Hamilton Magazine - Winter-Spring 2021

SPECIAL EDITION . Edited by EDVIGE JEAN-FRANÇOIS ’90

HAMILTON Magazine

Winter–Spring 2021

WE ARE HAMILTON 1

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THINGS YOU’LL LEARN THINGS YOU’LL LEARN ‘The Talk’ is Real As he rises through the ranks in real estate property management, Joshua Bruff ’05 is often reminded that he is Black. His anecdotes prompt the question: What would you do in the same scenarios?

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The Struggle Goes On From learning of MLK’s assassination on his fifth birthday to becoming a highly influential sports agent, Mason Ashe ’85 never moved his “eyes off the prize.” PAGE 22

From Where They Enter Nichole Bowman-Glover ’93 shares the story of heading to the polls with her daughter and mother to vote in the 2020 presidential election, while reflecting on how three generations of women have each felt the sting of racism. PAGE 38

Art Has Power Following the death of George Floyd, people worldwide gathered to protest racial injustice. Sakhile Matlhare ’10 was one of them.

In Germany, she is co-founder of an art gallery that addresses issues of inequality, racism, and power imbalances. PAGE 52

Empathy is in the Cards Through his personal journey, Michael Tennant ’04 shows how individual healing can lead to spreading empathy. He is the creator of Actually Curious, a card game that furthers his company’s mission of advocating for progress in diversity and mental health and wellness. PAGE 64

On the Cover

Hamiltonians whose stories appear throughout this special edition ILLUSTRATION BY KIRUBEL TESFAYE ’21

THIS PAGE: A Black Lives Matter demonstration in Frankfurt, Germany, June 2020 PHOTO BY ANA PAULA DOS SANTOS

VIEW FROM COLLEGE HILL

Toward a New Order of Justice

BY DAV ID W IPPM AN COL L EG E PR ESID EN T

E NANCY L. FORD

ACH GENERATION, IT SEEMS, has at least one catalyzing moment when many people respond to racial injustice with outrage. In 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination, along with the murders of other civil rights leaders, was one such moment. Late last spring, the violent death of George Floyd at the hands of the police was another.

While I cannot speak directly to what happened at Hamilton in the 1960s, John Chandler, Hamilton’s president from 1968 to 1973, sensed on campus “a troubling despair and cynicism about the character and direction of American society,” driven by anger at the war in Vietnam and the slow pace of progress on civil rights. Echoing Dr. King, President Chandler noted that “[m]illions of Americans — the black, the poor, the young — have decided to cash in the promissory notes of justice, freedom, and equality that have been issued by our basic institutions” but not delivered. He ended by sharing his belief “that a new order of justice will be achieved …”

I am dismayed that our society has not made greater progress toward that new order.

We have all witnessed the pain, frustration, anger, and disbelief that followed the killings of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Rayshard Brooks, and so many others, and it is vital that all of us work to combat racism in all of its manifestations.

This special issue of Hamilton magazine is part of a much broader effort to help engage our community on issues of race. I am grateful to Edvige Jean-François ’90, a veteran producer who has worked for CNN

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and the Associated Press, for serving as our guest editor, and to the more than two dozen Black alumni and community members who contributed to this issue. They give voice to what it means to them to be Black in America.

Their words do not describe the sentiments or experiences of everyone, and we recognize that members of other groups suffer discrimination and bigotry as well, but we hope our contributors’ reflections spark conversations and concrete actions.

Last June, I committed $1 million over five years and established an Advisory Council with broad representation to address diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) at Hamilton. In weekly meetings, members of the council studied Hamilton’s prior DEI efforts, met with individuals and representatives from various groups on campus, and tapped the expertise and independent perspective of a DEI consultant, who offered insights and recommendations based on what she heard during listening sessions she hosted with members of our community. The result is a series of proposals [hamilton.edu/DEImessages] to create a more fully inclusive and equitable community at Hamilton. Their focus — and mine — is to identify steps we can take at Hamilton to implement structural changes that help foster “a community where all individuals, without exception, feel valued, empowered, and treated fairly.”

Our efforts are driven by our responsi­ bility to educate the next generation of leaders who will help usher in that “new order of justice” President Chandler hoped for so many years ago.

We welcome your feedback and advice. n

BRIAN HUBBLE

COMMON GROUND

THE TRUSTEES Stephen I. Sadove ’73, P’07,’10,’13, Chair Robert E. Delaney, Jr. ’79, Vice Chair Linda E. Johnson ’80, Vice Chair

DAYS-MASSOLO CENTER

CELEBRATING

10 YEARS The Days-Massolo Center facilitates student community organizing, leads inclusive educational initiatives, and amplifies the marginalized voices of those striving to make the Hamilton experience more equitable. hamilton.edu/dmc

CHARTER TRUSTEES Aron J. Ain ’79, P’09,’11 Mason P. Ashe ’85 Manal Ataya ’01 Richard Bernstein ’80 Harold W. Bogle ’75, P’14 Peter B. Coffin ’81, P’14 Julia K. Cowles ’84 Carol T. Friscia K’77 Amy Owens Goodfriend ’82 Philip L. Hawkins ’78 David P. Hess ’77 Gregory T. Hoogkamp ’82 Lea Haber Kuck ’87, P’24 Sharon D. Madison ’84 Christopher P. Marshall ’90, P’23 Robert S. Morris ’76, P’16,’17 Daniel T.H. Nye ’88, P’24 Montgomery G. Pooley ’84, P’16,’19 Ronald R. Pressman ’80 Imad I. Qasim ’79 R. Christopher Regan ’77, P’08 Nancy Roob ’87 Alexander C. Sacerdote ’94 Jack R. Selby ’96 David M. Solomon ’84, P’16 David Wippman Srilata Zaheer ALUMNI TRUSTEES Betsy G. Bacot ’84 Aditya Bhasin ’94 Johannes P. Burlin ’87 Mark T. Fedorcik ’95 Ann E. Goizueta ’90, P’22 James E. Hacker ’81, P’19,’20 John Hadity ’83 Alison M. Hill ’87 Daniel I. Rifkin ’88, P’23 Greg M. Schwartz ’94 Kathleen O’Connor Stewart ’84 Sharon S. Walker ’90 LIFE TRUSTEES Henry W. Bedford II ’76 David W. Blood ’81, P’12 Brian T. Bristol P’11 Christina E. Carroll P’90 Gerald V. Dirvin ’59, P’84, GP’17 Sean K. Fitzpatrick ’63, P’87 Lee C. Garcia ’67 Eugenie A. Havemeyer GP’00 Joel W. Johnson ’65, P’93 Kevin W. Kennedy ’70 † A.G. Lafley ’69 † George F. Little II ’71, P’04 David E. Mason ’61, P’93,’96, GP’24 Arthur J. Massolo ’64, P’93 Donald R. Osborn P’86, GP’16 Mary Burke Partridge P’94 John G. Rice ’78 Howard J. Schneider ’60, P’85,’87,’89, GP’17,’21 Thomas J. Schwarz ’66, P’01 A. Barrett Seaman ’67 Nancy Ferguson Seeley GP’17 Chester A. Siuda ’70, P’06 Susan E. Skerritt K’77, P’11 Charles O. Svenson ’61, P’00 Thomas J. Tull ’92, P’13 Susan Valentine K’73 Jack Withiam, Jr. ’71, P’16,’20 Jaime E. Yordán ’71 † Chairmen Emeriti PRESIDENT OF THE ALUMNI ASSOCIATION Josie M. Collier ’97, P’14

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COMMENTS

HAMILTON MAGAZINE WINTER-SPRING 2021 VOLUME 86, NO. 1

GUEST EDITOR Edvige Jean-François ’90 (edvige@alumni.hamilton.edu) EDITOR Stacey J. Himmelberger P’15,’22 (shimmelb@hamilton.edu) SENIOR WRITER Maureen A. Nolan (manolan@hamilton.edu) ART DIRECTOR & DESIGNER Mark M. Mullin DESIGN ASSISTANT Vanessa L. Colangelo PRODUCTION MANAGER Mona M. Dunn PRODUCTION ASSISTANT Phyllis L. Jackson WEB COORDINATORS David K. Herringshaw Esena J. Jackson VICE PRESIDENT, COMMUNICATIONS AND MARKETING Melissa Farmer Richards ASSOCIATE VICE PRESIDENT, COMMUNICATIONS Michael J. Debraggio P’07

CONTACT Email: editor@hamilton.edu Phone: 866-729-0313 © 2021, Trustees of Hamilton College

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Goodbye 2020, Hello Class Notes STAC EY J. HIM M EL B ER G ER P’1 5,’22 E D I TO R

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O, YOU HAVEN’T been dropped from our mailing list, nor can we blame the U.S. Postal Service. It really has been a little over a year since the last edition of Hamilton magazine arrived in your mailbox. Here’s what we’ve been up to during this hiatus, and we’re excited to announce what’s to come.

Last March, just a few weeks after we started work on what was to be the Spring 2020 edition, COVID-19 forced the College to send students home to finish the semester remotely. As faculty pivoted to online instruction — and we all became fluent in Zooming — the Communications Office opted to forgo two issues of the magazine in order to divert funds to the pressing need of ensuring campus would be safe for students to return in the fall.

That’s not to say we didn’t work to keep you up-to-date and connected. It’s been truly inspiring to see how many of you read the Hamilton Headlines e-newsletter, interact with the College’s social media channels, or participate in virtual events hosted by the Alumni Office. If ever the word “Hamily” rings true, it’s been during this pandemic.

Just one day after the Class of 2020 celebrated its virtual Commencement, George Floyd took his last breath under the knee of a white police officer in Minneapolis. Although College Hill remained mostly empty, Hamiltonians joined the global discussion, many expressing shock and anger.

Knowing that we wanted to address the issue of racial injustice and inequality in the magazine, we reached out to veteran journalist and past magazine contributor Edvige Jean-François ’90. We hoped she might offer some advice on how to approach such a complex topic; instead we were thrilled when she agreed to take over as guest editor. Edvige spent six months recruiting and working with alumni whose stories appear in this special edition.

Their personal and political opinions reflect their individual experiences; they do not claim to represent everyone. This issue comes at a time when the entire nation is grappling with race relations, and many are asking, “Where do we go from here?” We’d love to hear your comments and reflections as we consider future discussions.

Finally, when Hamilton magazine resumes its regular

format and schedule this summer, you will find a new publication — Glade & Glen — arriving with it. In response to reader feedback, we are happy to announce the return of printed class notes and obituaries. The Alumni Programs Office is working with class correspondents, who are in the process of reaching out to classmates to solicit news as they’ve done in the past. Watch for more details in the coming months. Alumni memorial tributes continue to be published online at hamilton.edu/necrology. n

Send your letters, story ideas, and feedback to editor@hamilton.edu or Hamilton magazine, 198 College Hill Road, Clinton, NY 13323.

We welcome comments on topics discussed in the magazine or on any subject of possible interest to the College community. Please include your name and class year, and whether you intend for your letter to be published. We reserve the right to judge whether a letter is appropriate for publication and to edit for accuracy and length.

GUEST EDITOR’S LETTER

BY EDVIGE JEAN-FRANÇOIS ’90 Award-winning journalist Edvige Jean-François started her career at ABC News in New York.

She first contributed to Hamilton magazine when she wrote about her experience as one of the first CNN journalists to cover the devastating 2010 earthquake in Haiti, where she was born. A storyteller at heart, she has traveled extensively to produce news and features, and has covered the White House for Associated Press Television News. As a journalism speaker, she has conducted lectures and seminars for the Inter American Press Association and USIA, COREY REESE

formerly a communications and cultural arm of the U.S. State Department. She completed a master’s degree and a postgraduate fellowship at the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism.

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HEN I TRAVELED TO GHANA in February 2020, the deadliness of COVID-19 had not yet fully registered for much of the world. We had no sense of the collective, global grieving we would experience — no inkling of the unfathomable level of death coming our way.

“Pandemic” had not yet become part of our universal lexicon.

I did not just want to go to Ghana. I needed to go. I was not setting off on a grand adventure. It was deeper than that. I felt the pull of my ancestors calling me.

You see, the Ghanaian government had declared 2019 the “Year of Return” for the African diaspora. Officials had invited people of African descent to return to Ghana for a spiritual journey to mark the 400th anniver-

sary of the first enslaved Africans to arrive in the United States, in Virginia, in 1619.

The call to ancestral sons and daughters of Africa was to commemorate the resilience of the victims of the transatlantic slave trade “scattered and displaced through the world,” organizers said. Thousands of Black people from across the globe heeded that call in 2019. I was not able to go. 2020 was to be my pilgrimage to pierce the mystery of an amorphous ancestral past, to get to know myself better. At least that was my hope.

My main purpose was to visit Elmina Castle and the nearby Cape Coast Castle, fortresses that began as trading posts in the 15th and 17th centuries, respectively, and later came to symbolize human depravity and greed. The castles were among dozens

of slave factories on the West African Coast, where European human traffickers over the centuries warehoused millions of Africans in dark, fetid dungeons, sometimes for months.

While this may be difficult to read, it is harder to write, as I recall what I learned on my visit a little over a year ago.

On their final march out of the dungeons, the captives were herded through the Door of No Return, the last portal before permanently leaving African soil. They boarded waiting ships, “floating coffins” that would take them across the Atlantic to the Americas. Those who survived the harrowing Middle Passage were sold into slavery to work on plantations, from sunup to sundown.

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GUEST EDITOR’S LETTER

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It is hard to fathom that this evil operated like a conveyor belt of human chattel across Europe, Africa, and the Americas for several centuries.

We continue to live in the shadow of slavery, not because we discuss it too much, but because we acknowledge it too little.

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HREE MONTHS AFTER I returned, and still haunted by my trip to Ghana, I watched a Minneapolis police officer, brimming with bravado, his hands in his pockets, kill George Floyd on Memorial Day, as if an unremarkable and routine aspect of his job — all in a day’s work.

This was not the first time we had seen institutionalized terror weaponized on a Black man.

Since the beating of Rodney King, 30 years ago this past March, and more frequently with the help of eyewitness cell phone videos and the power of social media, Americans have had ample opportunity to witness the failure of law enforcement to police its own.

George Floyd’s death immediately inscribed him into the annals of American horror stories, those unforgettable “Where were you when ...” moments akin to Pearl Harbor, 9/11, and the assassinations of JFK, MLK, and RFK. We can now add the Capitol insurrection to the list. Mr. Floyd’s martyrdom, if you will, for practicing the religion of being Black, brought about a seismic shift almost overnight. White people, in particular, witnessed and overwhelmingly believed what Black people had been saying for decades: racism is real, and it is systemic.

With the resulting pain, rage, and summer of protests came a global reckoning that brought mea culpas from institutions across the globe. One stark example of this massive wave of public pronouncements, or carefully crafted virtue signaling, instantly took my mind back to Ghana.

When I was touring the male dungeons at Cape Coast Castle, above which sat the relic of a church — yes, a church — one of the tour guides told us that some companies that exist today still reap benefits from profits gained in the slave trade. Hearing this took my breath for a moment, as I stood in an

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actual dungeon where human beings had been kept to be bartered and bought. The guide mentioned the British insurance giant Lloyd’s of London as an example. Back then, the company insured merchant ships and consequently those with human cargo. It was the first time I had heard such a connection put in quite that way. In my experience, slavery and its victims and profiteers are usually viewed through the lens of the distant past.

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ESS THAN A MONTH AFTER THE killing of George Floyd, Lloyd’s of London apologized for its “shameful” role in the slave trade, citing events that spotlighted “systemic and structural racism” and promising to implement programs and review its history of racism. I had an immediate aha moment and remembered what the guide had said about the company’s enrichment from slavery.

Imagine, an apology more than 300 years in the making for the pillaging of Black bodies. Why did it take one more Black body for that apology, that of George Floyd?

It was so very little and so very late. Yet, as more institutions, college presidents, Fortune 500 companies, professional sports leagues, friends, and colleagues came forward to acknowledge the destructive social cost and

injury of entrenched systemic racism, and the human damage it causes, it became clear that it mattered. James Baldwin said, “Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced.” We continue to live in the shadow of slavery, not because we discuss it too much, but because we acknowledge it too little. The quick-fix and agile American mindset that has served us well as the world leader in innovation has also imperiled our ability to look squarely at the ignoble parts of our past. America’s Founding Fathers can be lauded as visionary architects of an American promise forged on ideals of liberty and equality and branded as hypocrites who owned slaves. Yet sometimes we find ourselves debating complicity based on how few or many slaves they owned, how “well” they may have treated them, or whether they only brokered transactions.

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O HERE WE ARE AT ANOTHER torturous inflection point in America, more than a decade after hopes have faded for that post-racial America we thought we had welcomed that Tuesday in November; instead, white supremacy is uncloaked and unleashed at the highest levels of our government. It should not be a surprise that every time we get here, a large majority of

GUEST EDITOR’S LETTER

Black Americans will link the racism we still face as proof that the vestiges of slavery are still in the marrow of America’s bones. Some white Americans, on their part, may wonder why we are still talking about slavery, whether its champions or abolitionists. Even the most empathetic white allies who work tirelessly for justice in BIPOC communities here at home and abroad can fail to see the linkage.

Our white family members, colleagues, and friends have had the privilege of pinning slavery on their ancestors, relegating it to the dustbin of history. The Black diaspora, on the other hand, has had the burden of carrying the stamp, the “scarlet letter” of slavery. Black people should not carry this history alone. We have done it; still, it is too heavy a load. We cannot forsake truth for a flawed reconciliation that continues to implode generation after generation. Where is that space where Black and white Americans can talk about slavery as co-descendants of an evil system, even while it is the system that contributed to America’s might and, directly or indirectly, our own personal privilege, or lack thereof?

To take a bit of license with the words of Mr. Baldwin and President Lincoln, how will we put out this fire and “the fire next time?”

And who are the “better angels” to lift us out of this morass? Is it us, whether at the dinner table, in our communities, or at the highest levels of power and influence? Since last spring, I have come to embrace the unifying “Hamily” slogan. I think we could all use some Hamily, especially in the workplace, whether we are in a cubicle, corner office, C-suite, or, most recently, the virtual office.

I know our alumni community is not a racial, social, or political monolith. Our Hamilton motto is, after all, Know Thyself. I am well aware not everyone believes systemic racism exists nor supports a new or changed perspective on race. I also know that for the first time in a long time many who can effectuate the systematic top-to-bottom changes and take corrective action are listening.

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N THIS ISSUE, A CADRE OF POWerful, diverse, individual Black voices share stories of their American journey, the professional heights they reached and are still reaching, the racial roadblocks they encountered, as poet Langston Hughes put it, life paths too often littered with “tacks … and splinters, and boards torn up,” that did not need to be there, such as being blocked simply for trying to go to school. I believe their personal essays are instructive for the anti-racist and pluralistic world we need.

They are building bridges through art, business, social work, entrepreneurship, and scholarship. I am delighted they chose to participate. This issue is by no means a catch-all for our diverse BIPOC communities. Some of our experiences are similar.

Some are not. I hope this opens the door for all alumni who want their voices heard.

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E ARE HAMILTON. WE ALL have the Hill as a seminal shared experience.

By providence, birthright legacy, the intestinal fortitude of hardworking parents, committed donors, a robust Admission Office, the efforts of a Clara Christine Johnson, a Phyllis Breland, an ancestor “standing in the gap” as one of our contributors puts it — we got to the Hill. The many professors and friends who supported me at Hamilton far outnumber those who sought to diminish me when I was there. I long ago banished the naysayers from my thoughts, saving space instead for memories of the wonderful people I encountered at Hamilton, who not only enriched my experience, but helped shape the beginnings of my worldview. Those who walked beside me, my BLSU family, my lifelong Black and Latina sisterhood, who made sure the wind was always at my back and the sun on my face, as the oft-quoted Celtic blessing goes, they are the ones I remember.

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EING GUEST EDITOR OF THIS special edition caused me to review the archives of my life at Hamilton, at least the pieces I could find. I looked through old photo albums and blue books that made me realize I once knew, and apparently cared, what enjambment is in a poem.

Those of you who took 17th-Century English Literature likely knew, too. I discovered you can write an entire paper on just one passage from Book II of Milton’s Paradise Lost.

I also found notes about a visit the forceof-nature Angela Davis made to the Hill in 1987 for Women’s Energy Weekend. It was in the shadow of an incident during which racial slurs were hurled at some students.

She spoke out against racism, encouraging us to “get out there and build coalitions that can shake this country and turn things around.”

More than 30 years later, some Hamilton students still face racial bias. It was unacceptable then and is unacceptable now. It is clear we have more coalitions to build. Many fellow alumni are doing this important work through the legal system, in government, as foot soldiers for voter and worker rights, in business, at schools and universities, in medicine, and a whole host of arenas.

We are in the middle of what feels like the divided states of America. Whether you believe we are standing on the heap of what once was American democracy or what once was American exceptionalism, I know I would like to be standing on the heap of what once was American racism.

Decades from now future generations will read about this time of upheaval in our country and the world — those who cowered, those who met the challenge, those who raised the bar. My hope is that future Hamilton students can look back at this moment as the time Hamilton and its alumni helped create a new, pluralistic vision that could be a roadmap for our entire nation, perhaps even our world. That would really be something.

We can do it. We are Hamilton. n

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JORG MEYER

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THE BLACK

BY JOSHUA BRUFF ’05

BLACK

EXPERIENCE IN

As vice president of property management at Raider Hill, a real estate investment and advisory firm, Joshua Bruff manages retail and office properties throughout the U.S. and Puerto Rico. He oversees all third-party vendors, including facility and property management, accounting,

and delivery of redevelopment projects.

Previously, Bruff was a senior member of the property management team at Starwood Retail Partners and a regional general manager at DDR Corp. He is a member of the International Council of

&

WHITE

and insurance, and assists in the execution

Shopping Centers and Urban Land Institute.

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“AIM HIGH, JOSH. ONLY YOUR BEST IS GOOD ENOUGH,” MY PARENTS WOULD OFTEN SAY.

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AM A FIRST-GENERATION AMERIcan, raised in a modest suburb of Hartford, Conn. Growing up, I attended private preparatory schools. Immediately

following my time at Hamilton, a best-inclass publicly traded real estate investment trust recruited me to join its management training program. At just 23, as real estate markets were reaching all-time highs, I was exposed to amazing domestic and international development projects and had the opportunity to excel professionally. Most recently, I accepted a dream opportunity in New York City to operate a 15-million-square-foot retail portfolio. While achieving the standard milestones by which many young people measure material success, I also was periodically reminded of the inevitability of my parents’ warning — that American society would subtly, or sometimes flagrantly, remind me that I am Black.

This is neither a sob story nor an opportunistic means to air my grievances. I am sharing

◀ TOP TO BOTTOM: Josh and his father, Leroy Bruff, following a Hamilton football game at Steuben Field, 2003 The two together again on College Hill after a College Choir concert, 2004 The Bruff family, including Josh, parents Hope and Leroy, sister Allison, brother Christopher, sister-in-law Kimberly, and nephew and niece Jack and Michaela, 2019

my personal experience, the Black experience, hoping it finds resonance in, perhaps, a single reader. I’m obliged to share what that means to me, what I feel, and what changes I wish to see in the world so that other Black experiences can be enhanced and become more equitable and not be exceptionalized.

When Hamilton magazine invited me to share my views on last summer’s uprisings following George Floyd’s brutal killing, I felt both honored and overwhelmed. The burden of responsibility feels significant. To speak my truth will ultimately be to some the truth of a larger Black culture. Since I began writing this, our country has experienced several cataclysmic events: the continued demonstrations in Kenosha, Wisc., the insurrection against the U.S. Capitol, and ongoing coronavirus-related deaths. The last year has left me little time to process and reflect before the next crisis. Events in any other year that would have dominated headlines hardly get proper airtime before being forgotten.

As you read the following anecdotes on my Black experience in America, please pause and ask yourself the following questions:

How does this make you feel?

What would you do if you were me in the same scenario?

How would you feel if this happened to your child?

What can you do to change the status quo for others who are perpetually subjected to demeaning actions?

We are at an important crossroads of morality and social responsibility in America.

We have immeasurable power to upend longstanding systemic biases within our academic, corporate, and economic institutions.

We have always had that power; do we now have the will to actually do it?

‘THE TALK’ A RITE OF PASSAGE FOR SURVIVAL Growing up, my God-fearing father often gave me pointed lectures on what to do if I were ever confronted by a police officer. He taught me to give pious obedience to the police because a single misstep in my interaction could place me in handcuffs, or worse, in a body bag. In the Black culture, we call this lecture “THE TALK.”

Father: Ask permission to move, if you feel compelled to do so, but mek [make] sure yuh [you] nuh [don’t] move! Keep calm, and do not panic. Believe it or not, the police officer is more afraid of you than you are of him.

These plainspoken conversations were blueprints on how to survive another day. They intensified when I got my driver’s license at 17. Using my father’s heavy accent, as he weaved in and out of Jamaican patois, I vividly recall our conversations going something like this:

Father: They’ll shoot you.

Me: Daddy, may I take the car to visit my friend?

Father: I won’t prevent you from visiting your friends [in the neighboring white communities], but you need fi [to] understand that an officer will treat you differently than your white friends.

Me: Okay, yes, Daddy.

Father: First and foremost, never make choices that would place your fate in the hands of the law. The law is not on your side.

Therefore, obey all traffic signals, watch the speeding, use your turn signals, and don’t drive distracted.

Me: Huh? I mean, what do you mean?

Me: (Eyes widen) What do you mean they’ll shoot me?

Father: (Frightened eyes widen; he’s at a temporary loss for words.)

They’ll shoot you! They won’t take any chances because they consider young Black men and boys to be armed and dangerous.

Dem [they] will shot [yes, he said shot] you down. Don’t give them an excuse!

Me: Okay, Daddy, I got it.

Father: (Still upset) I’m serious! Now, repeat what I said back to me.

Me: (Eyes roll, sighs, and quickly recites the steps) Father: Good. Do you know this could be the last time I see you?

Me: Yes, I understand, Daddy.

Me: Yes, Daddy.

Father: Now watch the speeding. I love you.

Father: Now, if they pull you over while driving, make sure you do the following: Turn off the car’s ignition. Remove your license from your wallet and the registration from the glove compartment. Do it before the officer gets to your car, and place them on the driver’s side dashboard. Boy, are you hearing me?

Me: I love you too, Daddy. See you later.

Me: Yes, Daddy.

Father: Okay. Next, place your hands on the steering wheel at 10 and 2, and DON’T mek [make] the officer tell you fi [to] do so.

Greet the officer with respect, and watch your tone. You say, “Yes, sir. No, sir.” Nothing more. Nothing less. And you always maintain eye contact with him.

Me: Okay, Daddy.

By and large, that is how “The Talk” often went in the Bruff home, although I am confident you would find few, if any, Black households in America that do not have a similar discourse between a concerned parent and an innocent child. The burden of being a Black parent is a heavy load to bear. Black parents may have a rough delivery, but their words of love and wisdom can send chills from the back of your neck to your spine. I am not a father, but I am an uncle, a proud godfather, and a mentor to several Black men and boys. I take no pleasure in reminding them how a police encounter could potentially be their final encounter, period. Since our emancipation, these generational anxieties have been passed down for generations and routinely recited like biblical scripture. Yes, you better believe it, the fear in our culture is very, very real.

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Josh with fellow members of Hamilton’s Buffers a cappella group, 2004 ▼

Josh at one of the shopping malls he managed in San Juan, Puerto Rico, 2013

‘TELL ME EVERYTHING’

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FELT THE REALIZATION OF MY ethnicity again during a job interview. I

had applied to be general manager of a new luxury mall in the Caribbean. The hiring manager, a white woman and also head of business operations, flew me in for an interview and Myers-Briggs personality test. Once I completed the test, she said, “Tell me everything about you. I want you to tell me about your parents; tell me about your siblings; tell me where they went to school and what they do now. Tell me about your life. I want to know it all. In this organization, we like to know that our employees really fit in.”

Naïve and anxious to win her over, I fell for her illegal questions and told her everything. I thought if I could just be open, I would likely get the job because, prior to that, I had accumulated a lot of success and was making significant advances in the shopping center industry by managing complex portfolios and redevelopment projects in the U.S. and Puerto Rico.

“Explain to me how you got your job,” she said. “You’re not even a native Spanish speaker.

I don’t understand how your company would give you so much responsibility at your age. (I was 32 at the time.) Do you understand that many people far older than you say working for this firm is like going to an Ivy League school?”

I answered every one of her backhanded questions. I shared all my professional accomplishments and insecurities, and none of my answers satisfied her. Two-and-half hours later, she ended the interview by saying, “You know, I really like you, but you’re a risk. I thank you for your time. It was truly a pleasure.”

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That interview was the most humiliating experience of my career.

In hindsight, had I had any self-respect or awareness of what that hiring manager was essentially telling me (you’re not worthy; you’re an imposter) or what she was doing to me (undermining my aptitude despite my empirical success), I would have walked out of the interview. Nevertheless, I gained valuable insight into how hiring managers and employees use implicit bias to propagate discriminatory com-

“

Growing up, my God-fearing father ... taught me to give pious obedience to the police because a single misstep in my interaction could place me in handcuffs, or worse, in a body bag. In the Black culture, we call this lecture ‘The Talk.’

pany cultures. This legacy of bad business can no longer be ignored, and I am encouraged to see many global corporations taking committed action to remove people who perpetuate these behaviors.

However, sometimes we confront these social obstacles on our own doorsteps.

THERE GOES THE NEIGHBORHOOD

A

FEW SUNDAYS BEFORE THE pandemic halted the world, I arrived in my neighborhood at 5 a.m. I live on the Upper East Side, a wealthy, predominantly white area in New York City, which is usually quiet at that hour, give or take a few people walking their pets. My home is 10 minutes from Central Park. On this particular morning, three blocks short of my apartment, I stopped at a local diner. On my frigid walk home, I was approximately 30-40

yards behind a white male. By the third block, I realized we were headed to the same place.

“Okay, cool,” I thought. I understood the situational context and the time of day. “Don’t hover over the man. It’s late.” I patiently waited for him to enter the building, but he yelled, “No!” as he spotted me looking at him and hurriedly shut the door. This man’s reaction did not surprise me. He’s white and visibly frightened.

I am physically bigger and was dressed head-totoe in black. I slowly approached the entrance, and there he was, standing behind the locked door in a defensive stance. I kindly explained to him I was a resident of the building and dangled my keys.

“No! You are not coming in here,” he said.

Again, I said, “Sir, I am a resident of this building. These are my keys.”

“Back up, or I will F-you up and call the police,” he shouted.

Unbeknownst to him, I am panicked with rapid-fire thoughts, such as, “What if he calls the police?” “What am I to do in this scenario?”

JEROME HORTON

I was tired, getting colder by the second, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go besides my apartment on the top floor. So, how do I resolve this situation without getting the police involved? I’ve never been arrested in my life.

What could this entitled man, who will not let me enter my own building, tell the police about me? I can’t force my way past him. Seriously, what am I supposed to do?

I continued to plead with the stranger to let me in. (By the way, I had never seen him before either.) I lost patience and begged him

bics we endure before we act are wearisome.

Was I polite enough in my exchange? Did I raise my voice? Was my King’s English precise?

Did I smile … you know, to make them feel safe? What is my body language? Am I walking behind a white woman too fast or too closely?

What am I wearing?

Like “The Talk,” Black people internalize these scenarios when dealing with the police, but these situations repeatedly manifest in the workplace, in our neighborhoods, our homes, on the subway, or even as we’re birdwatching at

to move beyond the second locked door of the entryway so I could prove to him the keys in my hand were mine. The man relented his guard when I finally proved my case, but his hateful eyes said otherwise. He followed me into the elevator and demanded to know my floor and unit number. I ignored him in the politest New York way I could.

“Yo, not today, man. You will not talk to me,” I said.

My inner dialogue fired up again. This man seriously did not think I belonged at my residence. Why? Is this the type of assumption that led George Zimmerman, a 28-year-old mixed-race man, to confront 17-year-old Trayvon Martin, a Black high school student walking home from the store? Zimmerman gunned down the teen on Feb. 26, 2012.

Although George Zimmerman was charged with second-degree murder and manslaughter, a jury acquitted him based on Florida’s “Stand Your Ground” law, sparking a wave of civil nationwide demonstrations and the birth of #BlackLivesMatter on social media.

Black people abide by different social codes in America, and most of us do so begrudgingly for our own survival. The psychological aero-

the park.

Trayvon Martin, a 17-year-old who was fatally shot in 2012 by a neighborhood-watch volunteer as he walked home from a convenience store in Sanford, Fla.

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H A M I LTO N

ALLYSHIP IS A PRACTICE, NOT A BUZZWORD

M

Y FELLOW HAMILTONIANS, there is a certain type of person who needs to hear this message, and why can’t it start with you? I am not asking you to make a grand gesture nor make sweeping changes to your lives. I challenge you to make conscious decisions to speak out on behalf of those who are historically underserved and mistreated. I have benefited from white allyship. Here are just a handful of instances where Hamiltonians stood in my corner and helped me rise.

The late Hamilton drama guru, Carole Bellini-Sharp, the Margaret Bundy Scott Professor of Theatre, told me I looked weak when I spoke with my hands in my pocket and rocked my body side-to-side: “Show your hands and stand up straight. Why would you make yourself smaller than you are? Your body and personality are art. Why hide them?” Little did she know, her advice told me to be myself instead of what the world had been telling me.

Two-time football captain Sam Bowlby ’04 said, “You’re good, but you can be better. Let’s be lifting partners and watch film together in the offseason.” Little did he know, his exemplary leadership taught me how to foster a culture of growth and dedicate my life to serving others.

“

Lauren Johnson ’06, in response to last summer’s nationwide protests: ‘I hear you; I am with you, and I believe you. What can I do?’ Little did she know, she told me I mattered and she cared.

Alex Morrison ’05 personally invited me to audition for the Buffers men’s a cappella group: “Hey, man, I noticed you’re in choir, but you didn’t try out for Buffers. I want you to be a part of the group.” Little did he know, he made me feel like I belonged and would add value to any community I desired.

At football training camp, Jay Rishel ’06 told me to contact an alum who had founded a real estate investment fund, which ignited my real estate career. “Bruff, what do you want to do when you grow up? I know a guy. His name is James Schoff [’68]. Please contact him.”

Little did Jay know, he reinforced to me that I was enough.

Lauren Johnson ’06, in response to last summer’s nationwide protests: “I hear you; I am with you, and I believe you. What can I do?”

Little did she know, she told me I mattered and she cared.

If you do not feel your actions and words can improve a person’s self-esteem or trajectory, think again. Though we face big chal-

lenges, I have hope for America’s future because I was raised by several lifelong influencers who told me I was enough, that I have a bearing.

My friends, for those of you who have not even begun the journey, make productive changes to your thinking and behaviors. Open your eyes and hearts. Dare to trailblaze, defy, and amaze.

Carissima. n

▼

The Buffers perform the national anthem at a Hamilton football game, 2004. Josh is in uniform; to his left is Alex Morrison ’05, who encouraged Josh to join the Buffers.

15

STEVE BYRD

lessons from a legend 16 16

H HA AMMI LI LT TO ON N

INTERVIEW CONDUCTED BY AMARI LEIGH ’21 AMARI LEIGH is a world politics and French major. She works at the Levitt Center, serves as managing editor of The Spectator, and co-chairs the Advisory Council, a group of students, alumni, trustees, faculty, staff, and senior campus and local leaders that works to help Hamilton stand in greater solidarity with Black and other historically underrepresented community members.

i

HAMILTON TIMELINE DURING C. CHRISTINE JOHNSON’S TENURE

1971

JOHNSON arrives on College Hill as director of the Higher Education Opportunity Program for Hamilton and Kirkland colleges.

If ever there was a moment to draw from lessons past, it is now.

COULD NOT MISS THE OPPORTUNITY TO speak with a Hamilton pioneer. With exactly 70 years between us, C. Christine Johnson shared decades of wisdom I could never find in a book. She was a fierce advocate for diversity and inclusion on campus.

Hamilton continues to celebrate her legacy with The Voices of Color Lecture Series, established in her honor.

From 1971 to 2002, Johnson served as founding director of the Arthur O. Eve Higher Education Opportunity Program at Hamilton and Kirkland, a program focused on increasing racial and economic diversity at the colleges. Students who knew her best called her “Ms. J.” She grew up in segregated Chicago during the 1930s. As a child, she attended a Black Catholic school and went on to graduate from officer candidate school in 1954. She spent the next 20 years in the U.S. Air Force, where she won the Air Force Commendation Medal and the Bronze Star for her service in Vietnam. Reflecting on her time as a woman in the military, Johnson said, in a 2004 Michigan State University interview, “We’re going to survive; we’re going to stay. We were the trailblazers.”

Over a 30-year tenure on the Hill, she focused on creating a welcoming environment for underrepresented students, and her stature went beyond Hamilton. In 1994, former New York Governor Mario Cuomo named her an African American of Distinction for the State of New York.

The nonagenarian was often the “only one” in the room, an experience I have often encountered as a Black student at Hamilton. Our intergenerational conversation about her life journey re-energized me. It left me feeling hopeful, less pessimistic about the difficult times we are in — and, more importantly, not alone.

◀ C. Christine Johnson, founding director of Hamilton’s HEOP

1974

J. Martin Carovano named president of Hamilton College.

1978

THE final Kirkland class graduates, and Hamilton and Kirkland colleges merge.

1986

PROTESTS erupt on campus, resulting in 12 student suspensions, following a sit-in at Buttrick Hall advocating for corporate divestment from apartheid South Africa, then ruled by a white minority government that supported legal racial segregation. The faculty approved a resolution that supported lifting the student suspensions, and students signed a petition calling for President Carovano’s resignation. He resigned at the close of the 1987-88 academic year.

AMARI: I know that these are such unprecedented times. How are you doing?

MS. J: Well, I can’t stay dormant. I have to be involved. There’s a need for me to be involved today because I see things that are going on now that I dealt with 50, 60 years ago. We overcame them then, but we must overcome them again, which means we must all be involved, not just our culture, but all cultures.

The need to get involved is so important, and it’s something I know we’re definitely talking about at Hamilton. Did you always have that desire to get involved when you were growing up in Mississippi and Chicago?

When I was growing up, sweetheart, you’ve got to realize that I had no position whatsoever. There was nothing that I was allowed to do.

You’re talking to a 93-year-old.

Let’s give you a little history about me here. My father was sired by a white farmer; so consequently, he was allowed to be taught to read and to write. He was a letter carrier for the capital of Mississippi. Now, he’s carrying the mail; where can he go to the bathroom, and where can he get a drink of water? Nowhere. What we had to do as children was to find him, whenever he was on that mail route, bring water to him and something for him to eat because nowhere was there a restaurant or any type of business that would give him any food unless he was in a neighborhood that catered to people of color. So, as a young child, this was the kind of, let’s say, climate that I was in. I wanted so much out of that climate.

You were in the military during what we would now consider major moments of cultural shift in our country, like the civil rights movement, the women’s movement, Vietnam. What was your experience like as one of the only Black people and experiencing these big cultural shifts?

Actually, I would have to say that the military was the best place to be during that time of the ’50s and ’60s because the military had an obligation to be supportive of their troops. Who was it that couldn’t afford to go to college? Who was it that wasn’t getting hired by one of the large companies? It was mostly young men of color, so they chose to be in the military, where the military would educate them and be accepting of their culture.

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H A M I LTO N

There is a photo [ABOVE] of you with three of your white male colleagues in the military. You look so much in that photo like you are comfortable and like you felt like you were equal. I’m curious what it felt like to enter the military.

I had been ostracized so much. When I got the opportunity to be in an environment [with] the dominant culture, I was going to defend my culture at all cost. I was going to stand there and show them that I, and my brothers and sisters, were just as capable as they were.

And I began to get respect because I couldn’t let up at any time. Even in a casual situation, I had to still be that individual who was working on defending my culture. … I will certainly tell you, there weren’t too terribly many of us at that time. The first thing that someone would say to a woman of color who’s an officer, “Oh, are you a nurse?” No, I am not a nurse. I’m a field officer.

Some of the walls you tried to break, are you disconcerted they’re still up?

Well, yes. I am now living with a white community that once discriminated against me. And I’m happy that I’m in this environment because I can now explain to them the kinds of injustices that they were passing out. There was an incident here where an individual left her mail at the front desk. She came back to the desk and she said, “That Black guy said,” and I said, “Ma’am, couldn’t you say, ‘that young man said?’” She said, “Well, he’s Black.” And I said, “Well, you’re white. Let me explain something to you, white is one of the primary colors. You are one of the color spectrum. You are a woman of color.” She was completely mortified. And I said to her, “If you want respect, you must give respect. You must treat others just as you would like to be treated.”

1988

SCHAMBACH Center for Music and the Performing Arts opens.

I heard that you often said to your students: “If you learn it, learn it well, so you can teach it to someone.” Could you tell me where you learned that idea?

From my father. He was teaching me to read. I was mispronouncing words. He said, “Not only must you learn to pronounce the words correctly, they must be able to understand. So learn it well so that you can teach it to others.” Reading and writing is our basic form of communication, and he corrected me until the day he died. He had a vocabulary that I would love to have had.

“

... learn it well so that you can teach it to others.

1988

HARRY C. Payne inaugurated as Hamilton president.

1991

JOHNSON receives the Bell Ringer Award, presented each year to a member of the Hamilton family in recognition of contributions made to the College, its alumni, and the community.

1993

BEINECKE Student Activities Village opens, linking the north and south sides of campus.

When you arrived at Hamilton, can you tell me a bit about the environment?

When I first came to [College Hill], I came to fill in for someone. But because Kirkland closed in ’78, I went over to be part of the Hamilton community. I had a friend at Hamilton who is still a very dear friend, Tom Murphy. Murphy was a basketball coach at that time. I would say to him, “What do you think our students need to be given in the summer?” He said, “You know, Chris, we need to have a summer program, a summer program that teaches each culture about what it is we are about.”

When you first started the journey with the summer program, was there any pushback from the administration?

I had all kinds of support. I said, “Let’s figure out a way that we can open the doors to Hamilton to people who are here in your community of Clinton, Rome, Utica. Let’s not do just New York. Let’s get some diversity.” And diversity comes in many forms. It comes in culture, it comes in where you come from in the United States.

1994

EUGENE M. Tobin becomes Hamilton’s 18th president.

▼

A note of appreciation from President Gene Tobin

What were some of the key takeaways of the summer program for students?

That it’s a responsibility: If you make an appointment or if you have class, you go to class and you keep that appointment, how to live with people, how to budget your time. What can I do for someone else? What can someone else be able to do for me?

Many of the students considered you to be influential in their lives. What was it like to cultivate a relationship with these students? How did you go about that?

I had an open-door policy, and I didn’t really schedule appointments all the time. I might sit down with you on a bench on campus. I might sit outside my office or lean over a railing and talk. I made myself available.

It doesn’t matter how busy I might be, if there’s a look on your face that says, “I need you for a minute,” you must take that time. I did that quite often, where I would not keep the appointment that I had with the dean or with a faculty person because a student had stopped me. What was my purpose for being there? It was the students.

How were you able to make everyone feel like they mattered?

STEVE BYRD

I came from the military where I was dealing with 50 and 60 people as a commander, and I had to know their needs. I had learned before coming to Hamilton that I could be responsible for X number of people and involve myself and interact with them. Takes a lot of energy, but it’s necessary.

20

H A M I LTO N

1994

MARIO Cuomo presents Johnson with the Governor’s Award for African Americans of Distinction.

Ms. J, what were the hardest moments for you at Hamilton?

Leaving. Even though I wanted to, leaving was very hard for me. Something that someone did for me — I was in tears because why would anybody miss me? A young man was graduating. After graduation, he and his parents walked over to me and gave me a plaque. I’m going to read this plaque to you.

“In honor of your determination, perseverance, commitment, and your show of motherly love.

Education does not take place when you learn something known before. Education is your ability to use what you learn to be better than you were yesterday. No matter how much you know or how you learned it, the ultimate goal of education is to get greater insight into yourself. Thank you for my college education.

Love, sincerely and eternally Lamar Johnson [’99] and family.”

1995

AFTER a two-year study, Hamilton’s board announces the Residential Life Decision aimed at providing more equitable residential opportunities for men and women, and expanding social options for all students. The move means that fraternity houses would close, though private societies could remain as student organizations.

2001

C. Christine Johnson HEOP/Scholars Fund is established by former students and friends upon Ms. J’s 30th anniversary with the program.

I’ll tell you, it really brought me to my knees. I went home, and I got down on my knees to ask the Lord to give me strength to stay for a while longer, and he did [for three more years]. n

ADAM BROCKWAY

2001 As a Black student, I have benefited from Ms. J’s lasting legacy at Hamilton. She cultivated an entire community of students who lived, learned, thrived, and survived life on the Hill before me and will continue to do so long after I graduate.

I was honored to thank her for her dedication. But a “thank you” alone did not seem sufficient. Since she still preaches the need for every individual to get involved in making our community more inclusive, we need to heed her advice and learn from her example. — AL

C. Christine Johnson Voices of Color Lecture Series is created to bring to campus an influential leader of color each year. Yusef Salaam of the Central Park “Exonerated 5” spoke in 2020.

2002

JOHNSON (right), shown here with her successor and friend Phyllis Breland ’80, retires after three decades on College Hill. Under her nurturing leadership, more than 500 students graduated from the HEOP and Scholars programs.

Edvige Jean-François ’90 contributed to this interview, which was edited for length and clarity.

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In the Shadow of the

MY AWAKENING ON RACE

Struggle

BY MASON P. ASHE ’85 Mason Ashe is a sports and entertainment attorney, an NBA, WNBA, and FIBA certified sports agent, and an adjunct professor of sports law at Howard University School of Law and The Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania.

He is also director of the Summer Sports Industry Management Academy at Georgetown University. A member of Hamilton’s Board of Trustees, he earned his J.D. from The University at Buffalo School of Law.

“Caged Bird” from Shaker, Why Don’t You Sing?

by Maya Angelou © 1983. Used by permission of Random House, an imprint and division of ­Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

22

H A M I LTO N

R

ACE IS A NOTION EMBEDDED IN THE AMERICAN psyche. It is a filter through which we all see and experience our lives. Any attempt to ignore race or deny its historical relevance is false. For Black Americans the negative stereotypes ascribed to our race are suffocating.

Our desire is to be free from hostilities and condemnation — free like the caged bird in Maya Angelou’s poem.

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.

MAX BOSSMAN

Mason Ashe in the Burke Library while an undergraduate at Hamilton

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▼

TOP TO BOTTOM: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and his wife, Coretta Scott King, join non-violent protesters in Selma, Ala., en route to the state capital of Montgomery to champion Black Americans’ constitutional right to vote, 1965

“

Mason’s fifth birthday, April 4, 1968, the day MLK was assassinated in Memphis

I did encounter threats and racial slurs, but I never moved my eyes off the prize.

MY RACE WAKE-UP CALL

G

ALAMY

ROWING UP IN A RELATIVELY segregated Buffalo, N.Y., in the 1960s, tensions around race hovered in the background of my most memorable experiences.

On April 4, 1968, after celebrating my fifth birthday at my great-grandmother’s house, my parents and I returned home to watch a shocking news report. The television anchor announced in a somber voice that a sniper in Memphis had assassinated Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I sensed from my parents’ deep sadness that this tragedy was a really big deal. My mother explained that Dr. King was the popular Black minister whose picture hung in my great-grandmother’s kitchen.

As time passed, I heard my father talk openly about a collective movement to fight against widespread mistreatment of Black people across the country, in both the North and South. They referred to this movement as The Struggle. My father spoke of the street riots and civil unrest in Buffalo and Rochester, stemming from a national civil rights movement to stop police brutality, pervasive redlining — denying mortgage and business loans to creditworthy Blacks — employment discrimination, and segregation in schools.

24

H A M I LTO N

Back then, my father and I attended lots of NBA Buffalo Braves games, and it was probably there where I realized The Struggle was real.

At one game, I noticed that the vast majority of Black fans remained seated during the national anthem. It startled me because I, of course, stood for the anthem and Pledge of Allegiance in school. My father explained with pride that remaining seated was a method of passive resistance Black sports fans across the country were using to bring attention to racism. Fast forward to today, Black professional athletes and fans still use passive resistance to raise awareness about racism, violence, and police brutality. Colin Kaepernick is perhaps one of the most well-known sports figures today who has engaged in that form of protest. In 2016, the former San Francisco 49ers quarterback began to sit, then kneel, during the national anthem.

He received wide support for his activism and also faced backlash. Some saw his gesture as disrespecting the flag. He remains unsigned by an NFL team. I am proud of those in the professional sports and entertainment communities who are using their platforms and social media to advocate for diversity, inclusion, and justice.

The Struggle during the ’60s, although I did not understand all the nuances at the time, was the result of a serious disconnect between what Black people expected as a return for helping

TOP TO BOTTOM: Mason as a toddler with his parents, winter 1963 Six-year-old Ruby Bridges of New Orleans becomes the first African American to desegregate an elementary school in the South, 1960

build America and what the white majority was willing to share with African Americans.

route to school. To emphasize their opposition to integration, some protesters even attempted

I have wondered often whether the racists I have encountered over the years would have perceived me as equal if, at some point, they had learned the truth about the achievements and contributions Black people have made to this country. On the other hand, I suspect racial hatred is so baseless and senseless that even the unmitigated truth might not cleanse racist minds.

to physically attack us as we ran from the bus to the school through a human barricade teachers made to protect us. The students inside, however, did not seem to care much about our racial differences. We got along fine throughout the day. The disapproving parents and neighbors were the culprits contaminated with disdain for Black kids.

In 1976, our family moved to Rosebank, a predominantly Italian middle-class neighborhood on Staten Island, one of New York City’s five boroughs. When we played punchball in a nearby parking lot on weekends, some white teenagers made it a hobby — a rite of passage, even — to harass the few kids of color in the neighborhood. They called us the N-word and instigated fistfights with the younger kids in their posse, training them to hate Blacks.

Some hoodlums even stole my parents’ car, burned it, and left it a few blocks away with “Go Home N*****!” spray-painted across the hood. What was at the core of that hate? I never understood it.

While living in Rosebank, a cadre of other ambitious Black classmates and I rode a city bus an hour every day to attend Tottenville High School. We heard it was the best public high school on the island, so we applied for zone variances to attend, despite the school being in an area known as unfriendly to Blacks. I did encounter threats and racial slurs, but I never moved my eyes off the prize.

Overall, it was a great experience, and it prepared me for college.

RACE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD AND BEYOND

M

Y FATHER GREW UP NEAR Charlotte, N.C., and worked in Buffalo, New York City, and New Jersey for more than 30 years in corporate security management at Western Electric and AT&T. He also spent many years in the Naval Reserve. My mother was born and raised in Buffalo and enjoyed a successful career as a registered nurse. Both emphasized the value of an education and hard work as ingredients to living a good life. They made it crystal clear that mediocrity is never a winning strategy, and the world can be unforgiving, especially for a Black boy or man. Consequently, I was always on a mission to reach for more than what appeared to be in store for me.

In 1973, I was among a group of fifth graders in my predominantly Black neighborhood ordered to be bused across town to integrate the predominantly white West Hertel Middle School. Police escorted the buses on a few occasions because we faced angry white parents shouting racial epithets at us along our

ALAMY

Former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick, who knelt during the national anthem at the start of NFL games in protest of police brutality and racial inequality, 2016

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25

“

People of all races have come together ... as they have at various times before, because justice can no longer be delayed or denied.

RACE ON THE HILL

M

Y EXPERIENCE AT HAMILTON from 1981-85 was, without question, a dream come true. Life on College Hill was a dramatic departure from the racial aggression and random verbal assaults I had grown used to on Staten Island. My classmates seemed affluent, open to sharing experiences about our upbringing, and well-mannered, except for the “streakers” who sprinted nude across campus periodically.

Hamilton was also a special place because of the professors and administrators who helped make learning enjoyable and sincerely cared about me. Ms. Christine Johnson (affectionately known as “Ms. J”) was director of the Higher Education Opportunity Program and my guardian angel. Although I was not officially in her program, she always gave me advice and encouragement.

In my 8 a.m. freshman English class, Professor Nathaniel Strout drilled the importance of preparation and succinct writing. Professors Bob Simon and Frank Anechiarico [’71] opened my eyes to constitutional law and the principles of jurisprudence. Those courses,

26

H A M I LTO N

along with the encouragement of fellow alumnus Arnold Joseph ’83, motivated me to eventually study law. I attribute my ability to manage entertainers irrespective of their race and socioeconomic status to the endless hours I spent jamming on the jazz lead guitar with several student-run combos and the Hamilton Jazz Ensemble, which consisted of good people who were musicians first and foremost.

If you could play the charts, cool — that’s all that mattered.

While there were great professors and courses at Hamilton, there was still an academic void for me. The History Department offered one course in Black history called “The Black Man in America,” which I boycotted because it was insulting to suggest the entire African American culture could be squeezed into one course. To be fair, I did enjoy a course in sociology that touched on elements of Black culture (“Sociology of Poverty”), but what about Black success?

At the “Black table” in the cafeterias, I complained about the lack of courses discussing wealth and success in the Black community.

Why only the culture of poverty? A few of my Black classmates agreed, so we formed the Ad

Hoc Committee for African American Studies Program. We petitioned President Martin Carovano and the Board of Trustees to institute a curriculum or department focused on African American studies. The College initially rejected the idea, but eventually approved hiring one professor specializing in African American history. I was on the search committee and was elated when we recruited Professor Vincent Odamtten. He began the semester after I graduated. His hiring was a huge step in the right direction for Hamilton.

and Black Robes, White Justice by New York State Supreme Court Justice Bruce Wright.

This was by far my most fulfilling course in law school. It answered so many questions about how the legislature and judicial system influenced the disenfranchisement of Blacks in America — from day one. Institutional racism, indeed, has perpetuated The Struggle.

The systematic denial of judicial freedom to people of color is real. Some state and local laws intentionally codified discrimination and hurdles for Black people (such as the Jim Crow

Dr. Carter G. Woodson, a revered educator known as the “father of Black history,” argued in the 1930s that, “Those who have no record of what their forebears have accomplished lose the inspiration which comes from the teaching of biography and history.” I agree.

One of my most unpleasant experiences on the Hill was playing on the JV basketball team my sophomore year. Although I learned some sound fundamentals of the game, the atmosphere was toxic — one where racial innuendos and disrespect flourished. Conversely, while I never played on the varsity team, I have maintained a close relationship with Tom Murphy, former athletics director and men’s varsity basketball coach. He has been a mentor and referred several clients to my law practice.

I will always cherish the diverse network of lifelong relationships established at Hamilton.

Equally important, the phenomenal liberal arts education I received gave me the tools to build a successful career as an attorney, sports executive, and university professor.

laws), making it impossible to get widespread, equal, and consistent justice across jurisdictions. The disregard for Black lives by some in the law enforcement community persists — despite numerous video recordings made public — such as the one depicting the unconscionable killing of George Floyd. People of all races have come together since, as they have at various times before, because justice can no longer be delayed or denied.

RACE AND THE LAW

I

N LAW SCHOOL, VICE DEAN ALAN Carrel ’64 was an invaluable mentor.

The late Professor Muhammad Kenyatta opened my eyes to the nexus between race and the law. In the course “Race Law,” I read Race, Racism & American Law and And We Are Not Saved: The Elusive Quest for Racial Justice by Harvard Law Professor Derrick Bell,

RACE IN THE SPORTS MANAGEMENT INDUSTRY

R

◀ OPPOSITE PAGE TOP TO BOTTOM: Mason with his guitar on the Bristol Campus Center terrace, spring 1984 During his junior or senior year at Tottenville High School in Huguenot, Staten Island, N.Y.

▼

Mason during his sophomore year on the JV basketball team at Hamilton

ACIAL PREJUDICE IN THE SPORTS and entertainment management business, where I have built my career over the last 30 years, is a function of long-standing ignorance, bias, and lingering stereotypes about people of color.

Consequently, without family ties or highlevel allies, it continues to be a challenge for Blacks to be hired or promoted at large talent agencies, sports franchises, media companies, and university athletic departments. It is still rare for people of color to secure large business expansion loans and the capital for strategic mergers and acquisitions in the talent industry.

I have experienced and witnessed reluctance from bankers to approve loans and lines of credit of more than a million dollars to Black sports agents and talent managers. This is despite their track record negotiating multiyear lucrative guaranteed contracts for clients.

Conversely, their white counterparts with

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similar track records are granted the requisite growth capital.

In the early 1990s, a surge of soon-tobe-wealthy Black athletes and entertainers

ALAMY

CC/MARISSA MCDANIELS

interested in supporting Black professionals created opportunities for lawyers and entrepreneurs like me. For instance, the succession of star NBA players such as Pervis Ellison, Mitch Richmond, Chris Webber, Rodney Rogers, and Allan Houston hiring Bill Strickland — one of the most successful Black NBA agents in history — prompted Bill to recruit me in 1993 at IMG to help manage and grow his unprecedented practice. Together, we enjoyed a consistent client list. From the NBA, we represented Rasheed Wallace, Alan Henderson, Jeff McInnis, Ray Allen, and Brevin Knight; in the NFL, Pro Bowler Levon Kirkland, Sam Shade, and Chad Scott, among many others.

In 1997, we left IMG and created a partnership called Strickland & Ashe Management, based in DC and Orlando. For roughly eight years, we negotiated record-setting NBA contracts, unprecedented NFL deals, toured iconic artists such as Prince, and produced a unique ice skating musical featuring a cast of Black skaters. All helped land us on Sports Illustrated’s “101 Most Influential Minorities in Sports” list twice (2003 and 2004).

This spirit of diversity and inclusion has continued for many years in the talent business. Today, Black men and women are representing top draft picks in the NFL and NBA. People of color also have prominent executive roles at college conferences, player unions, pro teams and league offices, media companies, NASCAR venues, talent agencies, and the

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largest wealth management firms. Moreover, leagues such as the NBA have been a leader in off-the-court diversity efforts.

BREAKING OUT OF THE LIMITS OF RACIAL STEREOTYPES

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S A YOUNG ADULT, I REMEMBER feeling inspired watching my cousin, tennis legend Arthur Ashe, compete on television. His performance in tournaments all over the world bolstered my perspective that a Black athlete could enjoy global success. Arthur was a man of many firsts. In 1968, he became the first African American to win the men’s singles title at the U.S. Open — while still an amateur. At Wimbledon in 1975, he was the first African American man ranked No.1 in the world, and the list goes on. Even people who were not fans of tennis admired his achievements. Many times, he was the only person of color in the entire stadium; he always exhibited a sophisticated courage that defied negative stereotypes.

Today, he has a stadium named after him in New York. Arthur and Althea Gibson, a tennis legend herself, helped pave the way for the Williams sisters, as they paved the way for Naomi Osaka, as she will do for the next generation of tennis stars. In another promising sign, Major League Baseball in December elevated The Negro Leagues to major league status, a change that finally corrects an injustice going back a century. MLB’s record book will include the achievements of pioneers who were not allowed to play in the white major leagues and will now get the respect and recognition they deserve.

MAX BOSSMAN

As a mentor, teacher, and storyteller in the classroom, I share these stories of Black achievement and about my own professional wins and losses to instill confidence and hopefully broaden the perspectives of all my students.

I hope my students will go on to hire, promote, and respect people of all races, equally.

HAMILTON’S OPPORTUNITY

S

USTAINING AN EDUCATIONAL institution that consistently delivers the fundamental skills Hamilton is known for is not a simple task. Fortunately, Hamilton has done this well for many years, while cultivating the confidence of a globally diverse student body.

Still, there is always an opportunity to be more diverse, inclusive, innovative, and forward-thinking about the world our students and alumni want to lead. When it comes to race, an overwhelming number of Americans from all backgrounds want a shift from business as usual. There is a clear desire to harness the richness of America’s diversity. I would like to see Hamilton make it a priority that all students receive some form of racial sensitivity training before they graduate. Hamilton’s curriculum should always make available a comprehensive history of all races and their significant contributions to the advancement of humankind. Finally, Hamilton should do all it can to reinforce linking students to our invaluable alumni network, which can lead to lifelong connections that can carry them further than they could ever imagine. I will continue to do my part to support this effort. It is a network that nourished me over the years and keeps me connected and committed to the Hill.

WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

A

S TO WHAT IS AHEAD, I BELIEVE, perhaps naively, that dispelling myths and affirming truths about each other and our amazing country can lead all Americans to dare claim the sky together. Perhaps then, the phrase Black Lives Matter will be viewed and accepted as a factual statement rather than a polarizing political one.

Despite living in the shadow of The Struggle since my fifth birthday, my race has been a source of great strength and pride thanks to the love and influence of my parents and family. No one’s prejudice has ever had the power to dilute my confidence, self-worth, or desire to achieve my goals. Self-acceptance and knowledge of our rich heritage have helped my wife and me attract and sustain a diverse network of lifelong friends and colleagues. They are the same principles we taught our daughter, and she continues that legacy today. n

s

Mason on Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts, where he has been working remotely and spending time with his family during the pandemic

◀ OPPOSITE PAGE TOP TO BOTTOM: Mason, wife Gena, and daughter Kyndall two years ago at a Manhattan Starbucks The Boston Colored Tigers of professional baseball’s Negro Leagues, 1940 Cover of the May 5, 2003, Sports Illustrated, in which Mason and his business partner are included among the “101 Most Influential Minorities in Sports.”

The company made the list again in 2004.

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S

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A MEASURE 30

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of

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OUR PROGRESS

Introduction by LORNA LIGHTFOOT-WARE ’88

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JORG MEYER

Lorna Lightfoot-Ware began her career as a production assistant at PBS where she worked on the documentary Blacks in Science. After earning her J.D. at Howard University School of Law, she took a job at Court TV covering the O.J. Simpson trial before joining Spelling Entertainment. Next came positions as vice president of marketing and entertainment at Strickland & Ashe and in legal consulting at MTV. As director of operations at Garden City Group, she oversaw several major class action administrations, including the BP oil spill. Today, she owns and oversees Osmosis Entertainment, a production company she founded that focuses on sharing the experiences of people of color. She is also a special advisor to Jetdoc, a new telehealth company. ▼

Lorna Lightfoot-Ware as a student at Hamilton

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“ If the United States is indeed the great melting pot, the Negro either didn’t get in the pot or he didn’t get melted down.’’

— U.S. Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall

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FIRST READ THIS QUOTE IN ELEMENtary school, and it continues to resonate with me to this day. I am remembering this quote now as I am forced to consider why African Americans have not fully melded into the fabric of America. For that to happen, it would require equal protection of our lives by our government.

The killing of George Floyd stunned America and the world — 8 minutes and 46 seconds, that’s how long it took a white police officer in Minneapolis to drain the life out of him. Kneeling on Floyd’s neck, the officer’s face was resolute as his eyes stared down the camera, documenting his hatred. Black people have tried to explain this poison, time and time again, but we are often met with derision and disbelief. The unequal justice system was on full display for the world to wit-

ness. The decision by 17-year-old Darnella Frazier to keep filming, despite her trauma, changed the course of history and awoke a collective consciousness.

Yet on Election Day, more than 74 million Americans voted to keep Donald Trump in office, a president who at best turned a blind eye to white supremacist rhetoric and at worst marshalled its zeal in support of his own campaign.

Simultaneously, he espoused a hypocritical mantra of “law and order.” In June, as a nation struggled with anger and pain over racial injustice and police brutality, Trump’s response was to exert more brutality on protestors gathered outside the White House. He staged a photo-op in front of a historic church, failing to grasp the irony of enshrining himself in religious symbolism.

In electing President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris, more than 81 million Americans rejected white supremacy or at least did not reward its seeming chief spokesman.

Yet nothing feels like a victory. After a devastating 2020 due to the pandemic and racial and

GETTY IMAGES/BETTMAN

I feel George Floyd’s death deep in my bones, as if he were someone I knew personally.

political strife, the first week of 2021 brought even more destabilization. A mob of insurrectionists and Trump supporters stormed the U.S. Capitol, believing without evidence that the presidential election had been stolen as a result of rampant fraud in the majority Black precincts of Atlanta, Philadelphia, Detroit, and Milwaukee. This was the climax of the “big lie” Trump had promulgated about election fraud. Rioters erected gallows with a noose outside the Capitol and, inside, carried a Confederate flag. They breached the citadel of democracy intent on overturning the election.

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HEN THESE FORCES SPEAK OF the aftermath of Floyd, they rarely — if ever — speak of him as a human being killed by a government agent of “law and order.” They speak of Black criminality. When an overwhelmingly white mob of rioters and aspiring domestic terrorists storms the halls of Congress, breaking, desecrating, pillaging, and rioting as they chant, “Hang Mike Pence,” how are they considered patriots? One beat an officer with an American flag as “thin blue line” and Trump flags flew on Capitol grounds. We saw no knees on necks, no chokeholds, no barrage of bullets.

And we know why. As the NAACP tweeted on the day of the insurrection, “They’ve killed us for less.” To be clear, I am not endorsing violence, but rather demanding the same humanity when it comes to Black Americans.

M

Y THOUGHTS ON HOW MUCH progress we have made as a country in the past year have changed many times as unfolding events continue to magnify how far we still have to go. I feel George Floyd’s death deep in my bones, as if he were someone I knew personally.

In a way, I did know him, the way Black people know each other because of our many collective experiences, our collective pain from racial injustice. It could have been one of my loved ones smothered to death — male or female — just because of the color of our skin. When I think of Floyd, I think of my husband, my father who is a former law enforcement executive, or even myself. Heartbreakingly, I also think of my beautiful 9-year-old daughter. George Floyd was us.

Where are we now? The lines have been drawn. Police brutality continues, white nationalist forces are inspired, and the country is teetering. American democracy has shown itself fragile. Yet the steadiness of racism and all its consequences in this country remain stubborn and unbending. Thinking of the racial polarization leads me to more wisdom from Justice Marshall: “ I wish I could say that racism and prejudice were only distant memories ...

We must dissent from the indifference.

We must dissent from the apathy.

We must dissent from the fear, the hatred, and the mistrust. ... We must dissent because America can do better, because America has no choice but to do better.” n

Before he became a U.S. Supreme Court justice in 1967, Thurgood Marshall was a civil rights attorney who argued before the high court. The 1954 landmark case Brown v.

Board of Education of Topeka is considered his crowning victory as an attorney and led to racial desegregation in public schools.

The lawsuit filed by a group of Black parents led to the unanimous Supreme Court ruling that “separate educational facilities are inherently not equal.”

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SINCE GEORGE FLOYD Hamiltonians reflect on how George Floyd’s death last May has affected race relations in America: VERONICA ALLEN ’01 Assistant General Counsel, Marqeta, Inc. Oakland, Calif.

R

EGARDING RACE RELATIONS, WHATever we’ve thought about ourselves requires revisiting, a re-examination through the lens of current events. Sure, since last summer, lots of people read books, organizations published Black Lives Matter messages, leaders committed to change. The results of the 2020 elections, however, showed just how deeply divided we are as a country, even when the overwhelming evidence points to profound injustices based on race and class. This country still suffers under the weight of white supremacy.

George Floyd is a searing symbol of racist violence in America — a stark reminder that not much has changed. His recorded death opened some eyes and hearts to what many have been saying for centuries, decades, years, days … unfortunately, there are just as many who refuse to acknowledge his humanity or the hate that so savagely murdered him. It is difficult to be optimistic about progress when hate is openly demonstrated and continues to grow. Healing requires a willingness to listen, acknowledgement of racial inequity, and personal accountability for harmful actions and inactions. There is no room for fragility, complacency, or denial.

MAXWELL AKUAMOAH-BOATENG ’09 Director of Operations, Community School Office of Children and Families Philadelphia, Pa.

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AUGING RACE RELATIONS IN America, there has not been much progress, despite efforts such as shifting police funds to youth and social services, removal of Confederate and slavery-linked statues, the U.S. House of Representatives passing the George Floyd

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Justice in Policing Bill of 2021, and financial commitments to support communities of color and minority-owned businesses. The same issues and incidents continue to occur. The obstacles that hinder the advancement of Black people in America still exist. The pursuit of freedom and equity will be the epitome of American history for many years to come. It is up to the American people who hold power to make progress a continuous process.

Organizations such as the NFL, NBA, and Bank of America have taken a strong stance to verbally, financially, and socially support efforts to improve race relations. At the same time, fear of being seen as prejudiced or not understanding has led some to adopt strategic colorblindness [the avoidance of addressing or acknowledging racial differences in order to avoid the appearance of bias]. The mixed views of Americans on the topic of racial inequality has further slowed the progress of addressing these issues. One of the most important things that needs to happen is that leaders and those in power in this country have to publicly acknowledge the harm that Black people have endured and establish new laws and policies focused on enforcing zero tolerance for racism.

It’s time for America to take meaningful collective action, accepting responsibility for the injustices faced by Black people and establishing physical safety and mental health measures to ensure improved race relations among Americans. These efforts should include, but not be limited to, an emphasis on providing additional resources to support and expand the work of organizations offering financial and social services such as employment, and mental and behavioral health to communities of color.

The death of Black people as a result of police brutality has been an ongoing issue, with each name being replaced with another. We have yet to find a resolution for effective policing.

Until the killing stops, George Floyd will be remembered as one of the many people who suffered at the hands of injustice.

ELLIOTT EDDIE ’91 Chairman and CEO DM Media, Inc. Richmond, Va.

A

MERICANS HAVE A VERY SHORT memory, and history is constantly being changed to erase the truth. As with the educational publisher McGraw-Hill that announced it will revise and reprint a geography textbook that refers to African slaves in America as “immigrants” and “workers” after a complaint by the mother of a Texas high school freshman, most of the historical errors and lies have not been caught, confronted, or changed. The inaccuracies start small and slowly — change the color of a person in the movie version of a so-called “true story;” cover up and bury an entire story that will inspire a group of people to be self-sufficient (like the utter destruction of Black Wall Street in Tulsa, Okla.); draw a red line around a portion of a city or refuse to give a group of people access to bank financing, making it nearly impossible to acquire wealth to leave to their upcoming generations.

George Floyd, Sandra Bland, Rayshard Brooks, Emmett Till, and thousands of others who have been victimized by racist people and long-standing institutions will be forgotten until the next “uprising” predicated by social unrest.

I foresee the answer to the general public’s cry for justice at the inhumanity of violence based on race being, “It’s time to have a conversation.”

It is time to teach children the truth. It is time to shine a light on the ugliness of racial inequality and the systems, policies, institutions, and people who perpetuate it. It is time to teach children to reject racism, sexism, and all the “isms,” so they can create a way to coexist in love for one another, despite their differences, real and imagined. It is time to move beyond “conversations” and on to actions — actions that can change the world.

KIMBERLY HAWKINS ’91 Human Capital Management Technology Consultant Atlanta, Ga.

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S A HUMAN RESOURCES PROFESSIONAL for more than 20 years, I have often wrestled with the notion of how humanity manifests when it comes to inclusion and fairness within organizational cultures. Through that lens, I believe George Floyd has been a catalyst for examining humanity in the workplace, as evidenced by the sheer number of senior diversity roles that have been created since his killing in 2020. These organizations want to demonstrate they are humane. But is this an example of companies being more humane or is this merely a branding strategy? It is probably a little of both.

Regardless, it is still a step in the right direction.

My hope is that there will not be another George Floyd to necessitate that we rediscover our collective humanity.

NICOLE HOLLAND ’88 Professor, Department of Educational Inquiry and Curriculum Studies and African and African American Studies Program Northeastern Illinois University Chicago, Ill.

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N MAY 2020, AN UNARMED, RESTRAINED Black man was callously murdered in broad daylight by uniformed police officers. Although this heinous crime was not an isolated incident, it was unprecedented, in contemporary times, for the entire world to have a frontline view to an 8 minute and 46 second public execution.

The gruesome nature of this act made it difficult to dismiss and impossible to ignore. The public nature of this act allowed us to have a firsthand account of what transpired before it was countered with a fictitious police report.

People continue to respond to this racist incident by actively challenging ideologies that insidiously lurk in discriminatory policies and practices and embolden individuals to commit racist acts — ranging from microaggression to homicide. Large-scale political protests erupted worldwide, as people defied the stay-at-home orders of a global pandemic. Almost a year later, moral outrage still looms, and the exasperation with bigotry has reached a boiling point.

Race relations have arrived at another metaphorical fork in the road. Will we allow the damaging, yet familiar, hegemony of unearned white privilege to continuously chip away at humanity, or will we demand the veracity and value of pluralism to usher us into an era that centers and celebrates diversity? Only time will tell.

MARTINE KALAW ’03 Managing Principal, Martine Kalaw Enterprises, LLC Washington, D.C.

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EORGE FLOYD’S SENSELESS MURDER awakened us to the systemic racism that has percolated underneath a national colorblind ideology, which insists that since everyone should be treated equally, we therefore are all equal.

Our failure to acknowledge race and Blackness, and instead skirt around it with euphemisms like “diversity” and “people of color,” prevents us from improving race relations. The real work begins when we get people in the workforce to verbalize what they are afraid to admit — seeing someone like me as a Black woman.

If we do the work then we will remember George Floyd as the catalyst for change, but if we get it wrong — not to verbalize the word “Black” — then our recollection of him in history will be reduced to a mere phrase riddled with ambiguity and a failure to acknowledge the importance of race dynamics: Floyd was a Black man murdered by a police officer.

STEPHEN KELLY ’24 Student Assembly Class President Miami, Fla.

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T HAS BEEN AN ONGOING BATTLE SINCE the first enslaved African set foot on this land back in 1619. America has seen it all: lynching, chattel slavery, Jim Crow, and race riots. For the past few years, we have seen a rainbow coalition of Americans stand up to state-sponsored terrorism: police brutality. One might think this is extreme, but if you crack open a history book, Black Americans have always gotten the short end of the stick when it comes to law enforcement. George Floyd felt the weight of 400+ years of cyclical oppression through the knee of a police officer.

History is written by the victor, and on this issue, Black Americans have yet to win. Calls for equal justice under the law and the unalienable right to life seem to be doled out on a case-bycase basis, being antithetical to our founding documents, our national anthem, and our Pledge of Allegiance. One can only hope that continued pressure on our government will make this senseless loss of life a thing of the past. Let us work so that George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and every unarmed Black person who has died at the hands of law enforcement will not have died in vain.

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SINCE GEORGE FLOYD

PERCY LUNEY ’70 VP, Education, Research & Development, and Workforce, Space Florida (2008-18); Former Dean, School of Law, Florida A&M University and Dean/ Professor, North Carolina Central University School of Law Altamonte Springs, Fla.

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E HAVE MADE A GREAT DEAL OF progress, but the country has become more

polarized in the process. The country has become more racially diverse, but people have become more alienated and isolated with the growth of the internet and social media. The divide between rural and urban has never been greater. Economic inequality has increased to a greater extent than ever before, and this has fostered greater gaps between the haves and have nots.

I often wonder if the nation made a mistake when the mandatory draft was eliminated. While universal service doesn't lead to changes in political beliefs, it does create an environment for the expression of different opinions and a willingness to listen to others. Plus, you really get to understand how much people have in common, namely because everyone must put aside their differences to accomplish an objective.

George Lincoln Rockwell, leader of the American Nazi party, gave a lecture in the Hamilton Chapel during my freshman year in January 1967. Alex Haley, who helped Malcolm X write his autobiography, taught public speaking classes and was writer-in-residence while finishing his famous book Roots. It’s ironic that Hamilton College played a role in helping to understand the persistent cruelty of American slavery, given the role of our College’s namesake who, as quoted in the musical Hamilton, “was in the room where it happened” at the formation of our country when slavery, the original sin, was allowed to continue.

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DEWAYNE MARTIN ’24

TORRENCE MOORE ’92

Student Assembly Representative Miami, Fla.

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T IS IMPOSSIBLE TO DENY THAT THE coverage of George Floyd’s death had an impact. Many individuals who were otherwise indifferent to Black issues now had a scene that made it impossible [to ignore]. However, to label this awareness as an improvement is hyperbolic. The memory of the American public is short-lived. These scenes of wanton violence endowed upon Black folks are not new. We must be hesitant in labeling things as progress. Even in these moments of heightened public emotion, we must ask, “How do we discern who is committed to allyship, and who does so for the simple pleasures of social mobility or fashion?”

During the summer of 2020, we witnessed the drawing back of those gilded curtains that protected this reality. The question now is this: As the draft made by falling Black bodies that caused those curtains to pull apart slowly wanes, who will hold them open? Will that rallying cry remain? Ten months is an improbable metric for determining progress made to address an issue with such historical precedence. And the idea of this question raises the same problem that we had to address in 2008 — the idea that the Obama presidency equated to a post-racial America.

Senior Director of Community Development, LISC (Local Initiatives Support Corp.)

Chicago, Ill.

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BELIEVE THE KILLING OF GEORGE Floyd has led to the beginning of a conversation around race relations in America. There are many organizations and individuals who have made statements as well as donated funds to address racial inequity, but we are far from being able to claim that race relations have improved.

George Floyd will be remembered for a long time to come because his unfortunate murder was the impetus for this conversation that continues to bring people together to address racial inequity.

PHYLLIS HOLMES BRELAND ’80 Director of Opportunity Programs, Hamilton College (1995-2020) Clinton, N.Y.

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MUST BELIEVE IN THE POTENTIAL for change. I am fueled by both anger and hope. I refuse to let the accomplishments of my journey, and those who made it possible for me to rise, be negated. The topics and actions of hate and suppression are not new but have positioned themselves front and center. It is a time to re-educate and be reminded of the truth that acknowledges who built this country and at what price. I give voice to my anger and action with hope because I am willing to do the work.

KIRABUL TESFAYE ’21

STUNG AND SOAPY On May 28, 2020, one day after the Minneapolis protests, I took a shower around 7:30 PM. Childish Gambino chanted “This is America,” trending on Apple Music blasting from my phone, as if it was 2018.

The chorus desperately reminded me, “police be trippin’ now.”

Two years later and we’re still surprised.

I dragged my mind into the grey ceramic to be consumed by a personal storm.

My arm stretched to choose an idolized and exported entity; grabbing my African Black soap, I scrubbed for its treasured lather.

Empty white bubbles overcame the multi-shaded brown, dissolving the hefty block of cocoa pods, plantain bark, shea butter and ash.

The suds smothered.

It was their nature.

I spread the pale foam against my skin.

Its mass engulfed a new Black body.

JAHMALI MATTHEWS ’22 Editor-in-Chief, Culture Magazine Hyde Park, Mass.

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MARK LUNN, JR.

WHEN WHERE I ENTER and

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Editor’s Note Among historic American women who gave voice to the plight and pride of Black people, especially Black women, Anna Julia Cooper was unparalleled.

An author, scholar, educator, and feminist, Cooper was born into slavery in 1858 and rose to become one of the first Black women in America to receive a doctorate. A prominent intellectual in the postReconstruction era, she is considered an early architect of Black feminism. Her first book, A Voice from the South, published in 1892, is still relevant today as a blueprint for activism. One notable passage is a mélange of attributes that capture the essence of the Black woman as matriarch and moral compass.

“Only the BLACK WOMAN can say ‘when and where I enter, in the quiet undisputed dignity of my womanhood, without violence and without suing or special patronage, then and there the whole Negro race enters with me.’”

For Black women, the fight against racism and sexism is as much about dismantling oppression as it is ensuring our very survival. The trinity of women who founded Black Lives Matter inspires a movement for justice that encircles the living — Jacob Blake among them — and honors the dead, including Breonna Taylor and many others whose names we must continue to say. There is, too, a pantheon of Black women activists — grandmothers, mothers, daughters — who mobilized across the country last year and countless times before to reaffirm their might with their vote. It is undeniable that when and where the Black woman enters, the entire Black race does enter with her and, in the case of the 2020 elections, the entire country.

Vice President Kamala Harris said as much in her victory speech in Delaware, following a protracted election vote count. She extolled the virtuous work of women of color, especially Black women as she put it, who are “too often overlooked but so often prove that they are the backbone of our democracy.” — EJF

◀ Nichole Bowman-Glover (right) with her mother, Margaret Bowman, and her daughter, Raven Glover

Anna Julia Cooper in A Voice from the South, 1892

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By NICHOLE BOWMAN-GLOVER ’93

ASSERTING OUR POWER WITH OUR VOTE

For the past 14 years, Nichole Bowman-Glover ’93 has been the wellness program coordinator at Columbus State Community College in Ohio. Having also worked in Georgia, Massachusetts, Costa Rica, and Brazil, she has more than 25 years of experience in the field of public health, including health policy, women’s health, disability advocacy, community health outreach, and wellbeing education. BowmanGlover holds her master’s in public health in international health and behavioral sciences from Emory University’s Rollins School of Public Health and a doctorate in public health-community health education/health promotion from Walden University.

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T WAS GOING TO BE MY DAUGHTER Raven’s first time voting, and all of us were filled with enthusiasm. My mother [Margaret] was especially excited because she harbored a great deal of anxiety about this particular election. She felt the country needed a change, and the 2020 election was one way to make that change happen. She was convinced that one more vote from our family — Raven’s — was critical. Raven, too, was ecstatic, reminding me several times to mail in her registration card.

My mother is a retired psychiatric nurse who had worked in corrections. Raven, 19, is in her second year at John Carroll University.

This would be her first time voting in a presidential election and my mother’s 15th. I started voting in 1989. My three-generational household had experienced both challenges and blessings in 2020. Amid them, the election was a pivotal event in our lives, coming at a time when our country is dealing with long unresolved racial issues.

Because she grew up in the era of the civil rights movement and when the Voting Rights Act of 1965 finally allowed Black people access to their constitutional right to vote, my mother’s perspective on voting differs from my daughter’s or mine. Mom says because Black people were denied the vote for so long that, once we could cast our ballots, we had to cherish that right. “I will continue to vote as long as I am able,” said my mother, who raised me to respect the right to vote and be a voice for

social change. She views this as an obligation, a civic duty.

We decided we would vote on Oct. 8, almost a month early, to get it done and because we didn’t know how long the line would be on Election Day. Still, we were prepared to wait as long as it took. We knew many people who were going to vote by mail because it felt safer during the pandemic, but we wanted to vote in person — and together. At 78, my mom moves slowly, so I set the alarm on my phone for 6 a.m. to ensure we got there early. Raven was up and ready with her blanket in tow for warmth and emotional support.

All three of us, filled with emotion, anxiously waited in line to cast our votes. We each have faced instances of racism, and the past eight months had brought those memories to the forefront. Thankfully, our voting experience was enjoyable. Raven said she loved voting. She was happy with her voting sticker.

Our mission was accomplished, and we sealed it with a family breakfast.

WAITING AND CELEBRATING …

WITH CAUTIOUS OPTIMISM

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URING THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, we were amazed at how long it took for the states to certify their votes. We got excited as each result trickled in. I clearly remember I had just finished teaching a fitness class when Raven came running down the stairs and said, “I’m going to do a little dance for you.” I laughed and asked why. She told me that Biden and Harris were certified as the winners. I went upstairs to find my mother flipping from news station to news station to see what was being reported. I was relieved; I could see my mother’s relief as well. My daughter, who is not very open with her emotions, was happy, too. It was a wonderful moment.

On Nov. 7, when Biden and Harris gave their victory speeches, my mother and I witnessed a day we’d known would come — a day when a woman of color would be on that stage.

◀ OPPOSITE PAGE: Nichole Bowman-Glover as a Hamilton student ▼

However, I knew there would be a tough road ahead as we transitioned to this new leadership. Then Vice President-Elect Harris already has faced scrutiny. It is painful to witness the mean rhetoric leveled against her and the many women of color who broke the mold, such as the group of four U.S. congresswomen known as “The Squad,” voting rights activist Stacey Abrams, Atlanta Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms, and Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot.

STIRRING UP PAINFUL, DEEP-SEEDED MEMORIES

T

HE HOPE WE FELT TOWARD THE end of 2020 with the positive outcome of the election — at least to us — was in sharp contrast to the pain we experienced earlier in the year, as we watched the killing of George Floyd on television. When I saw the video, I did not know how to process it. I looked away; it was too painful to watch in its entirety. My stomach hurt to see a human being, on the ground with a knee on his neck, begging to breathe. I sat numb at my desk at home. I remember looking out the window and thinking, Why does this continue to happen?

Why are Black people continuously the victims of police mistreatment? For a few weeks after Floyd’s death and funeral, I found myself crying at my desk or sitting on the floor in tears after a morning workout. In my counseling session, the psychologist said I was experiencing Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. She explained that what happened to George Floyd had stirred up pain from my own previous mistreatment, racist incidents I had experienced in my childhood.

It pains me, too, to hear people say that racism does not exist. I think to myself, “Let me loan you my skin for a month, free of charge.”

The Floyd aftermath reinforced my belief that we need elected officials willing to enact policies to dismantle systemic racism. As a health professional, I see racism’s debilitating impact on our country’s public health. David R. Williams, a prominent Harvard University

sociologist, found that deep-seeded racism does indeed have adverse effects on health. He developed what is known as the Everyday Discrimination Scale, a way of measuring how subjective experiences of discrimination in everyday life can have health-related consequences.

Raven was upset about Floyd’s murder but had no interest in discussing her feelings in detail. For my mom, the murder ignited a sense of the hopelessness she imagines African Americans living in the South in the early 1900s must have felt, which is why many migrated north, my

TOP TO BOTTOM: Grandmother Ella Hagood in her kitchen holding Nichole’s baby brother, Michael, 1965 Nichole’s grandfather, Oscar Hagood, meeting greatgranddaughter Raven for the first time at his 98th birthday party. Pictured with them are Nichole, her mother, Margaret, and brother Michael, 2001

grandfather among them. My mom recalls watching the video of the white police officer, Derek Chauvin, obstructing Floyd’s airway and telling him to relax while Floyd pleads, “I can’t breathe.”

“It’s like someone hit me in my chest,” she said. As nurses, my mom and I are trained in the ABCs: airway, breathing, and circulation. This police officer appeared proud to stop all three.

My mother says the four years of the Trump administration were very depressing for her, as traumatic as the 1950s when 14-year-old Emmett Till was lynched in Mississippi after allegedly whistling at a white woman.

It happened during her freshman year in high school, and she read about it in Life magazine. She remembers a school assembly where everyone started singing, “I wish I were in Dixie,” and she ran out into the hallway crying. A nun, Mother Mary Charles, followed her and asked why she was upset. My mother responded, “I don’t wish I were in Dixie.” Mother Mary replied, “No honey, of course you don’t.”

My mother was not allowed to go below the Mason-Dixon Line. She remembers my grandfather telling her that Black men could be killed if they tried to defend a Black woman.

MY EDUCATIONAL JOURNEY

A

T 50, AS I REFLECT ON MY LIFE, I recall the experiences spanning back to childhood that have shaped my view of race in this country. I attended a predominantly white Catholic grade school,

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TOP TO BOTTOM: Three generations — Margaret Bowman, Raven Glover, and Nichole Bowman-Glover — outside the polling place, Oct. 2020 Margaret displays a sign en route to participating in a Biden-Harris parade, Oct. 2020 Nichole celebrates her graduation from Emory University with her mother, 1998

42 42

H A M I LTO N

where it was a challenge being the only African American through fifth grade. I was sometimes called “Blacky” or “N*****.” One day on a bus ride home from school, I simply said “hello” to an older white boy who lived in my neighborhood. He responded by punching my hand, while laughing, and permanently dislocated my finger. He and his brother harassed my family off and on for years, TPing our house and painting KKK on our car window.

I remember telling my mother I felt like a black speck on the white wall at that grade

someone who was like me, very outgoing and involved. I liked what I saw, applied, and was accepted. My parents were proud of me for attending Hamilton and being a trailblazer, since none of us knew anyone who had attended the College. Both of them worked hard for me to be there. My mom even picked up a second job to help with college expenses, working nights as a nurse and holding a part-time job in the morning. Unfortunately, my father did not see me graduate; he passed away unexpectedly in the fall of 1991, during my junior year.

school. She said she didn’t realize how hurt I was. I don’t remember if I told her every single thing I experienced, because I became immune to it. I went on to attend a single-sex Catholic high school, thinking that the all-female environment would afford me more opportunities.

While I was successful and held leadership roles, such as class treasurer and senior class president, I was still challenged as an African American. Here’s one example: I remember a group of us wanted to start a club that would focus on African and African American culture.

The request was denied because it was seen as not inclusive.

My junior year, as I began to look at colleges, I had a conversation with a social studies teacher about my interest in majoring in African American studies. She asked me why I would want to do that. I was shocked. I responded that I am African American and interested in my history. In high school, I began to see the importance of my African American heritage and how it is the fabric of my being. It was important that I see people who looked like me in the things that mattered to me — my education, my church, and my extracurricular activities.

As a senior, I had never heard of Hamilton, but the campus looked beautiful in a brochure I received. I wasn’t sure of a major, so a liberal arts education appealed to me, and I wasn’t interested in a large university with huge intro classes. When I visited during Multicultural Weekend, I was excited to see a lot of students of color. My host student was an African American woman from New York City who struck me as

My mother instilled in me a deep love of people, which is an integral part of my public health work. While I was at Hamilton, she gave me a huge photo book, I Dream a World: Portraits of Black Women Who Changed America by Brian Lanker, so I could reflect on these women while I pursued my education.

WHEN PAST SINS COME BACK AROUND

T

OGETHER WE HAVE 147 YEARS OF life, and the racism continues. Raven is a mellow Gen-Zer who is finding her voice as she maneuvers through college.

In some ways she reminds me of myself when I landed on College Hill some 31 years ago. I know that her experiences as a young African American woman have shaped her view of herself. I sent her to a single-sex private school, starting in kindergarten, hoping she would have opportunities that she might not receive at a coed school. The education was excellent; however, by middle school the emotional and social environment was not healthy, and she became less excited to go to school.

Raven is not extremely open with her feelings. She occasionally disclosed school interactions she had with other students. At times she mentioned not having anyone to play with at recess or finding a partner for a project.

The girls talked about ideal beauty traits, and, of course, Raven didn’t have any of the traits, such as long hair or lighter skin. It was not until recently when she shared that she didn’t like the

▼

TOP TO BOTTOM: Nichole on the steps of Hamilton’s Afro-Latin Cultural Center during the time she served as president of the Black and Latin Student Union, Fall 1992

“

Celebrating Raven’s fifth birthday, 2006 Maya Angelou, poet, writer, civil rights activist

It pains me, too, to hear people say that racism does not exist.

I think to myself, ‘Let me loan you my skin for a month, free of charge.’

population. “This world doesn’t revolve around one person,” she said. “How do we have a democracy with all of this chaos?”

All three of us know that there is still a long way to go as Black women in this country. We are excited that we could celebrate the historic 2020 election. However, we know the next four years are going to be brutal for Vice President Kamala Harris.

Although the current state of affairs makes the future look bleak, there is hope. As we move forward, we have to continue to fight for equity and partner with people who have a common morality. My mom dreams of seeing some happy medium between the far left and far right. My daughter dreams of leaders less self-centered and more invested in everyone. I dream of a world where we value our common human connection. We are grateful to those African American women who have paved the way for us — those women who changed America so that my mother could be a nurse, I could earn a doctoral degree, and my daughter can be a computer science major and part of a new generation rising to make her own mark in the world.

In spite of the pervasive racism, in the words of Maya Angelou:

Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise.

Yes, we rise! n

ALAMY

way she looked. The summer after sixth grade she asked not to go back to that school. I switched her to the local middle school, and it worked out much better, but that didn’t make her immune to race issues. One experience stands out that was the first of what would be many difficult race-relation discussions.

In her seventh-grade English class, Raven was asked to choose a book to read and discuss among a small group of students who’d also read it. Raven chose a book about the lynching of Emmett Till. Her discussion group consisted of her and four white male students, and at some point the conversation became so uncomfortable for Raven that she asked to leave the classroom.

I recall the teacher sending me an email stating that Raven became upset in class and to check on her at home later. It is amazing that 30 years later, my daughter would feel the impact of the same incident that upset her grandmother.

Raven and I continue to have discussions about race, sparked by incidents rather than embedded into our regular conversations. We talk about being both Black and female and how that impacts our lives. Even though Raven’s father and I are divorced, he remains an active part of her life as she faces the challenges race and gender can bring. As a social justice scholar at her college, she examines global issues through a social justice lens. She is frustrated with what she sees in politics. She says she can’t understand how many elected officials seem to care only about themselves or their own interests, rather than what is best for the larger

H O P E

F O R

A

M O R E

P E R F E C T

U N I O N

CASE CASTE THE

AGAINST

“

Caste is insidious and therefore powerful because it is not hatred, it is not necessarily personal. It is the worn grooves of comforting routines and unthinking expectations, patterns of a social order that have been in place for so long that it looks like the natural order of things. ― Isabel Wilkerson in Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents

44

H A M I LTO N

DARIN HICKMAN ’93

is an associate professor of business management at the Koppelman School of Business at Brooklyn College within the City University of New York. Her research focuses on business and society and includes insights from economic sociology and behavioral science. She has added expertise in the area of microfinance. She holds a Master of Science and a doctorate from the London School of Economics and Political Science.

is an entrepreneur based in South Africa.

He is CEO of AphriHelios Global, a pan-African medicinal cannabis startup.

Previously he co-founded the Sports & Entertainment Group at JP Morgan and originated financial transactions across several African countries, the U.S., and the Caribbean. A member of the Obama Administration’s Africa Finance Policy Committee, he holds an MBA in finance and corporate strategy from the University of Michigan’s Ross School of Business.

MARK LEGRANGE

JORG MEYER

DARLINE AUGUSTINE ’91

BY DARLINE AUGUSTINE ’91 and DARIN HICKMAN ’93

2020

WILL BE REMEMBERED AS a time of a great and consequential reset. COVID-19 not only delivered a severe health blow that has stolen the lives of millions across the globe; it also blunted the financial and economic health of many households. The pandemic has forced the world to pause. In the United States, it has further exposed deep-rooted and systemic racial inequities.

COVID-19 is infecting and killing Blacks in the U.S. at disproportionately high rates, numerous studies show. According to statistics published by Johns Hopkins University last fall, while Black Americans represented about 13% of the population in the states reporting racial/ethnic information related to the pandemic, they accounted for about 34% of total COVID-19 deaths in those states.

The pandemic testifies to the countless stories of biased medical treatment of Black Americans. A 2016 study in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of white medical trainees found that some 50% believed myths, such as Black people have thicker skin than white people or have less-sensitive nerve endings causing them to feel less pain. These false notions and hidden biases have led to instances of inadequate patient care. Consider Dr. Susan

Moore, a Black internist who died in December 2020 of COVID-19.

Moore said, at one point, she was denied pain medication and the drug Veklury (remdesivir) by a white doctor. “He made me feel like I was a drug addict,” she said in a video from her hospital bed. “And he knew I was a physician.”

The alarming effects of the pandemic converged with the horrific deaths of Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Rayshard Brooks, and other Black Americans at the hands of law enforcement officers, sparking one of the largest social movements in this country’s history — one that has reverberated around the world. The killings renewed the spotlight on the violent manifestations of racial injustice in the U.S., revealing a convoluted system of obstruction and oppression, instituting a menacing system of caste.

Caste “is about respect, authority, and assumptions of competence—who is accorded these and who is not,” wrote Pulitzer Prize-winning author Isabel Wilkerson in her bestselling book Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents. The U.S. caste system permeates every aspect of life, and it constrains the freedoms of Black Americans.

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TWO GRANDFATHERS, TWO OUTCOMES Darin Hickman ’93

B

oth of my grandfathers served in World War II. Like many men of all creeds and colors, Jacob

Roberson, Sr. (my maternal grandfather) and Spurgeon Hickman, Sr. (my paternal grandfather) answered the call to serve their country. Jacob joined the Navy, and Spurgeon, the Army. Both served proudly, but when they returned home they were unable to take advantage of the GI Bill.

They each struggled, in their own way, to reintegrate into society and rebuild their lives. Like many Black men at that time, they were often forced to find nonstandard ways of making money.

Jacob left Aiken, S.C., for Harlem, N.Y. He struggled to attain any real financial stability and was eventually murdered in a deal gone bad.

He left behind a grieving wife and three young children, one of whom is my mother. It is possible that had the GI Bill been available to him, his

The Legal Caste

T

ALAMY

MARK LEGRANGE

he U.S. Declaration of Independence states that “all men are created equal.”

Yet history has repeatedly shown that Black Americans are not part of that equation.

After the Civil War, the 13th, 14th, and 15th amendments abolished slavery, granted equal protection, and the right to vote, respectively.

But, a set of draconian laws called Black Codes followed in the South. Any sign of progress

by African Americans was annihilated. Black Americans were essentially re-enslaved. In her book White Rage: The Unspoken Truth of Our Racial Divide, historian Carol Anderson details the cruelty African Americans endured:

Darin Hickman in front of a mural of Nelson Mandela, anti-apartheid icon and president of South Africa (1994-99), in Cape Town

The 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution abolished slavery; ratified by the states on Dec. 6, 1865

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H A M I LTO N

“After the Civil War, they took what little they had and built schools, worked the land to establish their economic independence, and searched desperately to bring their families, separated by slavery, back together. That drive, initiative, and resolve, however, was met with the Black Codes, with army troops throwing them off their promised forty acres, and then with a slew of Supreme Court decisions, eviscerating the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments.”

pathway would have been very different. Addi-

to eventually buy a house in Hollis, Queens. That

biggest periods of prosperity in U.S. history.

tionally, it’s likely that his children’s lives would

house served as a safety net for his five sons

Spurgeon, through a combination of hard work,

have been different. Maybe he, like many of the

and two daughters when they were confronted

family help, and likely luck was still able to par-

white GIs he served with, would have leveraged

with challenges in their lives. It was a place they

ticipate, to a lesser degree, in that prosperity.

that stipend for tuition and earned a degree or

could return to live when things were difficult.

Jacob, the son of a minister, came from just as

learned a trade. Then he might have purchased

And when he and my grandmother eventually

good a home as Spurgeon, and likely was equally

a house in one of the exploding suburbs of New

passed on, the proceeds of that house were

a hard worker. His life path could have just as

York. It is possible that he would have lived a

passed down to his children and grandchildren.

easily been similar to Spurgeon’s. Unfortunately,

long life, much like his minister father, and the

Both Jacob and Spurg (as my grandmother

assets he built over time could have served as a

would call him) were trying to maximize their

safety net when his children went through some

return on what the combination of their skills

of the ups and downs that are a natural part of

and environments would yield. Both some-

life. And when he passed on, that house or the

times wandered into legal grey areas in order

proceeds from the sale of it, could have passed

to survive. Neither sought handouts. They

down to his children and grandchildren.

wanted to reintegrate back into society like all

Spurgeon, on the other hand, found a bal-

were denied, however, the full benefits available

business and running numbers. This allowed him

to white soldiers, that precipitated one of the

“Race, in the United States, is the visible agent of the unseen force of caste. Caste is the bones, race the skin.

Race is what we can see … Caste is the powerful infrastructure that holds each group in its place.”

The Finance and Economic Caste

T

he wealth disparity is one of the starkest markers of caste in the U.S. Black Americans are shoved to the bottom of the economic caste when it comes to competitive wages, real estate, education, business ownership, and occupation. Many Black households find their “normal” is a perpetual state of disruptions, uncertainty, and vulnerability, thereby creating a life lived on the margins. Blacks are often last to be hired and first to be fired, even when they exhibit stronger credentials, excellent work ethic, and higher quality work.

led to a very different outcome.

the other soldiers returning from the war. They

ance between running his own small upholstery

From the Black Codes came Jim Crow laws, continuing to enforce racial segregation. While civil rights legislation in the 1960s outlawed legal segregation, African Americans continue to this day to live in a segregated America. Wilkerson asserts that race is the “front man” for caste:

being at the wrong place and at the wrong time

A 2019 survey of consumer finances conducted by the U.S. Federal Reserve shows that the typical white family has eight times the wealth of the typical Black family. White families have a higher level of median family wealth: $188,200, while Black families have $24,100.

Furthermore, contrary to what many believe, Black people have not had access to many government-driven programs that build wealth — programs that have been made available to whites. A prime example is the GI Bill implemented after World War II to facilitate the re-entry of millions of soldiers back into the American economy. The bill made available low-interest mortgages, established hospitals, and granted stipends to cover tuition and expenses for veterans attending colleges or trade schools. From 1944 to 1949, nearly 9 million veterans received close to $4 billion from the unemployment compensation program.

The education and training provisions existed until 1956 and insured loans until 1962. While the GI Bill did not specifically exclude the 1.2 million Black veterans, its structure did.

Blacks were faced with banks refusing them loans, housing developments preventing their membership, and colleges and universities denying admission. In the process, African

Americans were prevented from building wealth through the GI Bill that could be passed down to the next generation. The long-term ripple effects are massive.

Converting earned income into savings or appreciating assets is the most prevalent manner to building wealth, but a confluence of downward pressure on income and factors that drive up expenses negatively impact Black Americans. Income inequality is a significant factor in reinforcing the gap. Even when controlled for level of education, Black men earn significantly less than white men. With respect to median hourly earnings, according to the Pew Research Center, Black men earned 73% of the median hourly earnings of white men in 2015.

Entrepreneurship is increasingly promoted as a mechanism to growing wealth. However, access to capital is a critical element of building a business; particularly during the startup phase. New businesses are generally capitalized through the founder’s personal assets, friends and family, or institutions such as banks, and we have established that Black Americans have substantially less wealth — or access to financial resources — than their white counterparts.

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STICKING TO THE SCRIPT Darline Augustine ’91

A

s an educator, I am all too familiar with stories of how caste manifests itself on college

campuses. One of my Black female colleagues painfully described how she is repeatedly questioned by security guards upon entering the campus, though she has worked there for 20+ years. As I listened to her, my heart sank. I also recalled the countless times a particular security guard on campus stopped me and asked me to show ID. Each time the security guard asked, I politely showed it to her, even if it occurred several times in a day. I knew that she was doing her job.

Most of the security guards on the campus are Black. The theatrics of caste often do not allow anyone to deviate from the script. Both Black and white people can unwittingly find themselves endorsing the hierarchy of race. In such scenarios, Black faculty often feel alone and unsupported.

The Housing Caste

ALAMY

JORG MEYER

H

Darline Augustine in Brooklyn, N.Y.

The 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution granted citizenship to all persons born or naturalized in the United States — including former slaves — and guaranteed all citizens “equal protection of the laws;” ratified on July 9, 1868

48

H A M I LTO N

omeownership contributes to the building of intergenerational wealth. From 1940 to 1960, systemic and legalized housing discrimination prevented many Black Americans from achieving that goal, according to the Economic Policy Institute. And for those who are able to acquire homes, the cost of ownership is greater. Black Americans pay $13,464 more over the life of a home loan, with interest, mortgage insurance, and taxes, than do white Americans, according to a 2020 report by MIT’s Golub Center for Finance and Policy. Consequently, Black Americans save less for their retirement.

In some cases, Black Americans have found that decisions to improve their economic status are met with aggression. For instance, some face harassment from neighbors when they move to a predominantly white community, or the police are called on them simply for being. It might only take an accusation to lead to deadly violence and destruction of their homes and livelihoods. In fact, this is what occurred in the Greenwood district in Tulsa, Okla., in 1921, when a Black man was accused of assaulting a white woman. Although many believed that it was a false accusation, a white mob burned

WKPEDIA COMMONS

down what was then known as Black Wall Street, a thriving community where Blacks had their own theatres, hotels, restaurants, and shops, and bought from and sold to each other.

The capital circulated within their community.

Caste in Higher Education

A

2020 article in the Harvard Business Review noted that “Black professors face unique challenges. They report microaggressions, such as being mistaken for non-academic staff, being told they don’t look like a professor, and being treated with less respect by students than their white colleagues. Many of the students they interact with have had little previous interaction with Black people in authority positions.”

The daily challenges that Blacks in academia face can be draining. They suck the life out of Black faculty, are traumatic, and impact their health. “When faculty members feel singled out for their racial identity, the loneliness, added stress, and even impostor syndrome can take a toll. Sometimes those feelings and other factors, like an inability to create meaningful change or frustration over being the ‘token’ minority in the department, can prompt them to leave their

institutions,” according to a January 2021 article in The Chronicle of Higher Education.

A 2019 piece in The Atlantic reported that less than 6% of full-time faculty members at U.S. institutions are Black, and while many factors coalesce to bring about that dearth, one of the most significant is the perpetual scarcity of Black doctorate recipients. “In 2017, there were more than a dozen fields — largely subfields within science, technology, engineering, and math — in which not a single doctoral degree was awarded to a [B]lack person anywhere in the United States,” the article noted. As Pamela Newkirk, a professor of journalism at New York University, says in the 2019 Chronicle of Higher Education article “Why Diversity Initiatives Fail,” “... most colleges have done little to meaningfully remake themselves in response to America’s carefully constructed racial caste system, which universities played a role in legitimizing and which created and maintained systemic inequality.”

From the perspective of students in higher education, a 2016 report by the Brookings Institution found that Black college graduates owed $7,400 more on average than their white peers ($23,400 versus $16,000) on the day of graduation. This gap tripled in the years following

Before and during the Tulsa Race Riot of 1921.

For two days, mobs of white residents attacked more than 35 blocks of the Greenwood district in Tulsa, Okla., known as Black Wall Street, at the time the wealthiest Black community in the U.S.

“

The price of privilege is the moral duty to act when one sees another person treated unfairly. ― Isabel Wilkerson in Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents

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STAYING ON THE RIGHT PATH Darin Hickman ’93

G

rowing up in a Black woman-led, single-par-

risks than the more affordable but dangerous

ent household in New York City, I had to

lower-income areas. It also unfortunately meant

fight against the probabilities that could easily

that we were inevitably known as the “poor”

have led me down the school-to-prison pathway

family in the neighborhood.

so common in my neighborhood, rather than

was, in part, a consequence of my hard work

advanced degrees. As a family, we experienced

and focus, it was also pure luck, prayer, or an

many of the challenges endemic to such a

ancestor standing in the gap, whichever most

situation — income instability, periods of welfare,

resonates with you spiritually. On more than

frequent moves, being latchkey kids due to unaf-

one occasion, I could have easily dropped out

fordable after-school care, etc. A key difference

of school and headed down the wrong path. But

is that my mother had the foresight to keep

each time I was swayed in the wrong direction,

our family of three in relatively middle/working

seemingly random people would divert me

class neighborhoods. She knew that because

toward a better way.

she had to work, her two young boys would, in

would see me go from being held back in ninth

Black working-class neighborhoods of southern

grade to consistently being ranked among the

Queens, while far from perfect, presented fewer

top five students in my grade, I got accepted

ALAMY

The Eradication of Caste

W 50

H A M I LTO N

After a volatile high school career that

some ways, be raised by the community. The

graduation. Between the differences in accrual of interest and borrowing for graduate school, Black student loan debt increases to nearly $53,000 four years after graduation.

Research shows that even with a college degree, Black Americans earn less than their white counterparts. If one combines the lower salary with higher debt service, the wealth gap only widens. The same financial circumstances that lead to the relatively high Black debt burden also increases the likelihood of Black people not completing their education. About 29% of Black students leave college after their first year due to mounting financial hardships, according to a 2017 article in the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis Review.

The 15th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution granted African American men the right to vote; ratified on Feb. 3, 1870

While my ability to fight against the odds

the pathway to prestigious institutions and

here do we go from here, and what are we to do? Is the answer reparations?

Just the mention of the word can be radioactive when it comes to African Americans and slavery.

According to a Brookings Institution 2020 analysis, “reparations — a system of redress for egregious injustices — are not foreign to the

United States.” Government records show that as far back as 1862, The District of Columbia Emancipation Act “provided for immediate emancipation, compensation to former owners who were loyal to the Union of up to $300 for each freed slave.” Two examples in the 20th century: We have seen reparations, rightly so, given to Holocaust survivors and for the internment of Japanese-Americans. While there is no magic bullet to solve these systemic ills, more can be done. In our view, no sum of money can compensate for past injustices against African Americans.

Unequal treatment affects everyone’s bottom line. A study by Citibank found that race-based discrimination and inequality have cost the U.S. about $16 trillion in lost gross domestic product (GDP) over the last two decades. This lost GDP is a result of Black Americans earning less than white Americans, having less access to home and small-business loans, and limited access to higher education. The study found that, if the U.S. could wave a magic wand and immediately end the most severe forms of economic discrimination against Black Americans, the country’s GDP would see a $5 trillion boost by 2025.

How do we eradicate the evils of caste in America? As economists point out in “What We

at Hamilton. The only way I was able to afford

unexpected impact. They’ve served as motivat-

my college education was through a substan-

ing evidence that I could, with perseverance and

tial financial aid package that also covered a

hard work, achieve whatever goal I set, despite

significant amount of my student loan. With no

setbacks. This motivation has been critical in

financial family support, by the time I completed

pushing through the volatility that comes when

the first semester of my senior year, I had an

one has chosen to take that mad dash to free-

outstanding balance that I owed the school. This

dom off the corporate “plantation” in an effort

is in addition to the growing student loan debt I

to build multigenerational wealth.

had accumulated.

I was forced to leave with only one semester remaining. I returned to Hamilton 18 months later and completed my degree after working, paying down the outstanding balance. I would go on to accumulate even more student loan debt as I earned my MBA from the University of Michigan a few years later.

Fast forward 23 years, these experiences of trying to stay on the “right path” have had an

Get Wrong About Closing the Wealth Gap,” a 2018 article published by the Insight Center for Community Economic Development, “Blacks cannot close the racial wealth gap by changing their individual behavior — i.e. by assuming more ‘personal responsibility’ or acquiring the portfolio management insights associated with ‘[financial] literacy.’”

We must remove the shackles — train, educate, employ, promote, and pay competitive wages to Black Americans. n

“

The hierarchy of caste is not about feelings or morality. It is about power — which groups have it and which do not.

It is about resources — which caste is seen as worthy of them and which are not, who gets to acquire and control them and who does not. It is about respect, authority, and assumptions of competence — who is accorded these and who is not. ― Isabel Wilkerson in Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents

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BLACK LIVES MATTER

AND THE ART OF SOLIDARITY

BY SAKHILE MATLHARE ’10 Following the death of George Floyd, people in more than 60 countries and across continents gathered to protest against racial injustice. Sakhile Matlhare was one of them. She is the

co-founder and art director of Sakhile&Me, a contemporary art gallery in Frankfurt, Germany, that focuses on Africa and her diasporas. Born in Botswana, she came to the United States following her high school education in 2005 and spent a year at The Hotchkiss School in Connecticut before enrolling at Hamilton. Matlhare earned her Master of Arts degree at The University of Sydney and a doctorate in sociology at Northwestern University in 2017.

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H A M I LTO N

KATHARINA DUBNO

TOP TO BOTTOM: Sakhile Matlhare at her 2010 Hamilton graduation Sakhile with Daniel Hagemeier ’11 in New York City, 2009

I

N THE PRE-DAWN HOURS OF NOV. 9, 2016, after watching Donald Trump win

the presidential election, a friend was driving me home on a misty, dark Chicago morning. Just as she was pulling up to my place, floodlights filled the car as an unmarked vehicle approached us. The two white males inside, although not in uniform, claimed they were police officers and asked us what we were doing in a no-parking zone. It was clear we were not parked. The engine was still running, and my friend’s brake lights were on. I explained that she was dropping me off. I got out of the car and waited until she drove away. The two men, smiling, turned off their floodlights and drove off. Once I entered my home, I cried, shaken and believing my life had been in danger. At 29 years old, I wrote the first draft of a will that morning.

If you never have had to wonder whether you can trust the police with your life — even when you are not breaking any law — this incident may seem odd but, nonetheless, innocent.

But to me it was not. I had felt threatened by people many turn to for protection. At the time, I was in my fourth year of pursuing a Ph.D. at Northwestern University. I was so disturbed by this experience that I finished my program within the next six months, graduating a year earlier than I had planned. I was determined to leave America under Trump as soon as possible but also acutely aware that this option was a kind of privilege.

Four years later, this time watching the election from Frankfurt, Germany, I saw that same president, who had stoked racial tensions throughout his presidency and emboldened white supremacists, come close to winning

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again. Trump received more than 74 million votes, the most by any incumbent U.S. president. Nearly 47 percent of the country voted to keep him in office.

I had moved to Frankfurt to live with my partner, Daniel Hagemeier ’11. We had met a decade earlier at Hamilton, two international students from two worlds colliding on the Hill.

After Hamilton, we studied together in Sydney before Daniel returned to Germany to work with his father, whose gallery specializes in German expressionist and classical modern art. When I finished my studies at Northwestern, we decided to lean into each other’s strengths and, in 2018, founded Sakhile&Me, a gallery for international contemporary art with a focus on Africa and her diasporas.

The decision to open an art space that prioritizes people of African descent was in part inspired by my own background. I grew up in Botswana, a country with a majority Black population that, when it comes to racism, some might say had a relatively peaceful transition from colonial occupation to independence.

However, throughout the course of my travel and studies, I came to realize that no matter where I landed or lived, I would always find myself dealing with the same questions of structural inequality, institutional racism, and power imbalances. I felt the need to address these proactively, which ultimately led me to co-founding Sakhile&Me. I believe cultural institutions are not apolitical spaces, because cultural production often speaks to issues of access and the production and circulation of resources and power. Many of the people I have known as educators on the

TOP TO BOTTOM: A sign in Germany that reads “One City, One Society Against Racism, Fascism, Homophobia” Protestors at a Black Lives Matter rally in Frankfort, Germany, 2020

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I believe cultural institutions are not apolitical spaces, because cultural production often speaks to issues of access and the production and circulation of resources and power.

power of history, language, visual literacy, and mental liberation have been artists. Within and beyond the arts, individuals and groups have often employed art as protest — depicting the raised fist long a sign of resistance, using the Pan-African colors of red, green, and black, and creating public portraits and murals that memorialize Black and Brown people killed around the world.

Not all of the artists we work with at Sakhile&Me see their work as overtly political along the mainstream definitions of “political action” and activism. But we attempt to demonstrate how each of them, through a conceptual thread they are following or in the aesthetic of their work, opens opportunities for audiences to interact with their work and engage with each other. The artists create a chance to see things in a new way or think

through difficult — yet empowering — everyday experiences. I am aware that visitors to the gallery sometimes just want to enjoy the aesthetics and beauty of the artists’ work. However, even though art is often viewed subjectively and hierarchically, in conversations with most of our visitors there is an understanding that, on some level, the personal is political.

During an exhibition tour I gave at our gallery space last summer, I pointed out to my audience that what set 2020 apart is that we faced — and still face — two pandemics. One is a highly infectious virus and the other is racism, or specifically, anti-Blackness. In the midst of COVID-19, the killing of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police led to a resurgence of Black Lives Matter and caused a global ripple effect and demand for justice for people who have died and continue to die at the hands of police and other forms of state-sanctioned violence and discrimination.

People from more than 60 countries across the Americas, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Australia demonstrated, decrying Floyd’s death and the death of many others, and raising awareness about injustice and police brutality abroad and closer to home. Groups such as ISD (Initiative Schwarze Menschen in Deutschland or Initiative for Black People in Germany), Be Heard, and Youth Against Racism, that have been actively calling out racism in Germany, organized marches and demonstrations, sometimes going on for several weeks, to educate, support each other, and demand action and tangible anti-racism policies.

I attended some of these demonstrations in Frankfurt with their crowds growing as more

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“Flowers” from a 2020 solo exhibition by artist and activist Owanto. Her pieces raise awareness about female genital mutilation and related advocacy work through art and education.

and more people committed to the cause. The groups organizing and working together to do anti-racism work within their communities do so with the heightened awareness that they are part of a larger movement.

On its own, racism itself is a multifaceted pandemic. Therefore, it makes sense that there are a multitude of ways to address it.

What unites them is the understanding that none of what is happening is new. The violence is not new. The outrage is not new. It is long overdue that the masses of those who are fed up with the short-lived reactionary shock step away from the sidelines and are proactive in demanding justice, coordinating with each other, and repurposing the existing platforms and building alternative spaces.

Our collective determination was relevant before 2020, and it will continue to be relevant after we stop marching in the streets and posting #BlackLivesMatter on placards and social media pages. Those who believe that asserting value to Black and Brown lives means denying value to the lives of others do not understand that the very existence of this global movement, this demand, is to point out the many ways that our lives have been historically and continue to be maligned. We demand this course be set right. n

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PHOTO COURTESY OF SAKHILE&ME

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The artists create a chance to see things in a new way or think through difficult — yet empowering — everyday experiences.

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Skip McKoy in the 1966 Hamiltonian yearbook

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BRANDON HUNTER

Change Begins with

EDUCATION Reform

BY JOHN H. “SKIP” MCKOY ’66 Throughout his 36-year career in Washington, D.C., Skip McKoy has served in a variety of roles, including director of programs at Fight For Children, president and CEO at DC Agenda, senior regional vice president at Lockheed Martin IMS, and planning director at District of Columbia Government.

Community service positions include chairing the DC Public Charter School Board and participation on the DC Chamber of Commerce, DC Humanities Council, Public Education Partnership, and Communities in Schools. He is the author of two novels, Paying to Play in Hong Kong and Son of the Maya.

T

HE KILLING OF GEORGE FLOYD, FLOYD, BREONNA TAYLOR, and Ahmaud Arbery were all senseless, indefensible acts of violence stimulated, at least in part, by racist emotions. What do these and hundreds of other acts of violent bigotry tell us about institutional and informal racism in today’s America? What role can education play in bringing an end to this epidemic?

My reflections are shaped by a journey that began in 1949 when my parents enrolled me in the kindergarten of a highly regarded Philadelphia private school, Germantown Friends. Helping to integrate the school was nothing like being the first Black students to attend white schools in Montgomery, Ala. Yes, I endured name-calling, police stops outside friends’ houses, and self-doubt about my own ability, but no bricks, bombs, or jeering crowds barred my entry. No Emmett Till-type murderers jumped me in the streets. I was the first child of color to go from kindergarten through 12th grade at Germantown Friends and have lifelong friends from that experience.

Many factors contributed to a relatively healthy childhood — a church (Society of Friends) and school culture grounded in the Quaker belief that “there is that of God in every person,” excellent teachers and small classes, curious and eventually welcoming classmates, and a younger brother with whom to share and sometimes commiserate. Above all, all

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TOP TO BOTTOM: Emmett Till, a 14-year-old who was lynched in Mississippi in 1955 after allegedly whistling at a white woman Skip (left) with his father, mother, and brother Paul, circa 1956 Teens protesting against school desegregation in Montgomery, Ala., 1963

I had phenomenal parents; both were welleducated at Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs), trained as educators and social workers, and held strong religious beliefs.

academic, choral, athletic, and fraternal experiences were rich and invaluable. I was the only African American or Latino graduating in my class of about 170, and of the approximately 800

They were devoted to the proposition that their boys were “as good as anybody” and should get top-notch educations.

Our parents had experienced more severe racism. Dad witnessed his brother being lynched in North Carolina, and Mom endured persistent humiliating episodes as she desegregated a neighborhood Philadelphia school. Yet they viewed much of it as the shortcomings of ignorant “man’s inhumanity to man,” without blaming any one group or race. They had extreme confidence in themselves and could also cut short a child’s whimpering about some racist incident with, “Child, you want me to tell you about some real bigotry? Let me remind you about …”

men enrolled, only a handful were of color. My isolation was not as acute as it might have been had I not had my Quaker school preparation. I still have friends among my former white classmates and African American upperclassmen.

Most Hamilton alumni will agree that, on “the Hill,” one can get a great education and preparation for a professional life. Beyond the friendships and joyous moments arguing the fine points of some political lesson, participating in an intramural activity, or grinding out an English paper, I recall the contribution of two professors, in particular. They indirectly affected my leadership style and are partly responsible for my interest in writing. I majored in philosophy, not because it would have some career-enhancing applicability, but because Professor Russell Blackwood made the study of ideas and the process of inquiry so fascinating.

Professor Warren Wright taught our required public speaking class. After I delivered my final class presentation, he removed the pipe from his mouth, slapped his palm on the desk, fixed me with an interminable, knee-buckling stare, and offered a critique that has stuck with me for almost 60 years. “Mr. McKoy, you have a unique ability to communicate. Don’t waste it.”

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Y JOURNEY TO HAMILTON PROvided exposure to some white peers who didn’t have the values of my former classmates. On a trip to visit prospective colleges, the director of admissions at Wesleyan greeted me with, “What sport do you play?” I stood up, thanked him, said I wasn’t coming to college primarily to play sports, and I left. My interviews at Hamilton and Williams were more appropriate, and a long visit with the relative of a family friend, who headed the Government Department, sold me on “Ham Coll.”

As a freshman, the occasional query such as, “Does your hair grow?” or a whispered N-word made it clear that I was no longer in a Quaker bubble. While many classmates had never had a real friendship with an African American, my

A

FTER GRADUATION AND DURING the Vietnam War, I was a conscientious objector, serving as a community organizer for two years in poor communities of Guatemala City. Sandwiched between a city planning master’s degree at Penn and a public administration master’s degree

“

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

— U.S. Declaration of Independence adopted in Philadelphia, July 4, 1776

at Harvard, I ran planning agencies and did consulting in Massachusetts, Washington, and San Francisco. From 1978 through retirement in 2014, I worked in the District of Columbia.

on trips to China and South Asia; East, West, and South Africa; Central and South America.

Travel helped dispel my assumption that a stranger’s long stare masked anger or

The ’80s were an exhilarating time to be a leader in a new primarily Black local government with brilliant lawyers, activists, and planners from the civil rights movement. During my subsequent career with a Fortune 50 corporation, several nonprofit organizations, and my own management consulting practice, I also served on the boards of numerous local education and business organizations.

What are some of the factors that have enabled me to have a relatively comfortable and successful life during the era from Emmett Till to George Floyd? Clearly, I was often simply lucky. I didn’t choose my parents, my school, or my childhood environment. But, putting aside providence, I became deeply involved with public education reform. It seemed obvious that so many of the methods and resources employed to bolster student achievement in many DC schools were provided by parents in earlier times. Additionally, communities offered critical support: faith, school teachers and administrators, role models.

I also benefited from exposure to people from many backgrounds, whether foreign dinner guests at home, international students at school-sponsored choir and workcamp trips, students from a range of socioeconomic backgrounds in high school, or among children of my parents’ friends. Because my early education was so European and American-focused, Asia, Africa, and Latin America have remained more exotic and enticing during my adult years. Thus, I’ve leapt at opportunities to join my wife (an international health executive)

displeasure. I have generally found people curious and friendly. While enjoying foreign travel, however, I long ago concluded that opportunities, comfort, and community for a Black person in a predominantly non-Black society are today more abundant in America than in any other land I’ve visited.

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INALLY, WHETHER DUE to natural proclivity or studied practice, I’ve built and maintained networks at each institution, job, association, and vacation site with which I’ve had a relationship. Spending much of my career in a community populated with scores of Black professionals has been an added benefit. I’m sure, along the way, there have been meetings and decisions, parties, and celebrations to which I have not been invited because I am a Black man; however, I don’t feel I’ve missed much. My journey has left me very comfortable in my skin.

So, now you have some notion of the perspective I bring to the questions about this age of continued racist killings of unarmed Black people, this age of wink-and-a-nod sanctioning of white supremacist activity, this age of the U.S. shrinking from leadership in critical world affairs.

The civil rights protests and subsequent legislation brought an end to state-sanctioned segregation, and state and local laws have

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Schools have to find ways to stimulate curiosity about and foster interaction among students of different backgrounds. weakened the grip of discrimination. Human beings, however, don’t change quickly. Attitudes of white privilege and acts of social injustice indicate that this journey toward equal opportunity, equal treatment before the law, tolerance, indeed celebration of difference, is far from complete.

While traveling in the U.S. today, it’s hard for me not to feel anxious when walking or jogging through some white neighborhoods. I’m still aware of being under surveillance in certain stores. I’m unfailingly, probably unnecessarily, polite when engaging with police. It’s impossible not to notice a solo Black person’s ability to hush the occasional noisy hotel lobby, meeting, or reception merely by entering. And it’s not because white folks are searching for paper to seek his or her autograph.

Yet, with all of these shortcomings in our society, I feel we are unambiguously closer today to that more perfect union than in the second half of the 20th century. Statistics and random casual observation confirm that African Americans are more pervasive and powerful in politics; more successful and visible in business and professions; and more ubiquitous in commercials and as consumers. We have long been a leading presence in sports and entertainment,

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and have begun to accede to ownership and management within those fields. The image of a Black non-HBCU president, mayor, governor, or president would have been fantasy in the ’50s. Last year’s Democratic slate of presidential primary contestants reflected the ethnic, gender, and religious diversity that is growing more prominent and achieving more acceptance in this country. That is not to say, however, that we have achieved a tolerant and equitable multicultural society.

S

O, WHAT IS NEEDED TODAY TO break the remnants of what Pulitzer Prize-winning author Isabel Wilkerson describes in her book Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents? How do we become a society in which opportunity is genuinely afforded to everybody? There clearly is no simple answer, no law or enforcement mechanism to force us all to “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Part of the key, I would suggest, starts with loving parenting, early childhood development, and education.

Resourcing schools has to be a major priority. Talented, committed, well-trained and well-paid teachers, manageable class sizes, challenging curricula, teacher and adminis-

◀

OPPOSITE PAGE TOP TO BOTTOM: Skip’s sixth-grade homeroom, 1956 In middle school with classmate Jonathan Vaughan, who would become a professor of psychology at Hamilton from 1971 until his death in 2014 Skip’s high school senior class picture, 1962

tutional principles should be taught in every middle school.

While multicultural classrooms serving mixed neighborhoods can benefit all students, kids don’t automatically learn how to get along by just sitting next to one another. Schools have to find ways to stimulate curiosity about and foster interaction among students of different backgrounds. Tolerance can be taught. To that end, high schools should be funded to permit every student an opportunity to spend a summer or part of a semester with a family in a foreign country or in a radically different American environment.

Colleges and universities can also play a major part in educating and exposing majority and minority students to histories, religions, and cultures of those with whom they are studying. Clearly faculties have to be diverse and be trained to facilitate understanding, rather than denying our history of racism. Transparent procedures should be established for removing faculty and students who are found to foster and advocate discrimination, hate, or bias.

Finally, trying to legislate tolerance by all in the majority is as foolhardy as requiring all minority citizens to “educate” the majority about concepts such as white privilege. Education alone won’t bring about equity and social justice. Laws establishing boundaries of decency and fairness, however, are necessary and require time for their intended aims to be embedded in societal norms. So, declaring affirmative action laws superfluous, outdated, or unfair ignores the

facts on the ground and prematurely declares victory over the ills of racial discrimination.

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BVIOUSLY, OPPORTUNITY AND

main-street achievement for African Americans in 2021 is much greater than in 1950. But even if the recently publicized uniformed and non-uniformed assailants of unarmed Black citizens are tried, found guilty, and punished, it is too early to celebrate. Black Lives Matter understands this. Out-and-out lethal racism, insidious bigotry, injustice and dangerous ignorance, and misunderstanding of others — across all groups — pervade too much of our country. We can all learn from one another. Not to do so is to endanger a truly equitable, satisfying, and prosperous future for all of America’s children. n

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Skip outside the Embassy of South Africa in Washington, D.C., where a statue of Nelson Mandela greets visitors

BRANDON HUNTER

trative accountability for student outcomes, remedial support, and an extended school day, where needed, have to become standard.

Classes in civics and civility rooted in consti-

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Destination Empathy:

A JOURNEY of HEALING and RESTORATION 64

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BY MICHAEL TENNANT ’04 Michael Tennant, a media and advertising veteran, is the founder of Curiosity Lab and the creator of Actually Curious, a card game recognized by Beyoncé and featured by The New York Times, NBC’s Today show, Cosmopolitan, and more. He uses his platform to advocate for progress in diversity and mental health and wellness. This deeply personal and poetic essay recounts critical moments in his life and offers an example of one person’s exploration into individual

PAUL MAROTTA

healing on a path to spreading empathy.

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T

HE HEALING WE ARE LOOKING for might need to start from within.

Since the 2016 elections, we have watched as our nation’s former leader churned up historical traumas of racism and violence. That period led me to deep reflection, as events in my own life intertwined with those of 2020: COVID-19 and the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement.

Prior to this, many of our traumas, both national and personal, were dormant. Through this sudden shared pain, I believe we are coming to terms with a challenging truth: If we are to create a ripple effect of healing in the world, first we need to get closer to ourselves — our desires, fears, and biases. Today, after the last four years, I feel as if I am as much at a moment of rebirth as our country.

We need empathy in our bodies and homes before we can influence our neighbors and our societal systems. This has become my journey and purpose, and I’ll tell you how I did it, so you can explore it, too.

But to get to the root, we have to go back, as I share my journey to empathy.

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▶ OPPOSITE PAGE: Michael in New York City at the East River Track, July 2020 ◀ TOP TO BOTTOM: Michael (left) with older brother Chris Tennant, 1987 Michael hanging out with a cousin, 1993

SUMMER 1990:

FALL 1996:

Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, N.Y.

The Hill School, Pottstown, Pa.

I

A

t still feels like a dream. Hot summer night, parents and teenage brothers doing their own thing. I heard someone at the door of my family’s Bed-Stuy brownstone. Curious, I went to look.

My 17-year-old brother Darren was gasping on the floor, lying in a pool of blood. Even at 6 years old, without exchanging words, I knew he’d been shot. Chaos erupted around me.

Ringing phone, sirens, hospital, yelling. I felt strangely calm, but my mind raced, filled with a subconscious streaming, until it seemed to stop. I imagine someone carried me to bed that night. Someone who loved me tucked me in.

Time stopped as I descended through the darkness. That night was my first time falling down a hole — the hole I would stumble into repeatedly for the next three decades. I now know I was too young when I learned that any moment could be a fight for life or death.

For many of us, the life we inherit is more nightmare than American Dream. This became clear to me in 2020 after the wave of public killings of Black human beings, from Ahmaud Arbery in February to George Floyd in May.

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year after he was shot, Darren graduated high school and took a camouflaged ticket out of his childhood and into the Army. It was a good move, too, as over the next six years I’d watch from my latchkey jail as half of his friends were killed or sent to prison.

At 12, my escape came in a scholarship to a prestigious prep school. The change in scenery and academic opportunity represented a chance for a brighter future. On my first night, I stayed awake nervous with anticipation. I soon learned that I was unprepared for the unnamed, unspoken system of oppression in which I found myself barely keeping afloat.

I learned racism isn’t always like in the movies where bigots call you the N-word.

Racism was going from the top of my urban class to the bottom of the elite pack. Racism was receiving comments if more than two Black kids sat together for a meal. Racism was having white boys call me an affirmative action charity case, failing to recognize the achievements that got me there. Racism was learning I’d have to work twice as hard, and even then, if I got too high, someone would try to diminish or take away my win.

“

We need empathy in our bodies and homes before we can influence our neighbors and our societal systems.

This has become my journey and purpose ...

FALL 2000:

SUMMER 2004:

Hamilton College

New York City

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H

y the time I got to Hamilton, I was hip to the game. We all play it actually, regardless of skin color. We try to find the places we best fit in. But for kids like me, the stakes are higher, the losses harder. I made friends.

I tried to avoid comparing myself to others and their wealth, but I couldn’t completely ignore how different my home experience was from that of many of my college friends.

They were playing a different game. I faced a stronger headwind.

At graduation, I found myself emotionally sinking, reminded of the stark difference between my present and my past. Eight years mingling with white suburbia showed me the vast divides among striving students. Success in the job market was my way to close that gap.

ow many can relate to this state of mind?

You’re trying to get ahead, but you’re starting from behind. As a new grad burdened with student loan debt, I knew I couldn’t settle for a mediocre career. I needed to make it big. I needed to make ancestors and family members proud. I chose entertainment as my path. If I hustled, I could become a Black Richard Branson.

Through long days of ladder-climbing in New York City, I learned how to swim with sharks in toxic waters, deliver at high levels, step over competitors, and never look back.

Yet, the higher I climbed, the more I felt cut out and found doors closing when I’d worked so hard to open them — a hole beneath me.

I’d soon learn that when you live outside your integrity, karma has a way of catching up.

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SEPTEMBER 2016:

NOV. 8, 2016

SUMMER 2019

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E

New York City

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y post-college dream world crashed into reality on a dreadful Tuesday. Hungover, I headed to work for a many-timesrescheduled meeting with my boss. Suddenly, my mother was calling — my closest brother, Chris, had suffered a stroke. I rushed to Houston, prayed him out of a coma, and was there when he opened his eyes.

Watching him recover filled me with a deep instinct to reconnect with my family for the first time in years. I called my boss the next day: “We all deal with hardship, Michael, but now it is the time to get your fucking head in the game.”

Leaving that job became a matter of when, not if.

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he night of Donald J. Trump’s election was the moment I decided to leave corporate America to find alignment with my values, my dreams, and my curiosity. The first year of Curiosity Lab, my purpose-driven marketing services company, was great. We landed contracts with the Swedish brand Oatly. Then sweetgreen and SOCAP, and Sustain Natural.

One purposeful client after the next. A year in, $2M grossed, our confidence was high.

But two years in, the gaps started to show.

The initial wave of interest slowed to a trickle.

What began as idealistic marketers using storytelling to make a difference soon transformed into business partners struggling to pay for our living. In April 2019, we called it quits.

motionally broken and falling into debt, I took an offer as CMO of a public health nonprofit. I had a job, a title, but I still felt lost. More and more, I reached out to my brother Chris. I tried dating. I read self-help books. I tried to establish a healthy relationship with my anxiety and loneliness.

After reading The Way of the Superior Man

by David Deida, I deepened friendships with remarkable men of color in my life. One night, after a warm meeting with three friends, Chris texted to check in. I felt good and told him so.

He responded that he was relieved; he’d been worried about me and wanted to make sure I knew I was loved. I went to bed feeling full of love, strength, and grace — for the first time, possibly ever.

When I woke the next morning, I learned that Chris had left this life for a better place. I lost my fleeting joy.

DEAL ME IN TO EMPATHY

I

n the months leading up to the 2018 midterm elections, Michael Tennant’s thoughts turned to how his socially conscious marketing agency, Curiosity Lab, could address

the country’s growing divisiveness. The solution came in the form of a card game called Actually Curious.

Using the psychology of emotional connection, the game offers participants prompts intended to spark conversations that delve into their values and biases — for example, “What one thing would you change about the way you were raised?” or “Is there anything too serious to be joked about?” The questions can be used as journaling prompts or as discussion icebreakers. Among friends and family, they might unlock long-forgotten stories or help couples better understand each other’s views on a deeper level.

“Playing a fun and competitive card game is a sneakily effective way of disarming the defenses and getting into important topics,” Tennant wrote on the product’s web page. “We drew references from psychologists, journalists, crisis negotiators, game developers, our parents, and our friends, and came up with a game that is teaching us the tools of having conversations with empathy.”

To learn more, visit actuallycurious.com

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TOP TO BOTTOM: Michael (front, center) and brother Darren Tennant join others at the funeral for their brother, Chris, August 2019 Michael taking a stroll in Tampa, Fla., Nov. 2019

▶ OPPOSITE PAGE: Michael relaxing in Port Charlotte, Fla., April 2020

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FALL 2019:

AUGUST 2019:

The Dark Days

The Penultimate Challenge; A New Goodbye

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hat first weekend after the news was filled with pain, confusion, fury, and the substances I once used to dull those feelings. My nervous system tied into a knot, resilience came to rescue me and forced me to a full stop. My choice became heal or die. I knew if I didn’t confront my deep feelings of insecurity and lack, the next time I encountered that recurring nightmare of falling down a hole might finally be the time that I wouldn’t make it back. Things had to drastically change.

Using routines and tools to fill my cup, I turned to meditation, yoga, running, and daily journaling. I returned to the values exercises that gave birth to Curiosity Lab and a game called Actually Curious that we created to help fight divisiveness. But this time, I focused it solely on me.

What are my deepest values and intentions?

I landed on the foundational points: curiosity, grace, and leadership. During my meditations and journaling sessions, I began to channel the unconditional support of my big brother Chris. I also made it a point to connect with my brother Darren and the rest of my family every day. I even formed new spiritual connections with transitioned souls I’d loved in the past.

he weekend of Chris’ funeral, our family was back in Brooklyn, and I somehow found myself in a fight with my father and Darren. The moment spiraled out of control but came to a crawl, as shame overwhelmed me. As I reflect on my behavior that weekend, I can see how fragile and insecure I was. I patched things up with Darren, grateful for his forgiveness, determined to reconnect more.

On Oct. 21, 2019, less than two months after Chris’ funeral, I received a call from my niece Ashley. My brother Darren had passed away.

NOVEMBER 2019: Copenhagen, Denmark

I

began to look at time differently. All this pain, strain, effort to impress, live up to expectations, and do anything — but be me — had robbed me of precious moments with people I love. On a morning in the Nørrebro district of Copenhagen, I awoke with a vision that the game I’d created in 2018 to fight divisiveness was going to be needed to spread empathy as we approached the 2020 elections.

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I stepped away for good from my job, rented a car, and set out on a journey. Listening to the stories and narratives of others, led to even deeper grace and empathy.

We ruefully say that hindsight is 2020. But what if it really is? What if all these unimaginable, unprecedented crises are signs to STOP and reassess the reality we are living in?

I’m actually curious. Where do you want to go? It’s worth the effort to go back and find out where your traumas and biases come from. It’s not easy, but the results are worth it.

Reflecting on my past, I realize I went through five specific steps on my road to discovering real empathy:

Today my values of resilience, curiosity, grace, leadership, and consistency help me to heal and focus on pursuing my highest self. I am not special. Rebuilding my world meant stumbling through relationships, jobs, fights, and deep personal development. Messy, but a priceless result when I came to peace with the realization that all of this is bigger than I am.

Universal empathy and love start with you.

We all need to go on this journey, as individuals, in our own homes, if we want our actions to shape our nations and world. ❤

I’m actually curious. Where do you want to go? It’s worth the effort to go back and find out where your traumas and biases come from.

1. Seeing my traumas and biases 2. Acknowledging my biases are not my identity 3. Awareness and articulation of my values 4. Rebuilding my world around them 5. Living in flow with my values, intent, and dreams I had to go back to the first time I shut down, the first situation that stopped time, to really face my trauma and biases. I had to remind myself that the things that happened to me had shaped me, but didn’t have to be my reality.

W I N T E R - S P R I N G 2 0 2 1

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For Further Reading HOW MANY TIMES HAVE WE HEARD THE PHRASE “national conversation on race?” George Floyd was the catalyst for the latest discussions about racial justice.

The issues, as this magazine details, are not new, nor are they all uniquely American.

Yet, beyond the conversation about how we become a more inclusive society must come practice. This reading list is a combination of some seminal works on racial inequality — memoirs, fiction, poetry, among other genres — that explore the narratives and scholarship available. The books can be a beginning for some readers or a continuation for others to expand our collective knowledge on race. Hamily, will you commit to engage the list and work to dismantle racism and ignorance? — EJF

Photo by Nancy L. Ford

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H A M I LTO N

UNCOMFORTABLE CONVERSATIONS WITH A BLACK MAN — Emmanuel Acho WHITE RAGE: The Unspoken Truth of Our Racial Divide — Carol Anderson THE FIRE NEXT TIME — James Baldwin THE HALF HAS NEVER BEEN TOLD: Slavery and the Making of American Capitalism — Edward E. Baptist THE VANISHING HALF: A Novel — Brit Bennett SLAVERY BY ANOTHER NAME: The Re-Enslavement of Black Americans from the Civil War to World War II — Douglas A. Blackmon

STONY THE ROAD: Reconstruction, White Supremacy, and the Rise of Jim Crow — Henry Louis Gates, Jr.

THE CONDEMNATION OF BLACKNESS: Race, Crime and the Making of Modern Urban America — Khalil Gibran Muhammad

BEGIN AGAIN: James Baldwin’s America and Its Urgent Lessons for Our Own — Eddie S. Glaude Jr.

AMERICANAH — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

ON JUNETEENTH (available in May) — Annette Gordon-Reed WORDS OF FIRE: An Anthology of African-American Feminist Thought — Beverly Guy-Sheftall HOMEGOING — Yaa Gyasi BLACK SPARTACUS: The Epic Life of Toussaint Louverture — Sudhir Hazareesingh

BORN A CRIME: Stories from a South African Childhood — Trevor Noah SO YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT RACE — Ijeoma Oluo FATAL INVENTION: How Science, Politics, and Big Business Re-create Race in the Twenty-First Century — Dorothy Roberts THE COLOR OF LAW: A Forgotten History of How Our Government Segregated America — Richard Rothstein

THE ACCIDENT OF COLOR: A Story of Race in Reconstruction — Daniel Brook

BARRACOON: The Story of the Last “Black Cargo” — Zora Neale Hurston

THE YELLOW HOUSE: A Memoir — Sarah M. Broom

HOW TO BE AN ANTI-RACIST — Ibram X. Kendi

I’M STILL HERE: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness — Austin Channing Brown

STAMPED FROM THE BEGINNING: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America — Ibram X. Kendi

BETWEEN THE WORLD AND ME — Ta-Nehisi Coates

HEAVY: An American Memoir — Kiese Laymon

“WHY ARE ALL THE BLACK KIDS SITTING TOGETHER IN THE CAFETERIA?”: And Other Conversations About Race — Beverly Daniel Tatum

CRITICAL RACE THEORY: The Key Writings that Formed the Movement — Kimberly Crenshaw, et al.

ACROSS THAT BRIDGE: A Vision for Change and the Future of America — John Lewis

DIASPORIC BLACKNESS: The Life and Times of Arturo Alfonso Schomburg — Vanessa K. Valdés

EVERYTHING INSIDE: Stories — Edwidge Danticat

SISTER OUTSIDER: Essays and Speeches — Audre Lorde

THE FIRE THIS TIME: A New Generation Speaks about Race — Jesmyn Ward

THE MEANING OF FREEDOM: And Other Difficult Dialogues — Angela Y. Davis

“THEY CAN’T KILL US ALL”: The Story of the Struggle for Black Lives — Wesley Lowery

THE NICKEL BOYS: A Novel — Colson Whitehead

LOST PROPHET: The Life and Times of Bayard Rustin — John D’Emilio

BEHOLD THE DREAMERS — Imbolo Mbue

THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD — Colson Whitehead

WHITE FRAGILITY: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism — Robin DiAngelo

DEACON KING KONG: A Novel — James McBride

CASTE: The Origins of Our Discontents — Isabel Wilkerson

PAYING TO PLAY IN HONG KONG — John H. “Skip” McKoy ’66

WARMTH OF OTHER SUNS: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration — Isabel Wilkerson

RACECRAFT: The Soul of Inequality in American Life — Karen E. Fields and Barbara J. Fields GATEWAY TO FREEDOM: The Hidden History of the Underground Railroad — Eric Foner THE PURPOSE OF POWER: How We Come Together When We Fall Apart — Alicia Garza

DYING OF WHITENESS: How the Politics of Racial Resentment is Killing America’s Heartland — Jonathan M. Metzl RADICAL EQUATIONS: Civil Rights from Mississippi to the Algebra Project — Robert P. Moses ’56 and Charles E. Cobb, Jr.

ME AND WHITE SUPREMACY: Combat Racism, Change the World, and Become a Good Ancestor — Layla F. Saad JUST MERCY: A Story of Justice and Redemption — Bryan Stevenson

BLACK BODIES, WHITE GAZES: The Continuing Significance of Race in America — George Yancy AFRICAN AMERICAN POETRY: 250 Years of Struggle & Song — Kevin Young, editor W I N T E R 2 0 2 1

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HAMILTON

Non-Profit Org. U.S. Postage PAID

198 College Hill Road Clinton, NY 13323

Hamilton College

“

The questions that we think face the country are questions which ... are much deeper than civil rights. They’re questions which go very much to the bottom of mankind, and of people. They’re questions which have repercussions in terms of NANCY L. FORD

our whole international affairs and relations.

They’re questions which go to the very root of our society. What kind of society will we be; what kind of a people will we be?

▲

Bob Moses sharing his experiences as an activist, both in civil rights and in education, with a class at Hamilton, 2019

— Robert P. Moses ’56, in a speech about Freedom Summer at Stanford University, April 24, 1964

▶ Moses (right) encouraging voter registration in rural Mississippi, 1963

A leader of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee on voter education and registration in Mississippi during the civil rights movement, Bob Moses’ vision of grassroots and community-based leadership led him in 1982 to create the Algebra Project, a national program that emphasizes teaching math skills to historically underserved populations with the goal of sending more students into the workforce.

DANNY LYONS/MAGNUM PHOTOS