The following fall at New Student Orientation I go to the Black Community welcome and sit up a bit straighter in my chair than I’d done in years past. Student leaders offer words of welcome to the new students and their families, then Jan gives her remarks to the crowd.
“Welcome to the Black community at Stanford. We are African, we are African American. We are Multi-racial, Biracial, Caribbean. We are from the East West North and South. We are gay, we are straight. We are Muslim, Christian, Jewish, atheist, agnostic. We are first generation educated and we are third generation. We eat sushi, and we eat collard greens too. I don’t know what ‘acting Black’ is, but the one thing that Black means here at Stanford is excellence.”
Although she’d been opening like this for years, this time I actually hear her words, and I inhale them deep into me. After Jan speaks, she asks all of us Black staff and faculty in the room to stand up front in a line and introduce ourselves. Now in my fifth year as dean of freshmen, I know a slew of the upperclassmen in the room. When my turn to speak comes, they will show me some love with their applause, I know. As I wait for the mic to be passed to me, I don’t think about the “whiteness” of my voice or my shaggy biracial coils, which are now so long they touch my shoulders.
One of our new freshmen that year is from South Central L.A. A student who had graduated high school at the top of his class, who will play football for us, who will champ at the bit to prove to coach Jim Harbaugh just how good he is on the field, and who will go on to play cornerback for the Seahawks and become a beloved figure in Seattle. His name is Richard Sherman.