October 2003
I couldn’t believe he asked me that! Did, my boss just ask me if I have any Afrikaans garb??? Does he not know Multicultural Affairs is NOT the Office of International Student Services? I didn’t apply for this job to represent a stereotype of an Afrikaan! What the hell??
I worked in the Center for Student Involvement and our office was responsible for hosting a “Get Involved” fair every September. I was still in training and had many questions about campus activities and what was expected from me at the fair. I asked my boss if I should were one of my sorority shirts, a CSI Homecoming shirt, or a CSI Multicultural Affairs shirt. He responded with a question to my question, “How about wearing some Afrikaan garb?”
I was speechless and insulted. What the hell does Afrikaan grab have to do with Student Affairs?
I’m sure my face showed my anger and discomfort, and I countered Chicago quick with another question, “Do you know about White Privilege?”
“No, but there was a lot of workshop at the conferences I’ve been going to. I didn’t get a chance to go to one.”
He leaned towards me and smugly placed his fists on either side of his face, and said, “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
His condescending tone and complete ignorance of his privilege angered me so much. All I could do before letting my mouth get me fired was to go back to my connecting cubicle. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I looked at my Outlook calendar to verify it was 2003 and not 1903.
Most people that work in Student Affairs often wear a number of hats in their departments. My new job was three-fold, I was over the non-existent Multicultural Affairs “department,” Homecoming, and the Greek Life “department” with no Black or Latino Greek-lettered organizations. There were no organizations for students of color. I was amazed, especially considering the university had a large number of Mexican-American students.
After working in my new position for about a month, I was still adjusting to Texas culture. Or, maybe I should add the culture of my job. It puzzled me that although my job title was Coordinator of Multicultural Affairs I tried to add as much “multicultural” to every program I created. Let me rephrase, every program I tried to create.
I wasn’t shut down but, as the months flew by, I recognized that Homecoming and the grades of the Greeks were more important. I’d spend my days focusing on the Greeks and their meetings and the evenings advising and researching retention programs for students of color.
Days became long and my leg felt like it weighed heavier and heavier as the months progressed. Week by week, I stumbled and rarely slept. Within two months of employment, I started three Black student groups, two Latino, and five interest groups for future Black Greek chapters. As the first Coordinator for Multicultural Affairs, I felt the urgency to set the foundation and create a space for these students to be seen and heard.
However, my supervisor felt Homecoming and the already active Greeks on campus took priority. Those first months were hard. I’d stay late often to meet with Black students. Several nights I’d visit the dorms to show my presence on campus. The term Multicultural Affairs, Inclusion, and Access were unknown to the campus. I was hired to retain and recruit students of color. The best way to do this was to meet them on their territory.
I was unknowingly overdoing it and my body was showing it. Besides my heavy leg, my speech began to slur. I was always tired but, felt restless. After seeing him at Homecoming, I hadn’t heard much from the DJ.
I didn't give much attention to the walking issues which only worsened. The world was going crazy after that levy broke in New Orleans. After this happened not only did my leg keep dragging, I was faced with a newspaper that had a front page announcement reading, KKK Meeting at the city's capital.
Then the levy broke and Spike Lee got mad. Disheveled Lousiananians were placed in San Angelo and my new church was housing these families throughout the city.
The longer I stayed in San Angelo the worse my health and anxiety increased. For the first time in my life, I felt the Mason-Dixon line division. I was a Yankee from blue Illinois. A Chicagoan adapting to a Texas town full of Republicans of all colors. Including my coworkers.
I learned about “nigger knuckles,” that Texas still calls itself “The Big Country,” and my words began to slush together into incomprehensible slurs as I spoke.
My work days turned into late nights often. After three months of working at the new job, I planned Homecoming activities, started 5 students of color groups, and four possible NPHC tribes, designed the future multicultural affairs department, advised students until 6:00 pm, and dealt with Texas culture.
I'm sure I've forgotten to list another thing or two that I did while working what I thought was my dream job. Honestly, I enjoyed being in my new position, especially when I could focus on the Black and Latino students' needs. Retaining students was a specialty of mine. Yet, I quickly realized why I was hired and why my brother said Texas wasn't for me.
By December, I was tired and sad. Calls from the DJ were almost nonexistent and that dang invisible non-invited stranger was back with a vengeance
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