Proud to support my high school colleague, Janice Bonsu, and her teammates at The Millennial Moment. I urge you to visit their website for more information on this fascinating project. In the meantime, check out my letter by clicking on the link below:
Millennial Moment Letter – Hairston
This piece appears on various publications associated with the Trice Edney News Wire, including The New Pittsburgh Courier.
I love historically Black colleges and universities, commonly referred to as HBCUs. I’m certainly biased, as I’m a graduate of Howard University in Washington, D.C., but my admiration for these institutions extends across my lifespan and the generations that preceded me.
A host of my friends, family members and colleagues are HBCU alumni, and these institutions continue to contribute a great deal of vibrancy to American life and our system of democracy. My first major case as a lawyer centered around the desegregation of Maryland’s four HBCUs, and I recently wrote two pieces dedicated to the significance and personal history of HBCUs.
I am particularly proud of these institutions for what they have managed to do despite the perennial challenges of systemic racism and inadequate investment.With all of this in mind, I find myself troubled by the news that broke on Monday, February 27, 2017. A number of articles on various news outlets, as well as posts on social media, quickly made it known that the Trump Administration, ostensibly under the direction of President Trump’s assistant, Omarosa Manigault, had organized a meeting with numerous HBCU leaders. A photo opportunity emerged, and a peculiar picture, with President Trump, Counselor to the President Kellyanne Conway and the HBCU presidents & chancellors, soon made its rounds on the Internet.
To conclude the day’s events, Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos issued a statement asserting that HBCUs are ‘real pioneers of school choice.’ As a young civil rights attorney and HBCU graduate, I do recognize the validity of some assertions made by the Trump Administration in reporting what transpired during the listening session. For instance, enhancing the infrastructure of a number of HBCUs could certainly play a role in increasing the competitiveness of these institutions in the twenty-first century. However, a brief photo opportunity and press release associating HBCUs with school choice both severely mischaracterize the history and promise of these 105 colleges and universities throughout the United States.
At their founding, many HBCUs opened their doors to students who had been previously denied an opportunity to access a postsecondary education. As they have evolved, these institutions have fortified themselves as supportive spaces for students to refine their commitment to social justice and learn of the significant contributions of members of the black diaspora to the world. When I think of my experience at Howard, I recall marching to the White House in 2011 to protest the execution of Troy Davis, traveling to Annapolis to call for an end for the death penalty in Maryland and partnering with grassroots community organizations to canvas in Baltimore as a part of the University’s Alternative Spring Break initiative.
Yes, increased funding, stronger programmatic offerings and better facilities would all undoubtedly assist HBCUs in reaching their full potential in the current global landscape. What the new administration must also understand is that HBCU graduates often leave their campuses with both degrees and a mission to achieve racial & social justice.
For many HBCU alumni, myself included, that photo opportunity does little to mitigate the damage already done by the Trump Administration’s policies to these principles, including the travel ban, the rescission of the Obama Administration’s Title IX guidance for transgender students, and the Department of Justice’s decision to remove itself from a crucial challenge to a discriminatory voter ID law in Texas.Additionally, the dark picture painted by President Trump in his inaugural address, which placed emphasis on American carnage and a need to restore law and order in this nation, contradicts the rhetoric released by the Administration concerning HBCUs.
As communities of color continue to mobilize against militarized schools and police shootings of unarmed black people, among other issues, the missions of HBCUs and these activists find themselves inextricably linked. Harmful policies advocated by the Trump Administration, including widespread availability of school vouchers and increasing funding to local law enforcement officers, stand only to exacerbate the push-out of children of color and limit their access to a quality public education.
The school-to-prison pipeline already hinders the promise of many young children of color by replacing school resources with those of the juvenile justice system; these practices indirectly result in a diminished applicant pool for HBCUs and make it that much harder for these institutions to fulfill their missions grounded in justice and equality. HBCUs constitute strong and powerful portions of the American story. To demonstrate an earnest interest in these institutions, President Trump and his administration must remain cognizant of the historic and current purpose of HBCUs. Increasing the available resources for these colleges and universities is one part of the process, but another part, arguably of more importance, is implementing policies across the executive branch that honor and support the goal of HBCUs to achieve a society free of discrimination and bigotry.
This piece originally appeared in Diverse Issues in Higher Education on February 2, 2017.
Even though my formal education is finished, I still find myself conversing about my college choice in various circles frequently. These casual dialogues often pose some form of the same question.
Did you always know that you wanted to attend a historically Black college or university (HBCU)?
My answer remains fairly consistent.
Yes, for me, it was not a matter of if I was going to attend an HBCU; it was a question of which HBCU I was going to attend.
My response then triggers unforgettable memories from my earlier years. The lush grass on the rolling hills of Alcorn State University. A powerful address by Julian Bond on the campus of Shaw University. The infectious, familial spirit that characterizes Clark Atlanta University. A fitting tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. at Morehouse College.
I reflect on these veritable institutions and marvel at their mere existence. Most of them were established as the United States attempted to rebuild after the Civil War. A number of them opened their doors to eager students, regardless of race or gender, and they fashioned their missions to be grounded in principles of justice and equality. They quickly learned how to fulfill their goals without the necessary financial resources to do so. The result has been a rich history that has greatly influenced the story of America.
On a personal level, HBCUs have paved the path for me to occupy my current role as a civil rights attorney in Washington, D.C. My great-grandmother served as the switchboard operator for Alcorn in the early part of the 20th century, and she earned her baccalaureate degree from the same institution. Her daughter, my 90-year-old grandmother, received her primary, secondary and undergraduate education from Alcorn and sent each of her thirteen children to the school. Within 35 years of one another, my mother and sister studied chemistry in Alcorn’s hallowed halls. My father capitalized on the lessons he learned at Winston-Salem State and Shaw to become a community-oriented businessperson and compassionate preacher. A number of aunts, uncles and cousins also happily call themselves HBCU alumni.
All of their experiences and sacrifices culminated in my enrollment at Howard University in 2009. I counted it as an incredible honor to be able to continue the legacy of HBCUs through my own journey. As I walked across Howard’s famous yard for the first time, I stopped to consider the contributions of my forebears and other family members to that moment. My gaze turned from Frederick Douglass Hall to Alain Locke Hall, and a simple smile formed on my face. My expression emerged from a sincere recognition of my responsibility to uphold and further the HBCU narrative. Seven and a half years later, that brief period on the yard continues to serve as daily motivation for my work at the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law.
As a legal fellow and staff attorney in the organization’s Educational Opportunities Project, I am currently working on a civil case, representing the Coalition for Equity and Excellence in Maryland Higher Education, to ensure that Maryland fulfills its constitutional duty to desegregate its four HBCUs. These schools, Coppin State University, Bowie State University, Morgan State University, and the University of Maryland Eastern Shore, along with the 101 other HBCUs in the United States, extend the opportunity to acquire a postsecondary education to many who would otherwise be unable to access one.
I am so proud to be an HBCU alumnus, and I consider it a distinct privilege to be working on an HBCU desegregation case as a newly minted lawyer. A true testament to the tenacity of HBCUs is their ability to adhere to the spirit of their missions and continually fortify the American narrative with fewer resources than predominantly White institutions (PWIs). I am undoubtedly a beneficiary of this indelible characteristic of HBCUs.
From elementary school children learning about Thurgood Marshall to high school seniors reading the poignant prose of Toni Morrison, the current and historic relevance of HBCUs is readily apparent. As young people steadily mobilize around social issues such as policing reform, these institutions will undoubtedly continue to provide intellectually engaging spaces that equip students with the tools to achieve positive societal change.
I will personally strive to preserve and protect the legacies of these formidable institutions so that, one day, several generations from now, young HBCU students can smile, while reflecting on the role that countless HBCU alumni, and a smaller number of civil rights attorneys, played in creating those students’ reality.
This piece originally appeared in AFRO News on February 2, 2017.
On January 9, 2017, the remedial phase of The Coalition for Equity and Excellence in Maryland Higher Education, et al. v. The Maryland Higher Education Commission, et al. kicked off in Baltimore. This lawsuit, originally filed by the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law and Kirkland & Ellis LLP in 2006, alleged that the state of Maryland had failed to dismantle the vestiges of segregation at its four historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs). Using the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, as well as Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the plaintiffs asserted that the four HBCUs in Maryland – Bowie State University, Coppin State University, Morgan State University and the University of Maryland Eastern Shore – remained unconstitutionally segregated.
The current proceedings entail an evidentiary hearing that will ultimately address what remedies must be put in place to comply with the memorandum opinion issued by Judge Catherine Blake in October 2013; the court found that the state of Maryland had violated its constitutional obligations and maintained segregation in its higher education system. This case potentially represents one of the most significant developments in higher education desegregation jurisprudence in the past three decades. It could create an avenue for a number of beneficial programs to flow to the HBCUs throughout the nation, particularly those that are state-supported. Of particular note, the litigation finds itself in the midst of an on-going societal debate concerning the relevance of HBCUs.
To provide some background, the Higher Education Act of 1965 grants the designation of HBCU to any postsecondary institution ‘that was established prior to 1964, whose principal mission was, and is, the education of Black Americans.’ There are currently 105 HBCUs in the United States. Geographically, these institutions primarily span across the American South and Midwest. Their locations range from Texas to Alabama, from Oklahoma to West Virginia, and from Florida to Maryland. An HBCU is also located in the U.S. Virgin Islands.
A large number of the nation’s HBCUs were founded in the century between the end of the Civil War and the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. In the latter half of the nineteenth century, they mainly served as training grounds for preachers and teachers. A host of HBCUs extended the gift of a postsecondary education to both women and men as soon as they began educating students. In the twenty-first century, though the nation’s 105 HBCUs represent less than 3% of the colleges and universities in the country, they enroll 11% of America’s Black college and graduate students.
Since their founding, HBCUs have played a significant role in defining the economic and cultural position of the United States in the global community. According to a study conducted by the National Center for Education Statistics ten years ago, the economic impact of HBCUs was $10.2 billion in 2001. The same study notes that, with regard to output (revenues), the nation’s HBCUs would rank 232nd on the Forbes Fortune 500 list of the largest companies in the United States. In the decade since the report was issued, this impact of HBCUs has undoubtedly grown in magnitude.
Despite the positive contributions of HBCUs to American society, numerous challenges remain in their paths that hinder their ability to achieve their full potential. Arguably, the most notable among these modern tests is a national conversation concerning the role of these institutions in a steadily shifting educational landscape. Take my alma mater, Howard University, for example – a troubling letter released by the then-Vice Chair of the Board of Trustees nearly four years ago, though inaccurate in its prediction that the university would close in three years, continues to shed light on the struggles experienced by a number of HBCUs, including Howard. Especially in Maryland, an extensive history of second-hand, state-sanctioned treatment experienced by the state’s four public HBCUs established persistent barriers to their ability to adequately compete and culminated in this lawsuit, which quickly approaches its eleven-year anniversary.
Personally, as an HBCU alumnus, these on-going debates often register in my mind. When I reflect on the legacy of HBCUs, I not only consider the supporting role that I play as a young civil rights attorney, but also the contributions of a host of family members, friends and colleagues to the ever-evolving narrative of HBCUs. Though they have traditionally been provided with fewer resources than their counterparts, these institutions perform and deliver under pressure. As the remedial phase of this litigation unfolds, I hope many will contemplate the past and present threads of the HBCU tapestry, such as David Wilson and Kamala Harris, and conclude that HBCUs are indeed relevant and worthy of commensurate investment.
This piece originally appeared on the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law‘s blog.
The warm rays of sun welcomed us on to I-40 just as we passed downtown Oklahoma City. My father and I found mutual excitement in the road trip that awaited us. After a summer of preparing for and taking the bar exam, I was particularly enthused about the journey that would lead to the start of my career. Like the sun, the future seemed fairly bright.
Despite these positive feelings, a sense of nervousness also registered in my mind. The primary cause of me being on edge was a reflection on the deaths of Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, and Korryn Gaines over the summer. The killings of police officers in Louisiana and Texas certainly didn’t help.
Like many Americans, these losses of life weighed on me heavily. The killings that took place in Baton Rouge especially hit home because I went to law school in the city. Though I’d engaged in racial justice work before, each event added more burdens to my psyche than the last. As I drove east with my father, the thrill of an imminent career as a civil rights attorney constantly mixed with the dread of the continual loss of Black lives. It resulted in quite the paradox.
My father and I, two Black men, could have easily found ourselves in that position. At the young age of 40, Mr. Crutcher essentially represented the mid-way point between my age and that of my father. During our trip, Lord forbid that the rental truck we drove break down on the interstate. This sense of fear characterizes the experience of Black people in the United States, both now and historically.
All of these events make me recall the trepidation experienced by Dr. Robert Pershing Foster, one of the protagonists in Isabel Wilkerson’s masterpiece, The Warmth of Other Suns. Dr. Foster migrated from Monroe, LA to Los Angeles in the middle of the twentieth century.
During the Jim Crow era in which he found himself, Dr. Foster made his journey half-way across the country without the ability to stop at a hotel and rest when he grew tired. His trip became that much more perilous because of his dangerous level of fatigue. Though temporary accommodations are much more accessible in the twenty-first century, the fear felt by Dr. Foster, Mr. Crutcher, my father and me transcends generations. It is a fear that is as American as the national anthem.
Perhaps more unsettling than Mr. Crutcher’s death is the fact that my father and I could have been gunned down as we walked through Charlotte a few weeks ago. Reports of the killing of Keith L. Scott flashed on my phone as I rode to work. In the surreal manner that I easily placed myself in Mr. Crutcher’s shoes, I did the same thing with Mr. Scott’s story.
I went to law school and embarked on a career as a civil rights attorney in an attempt to right at least some of the societal ills that plague this country. Although I will strive to employ effective legal strategies to address issues rooted in systemic racism, I do wonder where the morality and compassion are in these situations.
Would Korryn Gaines have been slaughtered had she been viewed first as a mother? Would Terence Crutcher have bled out on that highway had he been viewed first as a brother? Would Keith Scott still be living and laughing had he been viewed first as a neighbor?
The immense amount of work that awaits our nation must be informed by these questions. If not, the blood of slain Black men and women will continue to drip from the flag that symbolizes the land of the free and the home of the brave. I will work to my dying breath to ensure that, in a few generations, the young person of color that embarks on the journey to a bright future from America’s heartland can do so without a crippling sense of dread of what is to come.
In light of the challenges ahead, I particularly urge Black lawyers to continue to lend their support to protesters and demonstrators. Effective advocacy is critical to ensuring that equal justice is administered under the law and showing the world that Black lives do matter.
A condensed version of this piece appears on Advancement Project’s blog – Just Democracy.
“Mr. Hairston, can we get extra recess?”
The familiar inquiry entered my eardrums as the day neared completion. After a few persistent attempts from several classmates, the child who posed the question at this particular point must have known that I was about to acquiesce.
“Alright. Let’s all line up.”
The children bolted to the door and awaited further instruction. The day quickly wrapped up after the second-grade class and I got outside. After I made it back to my house, I had time to reflect on the previous two weeks. A couple of thoughts simultaneously entered my mind; the first concerned my dire need to start packing for DC, and the other centered around my commitment to substitute teaching for a two-and-a-half week period.
As this point, I was preparing to return to the nation’s capital to serve as a summer legal intern for Advancement Project – a national, multiracial civil rights organization. About three weeks prior, I became fully aware that I would have approximately a month between my last law school final of the spring and my first day of work. I wanted to spend my time constructively, as well as make a few extra dollars to support myself in DC for two months. My mother informed me of an opportunity to serve as a substitute teacher, and I concluded that such a job would be good preparation for my time in DC.
Substitute teaching proved to be an incredibly rewarding personal and professional endeavor, albeit challenging at times. As mentioned earlier, I primarily embarked upon the journey because one of Advancement Project’s programs focuses on education reform; I wanted to obtain first-hand insight into the state of public education to better inform the work I would be doing for the summer.
The experience reminded me that children are incredibly brilliant and creative. They require and deserve educators who are deeply invested in their well-being and development. Although the school year was nearly over when I started, I constantly saw enthusiasm and curiosity from the children I met over the course of a ten-day period. As an added note, I considered it an honor to serve in the role of substitute teacher as a Black man working in predominantly Black elementary schools.
With all of this knowledge in mind, I boarded a plane to Washington and prepared for a nine-week internship with Advancement Project. My passion for social justice issues originated during my time as an undergraduate at Howard University, and I felt honored to work at an organization that focuses on racial justice, if only for a couple of months. The first day arrived, and I enthusiastically ventured to the office. After going through a short orientation and meeting some of the staff members, I knew I made the right choice.
One of the benefits of working at the organization was the amount of responsibility and guidance that the staff attorneys provided to my colleagues and me. Advancement Project hosted six legal interns over the course of the summer, and each of us worked closely with the lawyers in the Ending the Schoolhouse-to-Jailhouse Track, Voter Protection and Immigrant Justice programs. It was incredibly fulfilling to work in an intellectually challenging and innovative space that is dedicating to dismantling racial discrimination in the United States.
Admittedly, there were several incredibly difficult moments during the summer. In fact, several emotionally challenging incidents occurred back-to-back. McKinney, Kalief Browder, Charleston, and Sandra Bland are just a few examples of what proved to be a bloody summer. Proclamations of ‘Black Lives Matter’ resonated as loudly as ever, but KKK rallies in the South quickly answered those declarations with great vitriol and hatred. Amid this intensely divided racial climate, economic inequality, criminalization of young people and under-resourced schools continued to plague communities of color throughout the country.
During the summer, I came into the office every day and loved it. It became strikingly evident that Advancement Project’s lawyers had honed their legal acumen by studying the appropriate legal doctrines and thoughtfully engaging members of the communities in which they worked. I admired their brilliance and sought to emulate their well-crafted outreach strategies.
Historically, summer 2015 was an incredible time to be in the District of Columbia. The Supreme Court handed down groundbreaking cases that legalized same sex marriage, adopted the disparate impact standard for housing discrimination cases and upheld key provisions of the Affordable Care Act. Additionally, due to some research we were conducting at the Library of Congress, my colleague and I were present when Obergefell v. Hodges was decided. In keeping with my undergraduate tradition, I attended the traditional Fourth of July celebration on the National Mall, and the patriotism almost felt tangible.
However, as I watched the astoundingly ornate fireworks, my heart became heavy. I thought about how the work I’d been doing illuminated the myriad threats to democracy that exist across the nation. North Carolina was the first place to come in mind because I was preparing to travel there with a litigation team from Advancement Project. The historic trial of NC NAACP v. McCrory was scheduled to begin in a week and a half.
As the time for our departure grew closer, I became more and more reflective. North Carolina holds a special place in my heart. My father and his brothers were born and raised in Winston-Salem. My sister and I were also born in the city. We eventually moved, but the warm memories continued to grow as the years passed. My parents made it a point to take my sister and me to North Carolina each year when my paternal grandmother was living. Two of my uncles and their families still live in Winston-Salem.
My colleague and I arrived in Winston-Salem on a Saturday night, and a surreal feeling flowed through my being. As we checked into the hotel, it hit me that I was indeed back in my birth city. Additionally, I started to fully process our purpose for being there. We were preparing to fight a racially discriminatory voting law, enacted by the NC General Assembly, in federal court.
The case garnered national attention. Citizens from across the country descended upon Winston-Salem for the first day of the trial on July 13, 2015. I sat in the courtroom and witnessed the historic opening statements of the lawyers for the plaintiffs. I watched the compelling testimony of Rev. Dr. William Barber, the president of the NC State Conference of the NAACP. The entire day deftly portrayed the landscape of discrimination that had been created by HB 589.
After court adjourned on Monday, my bosses, colleague and I joined thousands of protesters who came to Winston-Salem for another installment of the now-famous Moral Mondays. In the fashion of the Civil Rights Movement, people walked through the streets and loudly proclaimed their opposition to state-supported discrimination. The amount of energy I felt in the space was incredible.
I eventually heard Rev. Dr. Barber speak for a second time that day, and he boldly expressed his belief that this moment is our Selma. It’s a hard reality to process, but he is absolutely right. At a time when people of color are still disproportionately subjected to poor education, substandard housing and few opportunities for economic advancement, that declaration conveyed the importance of the gathering. All Americans must unite, as we did in North Carolina, to combat the structural racism that persists in this country.
I can’t adequately express how empowering it was for me to return to the place of my birth to continue the fight started by my forebears. I took great pride in standing with the citizens of North Carolina for such a noble cause. I constantly thought of the brave men and women who perished as they sought for people of color to simply be recognized as human beings across the globe. The names and faces of Fannie Lou Hamer, Bayard Rustin, Ella Baker and Stokely Carmichael are permanently inscribed in my mind; their voices and stories push me to continue along the arduous road to freedom, even when it becomes incredibly difficult.
I am humbled by the opportunities that arose during this unparalleled internship. The staff members at Advancement Project assiduously supported me as I dedicated my efforts to fulfilling the organization’s mission. I counted it as a privilege to witness the inner workings of Advancement Project’s effective combination of social media engagement and zealous legal advocacy. I will use the lessons I learned during the summer to continue the struggle for true justice and equality. I am thankful for what can only be described as an unforgettable summer.
Meonne Davis Glenn, 1980-2015
Cassius Ezra Fredd, 1992-2015
April proved to be a difficult month. During the middle of it, I learned that a Howard senior, Cassius Fredd, passed away unexpectedly. The following week, my mother informed me that my first cousin, Meonne, transitioned from this life to glory. Cassius and I knew each other through our affiliation with an organization called GODSC on Howard’s campus; I consider my first cousins to be more akin to siblings, and Meonne was no exception to that classification.
The difficulty of these two deaths primarily presented itself in the suddenness of both. No warning. No chronic illness. No time to prepare. The news of both incidents hit me like a hammer in the chest. To a certain extent, I am still incredulous about the reality of their deaths.
Prior to 2012, my experiences with death had been fairly sporadic. My first tangible encounter with it occurred when my paternal grandmother passed away in 2007. While I was in college, a few students passed away with whom I did not necessarily share a personal connection. I mourned their passings, yet, death remained aloof. My grandmother’s death was certainly a difficult one to endure, but I had several years to grieve and cope with her physical absence.
During the winter break of my senior year, death shed its mysterious veil and entered my adulthood. As I prepared to leave the campus and head home for a few weeks, I encountered a good friend as I walked through my dormitory. His name was Donald Hill, and we conversed for a while. We served on the steering committee for the university’s Alternative Spring Break program, and that was the springboard for the conversation. However, as the minutes passed, the discussion evolved, and we started speaking about our goals, aspirations and dreams following college. After a good twenty minutes, we parted ways. I had no idea that it would be one of my final times seeing him.
During the break, I received a text from the student executive director that conveyed the message of Donald’s untimely passing. I tried to process it, but I could not reconcile the finality of death with the great plans I discussed with Donald just few weeks prior. His dreams of attending Northwestern Law and tackling the issue of gun violence were no more. It simply didn’t make sense.
About a week after I learned of his death, my family and I received news that one of my aunts, who battled pancreatic cancer, was nearing the end of her journey. My maternal grandmother, father, mother, aunt, sister and I jumped in a car, and I drove everyone to Dallas. Approximately three months prior, I learned of my aunt’s terminal prognosis, which carried a maximum life expectancy of six months past that date.
As a man of faith, I took this news with the appropriate solemnity, but I also began praying fervently. As I drove west on I-20, the reality of it all hit me. My mind swirled with thoughts of Donald and my aunt.
He seemed fine when I saw him.
She should have at least until April.
Why is this all happening so quickly?
We arrived in Dallas late that evening and stayed for a few days. My aunt passed away on the day before New Year’s Eve. Two tremendous losses occurred within a two week period. Death had never affected me in such a manner – an unexpected passing paired with one that was partially anticipated. In the wake of their deaths, I reflected on their legacies and sought understanding. They both lived great lives, but, even now, I grapple with the void left by their deaths.
Nearly two and a half years later, as I constantly think about Meonne and Cassius, I find myself in the same position. Unfortunately, death is the only constant in an ever-changing world. It knows no restrictions. It can come at the time that one would least expect it to appear. On one hand, I am surprised to find myself in this position again so soon. On the other, I recognize the arbitrariness of death.
Despite this unfortunate reality, I am solaced by the significant positive impact that Meonne and Cassius had on those who they met. I attended Meonne’s wake and funeral in Ruleville, MS a week and a half ago. I was uplifted by the warm stories and left with a true appreciation of the influential life that my cousin lived. Although I could not be there, I heard that a similar outpouring of love was present at the memorial service held for Cassius. Although they both died young, they lived lives that had infinite meaning. Their lives mattered.
If the reader only takes one point away from this post, I hope it’s this: the best thing that we can do is cherish the people who are close to us. This can take the form of a number of easily-completed expressions – a text, phone call, hand-written letter – just to name a few. Tell your loved ones how much you care and how grateful you are to have them in your life. Nothing is guaranteed, and death can enter the equation quickly and surreptitiously. And, when death does come, unapologetically proclaim the impact that your loved one had on your life so that the person’s legacy may continue.
Meonne and Cassius, thank you for blessing me with your lives. As I strive to fulfill my life’s work, I will remember both of you and use your incredible stories as motivation. Love, peace and blessings. Rest well.
– Andrew Hairston
Strong women surround me still.
Throughout my life, my path has been guided by confident and intelligent women. My mother taught me the importance of education and the significance of compassion. My sister encourages me constantly and, early in my life, she quickly assumed the role of my best friend. My grandmothers instilled a deep sense of piety and an indelible love of family within my soul. My aunts showed me the healing power of laughter and the possibilities of following one’s dreams. My cousins encompassed me in love and helped me become the man who I am today.
The ubiquity of strong women in my life is strikingly evident. As I reflect on the past twenty-three years, I recall mentors, church members, bosses, colleagues and close friends who exemplify the quintessential definition of a strong woman. Even as I progress through law school, strong women continue to offer invaluable insight as I strive to fulfill my goals. I don’t know where I would be without their advice and support; I certainly would not have accomplished anything close to what I have done had it not been for strong women in my life.
At this critical point in history, as women’s rights are attacked in myriad ways, the world’s citizenry must affirm its support for more than half of the global population. Threats to reproductive justice and insufficient compensation are just two ways in which the rights of women continue to be diminished in the twenty-first century. These egregious injustices exist as unfortunate realities within our social and political landscape.
I must admit that I take solace in the rising generation of women who have ascended and will likely ascend to various positions of leadership in the United States. Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Sonia Sotomayor, Elena Kagan, Hillary Clinton, Kamala Harris, Donna Edwards and Tammy Duckworth are several examples of women who have broken glass ceilings and who, I believe, will usher America into a new period of prosperity.
However, for these leaders to be truly successful, it requires us, as a nation, to galvanize behind issues that fully permit women to ascend to the heights that they were destined to attain. We must confer complete autonomy to women in decisions regarding their sexual health. We must close the pay gap that prevents women from fully living up to their potential. We must aggressively combat practices that subject women to the patriarchal evils of human trafficking and other horrors. This is where the work begins, but the path to true equality is a long and undulating one.
An oft-quoted statement of one of my heroines, Fannie Lou Hamer, is “I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.” This is the moment to address the concerns that Ms. Hamer voiced so many years ago. Let us unapologetically move forward into a world where women are given the recognition and status that they have worked so hard to achieve. The road will be filled with many road blocks and hurdles, but, as a country, we have overcome equally difficult challenges in our past. This country cannot flourish at its full capacity until women achieve a level of representation within our nation’s leadership that reflects their presence in our society.
As Women’s History Month 2015 concludes, let us recommit ourselves to the causes of true equality and justice.
– Andrew Hairston
2014 quickly draws to a close, and I hate to see it go. The departing year provided numerous opportunities for me. I studied abroad in France with one of my law school’s programs, and I reached the halfway point in my legal education. I began my tenure as the president of the LSU chapter of the National Black Law Students Association and observed the place where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. died. Perhaps most importantly, I discovered and nurtured my niche as a writer.
I have always considered myself to be an avid reader, but, prior to 2014, the concept of writing never existed for me outside of mandatory school assignments. My personal interest in the pen and pad started after I finished reading Michelle Alexander’s masterpiece in late 2013. For Dignity and Disgrace, I got the idea to take the concepts of The New Jim Crow and to fictionalize them in the form of a novel. The prose flowed from my writing utensil; save a few moments of writer’s block and more pressing commitments, I found the work to be naturally engaging and gratifying.
I believe that any artist should study and learn from those who precede him or her. Considering this philosophy, one of my favorite novelists is the eloquent Toni Morrison, and her writing style influences the manner in which I write. In addition to currently reading Paradise, I recently witnessed a display of her brilliance on one of the final episodes of The Colbert Report.
During the exchange, she admitted that she wrote her first novel when she was 39 years old. Once the point was raised, she laughed and conceded that such a move could be considered as the beginning of a mid-life crisis. After writing a few novels, such as The Bluest Eye, Sula, Song of Solomon and Beloved, the critically acclaimed author went on to receive the coveted Pulitzer Prize and the Nobel Prize in Literature.
Imagine if Ms. Morrison decided to keep her literary talents dormant? The vast canon of American literature would be missing a critical voice and a necessary perspective. She could have continued her tenure as a college professor without disturbing the security that the job provided for her and her children. She could have even continued editing the work of other writers. If she would have settled with the choice of comfort over passion, the world would not currently relish in the beauty of her captivating words.
I encourage anyone who is mulling over the idea of a new creative venture to take a leap of faith. Paint the picture. Sculpt the statue. Take the photograph. Write the 21st century version of the American Novel. There’s no telling where the project may lead. Additionally, on a globe driven by technology, there are myriad paths that one can utilize to share creative work. Take advantage of these resources and establish your rightful place in the field of your choice. The world needs your creativity, and you owe it to yourself to pursue your dreams.
Here’s to a prosperous new year!
Andrew Hairston
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Andrew Reginald Hairston 