Emily Blackshire

Guest Columnist

Editor's note: The Greenville News editorial board and the Independent Mail jointly offered to publish a companion piece from the Clemson University administration addressing issues raised in this piece. Clemson declined the invitation.

Clemson, you are a force to be reckoned with. You are one of the most powerful, beloved institutions in the nation, especially after winning the National Championship this year. You were founded as "high seminary of learning" and boast rich traditions, an excellent atmosphere, and above all else the "Clemson family." Your alumni base is far-reaching and brandishes successful careers and incredible opportunity.

Before I get started, know that this is not a traditional love letter. If you expect me to shower you in graces, I'm sorry, it will have to wait for another day. I'm not writing this because I don't love you, because I really do, but because I think you're ill, and because I know you could do better.

My feelings of discontentment, and my rationale for this letter, arise from a number of places though. As a white, straight, Christian person, I have been well aware of Clemson's unwavering support for students like me. My voice has always felt heard on campus. I know that when I walk into a room, I may not always be taken seriously, but I will be heard. Our celebrated legacy is one that fully acknowledges contributions of people like me.

I also know that this is not true for many of my peers. It is evident in the ways that you refuse to acknowledge that your legacy, like every other institution established in the South at that time, is built on the backs of people of color. It is even more evident in the ways that we tiptoe around instances of bigotry, for fear of ruffling feathers or making people uncomfortable, rather than name them as what they are and move forward appropriately. It is in the ways our administration is far more likely to show support to festivities that omit the inconvenient pieces of our shared story where what is real becomes lost in translation – the fact that we’re built on top of a plantation, the prison laborers who constructed our first buildings, the National Guard’s presence in our “integration with dignity,” the undertones of racism that still permeate so many of our community spaces.

It is the blind acceptance of our collective love for Clemson that seems to drown out the most important parts of our shared story – that we are all here now; that we are working towards a truly inclusive place; that despite an ever present struggle, we have so many opportunities to learn and so much to contribute to this place now.

I was first made aware of your shortcomings in the empathy department before my first class freshman year. I was sitting in a group discussion of our summer reading book, "The Iguana Tree," a story of two undocumented immigrants who crossed the border. The 20 other white faces in the class began to insert their own quips about "illegal" immigrants; though not shocking, it was disheartening. However, it wasn't until the Ph.D.-educated facilitator literally said, "I just don't see why [the female protagonist] would go get herself raped," that my heart sunk. The scene he was referencing was gruesome and complex, like many immigration stories, and he had boiled it down to a matter of deserved violence. I raised my hand to offer an alternate perspective; I told the class about my undocumented friends, their resilience, and their humanity. I will never forget the boy next to me who said, "it doesn't matter, they’re criminals and they don't belong here." The facilitator dismissed us early, saying he didn't want things to get "political" and advised us to "not take things so literally" as he wished us well on our first week.

I would soon learn that while most people that don the Clemson brand aren't vicious, they aren't equipped to stand up for justice. On one of our first days on campus, we were told to be callous about human issues. How can I expect my peers to want better for their community when it feels so uncool to care?

I’m not upset about people not understanding immigration in that room though, so much as I am that at Clemson they likely will never have to. This disturbs me on a personal level, as obviously I want my friends from different backgrounds to feel heard and validated in their experiences but also on an educational level. I have heard the term “high seminary” boasted at the start of each semester, but I can’t help but feel as though my degree is worth less when my brothers and sisters of color feel unwelcome in our shared classrooms. When words and actions and policies that are blatantly racist go un-confronted, you teach me that preserving my biases is more important than preserving someone else’s safety. For the sake of keeping your white, straight Christian students and alumni perpetually comfortable, you neglect those that have so much to offer us. I often feel like you are one more message to majority-identified students that other perspectives and experiences are less important than their own; that legacy as we’re taught it is more valuable than the thankless contributions of the manual laborers or brilliant minds in the backgrounds that made that legacy possible. When my white, Southern Anglo-Saxon views go unquestioned at the only time in my life that they’re innately supposed to be challenged, how am I supposed to grow intellectually?

Clemson’s legacy is beautiful, no doubt. What student doesn’t want to believe that the school they’re pouring all of their energy into is worthy of perpetual celebration? But it has been cruel. It is okay to acknowledge that. In fact, it is the only way we can move past it and truly honor the sacrifices made by those who we have historically trampled is to acknowledge it now.

I know there are so many who will read this and wholeheartedly disagree, but hear me out: when has Clemson's brand truly stood for all of us? When has anyone in power been willing to put themselves on the line in defense of what is true and good in the world? When has our university publicly renounced any Southern norm, legally or socially encouraged, in defense of a member of our “Clemson family?" How amazing would it be if they did?

While I have found ample instances of individuals going above and beyond to make this community a fruitful and safe experience for all members, I have been underwhelmed by the lack of initiative taken by administrators, board members and those with the most power to ensure those experiences are possible. It's not that I think you're a bad place, Clemson. It's just that I don't think you're really trying to be good. I don't think you're even looking in the direction of making this messy world safe for the most vulnerable people that call you home.

When your students have repeatedly cried out for you to just say something, and you turn the other way and ignore them, you normalize oppressive behaviors. When your approach to diffusing conflict is to pretend that it isn't happening or to minimize its existence, you show our community that you're more invested in appearing wholesome than in your own students' well-being. When you have community members, abstaining from eating because they don't know how else to implore you to say something about how truly heinous an Executive Order that bans members of their own student body is, we need to chat.

Remaining "neutral" while the world feuds around you isn't constructive. It is cowardly, especially in an era of "alternative facts" and the deconstruction of your very core values on a national level. There is no integrity to be found in inaction. There is certainly no respect being shown for students in the Muslim community, or in any community, when you hide your tiger-striped tail between your legs and refuse to make a public stance against hatred.

Clemson, my problem isn't with you, it is with the culture you silently appropriate when you refuse to speak up. It is that through my four years here, so many people I admire have done everything in their power to lend their voices to echoing the needs of the most vulnerable members of our community, while you look at your feet and twiddle your thumbs and say you don't see anything wrong, even though it's standing right in front of you. When given the opportunity to be a leader in resisting oppression, you shy away, too apprehensive of what your ancestors will think if you say that you stand with your students, no matter their race, religion, or country of origin.

You're better than this, Clemson. You are better than silence. You are better than deluding yourself to think that you can make injustice disappear by choosing to not look at it.

I believe in this school and I believe in the power of our core values. However, I believe that if we committed an earnest, unwavering effort to cultivate a community that welcomes everyone, we would all be happier here. I believe that if we told all students entering this school a balanced, honest story of our history – all grandeur and hyperbole omitted – we could begin to move forward. I believe that if Clemson University would become more comfortable standing up for its values and the individuals that make this place so special, instead of trying to overshadow pain with a giant orange tiger paw, we really could be a Clemson family.

Now is the time for reframing our legacy. Now is the time for speaking out about the impact that bigoted, xenophobic policy have on members of the Clemson family. Now is the time to hold fast to honesty, integrity and respect. Now is the time to acknowledge our past and what it has meant for different identity groups, but actively and openly work to ensure that all family members feel home here now. Now is the time to say something.

I love you, Clemson. It's a tough love but it's because I know you can be better than this.

Emily Blackshire is a senior at Clemson University who will graduate with a degree in language and international health this May. She hopes to one day work as a legal aid attorney in rural communities in the Carolinas.