11/30/2022 0 Comments Faqt black ass videosThe administration and MSA decided to allocate resources differently, slicing the space for Black students drastically. Facebook was buzzing about a conference call and rumors of the Black House being destroyed. The year they tried to take The Black House. I took Northwestern for what is was and always will be – a colonial settler institution. The year I admitted to myself that college would not be the best four years of my life.Īdmittedly, my spirit of activism and hope had been squelched. The year I fantasized about who I would’ve been at Spelman or Howard. The year I watched students of color rise up and fight for divestment - and win. The year a white TA demanded I find sources and cite my personal experiences as a Black woman in a sociology course exploring the HIV/AIDS epidemic. We grieved collectively in Harris Hall that night, only to wake up to angry Daily articles about white students’ journalistic rights being infringed upon. The year I struggled and subsequently failed to convince my white peers to work on my film sets. Black art is not as important and my Black art will never be lauded like the work of even my mediocre, white counterparts. The year I realized that the lack of Black faces onscreen and behind the camera in the works on the syllabuses of my classes was intentional. Until a white male student sitting adjacent to me in RTVF 379 remarked, “I don’t even know why Black people bother trying to get into the film industry.” I was excited to meet the cultured, liberal white population at Northwestern. The year I transferred into the School of Communications to pursue a degree in Radio/Television/Film. The year I found my passion and lifelong struggle. I stood in front of the UIC building I had attended summer camp at as a child, dejected and ashamed. I rode the familiar Blue line route as my white peers talked loudly and stole photos of people simply living their lives. During our activities, we were tasked with exploring the “diverse” neighborhoods of Chicago and asking the people for directions instead of using our phones. In our pre-departure lectures we read case-studies about gang life and the culture of Black grandmothers on the west side of Chicago, my home, in preparation for our voyage to the Dominican Republic. The year I realized studying abroad was a white student thing. I smiled uncomfortably as they offered me sushi. I remember constantly staring at the one Black man in the group of 20 something students. I sat at a table of five, three white students and one Asian student. The year Morty invited Humanities 260 into his home for a dinner. I also recall the silence that followed my argument about a non-linear historical narrative not being radical, especially when discussing racial progress in this country. I recall elaborate arguments in our discussion sections about life on other planets and how different society would be if Martin Luther hadn’t posted his litany on the door of the church. The year I sat in a sea of lily-white faces in Harris Hall 107 as Morty and Morson paced the stage, bantering about alternate universes and finances in Humanities 260. The year I realized Morty and the administration did not and do not care about Black students. The year the Black community began to dwindle. There were Black parties every weekend and our events filled huge venues. The year I became a part of a dazzling community of Black people artists, athletes, activists, Greeks, math majors, troublemakers and lovers. The year older, white alumni touring the ground floor of Norris stared at my friends and I as if we were martians. The year white people yelled, “NIGGER!” out of a car as my friends walked down Sheridan. The year a Northwestern student tied a noose around the neck of a plush bear belonging to a Northwestern custodian. The year I sat starry eyed and anxious in a 300-level course on Global capitalism that not once mentioned race in a social context. The year I traveled 40 minutes away from home to an alternate universe a universe rife with opportunity, wealth, knowledge, racism and the ghosts of Native genocide.
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