Threads of History

It's been a while since I've turned to this blog to write out my feelings. This doesn't mean I haven't had the feelings - it just means I haven't had the energy. It's been a whirlwind year - dance, fall play, soccer, winter training, spring musical, baseball (the world, which is an entire blog post in and of itself...). It's never ending. My role as Uber drive means I'm leaving work early, which ultimately ends up with me on the computer until way after bedtime several times a week. And given my penchant for community service - I haven't said no to any of my volunteer obligations. 

I'm simply exhausted.

But the last month has stirred something in me - and in the nation - and I need to write.

Across the nation, students have been making their voices heard. Their voices aren't that far apart from progressives of my generation, for what it's worth. Don't kill. See human value. Each human has value. These are things I believe, AND I see the tension in these statements that is probably causing a lot of tension (violence) both in our country and the world.

As a parent who has had a lot of crap pushed back on both me and my kids for standing up for what I think is right, I need to turn to history for examples of what to do. I'm inspired by this reflection based on my experience on a college campus recently. It's a small college, nowhere near the media attention of Columbia or USC or Duke or Harvard - or any of the other colleges where students have protested, encamped, or walked out of graduation. Several colleges decided to cancel commencement due to the unrest. As a side note, the students who missed their college graduation because of political unrest also missed their high school graduation because of Covid.

Imagine it. 

You don't get a graduation ceremony, no matter how hard you worked, how hard you persevered.

You don't get a graduation ceremony despite the fact that YOUR class was THE class that shouldered all of it.

On my campus I heard chants outside my office as students protested. It was a quiet Friday heading into the final days of classes and beginning of finals. The protest started about 15 minutes after I moseyed back to my office from an honors thesis defense and saw the children of the neighboring preschool running up and down the hill outside my building. They were enjoying the first of the spring weather (since we haven't had much of a spring in the mid-Atlantic), and I texted my colleague, who was working from home that day, a video to show her the joy she was missing.

Happily breathing in the spring air and the joyous laughter of 2, 3, and 4 year olds, I was disoriented when I heard chanting. I didn't immediately associate it with the news stories I had been following. But there they were, students standing up for something, sharing their voices, on my campus, outside my building. I left my office to observe the peaceful protest (and the not so subtle language on the signs they carried, directed at our university administration). I wondered what their protest would result in for them.

Back in my office, I texted my parents, who had been on a college campus after Kent State in 1970 and experienced the protests on their campus - a campus that would become my alma mater. 

Me: With protests outside my building today, I get a feel for what your time in college must have been like

My dad: Be careful.

My mom: That was our experience at the end of my first year. I echo Pop's concern. Be careful. Please keep us posted as to your safety.

I was a little surprised by my parents' response, as the protests on my campus were sanctioned, controlled, and peaceful. There were no outside forces, and I didn't understand my parents' concern. Though I understood the multiple viewpoints possible, what I had observed was a group of students expressing their views.  

The reason I had sent a message to my parents at all was because I knew about their experience on their college campus. In fact, during a "pod-visit" to their home in Summer 2020, I turned on the voice recorder on my phone as we talked about the protests, the Vietnam War, and my parents' experience.  I went back to listen to that recording that night, trying to uncover their trepidation at my position on a college campus, as a faculty member, in this time.  

Ironically, as my kids head to the end of the school year, having completed AP exams, their history teacher has assigned them an oral interview. They needed to talk to a family member about something historical. Apparently, a lot of students talk to parents about 9/11, and their teacher hoped to listen to some interviews on different topics. I encouraged my kids to talk to my parents about their experience during Vietnam since the protests of the time were similar to what was happening today. 

My parents willingly talked to my kids, documenting for the next generation and oral history that is important to remember. But one comment they made as we were discussing the project sticks with me: "That was nothing like what is happening today."

Curious about the perspective, I asked my parents later why they thought that. We had an interesting conversation about the difference between protesting for your own bodies and protesting for something that doesn't directly affect you. I heard their view. I may have pushed them to think differently about the young people of today who are more connected throughout the world than any generation before them and who have lived a life fueled by social media - and a pandemic. 

There's a lot going on right now - politically, socially, globally, locally - and, in fact, it's taken me three sittings over two months to conclude the thoughts in this post. I'm not sure what I have personally concluded. I'm still exhausted. People are still protesting. Generational divides still exist. And the threads of history keep pulling us forward.