ABSTRACT
“I refuse to be the face of color on the brochure of this school while I experience unaddressed racism here every single day!” The 16-year-old young lady in front of me is ready to burst into tears. I had been flown out to her predominantly white private school in an elite community on the Pacific coast of California to address more than 600 6th- to 12th-grade students on issues of race and racism on campus. The group of students who fought for funding to bring me out, and who were made up exclusively of student leaders of color on campus invited me to an intimate lunch session to wrestle with the questions they did not feel safe asking in the larger assembly. “Why should I participate in their false representation of racial equality here?” she continued. “My mother says it’s the least I could do since they’ve given me a scholarship to be here, but I don’t owe them anything! And because I am known for taking a stand on campus, I’ve become the target of open racist comments yet the school does absolutely nothing about that.” As the young lady bursts into tears and is consoled by another member of the student group, I feel emotions well up in my throat. I am here for one day. What could I possibly say or do to support this group of teenagers who should have the freedom to agonize over their college applications but are occupied instead with the racial climate of their school and by questions of who will possibly continue their efforts toward racial equity once they graduate? As we stare out together across the perfectly manicured lawns of the campus and the questions hang in the air for more time than feels natural, I look at each of the students and the one staff member who works to sustain the campus group, and I say, “Thank you so much for who you are and for everything you continue to do.”
