plummeting temperatures, and the constant burden of scraping ice off my car are hard to deal with, I find that the dusting of snow over everything makes the world look nice.  Well not everything.  The campus looks dreary and horrible under a layer of snow, but when I drive through my ‘hood, I find that the snow covers up much of the trash and debris strewn about and it keeps all but the most tenacious thugs-in-pajamas (that is actually a thing here.  How can you be a thug in your PAJAMAS??) off the streets.  Snow covers up the raggedy rooftops and unkempt lawns and it makes even the roughest parts of East Dayton look like a Norman Rockwell painting…. If Norman Rockwell ever painted images of meth-addled neighborhoods in the Midwest.  Anyway, it’s 2015 and this is where I live.  And at least until the snow melts, I’m choosing to believe that I live in one of Garrison Keillor’s fictional Midwestern towns, where “all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.”

This is Dayton.

                                          (Gratuitous Lulu photo)