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The Dartmouth
July 10, 2025 | Latest Issue
The Dartmouth

By

You walked past as I stood on the Green. I asked you to stop -- to link arms, but with a "I'm late for class. It doesn't concern me," you walked by.

"It doesn't concern you?!"

Every day; my world is shaken and rearranged with every new discovery and revelation that comes my way, but as many times as I've seen you walk by, each time cuts into me anew.

I wished I disliked you. I do. Then I could find comfort in the distance that affords. But you're as close as my skin. Funny, how that still separates us.

I know when you're about to smile or laugh before the smirk appears on your face. I've met your sister, mom, and dad. We sat outside of Ledyard that night tossing rocks into the water and staring at the sky. We talked about cars, the stars, our families, love.

And for a time we just sat, and watched the headlights of cars across the river emerge from the darkness, then disappear back into it as they drove past.

We've shared coffee, chess, ran through parties acting like fools, watched movies together, gotten together for Panda. You told me about him, her, them, me and I told you about you, Mama, first grade fist fights, my God, pain, and being alone. You've sat across from me, beside me, behind me. You rubbed my shoulders as I told you about police officers, why the "ghetto party" hurt so much, why it hurts when walking down the street, people look at you askance, and an escort accompanies you through stores. You nodded, shook your head, looked in my eyes for God's sake and I thought you understood.

And then you walked past as I stood there.

I can't reconcile that. I just don't understand it. But even now, I would like to. In each of your lives, you've read something, met someone, known someone, loved someone who has revolutionized your world. Yet your voices are still silent. You watch, "sympathize," yet refuse to stop for a ten-minute tribute to that person's life, or for a friend ...

I'm not worth a word, a breath, a simple "Stop it, that's wrong. He's my friend?" Not worth the ten minutes late?

I used to believe the reason was ignorance. But if not ignorance, then perhaps laziness and if it was laziness, mobilization was my responsibility. I thought: show your heart, your soul, speak ... and your individual goodness would destroy any conception of who you're supposed to be, who your people are supposed to be.

Now I realize that people have been speaking for what seems like forever. My voice isn't as powerful as Paul Robeson's, I'm not as brilliant as Douglass, and if friendship cannot move you to stand up for me, my conception of our friendship must be flawed somehow.

So I sat on my bed, feet stretched out, staring at the walls, trying to figure it all out.

Were there signs along the way? Did you warn me somehow, not to trust you past a certain point, that our friendship ended when I became too "Black?"

I look at you not knowing what to say. We both know very clearly the choice you make by walking past. I'm sure you know how it makes me feel. What keeps you from putting your bag down and linking arms? It's something apart from your excuse of it not concerning you.

Afraid of what others may say if you make that step?

Yet, this weekend, I've seen you gather into a thousand, to fight for a voice ... and beer. In your mind, I'm not worth that?

I've seen a windstorm of letters, articles, and phone calls to alumni where less than three months ago a campus stood silent, but for the voices of a few. You feel motivated to speak now?

But not everyone can be a Martin Luther King, Jr., right?

I don't expect you to put your life on the line, lead marches, make speeches or write letters.

I don't expect any more from you than I saw from a raven-haired girl of eight, who, with arms linked, stood with us on the Green that day you walked past.

Perhaps an iota of the passion, which brought you this past weekend to the Green in the cold of the night or to the lawn of Psi U. A small taste, if you would, of the enthusiasm and passion the speakers felt from the crowd this weekend. The continuation for the search for responsibility within the community for members of the community even when it's not about you.

All I'm asking is that, one day as you're walking by, think, stop, turn around and come back. Link arms. Don't worry about those ten minutes. We'll walk in together.