It’s Memoir Writing Monday.
But my thoughts are fragments, my jaw and stomach clenched, my heart open and exposed.
My body is telling me I’m feeling incredibly vulnerable. Profoundly unsafe.
Imagine what it might be telling me if my skin were black?
My skin is white. Which affords me infinitely more safety and protection than so many of the people I love in this world.
And yet I, too, feel traumatized.
Traumatized by the pain and anguish. The injustice and hypocrisy. The deep insult upon injury upon insult upon injury I know my black friends feel.
I feel exhausted by the tone policing. The lethal policing. The here-we-go-again familiarity of a story that is much older than any of us today. And that still hasn’t changed.
Trouble is, I don’t write as well when I feel traumatized. I don’t do anything as well. None of us does.
So I’m going to cheat again and dip into the archives. I’m going to simply share how I’ve felt about these things in the past.
Which also hasn’t changed.
I’d originally thought I might run this next week. Closer to the actual anniversary of my high school graduation.
To offer it up to the 2020 graduates of the DC public high school I had the tremendous good fortune to attend.
Woodrow Wilson Senior High.
To say I’m sorry they don’t get to have the ceremonies or celebrations they looked forward to because of coronavirus.
To say I’m sorry they’re graduating from a school that still bears the name of a president who cared more about public relations than black people.
To say I’m sorry a world that was supposed to be different by now is still a world where they may not be able to afford college. That might kill them before they get there anyway.
I don’t think the 2020 graduates need to hear that.
So I’m offering it up to my fellow 1992 graduates again.
And saying instead:
I am so thankful for you all.
I am so thankful for the things we learned together about history and life and truth and justice.
I am so thankful for diversity and difference and sharing and exchange.
I’m so thankful for your friendship and your example, your resilience and your grit.
Because even though we’ve been out here working hard to do our part, it’s painfully clear how much still must be done.
Stay healthy. Stay safe. Stay strong.
Protect your children. Protect their dreams.
Don’t give up hope that we can create a different world. We still owe it to our children.
I see you. I stand with you.
Black Lives Matter.
A Different World
delivered June 10, 1992
Good afternoon and welcome to everyone who has helped us get this far.
Buenas tardes y hola a todos quienes nos han ayudado llegar este día.
Here we are in Constitution Hall. Constitution Hall…where in 1939, Marian Anderson did not sing. Because the Daughters of the American Revolution denied her access due to the color of her skin.
Fortunately, today’s world is a different world.
This change did not come about merely by chance. Many of you parents and grandparents sitting here in the audience helped to produce the changes that have shaped our lives.
For this we can be grateful.
Grateful to have had the opportunity to attend a school with a population as diverse as Wilson’s.
Grateful to be exposed to people different from ourselves. Because in this way, we each grow to be better than we began.
In looking for a college to attend next year, I was amazed at some of the things I heard:
The dean of one famous university apologized that the university was not walled off from the city around it.
A student at another prestigious institution, in an attempt to illustrate how terrible a nearby neighborhood was, chose as an example the fact that the billboards in the neighborhood were in Spanish.
Fortunately, our experiences at Wilson have given us a broader view of the world.
For all of this, we can be grateful.
But we must not be satisfied.
The United States and the world have come a great distance since the times of colonialism, slavery, and religious persecution. The rights of people of color, of women, have improved.
But if you look at your program, you’ll notice four of today’s five speakers are female.
Why is it then we see the reverse when we look at the heads of corporations or government leaders?
And in light of Rodney King or David Duke or Haitian and Central Americans turned away from our borders, there is no way we can say that the rights of people of color have come far enough.
Even at Wilson there is room for improvement.
For all the talk of diversity, we each still need to stop and take the time to get to know one another better.
Things like the diversity workshop have begun to break down barriers between different groups of students. Certainly more bridges can be built. I know those remaining at Wilson will build on those beginnings.
For those who are leaving Wilson today, our parents and grandparents have created a world different from their own.
It is our obligation to do the same for our children.
To create a world better than today’s.
To create a better world.
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