Our lives begin to end the moment that we refuse to take a stand about the things that
are right. Our lives begin to end the moment that we refuse to take a stand about that
which is just. Our lives begin to end the moment we refuse to take a stand about that
which is true. Our lives begin to end the moment that we remain silent about the things
that matter. The late Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke those words in his speech
on pulpit on March 8, 1965 in Selma, Alabama. The Deep South was routed in tension, in turmoil
and in trouble. Black folks had come to a point where they refused to be treated unjustly.
They were frustrated at the fact that they were considered to be only three fifths of
a person. So now today in October 2014, almost fifty years later, I would argue that many
things unfortunately have not changed. So today, friends, Meliorians, faculty, staff,
parents, other distinguished guests and Rochesterian, I beseech you to not only lend me your ears
but also your heart and your intellect. I come to bury racism today and not to praise
it. The bias, the discrimination and prejudice that men do lives after them. It’s offed
interred in their bones but some may argue that experiences, events and happenings, they’re
not racism they’re just a mere pigment of the imagination. So just so contextually we
insure that we are coming from the same per a dime, let’s defend racism. Simply put,
racism is biased and prejudice and discrimination based on the fact that there is a belief that
there are biological differences amongst people. Racism also defined is about the fact that
there are social actions and beliefs and even political systems that rank that one particular
race is superior and that another is inferior. Racism also purports that certain races deserve
and should and must be treated differently. Now one kind of caveat within that definition
is whether we should include unintentional acts of racism. Stereotypes, the way that
people are portrayed in the media, historical or institutional racism and certainly the
socio-political social stratification, that can occur. Hmm. So was I think about this
topic, sometimes memories sneak out of my eye and slowly roll down my face. So ladies
and gentlemen of the jury I submit to you exhibit number one. February 14th, 1940. Mr.
Lloyd Mills, from Chase City, Virginia, was completing his rounds through the town. He
was a businessman so I imagine that he was settling debt, that he was visiting with town
folk and that he was buying groceries for his five girls, his five boys and his wife
of sixteen years. Sixteen years, ten children, yes. So there was one issue. Mr. Mills was
very outspoken about the plight of black people during that time and although he was warned
on numerous occasions to refrain from his discourse about unfair treatment, he continued
to persist and so as the day turned into afternoon and afternoon turned into late afternoon and
late afternoon turned into evening, his bride of sixteen years began to get worried. He
was coming home much later than he should of. So finally when the horse came in and
she heard the whinny of the horse, she ran out to see her husband but unfortunately much
to her dismay and much to her horror, my grandfather was only a remnant of what he was when he
left that morning. The death report noted that my grandfather was killed on accident
that because of the horrific weather that day, the thunder and lightning spooked the
horse, my grandfather fell off the horse but his leg remained in the stirrup and he was
dragged to death but upon further inspection by my grandmother, the rope burns around his
neck and the deep furrows in his neck indicated that there was foul play at hand. My grandfather
was lynched. So, is that an act of racism? Or is it just a mere pigment of my grandmother’s
imagination? Let’s fast forward thirty years, twenty nine to be exact and to quote the poet
and the lyricist and the scholar, Sir Ice Cube, May 15th, 1969, “it was a good day.”
Yours truly was born but there was an excitement in the hospital located in Concord, Massachusetts
because a baby who looked like me had never been born in that hospital. I’m black and
so there was excitement and there was anticipations. Some mystery what was going to happen? What
was the baby going to act like? What will he or she be like? So when I screamed and
made my formal entrance into the world, all of the medical testing was done, I was wrapped
and I was placed in the hospital nursery. My mom, who endured thirty eight hours of
labor, was finally able to rest that evening but the nurse had a nagging question she had
to ask because she saw my mom and she saw my dad and so she peeked into the room and
quietly yet persistently she walked in and she said “Mrs. Meyers, Mrs. Meyers, I am
sorry to wake you but I have just one question for you. When’s the baby going to turn black?”
So, racism? Or just a mere pigment of my mother’s imagination? 1987. I’m a freshman here at
the University of Rochester. I am ready to tackle the world. I’m excited about making
and taking that next step in my journey. I go down to the basement in Susan B. Anthony
and I go do my laundry because one o’clock in the morning is the only time that you can
get a free washer and a dryer around here. So I go down and I see two of my door mates
in the hallway outside of the laundry room and they’re feverously scratching something
into the vending machine. I think that’s odd but I don’t really pay it attention
until they see me and they scatter. So, I’m nosy. I want to know what’s going on. I
walk up to the vending machine and they had autographed it with the following four letters,
N I G G. So, I probably don’t have to say what the next two letters would probably,
were probably going to be before they were interrupted. That word is hateful, it’s
harmful and it’s hurtful. Racism? Or just a mere pigment of my own imagination? Think
about Trayvon Martin in Sanford, Florida and what his family endured. Think about Michael
Brown in Ferguson, Missouri and even think in our own backyard here in Rochester, the
threats and the hate and the discrimination that our own Mayor Lovely Warren, a former
student of mine, has to endure every day. Her safety is threatened constantly. Acts
of racism? Or just a mere pigment of each of our individual and collective racism? Now
I can tell you countless stories that I’ve experienced, my family, my friends or other
people who have black or brown skin and you might look at me today and think, she’s
an angry black woman with a chip on her shoulder and has something to prove but I stand before
you today as the Chief Executive Officer of a public school district. I’ve testified
before the United State Congress and asked for seventy five million, of which sixty five
was funded. I have a doctorate, two master’s degrees and a bachelors. Two of my degrees
come from the University of Rochester and when I walk into a business establishment
and I go to buy something, this is what people see. They question me. They follow me and
they certainly judge me by the color of my skin rather than the content of my character.
Racism? Or just a mere pigment of my imagination? Sam Cook, many, many years ago wrote the following
words, “I Was Born by the River in a Little Tent and Just like the River I’ve Been Running.
It’s been a Long, Long Way Coming but a Change is going to come. Oh, yes it is.”
So if we are to actualize those words, we must be bold enough, we must be courageous
enough and we must be strong enough to leave the psychological, the emotional, the physical,
the environmental and even spiritual comfort zone that we tend to reside in. We must do
something. Now, I’m a realist. I know that I can’t do everything but I can certainly
do something and I refuse to let the fact that there are things that I can’t do interfere
with the things that I can do. So, distinguished jury, I leave you with one final question.
Will you break your silence and what will you do?
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