A student's fight for equality
By Crista Schlinder
Issue date: 2/5/10 Section: Opinion
I wasn't quite sure how it happened either.
How did a white girl from Monroeville become a member in the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People Chapter at SRU?
When I tried to express my excitement after being asked by the president of N.A.A.C.P., Obianuju Anyaogu, to attend that first meeting in September, my roommate joked, "I didn't know I had a black roommate."
It seemed strange to me that the color of my skin mattered when it came to being an advocate for equality.
I'd like to say statements like the previous one were a rarity, but they were plentiful, and hope for change would evidently have to start with me.
My education about race began early in childhood. From a young age, I knew my grandfather was a racist.
It didn't much affect me at first, but as I got older, I always felt pressured to keep my opinions to myself. It wasn't uncommon for my grandfather to use the "N-word" around my sister and me.
As recently as this summer when I told my grandfather about not getting a job near school, his first reaction was, "Well, let me ask you this: Was the interviewer… was she black?"
His ignorance never failed to shock me.
I loved my grandfather, but there's still right and wrong.
When I attended Temple University in Philadelphia my freshmen year of college, one would imagine that I'd thrive in all the liberation.
Yet I spent my first semester mostly confined within the walls of my dorm room, never venturing much anywhere.
To this day, I'm not sure what I was scared of-scared of getting older, scared of life or scared of finding out what others thought was true.
But my hesitation toward unfamiliarity would quickly be breached.
During the summer before my sophomore year of college, I wanted more than 16 credits and needed a job.
Working meant that I left the security of campus, took public transportation and explored finding equilibrium between school and work.
How did a white girl from Monroeville become a member in the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People Chapter at SRU?
When I tried to express my excitement after being asked by the president of N.A.A.C.P., Obianuju Anyaogu, to attend that first meeting in September, my roommate joked, "I didn't know I had a black roommate."
It seemed strange to me that the color of my skin mattered when it came to being an advocate for equality.
I'd like to say statements like the previous one were a rarity, but they were plentiful, and hope for change would evidently have to start with me.
My education about race began early in childhood. From a young age, I knew my grandfather was a racist.
It didn't much affect me at first, but as I got older, I always felt pressured to keep my opinions to myself. It wasn't uncommon for my grandfather to use the "N-word" around my sister and me.
As recently as this summer when I told my grandfather about not getting a job near school, his first reaction was, "Well, let me ask you this: Was the interviewer… was she black?"
His ignorance never failed to shock me.
I loved my grandfather, but there's still right and wrong.
When I attended Temple University in Philadelphia my freshmen year of college, one would imagine that I'd thrive in all the liberation.
Yet I spent my first semester mostly confined within the walls of my dorm room, never venturing much anywhere.
To this day, I'm not sure what I was scared of-scared of getting older, scared of life or scared of finding out what others thought was true.
But my hesitation toward unfamiliarity would quickly be breached.
During the summer before my sophomore year of college, I wanted more than 16 credits and needed a job.
Working meant that I left the security of campus, took public transportation and explored finding equilibrium between school and work.
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