We held each other’s arms standing right next to one another as closely as possible. I could already imagine what a powerful image it was – students protesting administration to do more about systemic discriminatory issues in the freezing cold. I was late; by the time I got to the corridor, people had already lined up and some stood on the window frame holding up posters for our professors and deans to read. The poster directly in front of me read, “Education for the common good?”
My emotional trial during the past two weeks was essentially a constant introspection and retrospection, as well as an endless alarm wakening me to see the apathetic reality of the society I live in. Harsh that might sound, it is true. I have literally had conversations with friends on how despair and scared I felt after the incident and then to discover that the people I confided in said to others, “I don’t know why she feels so strong about this thing – She’s Asian”; I no longer called those people friends.
I remember the excitement and sense of accomplishment I felt getting invited to President Ensign’s Rollout event in Baltimore, only to discover there that I was one of the six people of color in the room. I remember standing in the corner of the room listening to the President and Trustees opening the event by saying, “Dickinson is a very diverse institution and we are very proud of that.”
It would be difficult to verbalize anger, but I felt a fire burning inside me but I could not put it out. Nor do I want to. For a long time now, I have been getting increasingly fed up with the subtle hierarchy existing beneath our green-loving, progressive-wannabe campus outlook. The incident was expected, just as Dean Bylander wrote in her response to my email reporting the photo, “I was fairly certain that incidents of offensive photos would occur on this past Halloween weekend”. But what enraged me was the fact we all knew but did nothing. Quotes after quotes from the Netflix show, Dear White People, were just surreally relatable. Yes, it, too, took a party to wake us up.
But all I knew was that I would be consumed by the fire within me if I didn’t try to at least slowly let in some air. So, I went to every single special meeting related to the incident and actions to hold the school accountable. For the first time, I spoke up about my own encounter with the school conduct process, my observation while standing in the corner of that museum in Baltimore, the fire that I could not put out inside me. I trembled every time I spoke; I was nervous to speak in public, but I was also livid. I felt embarrassed by the fact that I was attending an institution that would only send out emails on separate occasions, each one slightly more detailed than the last one, to explain an event that had hurt many of its students. It was too much to have such weight on our shoulders, while we already had so much to deal with schoolwork.
Some people dismissed my concern by telling me that sad things like that had been happening since the beginning of time. There is nothing you can do. But the strange thing was, for the first time, I felt a great calling for purpose and hope while on Dickinson campus. At those meetings, I was constantly overwhelmed with eagerness and warmth. People there were mad as hell, yet we showed up for each other and for ourselves. We care. We care when others don’t. What a special feeling it was to care. And what a special feeling it was to stand outside Social Hall that Tuesday afternoon in the cold, arms-in-arms with people I had barely talked to before, exchanging smiles, affirming each other in the eye, and chanting our asks.
Inside the Social Hall, Neil Weissman led a round of applause dedicated to the students outside. The girl next to me and I laughed a little. Wow, that’s weird. Then we straightened our backs. I had never felt so tall and powerful, yet at the same time so small and vulnerable.
There is a fire inside me and I’m going to let it burn. I want to remember the burn for the rest of my life.