My sister wrote this 4 years ago, but I'm sharing it because the sentiments haven't changed. I'm hoping this will encourage others as it did both she and I. (Amazing how sometimes writing can encourage the writer huh?)
The Courage to Finish
As I sit for long hours and prepare my dissertation I contemplate every other day, sometimes every other hour, why in the world I decided to get a Ph.D. in the first place and why shouldn't I just quit and go make money . So I began to search for a bit of inspiration. I went to the library and stumbled upon the taped recordings of Dr. King’s famous speeches.
I have never been a Black History fanatic. I've never actually paid much attention to the fact that I’m black. I have so much more going for me than that. However, as I listened to the man who has inspired so many, both during his lifetime and posthumously, I realized that I have had the privilege of focusing on things other than my apparent ethnicity because of the struggle – and the victory – that so many, including my own parents, have won for me.
While listening to the rich voice of Dr. King, I began to wonder: if I were alive in the 50’s and 60’s, would I have had the courage to sit-in as a college student at counters and stare into the eyes of people who literally hated me? Would I have the courage to face the dogs and the hoses on the streets of Birmingham instead of attending its university? Would I have had the strength to walk to work for more than a year rather than ride the buses of Montgomery where I would not be treated fairly?
I’d like to think that my answer would be yes. With the brazen “I ain't afraid of nothing” attitude that our generation has been known for…with the ingrained belief since childhood that I can do anything that my brother could do as I grew up in the early 80’s post women’s lib society…with the support of my parents, my neighborhood, and government programs to promote diversity…from my place in this society which has groomed me to believe that anything is possible and the American dream can be my dream too…I have to think that my answer may not have been yes.
Times were different then. The reality was a world in which equality was not legislated and definite steps toward equal treatment of all people did not exist. The hope for such a reality was all that my forbears had. They held onto that hope. They were led by people who kept constant watch over the embers of that hope and refused to let the fire go out. They did not have much to fight with. They did not have political power. They did not have much money. They did not have much influence. But they coupled their hope with courage. And with an inextinguishable hope that America could be better, with courage they marched, they boycotted, they protested, they stood, they sang, they prayed, they died for the reality in which I now live and have the option of taking for granted.
I must say, I am inspired. America is better. It’s not yet perfect, but it is better. I have options that they didn't have. I used to resent the pressure that I felt to succeed. Not necessarily pressure from my parents – I realize that parents always want their children to succeed – a but pressure from the community at large. I used to wonder why there was so much pressure from the community. I could see it in the eyes of my neighbor Washingtonians when my article was in the Washington Post. Their expectations of me were so grand. I could hear it in the voices of my neighbor New Orleanians when they asked, chests bursting with pride, “You go to Xavier baby?” At times it felt like the black community was/is expecting so much of me. The pressure was/is real.
Well, listening to Dr. King, I realized that the black community is expecting something of me. And they should be. They want a return on their investment. Not from me personally, but from my generation.
The black women who did not have the option to go to medical school but were forced to become nurses are wondering what I will do with my opportunity. What will I do with this opportunity?
“It’s hard”, I've said. Writing a dissertation is hard. I’ll bet it’s not harder than facing dogs down the street from where my lab is now in a racially divided Birmingham 50 years ago. I’ll bet it’s not as hard as having loved ones lynched. I’ll bet it’s not even as hard as being the first to integrate a school. I’ll bet it’s not even as hard as having to use ‘Colored only’ facilities in the country that I helped to build.
So then, my answer to this revelation is…suck it up. Have the courage to finish. It actually doesn't take as much courage as it took for previous generations to face an uncertain future and force the majority to acknowledge their God-given rights. In comparison, it’s not that hard at all. Do I owe them? In some sense, I guess I do. I literally would not have the opportunities that I have now if they had not marched, if they had not struggled, if they had not fought the system. I would not have the option to identify myself as a scientist. Not as a woman. Not as an African American. Just me. What would they have given to have lived in this reality? What did they give? I cannot imagine the cost, but I am grateful.
Ironically, while I write this, a taped recording of our Congress acknowledging the workmanship of slaves in the building of our nation’s Capitol Building is on C-Span. Arguably the world’s most noticeable symbol of freedom and democracy was built by people who were not yet free and were not allowed to participate in the democratic process that defined our infantile nation. What is even more ironic is that it has taken until June 16, 2010 for those slaves to be recognized.
I suppose that the least I can do, for those who had the courage to hope for the reality in which I now live, is have the courage to finish.
Lena J
