We’ve Lost That Loving Feeling

“We’ve Lost That Loving Feeling:  On the Loss of Camaraderie,” in Embracing the Real World: The Black Woman’s Guide to Life after College, Ed.  Chaz Kyser, Langston, OK:  Seshet Press, 2007. Not very long ago, my friend and I sat in the new university bistro lamenting the isolation we feel on a campus that now has more African-Americans and other ethnic groups than at any other time in its 132-year history.  We reflected on a time—the 70’s, when faculty and staff organizations emerged to address discrimination in hiring, retention, promotions and merit, for examples—key issues in campus life, which became even more critical during the Reagan era. Not only did these groups help to fight our racial battles, they also gave us an opportunity to come together to share information. Furthermore, these activist organizations provided forums for African-Americans to learn and understand the workings of the University and to articulate their vision of a fair and just working environment. However, since many of those who were instrumental in the development of these groups and organizations eventually retired or transitioned to another institution and were eventually replaced by younger faculty with a different political orientation. Thus, the camaraderie established among those involved in activism died a quick death and gave birth to a social and political indifference from those who apparently severed ties with race consciousness before they completed their first year of graduate school. Now, sitting in the corner of the very modern eatery, our eyes wandering from one area to another, we became even more cognizant of the modest difference the university’s quest for diversity had made over the years. Clearly, there were dark faces among us, but the problem, however, was that we couldn’t seem to make any eye contact. Absent was that codified understanding of,’ “We’re here in this strange place, but we’re here together,” or the nod of a common history and culture. It was all gone now, and in its place was an impenitent dismissal of any racial connection and cultural consciousness whatsoever. There might as well have been a sign proclaiming, “There is no kinship here.” One day, in one of my more futile attempts to make a connection, I noticed a black female standing at the pop machine, waiting for water to become a cola, and I decided to approach her. I could tell she was a colleague because she wore her identification badge clamped just above the very detailed pockets of her navy blouse. Pretending I planned to buy a drink, I eased up to the machine and said, “You’d think with these prices, we wouldn’t have a problem with pop machines.” I chuckled and introduced myself.  Without turning her head away from the fizzing coke running into her cup, the woman glanced at me out of the corners of her eyes, made a noncommittal “hmm,” and walked away. This woman’s reaction was more common than not in the academic world and other professional arenas.  How many times have we been...