Affirming My Dignity
Today, May 1, 2026, is the first day of my 50th high school class reunion. It is important to acknowledge that until recently Dothan High School was my hometown’s only public high school. It was formally desegregated in the late 1960s as students from George Washington Carver High School, were merged into the student body of Dothan High more than a decade after the 1954 Supreme Court ruling on the case of Brown vs. the Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas. Graduating classes have moved from holding two separate reunions but the roots of racism and white privilege are deeply rooted.
Our senior year was interwoven with celebrations of the nation’s bicentennial. After attending my 40th reunion, I wrote “Where Are You, Class of 1976?” and shared it in the class’s social media group. The piece was inspired by the unfolding of history and our lived experiences. While I expected some classmates in white bodies to experience discomfort with my writing, I was disappointed that the most vocal in objecting were people I’d known since junior high school. For them, it was problematic and political. God forbid I be honest about our shared history in this nation. Being political is essential when aspiring to be “a more perfect union.” At least two classmates in white bodies were vocal in defending me and my writing. Whether by voluntary or involuntary actions, the three of us soon exited the social media group. As a result of witnessing the declaration of white privilege, I promised myself that I would never attend another class reunion.
Two weeks ago, I was on a flight to Atlanta when a classmate and I simultaneously realized that we were sitting across from each other. She quickly moved to the vacant seat next to me. Having defended me ten years earlier, she was aware of my decision not to attend the upcoming reunion. Yet, in conversation she mentioned some of the details. In an instant, I decided to attend the first of the two nights for which the attire was casual. I would wear my anti-racist t-shirt. It was a way for me to respond clearly and non-violently to racism and white privilege. In Christian terms, I would be turning my cheek and thereby publicly affirming my human dignity.
Reflecting on my decision, I recognize the possibility of outrage expressed in words or deeds against me. I also recognize the possibility of my bold and audacious act as a potential impetus for those who have long sat in silence not daring to question the injustices of white privilege. As for my classmates in Black bodies, I only expect to be embraced and affirmed. Despite the cruel stereotypes sustained by the status quo, we, like our ancestors, face each day with the God-given breath of life.
Along with the blood and suffering of Indigenous people, this land has been made sacred also by the blood and suffering of our ancestors. Only God knows the number. Wearing the anti-racist shirt acknowledges the strength and struggles of our beloved ancestors who were racialized to generate the wealth of others. This nation was built on stolen land by the compulsory free labor of my ancestors. For many generations, they were legally denied access to learning how to read and write. Those challenges never quenched their inherent desire to learn, to study, to teach. My wearing the shirt also acknowledges my own embrace of and pride in my ancestors whose very humanity was denied. They are mine. I am theirs. Upon our efforts, justice is perpetually pursued.