Last weekend, after a romantic dinner with 45 other couples from our church’s couple’s ministry, we piled in our car and drove down Interstate 55 to Cape Girardeau. I had been invited to give a lecture at Southeast Missouri State University.
Arriving exhausted at two in the morning was the only thing that could dampen my spirits about being back in the town where my husband and I met and fell in love and where I honed my skills as a radio news anchor and reporter.
I arrived in Cape Girardeau in the early nineties, a single woman with big dreams for my career and my life. I was already knocking at the door of the 30-and-single club, but I was undeterred.
Because I grew up in a small town, Cape Girardeau wasn’t a cultural shock for me. Prejudice and racism, poverty and elitism weren’t new to me at all. I still consider it a duty and an honor to educate the bold and insulting folks as well, as those who are just curious and honest about those who don’t look like them.
I was living in Cape Girardeau when the infamous Rodney King beatdown and subsequent L.A. riots occurred. There was so much tension all around the country after the not-guilty verdicts and the subsequent images of looting and violence were broadcast around the world.
I’ll never forget one white female caller to my show then, who said without hesitation and a little anger, “I don’t care why they’re mad.” Now, friends, I certainly don’t support looting, but she had no answer when I challenged her, saying, “If you don’t want to know why, then the conditions that prompted people to act that way in the first place haven’t been addressed, leaving open the possibility of repeat behavior.”
I was also living in Cape Girardeau when St. Louisan Michael Davis died after being beaten during a hazing ritual. He wanted to be a journalist, perhaps work on “60 Minutes” one day. After his death, the university created a lecture series in his honor, and I was privileged to give that lecture last weekend, just days before Michael Davis would have turned 37.
After my speech, a group of about seven, one white male student and six black female students, approached me and asked for advice. They were upset by a Black History Month editorial by a white writer in their campus newspaper that they felt was insulting to black people.
They wanted to have a forum with the writer to discuss her views, but she refused because she’d gotten a few calls threatening her. “Now what?” they wanted to know.
I’m no expert, but I suggested that they have the forum anyway, but be prepared with facts, not just emotion. I also said they needed to squash any and all talk of somehow hurting the woman. That would only confirm what she appears to feel about black people (such a violent bunch).
Secondly, I told them to use the situation as an opportunity to build their own understanding of their history. Wasn’t that the intent of Black History Month, anyway? They also need to talk to the faculty advisor of the paper, who may not have even reviewed the editorial. They were excited about that and the notion that the forum NOT be a black thang’ but open to everyone, because black history is American history.
My last bit of advice was to not let it go. Too many times, we just let things go. Work, class, family and life all get in the way of carrying a cause. It takes time to carry a cause. It’s no different for college students than it is for us grown folk.
If we just let go, if we don’t get an answer to the question, “why?’ and demand change, then things like the hazing death of a student or riots in the street or insulting editorials will repeat themselves.
College students take any number of classes in order to get a degree, but they don’t take a class in how to protest. That’s for us to teach them.