COLUMN: Just Another Day in the Life

From O.J. Lima's "Blues for Mr. Charlie," Fall '93 Once again I had to experience, how hostile this university is towards African-Americans. Two Sundays ago, I was forced to evacuate my home, the DuBois College House, because someone thought it would be humorous to harass some of the inhabitants and inform them that they were going to blow up "the nigger dorm." Does this scare me? No. Would you be frightened of someone who's so cowardly that he hides behind a telephone to express his opinions? If he doesn't even possess the courage to come to my house and show his face, than why should it scare me if he calls? Harassment at this university doesn't intimidate me, but sadly enough, it doesn't surprised me either. Since I'm from the North, I didn't find the cold night air of October the 10th agonizing; just bothersome. But the incident itself was more than just a frustrating inconvenience. I watched DuBois Faculty Master Richard Simms and his wife craddling their nine year-old daughter and four year-old son in an effort to shield them from the brutal wind, and I was infuriated. I wanted to hurt whomever was responsible, and so did my fellow residents. I guess we thought we could shield these children from the hatred they were bound to experience merely for being black. But even at this early age, it was too late. This incident showed us that our efforts to prolong their innocence were useless. When the biggest concern for most white children is which doll to play with, these young African-Americans were being forced to cope with racism. Whatever I could have possibly expected when I agreed to attend Penn is now beyond me. After all, Pennsylvania is one of the biggest Klan states in the nation. Not to mention that the University itself was created by a man who boasted in his autobiography of having swindled land from the Native Americans. I guess bigotry is part of this institution's heritage. In my time here, I've witnessed so much prejudice that ignorance no longer surprises me. Sure, it sounds like I'm whining. Where's the proof right? For me to list my encounters here with prejudice would serve no purpose other than taking up space. Admittedly, I've never seen a cross burning in front of the DuBois House, a lynching on Locust Walk, or been denied service at Stouffer dining hall. But, I have felt the condescending stares of whites students in class and had to cope with white university employees who have treated me as a second-class citizen. These incidents won't make the national news nor do they even qualify as what the University defines as "racial harassment," but they are as chilling to black students as the wind that sweeps through Super Block. That's why the whole water buffalo incident didn't surprise me. As I explained to my parents' friends back home, "all I know is that someone was offended, those same individuals will be scorned by the University's white regime, and the same thing will happen the following weekend." When Fall break rolled around I decided to go home for the weekend to get a break from the bigotry. As I sat in Ms. Dot's barber shop, I couldn't help but hear the local news about a minority student at the University of Rhode Island who was beaten by a white university police officer for no apparent reason. It was the same old thing, just someplace else. God knows how I could have possibly convinced myself that a five-day excursion to my parents' house would give me a rest from the prejudice of Penn. Since I know better, I don't understand how I thought I could escape the racism. It's not like the flu, a hard exam or a miserable day. It's life. And even though my Dad taught me that life isn't fair, you can't expect me or any of my fellow black folks to grin and bear it. At the begining of the semester, I was talking with one of the honorable women of the Delta Sigma Theta sorority about how the water buffalo incident affected her. "I have to spend an extra semester at Penn to obtain my degree. The incident took away my will to exist here. You come here to learn an expertise. Black folks have a lot more obstacles here. Don't let them get in your way," she said. The more I hear words such as "diversity," "community," and "free speech" buzzing around, the more I believe she's right. This "community of scholars" can be as ignorant as someone who never made it past the eighth grade. For example, when I can't even walk into the office of he Daily Pennsylvanian, of which I am a member of the staff, without people watching me as if I were going to steal the fax machine, then I find it difficult to conclude that anyone at Penn has had a real education. A Penn degree may only prove that you spent some time and money in Philadelphia. When someone – presumably a Penn student – can call my home and harrass my housemates without being caught, then how can you expect black students to even desire to participate in some undefined "community." This past summer I took a class here at Penn and a white girl expressed her disaproval of black colleges. "If all black students went to black colleges I'd never learn anything about African-Americans," she said. Well, just because I'm the minority doesn't make it's my job to teach anyone anything. If I wanted to learn what it's like to be Jewish, I'd eat my Friday night dinners at Hillel. So unless Penn plans to put me and my fellow black students on the payroll, then we should continue to sit at our own tables in the dining halls, where we feel comfortable. Because as my faculty master's children found out two weeks ago, Penn's a hostile place if your skin is brown. O.J. Lima is a senior English major from Providence, Rhode Island. Blues for Mr. Charlie appears alternate Mondays.