Eyes on the Prize
Allendale, New Jersey. Not exactly a hotbed for social activism. Jammed in the upper right corner of New Jersey, this is where I was raised. Save a few years in Southern California that ended in my parents divorcing, I spent most of my first 18 years in this little suburban town. Almost entirely white, the politics were conservative and the worldview was limited. Reagan was championed and topics such as race relations and inequality in America were largely ignored. Most in the town had "made it." My household was a bit on the fringes. My stepfather, quite possibly the hardest working man I've ever known, was a town police officer (not great during those high school years) and put in as much overtime as the human body could take. Our home was quiet. I spent most of my pre-teen and teen years in local parks playing basketball. We lived right across the street from the town ballpark, where I'd shoot hundreds and hundreds of jumpers every night. Basketball pulled me in. And most of my heroes were found on the courts: Hank Gathers, Milt Wagner, Walter Berry, Patrick Ewing, Michael Ray Richardson, Charles Oakley, John Starks, Pervis Ellison. Almost all were African American. Same could be said for my heroes in music at the time: Chuck D., Rakim, Marvin Gaye, Doug E. Fresh, KRS-One. And even throughout other entertainment: Richard Pryor, Don Baylor, Jim Thorpe, Carl Lewis and on and on. I remember going to a Knicks/Nets game and, during warm-ups, I shouted out to Knicks guard Gerald Wilkins, "Hey, Dougie (his nickname given his love for Doug E. Fresh)" and a childhood hero, looked back and shot me a thumbs up.
I never asked why our town was almost entirely white. It just was. In high school, little time was spent reflecting on the horrors of our past. We kept it simple: George Washington, Lincoln, John Glenn and other white heroes. The Civil Rights Movement? Slavery? I'm not sure we ignored it completely, but it was skimmed over. Quickly.
And then I got to college.
I spent a lackluster year at Fairfield University in Connecticut. The school felt just like my high school. Isolated. Insulated. Vapid. I left after a year and headed a few hours north to Boston College. Another Jesuit University, despite having little to no background or interest in religion. First semester was an adjustment. I took the basic business and economics classes and fired off a 2.4 GPA. I was an average/below average student, as I'd always been. Going into the second semester, I knew I had to make a change. Education still meant little to me. It was nothing but a dull chore. I scanned the available classes and hit on Eyes on the Prize. The class, named after the 14-part documentary series, chronicled the Civil Rights Movement in America. Why not, I thought. On day one, I walked into a large auditorium, and my first observation was the racial mix. There were 100 or so people in the class and it was at least 3:1 black/white. And BC's African American population was about 5%. For perhaps the first time in my life, I was a minority. I took a seat and waited. The professor, an African American man, who'd recently graduated from Georgetown Law, walked out, and without saying a word, hit play. The video started. I could immediately, literally in that moment, feel my perspective on America, race and what mattered to me, shift. I was like a wide-eyed child. The Montgomery bus boycotts, Selma, SNCC, Malcolm X, George Wallace. Trying to make sense of these horrors, which happened less than 30 years prior, was nearly impossible. Questions were exploding in my head. I looked around the room and felt shame. I clearly recall wanting to walk out in embarrassment and humiliation. But at the same time, I knew this wasn't me. I thought about my town. I thought about Gerald Wilkins. Public Enemy. Reagan. How to square this all, I had no idea. My only clear path was to keep learning. The day after Eyes on the Prize wrapped, my dorm room phone rang and it was the professor of the class. He was calling to ask if I'd like to be his TA the next semester. My throat tightened, "Huh? How am I supposed to teach students about this?" He gave his reasons, but I declined. I just didn't have the guts to do it. I've reflected on that call a million times over, and wish I could rewind and flip that answer. But despite not taking that opportunity, it all lit a spark in me. I went on to drop my previous majors: english, history, business, (insert whatever most kids choose), and I plunged into sociology and black studies. Inequality in America, Crime and Punishment, African American Literature.... All I needed was the exposure. And teachers who cared. I stumbled into both and those burgeoning core beliefs have been cemented within me for life. And it truly started with that one video in the spring of 1993. A video that would change the course of my life in an instant.
As President Obama shared yesterday, in the words of the great Nelson Mandela:
"No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin or his background or his religion..."
I never asked why our town was almost entirely white. It just was. In high school, little time was spent reflecting on the horrors of our past. We kept it simple: George Washington, Lincoln, John Glenn and other white heroes. The Civil Rights Movement? Slavery? I'm not sure we ignored it completely, but it was skimmed over. Quickly.
And then I got to college.
I spent a lackluster year at Fairfield University in Connecticut. The school felt just like my high school. Isolated. Insulated. Vapid. I left after a year and headed a few hours north to Boston College. Another Jesuit University, despite having little to no background or interest in religion. First semester was an adjustment. I took the basic business and economics classes and fired off a 2.4 GPA. I was an average/below average student, as I'd always been. Going into the second semester, I knew I had to make a change. Education still meant little to me. It was nothing but a dull chore. I scanned the available classes and hit on Eyes on the Prize. The class, named after the 14-part documentary series, chronicled the Civil Rights Movement in America. Why not, I thought. On day one, I walked into a large auditorium, and my first observation was the racial mix. There were 100 or so people in the class and it was at least 3:1 black/white. And BC's African American population was about 5%. For perhaps the first time in my life, I was a minority. I took a seat and waited. The professor, an African American man, who'd recently graduated from Georgetown Law, walked out, and without saying a word, hit play. The video started. I could immediately, literally in that moment, feel my perspective on America, race and what mattered to me, shift. I was like a wide-eyed child. The Montgomery bus boycotts, Selma, SNCC, Malcolm X, George Wallace. Trying to make sense of these horrors, which happened less than 30 years prior, was nearly impossible. Questions were exploding in my head. I looked around the room and felt shame. I clearly recall wanting to walk out in embarrassment and humiliation. But at the same time, I knew this wasn't me. I thought about my town. I thought about Gerald Wilkins. Public Enemy. Reagan. How to square this all, I had no idea. My only clear path was to keep learning. The day after Eyes on the Prize wrapped, my dorm room phone rang and it was the professor of the class. He was calling to ask if I'd like to be his TA the next semester. My throat tightened, "Huh? How am I supposed to teach students about this?" He gave his reasons, but I declined. I just didn't have the guts to do it. I've reflected on that call a million times over, and wish I could rewind and flip that answer. But despite not taking that opportunity, it all lit a spark in me. I went on to drop my previous majors: english, history, business, (insert whatever most kids choose), and I plunged into sociology and black studies. Inequality in America, Crime and Punishment, African American Literature.... All I needed was the exposure. And teachers who cared. I stumbled into both and those burgeoning core beliefs have been cemented within me for life. And it truly started with that one video in the spring of 1993. A video that would change the course of my life in an instant.
As President Obama shared yesterday, in the words of the great Nelson Mandela:
"No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin or his background or his religion..."
