In our work we are called to support the needs of our students in
times of tragedy, pain and struggle. There are times in our careers where we
might navigate this space with confusion.
As a woman of color who works at and is a product of a PWI
(predominately white institution), this tension and space of confusion is all
too real. For the few individuals of color on our campuses our experiences are
challenging.
Speaking from my own lens, when national events like the ones that
have become headlines this week (4th of July 2016), we operate on a teeter
totter of action and emotion. As educators and administrators we are called to
action to provide a space for safety and support for our students. We
subconsciously perform to that “super hero” mentality, pushing aside our own
pain and suffering, the same pain and suffering that our students are facing.
Not only are we called to action, but it is this expectation that
we will. The fallacy in this is the assumption that we will have the strength to act.
On my campus, the recent events woke me up to understanding that
as a woman of color, I am not given the space to have my moment to grieve in the same manner that we
might afford our students. As an administrator, I am asked to just be alert, be
on attention and to make myself numb to the feelings that I have.
This became ever more real in the silence that became STRANGLING,
when on my campus not many outside of my Black or allied marginalized community, and especially not many of
those in a position of power, made any acknowledgement of the pain and
suffering that WE were feeling.
Where was our
statement of concern? || Where was our statement of condolence? || Where
was our statement of care? || Where was our moment of silence?||
That silence became even more strangling when as a leader of an
organization within my field, there was no statement or reflection posted within
those spheres either.
It's in the silence that a part of me died. I am a part of this
community, this institution of education that is supposed to teach our next
generation how to be compassionate, how to be genuine, how to be authentic
and lead well and in this moment the insular bubble that I have been feeling
was safe, became unsafe. My title as administrator,
doesn’t protect me from the isolation.
The only means of comfort I could find were from the
heartbroken just like me. Heartbroken people, cannot be called upon to be each
other’s only source of comfort in this time. To those of you in these spaces, your privilege allowed you to
ignore the hurt your colleagues and your peers were suffering from.
We can’t be silent anymore or our institutions will not survive.
