It is safe to say that my journey to become an anti-racist began in August 2018–the day the Black Student Union (BSU) on my institution’s campus interviewed me to support them as a faculty advisor. Prior to their generosity in moving me mentally forward, I would have said loudly, “I am not a racist.” Now, I know better. As a white woman raised in the white supremacist culture of the United States, racism was taught to me and I have privileges in my society because of the system. (White people, please read Robin Diangelo’s White Fragility for a more articulate and detailed explanation of this.) I also know that being “non-racist,” or claiming to be, is not enough. In fact, being an ally in the fight against racism as an anti-racist is not enough. However, being an accomplice in fighting racism is where it’s at. (Shout out to Symone Sanders for teaching me this in her talk at Big XII 2019.) I have to be in the trenches fighting not merely providing support.

Fighting racism brings me back to BSU. In my August 2018 interview for the most meaningful work I have done at the job I have worked in for 2.5 years, I was told only one response of mine mattered. I can see the beautiful face of the BSU President and the intense look in her eyes when she asked, “When shit goes down, and it will go down, will you be there for us?” Other officers there, past and present at that time, confirmed through nods and words of agreement that “shit would go down.” I replied, “If I am in, I am all in. And, I am in if you want me.” A week or two later, at the first membership meeting of fall semester 2018, I was voted in as BSU’s faculty advisor. I am forever thankful for the leap of faith these students took on a white professor.

Quickly, I learned that shit would, indeed, go down. When it did, I came to see how I could use my privilege as both white and a professor to fight in the trenches. Racist comments directed toward BSU at a campus sponsored event spurred students into action, making formal complaints and requesting disciplinary action. In order to help students make a case, I knew I had to be savvy with my approach. I did what I do well–I researched. With the help of articles by Arlie Russell Hochschild, Monica T. Williams, Stephanie Saul, and others, I constructed an email with statistics about microagressions (I prefer Ibram X. Kendi’s term “racial abuse”). I let administrators know that what happened was no small matter. Retention rates, something our administration worries about, came up in my email–with backed research on how verbal racial abuse plays a vital role in students of color choosing to stay or leave a PWI.

Although the matter was not resolved to the satisfaction of BSU, it was also not ignored. It could not be. This “incident” was my first step into the shit and a tiny glimpse into the world of my black students and what they experience on our campus and in the world around us. I grew angry during this process of negotiation between BSU and administrators. In addition to anger, I felt a pain in my chest. It was the pain of knowing people who matter to me were walking around in the world facing hate and ignorance daily. Racism became more real. My need to be better and do better in the systemic white supremacist society surrounding me was intense.

Since that fateful August day in 2018, I have learned more about racism, and I journey to be an accomplice in the fight against racism.

Thank you, BSU. You are why I am here.