Shell Shock and The Work

For the last two days, I’ve been attending the Association for the Study of Higher Education (ASHE)’s Graduate Student Public Policy Seminar.  As we settled into the first session yesterday, I soon realized that out of the 40 or so attendees, I am the only Black woman. I am the only current student at a Minority Serving Institution, and I am the only alum of a Historically Black College + University. I started the day holding back tears and struggling to pay attention. Unsure of my feelings and unready to express them, I didn’t know what to expect.

I was relieved when the hosts acknowledged the elephant in the room and amended topics and questions to reflect possible policy implications over the next few years. I was validated and encouraged by students who pushed the conversation to be explicit about and inclusive of the problems at hand. But one word resonated with me:

“Shell shock.” That is the way many of the participants and presenters characterized their feelings after the election. Specifically, “Like everyone in the room, I’m shell shocked.” As I told the room when I later asked a question, I agree that many of us are in shell shock, but I disagreed that the expression applied to everyone. I shared two phrases that came to mind:

First, “Silence is violence”. We now know it is not only uneducated white people who support Trump. There were possibly people in the room who voted for him. The voting booth is perhaps one of the last few truly private places. It is clear there are many Trump supporters or non-voters who smile while they live, sit, and work next to us, and vote very differently.

Second, “The loss of privilege is not oppression”. What Trump’s election tells us is that there are people- largely, but not exclusively white- who feel something has been taken from them. They voted to take it back. I am reminded of Martin Luther King’s disappointment with white moderates in his Letter from the Birmingham Jail. But this is something more. This is not moderate silence. This is an extreme and loud proclamation. This was an intentional backlash against racial progress.

As I prepare to present on oppression and equity in higher education later this week, I am actually encouraged. Since starting the doc program last year, I’ve felt distant from “the work” of racial progress by organizers, protesters, and communities. This seminar has served to remind me that I am where I belong, and I am doing the work. Research- inclusive, relevant research- is a part of the work. Research that champions equity is part of the work. Research that provides evidence of injustice is part of the work. Research that informs solutions is part of the work.

And so I will repeat some of the words I wrote to myself just a few days ago:

* I matter.

* I am heard.

* I am trying every day.

* I am figuring it out.

* I am where I am supposed to be.

* I am on the path to where I am meant to be.