My journey at Ole Miss began unlike I had planned.
You see, I had an older cousin named Bennie Abram, who tragically passed away while at football practice here. Prior to his untimely death, he and I had many discussions about the times we would have together during his senior year and my freshman year. However, Bennie died in February of 2010, several months before I would enroll.
In that singular action, two things happened to me simultaneously. I lost a relative who I had grown up with and looked up to as a brother. But, I also gained a new purpose to excel in every aspect that I could on campus — not doing so would mean not honoring the death of my cousin.
That is at least how I viewed it at the time and how I view it to this day. I hope I have made him proud. In a few paragraphs, I’d like to share a few lessons that I have learned from my Ole Miss.
First, my Ole Miss taught me that failure is inevitable, but only temporary.
I tried out for Orientation Leaders twice, both my freshman year and my sophomore year. Both times I faced rejection. (I know Whitman will read this, and I want him to know I have never held this fact against him.)
Ultimately, what I learned is that what I perceived as a failure was in fact God’s way of letting me know that being an Orientation Leader was something that Tim wanted to do and not necessarily what He wanted for me.
Instead of being an Orientation Leader, I was blessed with a scholarship to travel to South Africa to study at Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University. I gained so much through a life changing experience that altered my perception of race, poverty and politics while in South Africa.
Another failure here at Ole Miss taught me a valuable lesson.
To add to the “failures” at the end of my sophomore year, I was not selected as a member of the Columns Society. In fact, I still remember where I was when former Dean Melinda Pullen Carlson called me and notified me of my status. In short, Columns Society was not meant for me at the time. But I told myself that I would get Columns Society the next year, and I would work as hard as I could once I got it.
As I end this section, I would like to mention two points.
First, I eventually was selected for the Columns Society, coincidentally as a member of the “Carlson Class.” Second, at the induction ceremony of next year’s Columns Society members I was awarded the Christine Wallace Award, given to the Columns Society member who dedicates the most hours of service to the university.
I have no shame for this plug, but Ms. Christine Wallace is a tireless worker whose service to the university goes unsung. Her skill and meticulous planning abilities are irreplaceable.
I used the “failure” of not getting into Columns Society as a sophomore as a fuel to sharpen my own skills and refine myself to a point where I was truly ready to wear the navy blazer. My Ole Miss taught me that failure is inevitable, but is only temporary because we each have the capability to decide how we will respond.
Second, my Ole Miss showed me the price we pay for tacit approval of injustice and for bold declarations of injustice. I want to begin with tacit approval because it is a topic I wrote about nearly two years ago.
In my column, “The Troubles of our Tacit Approval” I wrote, “Tacit approval of racism and racist actions are harmful to the moral fabric of our society. Too many times we encounter racist actions behind closed doors and do not address them.”
I wrote about the tacit approval of racism back when I was a junior, but now that I am a graduating senior I look back at a time that I silently approved of another form of intolerance, homophobia.
During the Laramie Project play production, I was there the night some students sneered homophobic slurs towards the actors on stage, yet I crouched down in my seat and didn’t say a word. It is only now, in retrospect, that I fully realize the price I paid for not speaking and the Herculean task that I was asking others to do nearly two years ago.
Had I (or someone else) spoken up the narrative would have been totally different. It would have been about one student who stood up for what is right, rather than the group of students who chose to act immaturely.
I paid the price of tacit approval with some of my integrity by idly watching actions I knew were wrongly take place. My Ole Miss has also paid dearly for my inaction and the inaction of others on that night with negative national and international attention on the university.
Next, let me examine the price we pay for bold declarations of injustice.
During my two-year stint as a columnist for The DM and one-year stint as the opinion editor, I have paid a heavy price for my bold declarations of injustice.
I have written about race, religion and politics in The Daily Mississippian; however my columns on race drew the most negative backfire. I have been told that I was the reason for racial tension on campus. I have been told that I should leave if I don’t like the way things are at Ole Miss. I have been told to stop messing with traditions.
Despite the vociferous emails I received, I never faltered. In fact, my experience as a writer and editor only put the price of boldly declaring injustice into proper perspective.
I only had to deal with emails and Facebook comments. Individuals like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the members of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee had to deal with physical harm, as well threats against their lives for bold declarations against injustice.
When reviewing both the price of tacit approval and the price of bold declarations, I will always choose to pay the price of the latter. The former is far too costly, not just to me, but to society.
