An open letter from a Howard student in light of the Howard University Blackburn protests.
Howard University is not the dream school I thought it would be. However, if you asked me why I wanted to attend Howard, I would take you back to 2010 with a much different perception.
Picture this: a small and naïve Black girl from a small town in Arkansas sits across from her mother, her barrettes dangling past her shoulder and her hand placed on her tiny chin in fascination. She’s fascinated at her mother who is–for the first time–explaining to her daughter what HBCUs are. Her mother mentions several well-known HBCUs but one sticks.
It stuck in that little black girl’s mind until that little black girl grew out of barrettes and Barbies and grew into makeup and boy crazes. It stuck until she finally submitted that deposit and could boast with a puffed-out chest that she was proud to attend her dream school: Howard University.
I am that little black girl.
Ever since second grade, I dreamed of the day I could step onto campus. I created this fictitious world where I would be immersed in this place of Black excellence and opulence. My Howard was a campus full of opportunities. My Howard had in-person classes that stimulated my mind and made me passionate about my career. My Howard was a place where I could be happy and healthy in my own skin.
So, what should I tell that little Black girl that had such high hopes for Howard?
Do I tell her that she will struggle to pay attention because all of her classes are virtual (despite the University claiming most classes will be in-person)? Do I tell her that because of classism and elitism, she will still struggle to feel accepted in her own skin? Or do I tell her that day and night this little Black girl with sickle cell disease will cough like a veteran smoker because she has to sleep in a dorm filled with mold?
What do I tell her?
It took me a while to realize the school I had dreamed of for almost a decade was slowly turning into a nightmare. For the first time in a while, I felt lost—trapped in a box that I couldn’t fit nor get out of.
So how should I feel knowing that my voice is one of many that echoes the same pain and intolerance as 60 years ago?
It’s disheartening seeing my classmates and peers camp in front of Howard University’s Blackburn Center for decent housing, an open dialogue, and a voice among other things. It’s upsetting knowing that students struggle to find housing and food in D.C. It’s upsetting to know that much of the administration is restricting students from having their voice heard.
The students are the real stakeholders at Howard. We’re the changemakers, the doers, the creatives, and so much more. There’s no reason for us to be fighting for basic decency. No one’s sister, daughter, nephew, grandson, anyone should be enduring this.
This is unacceptable.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my Howard—the one filled with aspiring attorneys and filmmakers and doctors. I love the Howard that uplifts me as I walk down D.C streets. I love the Howard that brought me closer to my dreams as a writer.
But just because I love Howard doesn’t mean I can’t hold them accountable for the mistreatment of their students–the ones who give them their prestigious title.
I’m not leaving Howard University. I will scratch and dig and claw into the backs of my oppressors–my own people–before I leave this city without what I’ve come for. I will not be ignored and you cannot get rid of me or silence me.
It won’t be easy.
Howard, I urge you to listen to your students. Listen to their cries and take action. Reinstate the student trustee’s position. Ensure that current and incoming students have fair and safe housing. Have a town hall with your students and provide immunity for the students occupying the Blackburn center.
My friends and students at HU, now is not the time to be still. Be loud about the things that matter to you; your voice is needed more than you realize.
With love,
